STRAHAN, Tonson, Lintot of the times, Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climbs, My Murray. To thee, with hope and terror dumb, The unfledged MS. authors come; Thou printest all -- and sellest some -- My Murray. Upon thy table's baize so green The last new Quarterly is seen; But where is thy new Magazine, My Murray? Along thy sprucest book-shelves shine The works thou deemest most divine -- The Art of Cookery, and mine, My Murray. Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist, And Sermons to thy mill bring grist; And then thou hast the Navy List, My Murray. And Heaven forbid I should conclude Without 'the Board of Longitude,' Although this narrow paper would, My Murray! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HUMAN ABSTRACT, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SIT DOWN SAD SOUL by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER SHADOWS by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. SONG BEFORE SORROW by LOUISE A. BALDWIN PATER FILIO by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE FIERCE BIRDS by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV ON MR. CRUIKSHANK OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH by ROBERT BURNS |