The Poet-Laureate
VERSES FOR THE FETE OF MARY ...
Le poete de cour.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court Laureate to be.
What! to thee, Mary, tune a song again?
No, no, in truth I may not dare obey:
Nerved is my Muse to try a bolder strain,
And towards the Court at length she wings her way
I'll wager they would raise a loan to buy
A new Voltaire, if one to life should spring;
Ready for sale to Government am I —
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be
If I should speak to please thy simple ear,
Some folks would smile at my attempts to please;
Love now-a-days small notice draws, I fear:
Friendship herself is banished by grandees.
All patriotic notions now are hissed;
To reckon readily's the only thing:
An ode I'm writing to an egotist —
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be
Moved by thy voice, I fear lest from my lips
Praise of the gallant Greeks should haply gush,
Brave Greeks, whom Europe's leaguing to eclipse,
Lest before them she still be forced to blush
Thy generous soul must sympathize in vain;
In vain their sorrows must thy feelings wring:
I greet in song the happy land of Spain —
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be.
But, Heavens! how would my calculations fail,
If of thy hero any hints I breathed:
Glory he left us on so vast a scale,
That we're embarrassed by what he bequeathed.
Whilst thy fond hands, to decorate his bust,
Laurels, in sign of well-placed homage, bring,
I serve with praise a person most august:
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be.
Thy doubts, dear Mary, tell me whence they came,
That thus to change should be thy lover's lot?
Country and honor, liberty and fame,
Are merely words, and men discount them not.
To offer flattery to the great I'm learning,
And songs for thee on them might satire fling;
No, no, where'er my heart would fain be turning,
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be.
Le poete de cour.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court Laureate to be.
What! to thee, Mary, tune a song again?
No, no, in truth I may not dare obey:
Nerved is my Muse to try a bolder strain,
And towards the Court at length she wings her way
I'll wager they would raise a loan to buy
A new Voltaire, if one to life should spring;
Ready for sale to Government am I —
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be
If I should speak to please thy simple ear,
Some folks would smile at my attempts to please;
Love now-a-days small notice draws, I fear:
Friendship herself is banished by grandees.
All patriotic notions now are hissed;
To reckon readily's the only thing:
An ode I'm writing to an egotist —
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be
Moved by thy voice, I fear lest from my lips
Praise of the gallant Greeks should haply gush,
Brave Greeks, whom Europe's leaguing to eclipse,
Lest before them she still be forced to blush
Thy generous soul must sympathize in vain;
In vain their sorrows must thy feelings wring:
I greet in song the happy land of Spain —
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be.
But, Heavens! how would my calculations fail,
If of thy hero any hints I breathed:
Glory he left us on so vast a scale,
That we're embarrassed by what he bequeathed.
Whilst thy fond hands, to decorate his bust,
Laurels, in sign of well-placed homage, bring,
I serve with praise a person most august:
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
Like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be.
Thy doubts, dear Mary, tell me whence they came,
That thus to change should be thy lover's lot?
Country and honor, liberty and fame,
Are merely words, and men discount them not.
To offer flattery to the great I'm learning,
And songs for thee on them might satire fling;
No, no, where'er my heart would fain be turning,
Mary, for thee no longer can I sing.
They're buying pipe and lyre!
'Tis then full time for me,
like others, to aspire
Court-Laureate to be.
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