Part 2 — REMINISCENCES OF A READER.
Reading edition
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BY THE LATE WALTER HERRIES, ESQ.
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Oh! the times will never be again
As they were when we were young,
When Scott was writing “Waverlies,”
And Moore and Byron sung;
When “Harolds,” “Giaours” and “Corsairs” came
To charm us every year,
And “Loves” of “Angels” kissed Tom’s cup,
While Wordsworth sipped small beer.
When Campbell drank of Helicon,
And didn’t mix his liquor;
When Wilson’s strong and steady light
Had not begun to flicker;
When Southey, climbing piles of books,
Mouthed “Curses of Kehama;”
And Coleridge, in his opium dreams,
Strange oracles would stammer;
When Rodgers sent his “Memory,”
Thus hoping to delight all,
Before he learned his mission was
To give “feeds” and invite all;
When James Montgomery’s “weak tea” strains
Enchanted pious people,
Who didn’t mind poetic haze,
If through it loomed a steeple.
When first reviewers teamed to show
Their judgment without mercy;
When Blackwood was as young and lithe
As now he’s old and pursy;
When Gifford, Jeffrey, and their clan,
Could fix an author’s doom,
And Keats was taught how well they knew
To kill à coup de plume.
Few womenfolk were rushing then
To the Parnassian mount,
And seldom was a teacup dipped
In the Castalian fount;
Apollo kept no pursuivant,
To cry out “Place aux Dames:”
In life’s round game they held GOOD hands,
And didn’t strive for palms.
Oh! the world will never be again
What it was when we were young,
And shattered are the idols now
To which our boyhood clung;
Gone are the giants of those days,
For whom our wreaths we twined,
And pigmies now kick up a dust
To show the march of mind.