52

52

No more the trades of lute and lance are linked,

Though doubtless under many martial bonnets

Brave heads there be that harbour the distinct

Belief that they can manufacture sonnets;

But on the other hand a bard is not

Supposed to run the risk of being shot.

Then since your courage lacks a crucial test,

And politics were never your profession,

Dear Mr. Watson, won’t you find it best

To temper valour with a due discretion?

That so, despite the fond Spectator’s booming,

Above your brow the bays may yet be blooming.

53

III. ENGLAND’S ALFRED ABROAD.

[M. Alfred Austin, poète-lauréat d’Angleterre, vient d’arriver à Nice, où il a devancé la Reine. Il était, hier, dans les jardins de Monte-Carlo. Sera-ce sous notre ciel qu’il écrira son premier poème?––Menton-Mondain.]

Wrong? are they wrong? Of course they are,

I venture to reply;

For I bore ‘my first’ (and, I hope, my worst)

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