The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed ::

The world goes round; the daintiest guest
May live to gnaw the platters,
And he that wears the purple vest
May wear the rags and tatters
Some other day.

An exile looked with signs of grief
Upon his foreign letters,
And sighed—“Now hang the little thief!
He bullies all his betters!”
The dirge is shifted for the dance,
The creditors are debtors,
The exile reigns in merry France,
The bully dies in fetters,
Alas the day!

Rheims! midwife of French Royalty!
In thy age-hallowed towers
Reviving Aristocracy
Sits garlanded with flowers;
And Order smiles her placid smile
In spite of Satan's powers,
And sweet Religion all the while
Rains down benignant showers
Of Priests to-day.

But thou didst see another sight
In that terrific season

When mobs pulled down the matron—Right,
And crowned the harlot—Reason;
When raving cobblers mended creeds,
And fishwives babbled treason,
And honest men who told their beads
Were like to find their weasand
Cut through some day.

Thou saw'st the painted goddess led
In triumph through the city;
While monks looked blue and maids looked red
Before her fierce banditti;
Thou heard'st the drums and trumpets roll,
When Horror, growing witty,
Made greybeards dance the Carmagnole,
And virgins sing the ditty
Of blood that day!

A butcher with unholy feet
Profaned the shuddering altar;
His surplice was a winding sheet,
His girdle was a halter.
Alas, where massacre was mass,
And blasphemy was psalter,
Those hands of iron, throats of brass,
Did never fail or falter
At church all day!

Those times are changed. Thy sacred shrine
Its ancient worship blesses,
And lords and ladies gaily shine
Amid thy carved recesses;
Long whiskers come, and longer ears,
False hearts and falser tresses,
Court pages and Court pamphleteers,
Court follies and Court dresses,
All new to-day.

There's Marshal Lauriston, quite gay
In bobbins and in buckles;
And Moncey, who in Spain one day
Was rapped upon the knuckles;
Chateaubriand, who bawls and broils,
Villêle, who talks and truckles,
And Talleyrand, who sets the toils,
And holds his tongue, and chuckles,
And bides his day.

And Pozzo, whose intruding tread
Makes such a plaguy racket,
When nations, weary of their Head,
Lift up a club to crack it;
And Percy's formidable coat,
And Esterhazy's jacket,

And other clothes of lesser note,
Sent over by the packet
To grace the day.

But where's the king? The king's asleep.
Go, seek our Royal Master,
And tell him that his humble sheep
Are waiting for their pastor.
The king was sitting in a gown
As white as alabaster;
“Sire,” said the Bishop, with a frown,
“You should have been much faster
Asleep to-day!”

And then—the usual farce began,
And multitudes were staring
To see an old and ugly man
A velvet night-cap wearing;
The Moniteur declares “the whole
Was solemn beyond bearing;”
And quantum suff. of rigmarole,
And quantum suff. of swearing
Hallowed the day.

He swore to keep his Royal word,
He swore to keep the Charter,
He swore in no unjust accord
His creed or Crown to barter;

He swore in all the Church's wars
To give and take no quarter
He swore to be a modern Mars,
Or else a modern martyr
For God some day.

He swore to slay all heresies
Without the least compunction,
And understand the Trinity's
Mysterious conjunction;
And having oiled his hands and face
With Heaven's soul-cleansing unction,
Lay on his belly, full of grace,
And so obtained the function
Of KING that day.

“May blessings fall immensely thick
On him whom Heaven sets o'er us!
And may he be a wall of brick
Behind us and before us!”
So prayed a paralytic priest
Most solemn and sonorous;
The people, anxious for the feast,
Responded in full chorus
“Amen!” that day.

Then comes the dinner and the dance,
And rustic sports and games, Sir;

And peasants drink the health of France,
And peers dispute for claims, Sir;
And some are calling “Vive le Roi!”
And some are calling names, Sir;
And some are calling “Suivez moi!”
We've had enough of Rheims, Sir,
For one fine day.

University of Virginia Library

XIII. THE CORONATION OF CHARLES X.

II.—RHEIMS.