Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING, by SAMUEL LAMAN BLANCHARD Poet's Biography First Line: How hard, when those who do not wish / to lend, thus lose, their books Last Line: "they have not left me ""sterne." Alternate Author Name(s): Blanchard, Laman Subject(s): Books; Reading | ||||||||
How hard, when those who do not wish To lend, that's lose, their books, Are snared by anglers -- folks that fish With literary hooks; Who call and take some favourite tome, But never read it through; They thus complete their set at home, By making one at you. Behold the bookshelf of a dunce Who borrows -- never lends; Yon work, in twenty volumes, once Belonged to twenty friends. New tales and novels you may shut From view -- 'tis all in vain; They're gone -- and though the leaves are "cut" They never "come again." For pamphlets lent I look around, For tracts my tears are spilt; But when they take a book that's bound, 'Tis surely extra guilt. A circulating library Is mine -- my birds are flown; There's one odd volume left, to be Like all the rest, a-lone. I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft, Last winter sore was shaken; Of "Lamb" I've but a quarter left, Nor could I save my "Bacon." My "Hall" and "Hill" were levelled flat, But "Moore" was still the cry; And then, although I threw them "Sprat," They swallowed up my "Pye." O'er everything, however slight, They seized some airy trammel; They snatched my "Hogg" and "Fox" one night, And pocketed my "Campbell." And then I saw my "Crabbe" at last, Like Hamlet's, backward go; And as my tide was ebbing fast, Of course I lost my "Rowe." I wondered into what balloon My books their course had bent; And yet, with all my marvelling, soon I found my "Marvell" went. My "Mallet" served to knock me down, Which makes me thus a talker; And once, while I was out of town, My "Johnson" proved a "Walker." While studying o'er the fire one day My "Hobbes" amidst the smoke; They bore my "Colman" clean away, And carried off my "Coke." They picked my "Locke," to me far more Than Bramah's patent's worth; And now my losses I deplore, Without a "Home" on earth. If once a book you let them lift, Another they conceal, For though I caught them stealing "Swift," As swiftly went my "Steele." "Hope" is not now upon my shelf, Where late he stood elated; But, what is strange, my "Pope" himself Is excommunicated. My little "Suckling" in the grave Is sunk, to swell the ravage; And what 'twas Crusoe's fate to save 'Twas mine to lose -- a "Savage." Even "Glover's" works I cannot put My frozen hands upon; Though ever since I lost my "Foote," My "Bunyan" has been gone My "Hoyle" with "Cotton" went; oppressed, My "Taylor" too must fail; To save my "Goldsmith" from arrest, In vain I offered "Bayle." I "Prior," sought, but could not see The "Hood" so late in front; And when I turned to hunt for "Lee," Oh! where was my "Leigh Hunt!" I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, Yet could not "Tickell" touch; And then, alas! I missed my "Mickle," And surely mickle's much. 'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed, My sorrows to excuse, To think I cannot read my "Reid," Nor even use my "Hughes." To "West," to "South," I turn my head, Exposed alike to odd jeers; For since my "Roger Ascham's" fled, I ask 'em for my "Rogers." They took my "Horne" -- and "Horne Tooke" too, And thus my treasures flit; I feel when I would "Hazlitt" view, The flames that it has lit. My word's worth little, "Wordsworth" gone, If I survive its doom; How many a bard I doted on Was swept off -- with my "Broome." My classics would not quiet lie, A thing so fondly hoped; Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, "My 'Livy' has eloped!" My life is wasting fast away -- I suffer from these shocks; And though I fixed a lock on "Grey," There's grey upon my locks. I'm far from young_-- am growing pale -- I see my "Butter" fly; And when they ask about my ail, 'Tis "Burton" I reply. They still have made me slight returns, And thus my griefs divide; For oh! they've cured me of my "Burns," And eased my "Akenside." But all I think I shall not say, Nor let my anger burn; For as they never found me "Gay," They have not left me "Sterne." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO SONNETS: 1 by DAVID LEHMAN THE ILLUSTRATION?ÇÖA FOOTNOTE by DENISE LEVERTOV FALLING ASLEEP OVER THE AENEID by ROBERT LOWELL POETRY MACHINES by CATE MARVIN LENDING LIBRARY by PHYLLIS MCGINLEY ODE TO A HUMAN HEART by SAMUEL LAMAN BLANCHARD |
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