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(Born August 12, 1774)
From “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers”
FIRST in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, | |
| The scourge of England, and the boast of France! | |
| Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, | |
| Behold her statue placed in glory’s niche; | |
| Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, | 5 |
| A virgin phœnix from her ashes risen. | |
| Next see tremendous Thalaba come on, | |
| Arabia’s monstrous, wild, and wondrous son; | |
| Domdaniel’s dread destroyer, who o’erthrew | |
| More mad magicians than the world ere knew. | 10 |
| Immortal hero! all thy foes o’ercome, | |
| Forever reign—the rival of Tom Thumb! | |
| Since startled metre fled before thy face, | |
| Well wert thou doom’d the last of all thy race! | |
| Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence, | 15 |
| Illustrious conqueror of common sense! | |
| Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails, | |
| Cacique in Mexico, and prince in Wales; | |
| Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do, | |
| More old than Mandeville’s, and not so true. | 20 |
| O Southey, Southey, cease thy varied song! | |
| A bard may chant too often and too long; | |
| As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare! | |
| A fourth, alas! were more than we could bear. | |
| But if, in spite of all the world can say, | 25 |
| Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way; | |
| If still in Berkley ballads most uncivil, | |
| Thou wilt devote old women to the devil, | |
| The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue: | |
| “God help thee,” Southey, and thy readers too. | 30 |
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