Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Let's drink and be merry,
Dance, sing, and rejoice,”—
So runs the old carol,
“With music and voice.”
Had the Bard but survived
Till the year thirty-three,
Methinks he'd have met with
Less matter for glee;
To think what we were
In our days of good sense,
And think what we shall be
A dozen years hence.

II

O! once the wide Continent
Rang with our fame,
And nations grew still
At the sound of our name;
The pride of Old Ocean,
The home of the free,
The scourge of the despot,
By shore and by sea,
Of the fallen and the feeble
The stay and defence—
But where shall our fame be
A dozen years hence?

III

The peace and the plenty
That spread, over all
Blithe hearts and bright faces
In hamlet or hall;
Our yeomen so loyal
In greenwood or plain,
Our true-hearted burghers
We seek them in vain;
For Loyalty's now
In the pluperfect tense,
And freedom's the word
For a dozen years hence.

IV

The Nobles of Britain,
Once foremost to wield
Her wisdom in council,
Her thunder in field,
Her Judges, where learning
With purity vied,
Her sound-headed Churchmen,
Time-honour'd, and tried;
To the gift of the prophet
I make no pretence,
But where shall they all be
A dozen years hence?

V

Alas! for old Reverence,
Faded and flown;
Alas! for the Nobles,
The Church, and the Throne,
When to Radical creeds,
Peer and Prince must conform,
And Catholics dictate
Our new Church Reform;
While the schoolmaster swears
'Tis a useless expense,
Which his class won't put up with
A dozen years hence.

VI

Perhaps twere too much
To rejoice at the thought,
That its authors will share
In the ruin they wrought;

260

That the tempest which sweeps
All their betters away,
Will hardly spare Durham,
Or Russell, or Grey:
For my part I bear them
No malice prepense,
But I'll scarce break my heart for't,
A dozen years hence.

VII

When Cobbett shall rule
Our finances alone,
And settle all debts
As he settled his own;
When Hume shall take charge
Of the National Church,
And leave his old tools,
Like the Greeks, in the lurch!
They may yet live to see
The new era commence,
With their own “Final Measure,”
A dozen years hence.

VIII

Already those excellent
Friends of the mob,
May taste the first fruits
Of their Jacobin Job;
Since each braying jackass
That handles a quill,
Now flings up his heels
At the poor dying Bill;
And comparing already
The kicks with the pence,
Let them think of the balance
A dozen years hence.

IX

When prisons give place
To the swift guillotine,
And scaffolds are streaming
Where churches have been;
We too, or our children,
Believe me, will shake
Our heads—if we have them—
To find our mistake;
To find the great measure
Was all a pretence,
And be sadder and wiser
A dozen years hence.