Volume 67 — THE MODERN ARGONAUTS.

I.

You have heard the ancient story,

How the gallant sons of Greece,

Long ago, with Jason ventured

For the fated Golden Fleece;

How they traversed distant regions,

How they trod on hostile shores;

How they vexed the hoary Ocean

With the smiting of their oars;—

Listen, then, and you shall hear another wondrous tale,

Of a second Argo steering before a prosperous gale!

II.

From the southward came a rumour,

Over sea and over land;

From the blue Ionian islands,

And the old Hellenic strand;

That the sons of Agamemnon,

To their faith no longer true,

Had confiscated the carpets

Of a black and bearded Jew!

Helen’s rape, compared to this, was but an idle toy,

Deeper guilt was that of Athens than the crime of haughty Troy.

III.

And the rumour, winged by Ate,

To the lofty chamber ran,

Where great Palmerston was sitting

In the midst of his Divan:

Like Saturnius triumphant,

In his high Olympian hall,

Unregarded by the mighty,

But detested by the small;

Overturning constitutions—setting nations by the ears,

With divers sapient plenipos, like Minto and his peers.

IV.

With his fist the proud dictator

Smote the table that it rang—

From the crystal vase before him

The blood-red wine upsprang!

“Is my sword a wreath of rushes,

Or an idle plume my pen,

That they dare to lay a finger

On the meanest of my men?

No amount of circumcision can annul the Briton’s right—

Are they mad, these lords of Athens, for I know they cannot fight?

V.

“Had the wrong been done by others,

By the cold and haughty Czar,

I had trembled ere I opened

All the thunders of my war.

But I care not for the yelping

Of these fangless curs of Greece—

Soon and sorely will I tax them

For the merchant’s plundered Fleece.

From the earth his furniture for wrath and vengeance cries—

Ho, Eddisbury! take thy pen, and straightway write to Wyse!”

VI.

Joyfully the bells are ringing

In the old Athenian town,

Gaily to Piræus harbour

Stream the merry people down;

For they see the fleet of Britain

Proudly steering to their shore,

Underneath the Christian banner

That they knew so well of yore,

When the guns at Navarino thundered o’er the sea,

And the Angel of the North proclaimed that Greece again was free.

VII.

Hark!—a signal gun—another!

On the deck a man appears

Stately as the Ocean-shaker—

“Ye Athenians, lend your ears!

Thomas Wyse am I, a herald

Come to parley with the Greek;

Palmerston hath sent me hither,

In his awful name I speak—

Ye have done a deed of folly—one that ye shall sorely rue!

Wherefore did ye lay a finger on the carpets of the Jew?

VIII.

“Don Pacifico of Malta!

Dull, indeed, were Britain’s ear,

If the wrongs of such a hero

Tamely she could choose to hear!

Don Pacifico of Malta!

Knight-commander of the Fleece—

For his sake I hurl defiance

At the haughty towns of Greece.

Look to it—For by my head! since Xerxes crossed the strait,

Ye never saw an enemy so vengeful at your gate.

IX.

“Therefore now, restore the carpets,

With a forfeit twenty-fold;

And a goodly tribute offer

Of your treasure and your gold:

Sapienza, and the islet

Cervi, ye shall likewise cede;

So the mighty gods have spoken,

Thus hath Palmerston decreed!

Ere the sunset, let an answer issue from your monarch’s lips;

In the meantime, I have orders to arrest your merchant ships.”

X.

Thus he spake, and snatched a trumpet

Swiftly from a soldier’s hand,

And therein he blew so shrilly,

That along the rocky strand

Rang the war-note, till the echoes

From the distant hills replied;

Hundred trumpets wildly wailing,

Poured their blast on every side;

And the loud and hearty shout of Britain rent the skies,

“Three cheers for noble Palmerston!—another cheer for Wyse!”

XI.

Gentles! I am very sorry

That I cannot yet relate,

Of this gallant expedition,

What has been the final fate.

Whether Athens was bombarded

For her Jew-coercing crimes,

Hath not been as yet reported

In the columns of the Times.

But the last accounts assure us of some valuable spoil:

Various coasting vessels, laden with tobacco, fruit, and oil.

XII.

Ancient chiefs! that sailed with Jason

O’er the wild and stormy waves—

Let not sounds of later triumphs

Stir you in your quiet graves!

Other Argonauts have ventured

To your old Hellenic shore,

But they will not live in story,

Like the valiant men of yore.

O! ’tis more than shame and sorrow thus to jest upon a theme

That, for Britain’s fame and glory, all would wish to be a dream!

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