Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PAPER KNIFE, by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PAPER KNIFE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Belinda! Deem not this, my shining blade
Last Line: Till I my entrance and my exit make.
Alternate Author Name(s): Egerton-warburton, R. E.
Subject(s): Authors & Authorship; Knives; Daggers


BELINDA! deem not this, my shining blade,
A useless toy, alone for show display'd,
But let this verse instruct thee how to prize
A wand wherein such various magic lies.

Peer'd at aslant, without my kindly aid,
The light of learning were but half display'd;
The Poet's song, pour'd forth in numbers sweet,
Would waste its rhythm in the folded sheet;
The march of intellect would lag behind,
And science fail to benefit mankind.
See 'neath my touch the sever'd leaves expand,
Diffusing knowledge o'er th' enlighten'd land;
I sweep the quarto with majestic stride,
Through duodecimos with ease I glide;
Hold in derision punctuation's laws,
Nor stop at colons, nor at commas pause;
While one bent figure questions, "Why so fast?"
And one with admiration stands aghast!
To suit the action to the word my care,
Though oft "a passion into rags I tear!"
When hosts conflicting desperate warfare wage,
I cut and slash with all a hero's rage;
When heroines pine in sentimental grief,
With listless languor part the yielding leaf;
With ruthless step the lovers' bower invade,
And to rude eyes betray the blushing maid;
The course of true love cannot smoothly run
Through volumes three till my consent be won;
By mine the point in epigram is shown,
The edge of satire sharpen'd by my own;
'Tis mine to smooth the ruffled critic's spleen,
When authors quarrel mine to intervene.
Or true or false I let the secret out,
Give wings to wit, and scatter jokes about!
Hard drudgery mine, the everlasting scrub
Of village news-room, and of London club;
Think through what columns, each succeeding day,
Both morn and eve, I pioneer the way;
Sun, Star, Globe, Herald, Chronicle, and Post,
My ivory baton marshals all the host;
To vulgar eyes reveals affairs of state,
Unfolds a tale or opens a debate.
Ye quidnuncs, patience! though the Times be due,
Ye needs must wait till I have skimm'd it through;
What though its pen the universe control,
It bides my pleasure ere its thunders roll.
Advertisements uncirculated lie,
Shows unannounced escape the public eye,
Puffs, like the winds in Æolus' cave, are pent
In hidden corners, till I give them vent.
All sides alike my pliant labours fit,
'Twixt Whig and Tory I the difference split;
On every argument lay equal stress,
Promoting still the freedom of the press.
Now with the swain through pastoral meads I stray,
Now through dull epics plod my weary way,
Now ghost-like glide before some tragic queen,
Now, ever varying, shift the comic scene;
Nor tear-drop falls, nor sides with laughter shake,
Till I my entrance and my exit make.





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