1 827.] The Lord Mayors Journey to Oxford. 387 



" Downward, a gormandizing ghost he goes, 

 And bears fresh fire to 1'art'rus on his nose; 

 For Calipash explores th' infernal scene, 



And fancies Phlegethon one vast tureen !" 



Mr. Dillon finally concludes, by cautioning the rest of the aldermen- 

 who met at Oxford, and who still remain alive that there is but one way 

 in which their ever meeting again can be ensured which is "to be in- 

 cluded in t'ce general assembly and church of the first-born,, whose names 

 are written in Heaven." In the promulgation of which most excellent 

 and moral direction, we shall take leave of him, with many thanks .for the 

 entertainment which the perusal of his book has urforded. Time presses; 

 and Mr. D. will be aware that reviews, as well as rural excursions, must 

 have their ends ; and we shall come to ours, in parodying the last verse of 

 a work, which it is impossible not to see that he is deeply acquainted with, 

 but which we pay him no compliment in saying he has entirely surpassed 

 the travels of John Gilpin to Edmonton. As the poet ceases his singing 

 there, so cease we our saying here with a wish in which we are con- 

 vinced every one of our readers, and of Mr. Dillon's readers, will join us :- 



"Now let us sing, long live the King? 

 The Lord Mayor, lon^ live he ; 

 And when he next to Oxford goes, 

 May we be there to see!" 



THE WISH. 



I ALWAYS think I know not why 

 There's nothing half so sad as I. 



****** 



I wish I was yon glorious Star, 

 That shines so sweetly from afar ; 

 Jt looks so beautiful and bright. 

 Shedding its soft and silvery light ; 

 And gazing downwards, seems to say, 

 '* I pity thee, poor child of clay !" 



I wish I was yon little Cloud, 



Along the s r ky so gaily driven ; 

 I'd spread my milk-white sails, and, proud, 



I'd plough theazuie deep of heaven. 



Oh ! that I were yon glittering Bubble 



That dances on the moonlight sea! 

 Without a thought, without a trouble, 



It swims along so merrily. 

 The next revolving wave may sweep 

 The little sparkler from the deep ; 

 And yet I would its fate were mine ! 



Better to live one happy day, 

 Than through a long, long life to pine 



For very weariness away. 



Oh ! that I were some Water-Spright 



My dwelling-place a coral cave ! 

 I'd weave my hair with gems so bright, 



And ride upon the watery wave. 

 Ah ! who can tell what I may be, 

 When death hath set my spirit free ? 

 1 may be one of Ocean's daughters, 

 And dwell beneath the bright blue waters, LYRA* 



3 D 2 



