You see when you inther, and stand in the cinther, Where the roses, and necturns, and collyflowers blow, A hill so tremindous, it tops the top-windows

Of the elegant houses of famed Pimlico.

And when you 've ascinded that precipice splindid
You see on its summit a wondtherful show-
A lovely Swish building, all painting and gilding,
The famous Pavilion of sweet Pimlico.

Prince Albert, of Flandthers, that Prince of Commandthers,

(On whom my best blessings hereby I bestow,) With goold and vermilion has decked that Pavilion, Where the Queen may take tay in her sweet Pimlico.

There's lines from John Milton the chamber all gilt on, And pictures beneath them that's shaped like a bow; I was greatly astounded to think that that Roundhead Should find an admission to famed Pimlico.

O lovely's each fresco, and most picturesque O;
And while round the chamber astonished I go,
I think Dan Maclise's it baits all the pieces
Surrounding the cottage of famed Pimlico.

Eastlake has the chimney, (a good one to limn he,)
And a vargin he paints with a sarpent below;
While bulls, pigs, and panthers, and other enchanthers,
Are painted by Landseer in sweet Pimlico.

And nature smiles opposite, Stanfield he copies it:

O'er Claude or Poussang sure 't is he that may crow;

But Sir Ross's best faiture is small mini-áture

He should n't paint frescoes in famed Pimlico.

There's Leslie and Uwins has rather small doings;

There's Dyce, as brave masther as England can show: And the flowers and the sthrawberries, sure he no dauber is,

That painted the panels of famed Pimlico.

In the pictures from Walther Scott, never a fault there's got,

Sure the marble's as natural as thrue Scaglio; And the Chamber Pompayen is sweet to take tay in, And ait butther'd muffins in sweet Pimlico.

There's landscapes by Gruner, both solar and lunar,
Them two little Doyles too, deserve a bravo;
Wid de piece by young Townsend, (for janius abounds
in 't;)

And that's why he 's shuited to paint Pimlico.

That picture of Severn's is worthy of rever'nce,
But some I won't mintion is rather so so;
For sweet philoso'phy, or crumpets and coffee,
O where's a Pavilion like sweet Pimlico?

O to praise this Pavilion would puzzle Quintilian,
Daymosthenes, Brougham, or young Cicero;
So heavenly Goddess, d' ye pardon my modesty,
And silence, my lyre! about sweet Pimlico.

My Muse's words

Is like the bird's

That roosts beneath the panes there;
Her wings she spoils

'Gainst them bright toiles,

And cracks her silly brains there.

This Palace tall,

This Cristial Hall,

Which Imperors might covet,

Stands in High Park

Like Noah's Ark,

A rainbow bint above it.

The towers and fanes,

In other scaynes,

The fame of this will undo,
Saint Paul's big doom,
Saint Payther's Room,
And Dublin's, proud Rotundo.

'Tis here that roams, As well becomes

Her dignitee and stations,

Victoria Great,

And houlds in state

The Congress of the Nations.

Her subjects pours
From distant shores,
Her Injians and Canajians;
And also we,

Her kingdoms three,

Attind with our allagiance.

1

Here come likewise

Her bould allies,

Both Asian and Europian;
From East and West
They send their best
To fill her Coornucopean.

I seen (thank Grace!)
This wondthrous place
(His Noble Honour Misther
H. Cole it was

That gave the pass,

And let me see what is there).

With conscious proide

I stud insoide

And look'd the World's Great Fair in,

Until me sight

Was dazzled quite,

And could n't see for staring.

There's holy saints.
And window paints,
By Maydiayval Pugin;
Alhamborough Jones
Did paint the tones
Of yellow and gambouge in.

There's fountains there

And crosses fair;

There's water-gods with urrns:

There's organs three,

To play, d' ye see?

"God save the Queen," by turrns.