Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE YEAR TWENTY-SIX, by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) Poet's Biography First Line: Tis gone with its toys and its troubles Last Line: And make me -- like thee -- twenty-six. Subject(s): Plays & Playwrights; Time | ||||||||
'TIS gone with its toys and its troubles, Its essays on cotton and corn, Its laughing-stock company bubbles, Its Cherry-ripe -- (music by Horn.) 'Tis gone, with its Catholic Question, Its Shiels, its O'Connells, and Brics: Time, finding it light of digestion, Has swallow'd the Year Twenty-six. I've penned a few private mementoes Of schemes that I meant to effect, Which, sure as I hobble on ten toes, I vow'd I'd no longer neglect. "My wits," I exclaim'd, "are receding, 'Tis time I their energies fix: I'll write the town something worth reading, To finish the Year Twenty-six." My pamphlet, to tell Mr. Canning The Czar has an eye on the Turk; My treatise, to show Mr. Manning The way to make currency work: My essay, to prove to the nations (As sure as wax-candles have wicks) Greek bonds are not Greek obligations -- Were planned in the Year Twenty-six. I sketched out a novel, where laughter Should scare evangelic Tremaine, Shake Brambletye House off its rafter, And level Tor Hill with the plain. Those volumes, as grave as my grandam, I swore with my book to transfix: 'Twas called the New Roderick Random, And meant for the Year Twenty-six. My play had -- I'd have the town know it -- A part for Miss Elinor Tree; At Drury I meant to bestow it On Price, the gigantic lessee. Resolved the fourth act to diminish, ('Tis there, I suspect, the plot sticks,) I solemnly swore that I'd finish The fifth, in the Year Twenty-six. But somehow I thought the Haymarket Was better for hearing by half, To people who live near the Park it Affords the best home for a laugh. "There Liston," I muttered, "has taught'em Mirth's balm in their bitters to mix: I'll write such a part in the autumn For him -- in the Year Twenty-six!" I meant to complete my Italian -- ('Tis done in a twelvemonth with ease,) Nor longer, as mute as Pygmalion, Hang over the ivory keys. I meant to learn music, much faster Than fellows at Eton learn tricks: Vercellini might teach me to master The notes, in the Year Twenty-six. 'Tis past, with its corn and its cotton, Its shareholders broken and bit: And where is my pamphlet? forgotten. And where is my treatise? unwrit. My essay, my play, and my novel, Like so many Tumble-down Dicks, All, all in inanity grovel -- Alas! for the Year Twenty-six. My Haymarket farce is a bubble, My Bocca Romana moves stiff, I've spared Vercellini all trouble, I don't even know the bass cliff. My brain has (supine anti-breeder) Neglected to hatch into chicks Her offspring -- Pray how, gentle reader, Thrive you for the Year Twenty-six? George Whitfield, whom nobody mentions Now Irving has got into fame, Has paved with abortive intentions A place too caloric to name. I fear, if his masonry's real, That mine have Macadamized Styx: So empty, cloud-capped, and ideal, My plans for the Year Twenty-six! Past Year! if, to quash all evasions, Thou 'dst have me with granite repair, On good terra firma foundations, My castles now nodding in air: Bid Time from my brow steal his traces (As Bardolph abstracted the Pix), Run back on his road a few paces, And make me -- like thee -- Twenty-six. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEVEN EYES: FINAL SECTION by LYN HEJINIAN THE FATALIST: COME OCTOBER by LYN HEJINIAN THE FATALIST: HOME by LYN HEJINIAN THE FATALIST: TIME IS FILLED by LYN HEJINIAN SLOWLY: I FREQUENTLY SLOWLY WISH by LYN HEJINIAN ALL THE DIFFICULT HOURS AND MINUTES by JANE HIRSHFIELD A DAY IS VAST by JANE HIRSHFIELD FROM THIS HEIGHT by TONY HOAGLAND REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BABY'S DEBUT, BY W. W. by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) |
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