Page:Bronwylfa and Rhyllon.pdf/4

 , after standing for some time in silent contemplation of, breaks out into the following vehement strain of vituperation.

ugliest of fabrics! you horrible eyesore! I wish you would vanish, or put on a visor! In the face of the sun, without covering or rag on, You stand and outstare me, like any red dragon. With your great green-eyed windows, in boldness a host, (The only green things which, indeed, you can boast,) With your forehead as high, and as bare as the pate Which an eagle once took for a stone or a slate, You lift yourself up, o’er the country afar, As who would say, “Look at me!–here stands great R!” I plant–I rear forest trees–shrubs great and small, To wrap myself up in–you peer through them all! With your lean scraggy neck o’er my poplars you rise; You watch all my guests with your wide saucer eyes. You monster! I would I could waken some morning, And find you had taken French leave without warning; You should never be sought like Aladdin’s famed palace. You spoil my sweet temper–you make me bear malice: For it is a hard fate, I will say it and sing, Which has fix’d me to gaze on so frightful a thing. Content thee, Bronwylfa, what means all this rage? This sudden attack on my quiet old age? I am no parvenu: you and I, my good brother, Have stood here this century facing each other; And I can remember the days that are gone, When your sides were no better array’d than my own.