LXXI.

This, as a falsehood, Crafticanto treats; And as his style is of strange elegance, Gentle and tender, full of soft conceits, (Much like our Boswell's), we will take a glance At his sweet prose, and, if we can, make dance His woven periods into careless rhyme; O, little faery Pegasus! rear-prance— Trot round the quarto-ordinary time! March, little Pegasus, with pawing hoof sublime!

LXXII.

Well, let us see,—tenth book and chapter nine,— Thus Crafticant pursues his diary :—

'Twas twelve o'clock at night, the weather fine, Latitude thirty-six; our scouts descry

A flight of starlings making rapidly

Tow'rds Thibet. Mem. :-birds fly in the night; From twelve to half-past-wings not fit to fly For a thick fog-the Princess sulky quite: Call'd for an extra shawl, and gave her nurse a bite.

LXXIII.

Five minutes before one-brought down a moth
With my new double-barrel-stew'd the thighs,
And made a very tolerable broth-
Princess turn'd dainty, to our great surprise,

Alter'd her mind, and thought it very nice:

Seeing her pleasant, tried her with a pun,
She frown'd; a monstrous owl across us flies
About this time,-a sad old figure of fun;

Bad omen—this new match can't be a happy one.

LXXIV.

From two to half-past, dusky way we made,
Above the plains of Gobi,-desert, bleak;
Beheld afar off, in the hooded shade

Of darkness, a great mountain (strange to speak),
Spitting, from forth its sulphur-baken peak,
A fan-shaped burst of blood-red, arrowy fire,
Turban'd with smoke, which still away did reek,
Solid and black from that eternal pyre,

Upon the laden winds that scantly could respire.

LXXV.

Just upon three o'clock, a falling star

Created an alarm among our troop,

Kill'd a man-cook, a page, and broke a jar,

A tureen, and three dishes, at one swoop,

Then passing by the Princess, singed her hoop: Could not conceive what Coralline was at,

She clapp'd her hands three times, and cried out 'Whoop!"

Some strange Imaian custom. A large bat

Came sudden 'fore my face, and brush'd against my

hat.

LXXVI.

Five minutes thirteen seconds after three,

Far in the west a mighty fire broke out, Conjectured, on the instant, it might be The city of Balk-'twas Balk beyond all doubt: A griffin, wheeling here and there about, Kept reconnoitring us-doubled our guard— Lighted our torches, and kept up a shout, Till he sheer'd off-the Princess very scaredAnd many on their marrow-bones for death prepared.

LXXVII.

At half-past three arose the cheerful moon— Bivouac'd for four minutes on a cloudWhere from the earth we heard a lively tune Of tambourines and pipes, serene and loud, While on a flowery lawn a brilliant crowd Cinque-parted danced, some half asleep reposed Beneath the green-fan'd cedars, some did shroud In silken tents, and 'mid light fragrance dosed, Or on the open turf their soothed eyelids closed.

LXXVIII.

Dropp'd my gold watch, and kill'd a kettle-drumIt went for apoplexy-foolish folks !—

Left it to pay the piper-a good sum

(I've got a conscience, maugre people's jokes,)

To scrape a little favour; 'gan to coax

Her Highness' pug-dog-got a sharp rebuff

She wish'd a game at whist-made three revokesTurn'd from myself, her partner, in a huff; His Majesty will know her temper time enough.

LXXIX

She cried for chess-I play'd a game with her—
Castled her king with such a vixen look,
It bodes ill to his Majesty―(refer

To the second chapter of my fortieth book,
And see what hoity-toity airs she took:)
At half-past four the morn essay'd to beam-
Saluted, as we pass'd, an early rook—

The Princess fell asleep, and, in her dream,
Talk'd of one Master Hubert, deep in her esteem,

LXXX.

About this time,-making delightful way,

Shed a quill-feather from my larboard wingWish'd, trusted, hoped 'twas no sign of decayThank Heaven, I'm hearty yet!-'twas no such

thing:

At five the golden light began to spring,

With fiery shudder through the bloomed east;
At six we heard Panthea's churches ring-

The city all his unhived swarms had cast,

To watch our grand approach, and hail us as we pass'd.

LXXXI.

As flowers turn their faces to the sun,

So on our flight with hungry eyes they gaze, And, as we shaped our course, this, that way run, With mad-cap pleasure, or hand-clasp'd amaze : Sweet in the air a mild-toned music plays, And progresses through its own labyrinth ; Buds gather'd from the green spring's middle-days, They scatter'd, daisy, primrose, hyacinth,— Or round white columns wreath'd from capital to plinth.

LXXXII.

Onward we floated o'er the panting streets, That seem'd throughout with upheld faces paved; Look where we will, our bird's-eye vision meets Legions of holiday; bright standards waved, And fluttering ensigns emulously craved Our minute's glance; a busy thunderous roar, From square to square, among the buildings raved, As when the sea, at flow, gluts up once more The craggy hollowness of a wild-reefed shore.

LXXXIII.

And "Bellanaine for ever!" shouted they!
While that fair Princess, from her winged chair,
Bow'd low with high demeanour, and, to pay
Their new-blown loyalty with guerdon fair,
Still emptied, at meet distance, here and there,