And first advances, as by right supreme,
With frosted locks adrift, and eyes a-dream,
With quick short footfalls, and an arm a-swing,
As to some cosmic rhythm heard to ring
From Putney to Parnassus, a brief bard.
(In stature, _not_ in song!) Though passion-scarred,
Porphyrogenitus at least he looks;
Haughty as one who rivalry scarce brooks;
Unreminiscent now of youthful rage,
Almost "respectable," and well-nigh sage,
Dame GRUNDY owns her once redoubted foe,
Whose polished paganry's erotic flow,
And red anarchic wrath 'gainst priests, and kings,
The virtues, and most other "proper" things,
Once drew her frown where now her smile's bestowed.
Such is the power of timely palinode!
Soft twanged his lyre and loud his voice outrang,
As the first Bard this moving measure sang:--

ON THE BAYS.

(_To the tune--more or less--of "In the Bay."_)

I.

Beyond the bellowing onset of base war,
Their latest wearer wendeth! With wild zest.
Fulfilled of windy resonance, the rest
Of the bard-mob must hotly joust and jar