Page:The Bab Ballads.djvu/67

Rh The bard who could, all men above, Inflame my soul with songs of love,
 * And, with his verse, inspire

The craven soul who feared to die, With all the glow of chivalry
 * And old heroic fire;

I found him in a beerhouse tap Awaking from a gin-born nap,
 * With pipe and sloven dress;

Amusing chums, who fooled his bent, With muddy, maudlin sentiment,
 * And tipsy foolishness!

The novelist, whose painting pen To legions of fictitious men
 * A real existence lends,

Brain-people whom we rarely fail, Whene'er we hear their names, to hail
 * As old and welcome friends;

I found in clumsy, snuffy suit, In seedy glove, and blucher boot,
 * Uncomfortably big.

Particularly commonplace, With vulgar, coarse, stock-broking face,
 * And spectacles and wig.