433

And fair Italia lies upon her lee.
But fair Italia, she who once unfurled
Her eagle-banners o'er a conquered world,
Long from her throne of domination tum-
bled;

Lay by her quondam vassals sorely humbled,

The Pope himself looked pensive, pale, and

lean,

heel.

Bulli;

435

330

The Sultaun saw him on a holiday,
Which is with Paddy still a jolly day:
When mass is ended, and his load of sins
Confessed, and Mother Church hath from
her binns

Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit, Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit!

To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free, And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. By Mahomet,' said Sultaun Solimaun, 'That ragged fellow is our very man! Rush in and seize him- do not do him hurt,

But, will he nill he, let me have his shirt.'

340

Shilela their plan was wellnigh after balking

Much less provocation will set it a-walking

But the odds that foiled Hercules foiled Paddy Whack;

They seized, and they floored, and they stripped him Alack! Up-bubboo! Paddy had not - - a shirt to his back! And the king, disappointed, with sorrow and shame

Went back to Serendib as sad as he came.

LINES

WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH

Miss Smith, afterward Mrs. Bartley, was an actress who greatly pleased Scott, and he wrote these lines for the night of her benefit at the Edinburgh Theatre in 1817.

WHEN the lone pilgrim views afar
The shrine that is his guiding star,
With awe his footsteps print the road
Which the loved saint of yore has trod.
As near he draws and yet more near,
His dim eye sparkles with a tear;
The Gothic fane's unwonted show,
The choral hymn, the tapers' glow,

Oppress his soul; while they delight
And chasten rapture with affright.
No longer dare he think his toil
Can merit aught his patron's smile;
Too light appears the distant way,
The chilly eve, the sultry day.
All these endured no favor claim,
But murmuring forth the sainted name,
He lays his little offering down,
And only deprecates a frown.

We too who ply the Thespian art
Oft feel such bodings of the heart,
And when our utmost powers are strained
Dare hardly hope your favor gained.
She who from sister climes has sought
The ancient land where Wallace fought-
Land long renowned for arms and arts,
And conquering eyes and dauntless

hearts