University of Virginia Library

IX IMITATIONS

Literary Fame

From lettered circles Jones in town
By his blank verse has won renown.
Grudge not his glory! What is fame?
Most men to-day, my Smith, the name
Of Shakespeare know; of Milton some;
But all of Jumbo and Tom Thumb.

To Robert Browning: On his “Society”

Why, Browning, write in riddles, which in vain
Your own “Society” pretends t' explain?
Your sense is clear to German minds alone,
Who value Virgil less than Lycophron.
By these be praised! Our English verse should be
Social, but needing no “Society.”

Choice of a Profession

You ask, De Vere, to what employ
You best may bind your growing boy.
Avoid—unless his life you'd mar—
The School, the Pulpit, and the Bar!
Let Blackstone not the pupil claim!
To Cairns and Palmer leave their fame!
And if on verse he'd ink be spilling,
Cut off the poet with a shilling!
Does your young Hopeful wish to start
Upon the golden road of Art,
Teach him in pantomimes to dance,
Or charm the Hall like the “Great Vance”!
Or make him—should he prove no seer—
A Pawnbroker or Auctioneer!

Delay in Revising Proof-sheets

You once would urge me, “Publish quick!”
Now, of my proofs already sick,
You yawn above the second page,
And banish “Finis” to next age.
These Epigrams, when first you read,
You used to ask to take to bed.

[You learned by heart, and copied out]

You learned by heart, and copied out;
And better still you'll find, no doubt.
But wherefore make the number go
In a thin duodecimo,
If in revision, by delays,
You keep the printer back three days?
'Tis just as if, when all astir
To go express to Winchester,
At Clapham Junction you should stick:
Yet once you urged me, “Publish quick!”

Valediction to the Book

Enough! Enough! My little Book,
You've reached your end by hook or crook!
Though crammed with matter to your cover,
You'd still be running on and over,
As though of all that you engage
To do upon your title-page,
Nothing were done. Of such poor stuff
The reader sickens, or speaks rough.
“Enough!” John Murray cries, “Enough!”

To the Public

If books you'd order without fail
As company for boat or rail,
Buy this, whose small octavo page
Reflects the spirit of our age.
More weighty volumes desks demand,
But this you'll manage, sit or stand,
To hold with ease in either hand.
Where you may buy it next I'll tell.
Mount from the Club-land of Pall Mall
To where St. James by roadway hilly
Conducts your feet to Piccadilly.
If with the publisher you'd parle,
Cross to the street of Albemarle;
There (in an ancient house, whose fame
Is sung by bards of mighty name)
You'll find him at his work each day
In 50 or in 50A.