Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/28



On my effusions, when good wine, To hear the critics read, assign To other master hands than mine, Amuses one; "Oh, this is excellent," they say, "Bears it not genius' touch, I pray," But they, in their good time and way Are stamped "Anon."

Look closely and my gifts descry,— In truth to tell them I feel shy, As linguist, few with me will vie, For I have made Translations from, to, every tongue; Musicians, too, I rank among; Composer, too, of sacred song, To worship aid.

As benefactor, too, you'll find, In meliorating human kind, I do not fall in far behind The princely donor; If my experience I'd express, The pious who relieve distress Find what flows in in happiness Is more than honour.

Pray take not my remarks amiss, Explain them alt, and then add this: "An ever-living author is Our Anon, friend." Enough, I need not more rehearse, Nor eulogise myself in verse, All I have said you will endorse From end to end.

If asked that you my rank assign Amongst the mighty, pray decline; Assured that safe is the last line On Fame's proud scroll; Then to "The Temple" walk will I, "Anonymous" sign silently, And with becoming modesty Wind up the Roll!