422 Oxford; a Poem. 



And after Sidney, a description of an Oxford wine-party 



" But who can languish through a hideous hour 

 When heart is dead, and only wine hath power ? 

 That brainless meeting of congenial fools, 

 Whose brightest wisdom is to hate the Schools., 

 Discuss a tandem, or describe a race, 

 And damn the Proctor with a solemn face, 

 Swear nonsense wit, and intellect a sin, 

 Loll o'er the wine, and asininely grin ! 

 Hard is the doom when awkward chance decoys 

 A moment's homage to their brutal joys. 

 What fogs of dulness fill the heated room, 

 Bedimmed with smoke, and poisoned with perfume, 

 Where now and then some rattling soul awakes 

 In oaths of thunder, till the chamber shakes ! 

 Then Midnight comes, intoxicating maid ! 

 What heroes snore, beneath the table laid ! 

 But, still reserved to upright posture true, 

 Behold ! how stately are the sterling few : 

 Soon o'er their sodden nature wine prevails, 

 Decanters triumph, and the drunkard fails : 

 As weary tapers at some wondrous rout, 

 Their strength departed, winkingly go out, 

 Each spirit flickers till its light is o'er, 

 And all is darkness that was drunk before !" 



There is much startling imagery in this passage. First, we have fogs 

 of dulness filling a room ; secondly, chambers shaking with oaths of 

 thunder ; thirdly, midnight getting tipsey ; fourthly, decanters triumph- 

 ing over drunkards ; and, lastly, drunkenness resolving itself, by a very 

 natural process, into darkness. From this extraordinary symposium, our 

 minstrel hurries us off to Mr. Canning, and weepeth to think that 



" in thy fame's triumphant bloom, 

 The shades of death hung grimly o'er thy doom." 



He is, however, promptly consoled by tbe recollection that he heard 

 the deceased stateman's knell 



(( moan, 

 Like the grand echo of a nation's groan." 



Also by the fact that he never 



" winged the dart 

 Whose poison fed upon thy feeling heart ;" 



an assertion which we are very ready to take for granted. Having wept 

 sufficiently for the death of Mr. Canning, Mr. Montgomery bethinks 

 himself of Chatham, 



" Who baffled France, America, and Gaul !" 



Until now, we always thought that France and Gaul were one and 

 the same country; that Gaul was the ancient appellation of France. 

 Mr. Montgomery, however, is of opinion that they are two different 

 kingdoms; a proof that he has studied the classics, and particularly 

 Caesar, to but little purpose. Chatham being dismissed, we are intro- 

 duced, in succession, to " romantic Bowles ;" t( radiant Southey," who 

 dislikes the " roar of town ;" Professor Wilson ; and last, not least, to the 

 poet himself the veritable Robert Montgomery ! with a pathetic, auto- 



