Simply regret the profane contumely done to the Muse;

Done to the Muse in the person of Me, her patron, that never

Licked Ministerial lips, dusted the boots of the Court!

Surely I hear through the noisy and nauseous clamour of Carlton

Sobs of the sensitive Nine heave upon Helicon’s hump!

49

II. TO MR. WILLIAM WATSON.

[On writing the first instalment of The Purple East, a ‘fine sonnet which it is our privilege to publish.’––Westminster Gazette, Dec. 16, 1895.]

Dear Mr. Watson, we have heard with wonder,

Not all unmingled with a sad regret,

That little penny blast of purple thunder,

You issued in the Westminster Gazette;

The Editor describes it as a sonnet;

I wish to make a few remarks upon it.

Never, O craven England, nevermore

Prate thou of generous effort, righteous aim!

So ran the lines, and left me very sore,

For you may guess my heart was hot with shame:

Even thus early in your ample song

I felt that something must be really wrong.

 Prev. P 43/80 next