POEMS.

CR-K-R-GO-BRAGH.

I NEED not apologize for my friend J-n W-n Cr-k-r, placing his poem first in this volume. Priority is due to its pre-eminence. It strikes me--I may be wrong-but it does strike me, that there is an affinity, a slight and very delicate resemblance, between this exquisite poem, and one of the most pathetic and beautiful pieces that modern genius has produced. I allude to Campbell's Exile of Erin-a poem, perhaps of all others, of the highest class, the most read and the deepest felt, wherever the English language is known. My friend Cr-k-r was bathostically unfortunate in his T-1-v-ra; but he now fairly enters the field with the greatest poet of the age. Is it too much to say, arcades ambo? I must confess, I give the preference to Cr-k-r-Go-Bragh over the Exile of Erin. The former has at least the merit of accurate delineation of low character and circumstances of low life, with its subsequent struggles. Except my friend Hunt, no man can touch Cr-k-r in retaining the manners of early life.

C R — K — R-GO-BRAG H.

AUTO-BIOGRAPHICO POEM.

To London there came a poor lawyer from Erin-
Ah, heavy the mud on his brogues ould and thin;
Through his thread-bare green coat his elbows were
peering,

Nor had he a stocking to cover his shin.
But St. Stephen's attracted his roguish emotion,
Its deep-perjur'd jobs he had learnt, I've a notion;
He sighed, "Could I plunge in corruption's dark ocean,
Would I ere turn croker, no Cr-k-r-go-bragh."

"Full of tricks is my pate," cried the impudent stranger,
"Well bronzed is my broad face for office and fee,
If, in refuge from starving, my neck gets in danger,
Not a tester could kindred bestow upon me.
Mrs. Clark soon exposed the Duke's private hours,
His leathern-lunged champion he chose me, ye powers!
I bull-ragged the lady, and slanged her in showers,
I bate her in flash, and in blarney go-bragh.

"As a broth of a bully, in office now taken,

St. Patrick be blessed that I left Erin's shore ! Och, when the gold in my pocket was shaken,

With the friends of my youth I would never spake

more.

By thy praters, ould Erin, should Whigs e'er displace me, From my big office-house should the people e'er chase me, By my kindred, whose brogue and whose rags so dis. grace me,

I'll blarney the foe, and get office once more.

"I remember the cabin where the pigs bide would, Pigs, sisters, and sire, together slept all;

And among them from landlord and titheman I hide would,

And snug we all nestled, the varmin and all.

But the wake and the fair once more gave me pleasure,
And wasn't ould Ireland's shillelagh my treasure!
But booby John Bull I now chate without measure*,
Och, he's a moon-calf grown fat in his stall.

66

Plague bother the Whigs, my jobs they're suppressing, Spalpeens, Grey and Brougham, cant you just hould your jaw;

Would you fight with shillelaghs I'd give you a dressing, And I'd make you, my honies, roar Cr-k-r-go

bragh.

My friend J. W. Cr-k-r, justifies this pronunciation of the word by the following quotation from Hudibras :

Doubtless the pleasure is as great,

Of being cheated as to cheat.

Only wait the elections, I'll make a commotion;
The sweet Sacret-sarvice I'll grab, I've a notion;
With my High Tory cant and my High Church de-

votion,

Cr-k-r-mavournin, Cr-k-r-go-bragh."

J. W. C.

THE juxta-position of the following poem with the preceding is purely accidental, though it has been hinted that the Earl of Eld-n placed them in contact. Bishop Ph-lp-ts once suggested to me-but it was over wine-that Sir Robert took his idea of this fine poem from Moore's Fanny of Timmol. I see no resemblance whatever; and I must confess my fears, that the church is in danger, when one of the Prelates, and an anti-reform Prelate too, can confess, that he is versed in the Lascivice Littlei. Inebriation is no excuse for a clerical backsliding of this nature. Even my friend Ph-lp-ts, in reading this, `will pardon the exposure of convivial hours*, in acknowledging that no man has more strongly evinced than himself, that all political integrity and private honour must give way when the Church is in danger, or the Reform Bill before the House.

* Cœnam, non sine candidâ puellâ.—CAT. Carm. 13.

SWEET BOROUGH OF T-MW-TH.

Petimus bene vivere.-HOR.

SWEET borough of T-mw-th, when first I got in
To the dear House of Commons, in which I was hurl'd,
I found it a place of such pelf and such sin,

And, for humbug, the funniest place in the world.

For the minister's lips to their destiny true,

Seem'd to know I was born to be sold as another's; And to put me in mind of what I ought to do, They whispered rich places for me and my brothers.

And then he was darting from eye-lids so sly,

Half squinting, half winking such gold beaming light; Let them say what they will, I could read in his eye, Here's a bait for you, P-1, if you know how to bite.

So on Treasury benches I mingled my feet,

I felt a pulsation I cannot tell whether

Of joy, shame, or guilt, 'twas bitter yet sweet;

But my heart and my face got as tough as cow's leather.