Classic Poem

M EANWHILE the canons, far from all this noise,
With rapid mouthfuls urge the hungry joys:
With flowing cups and irritating salt,
Their thirst by turns they lay and they exalt.
Fervent they feed, with palate and with eye;
Through all its caverns gapes a monstrous ven'son pie.

To these Fame comes, and hastens to relate
The law consulted and the threatened fate:
Up starts the chief, and cries " Consult we too!"
With bile and claret strove his sudden hue.
Groans Everard from the board untimely torn,
But far away among the rest is borne.

A short and secret passage knew the band;
Through this they ruffle, and soon reach the stand,
Where Barbin, bookseller of equal eye,
Sells good and bad to all who choose to buy.
Proud up the platform mount the valiant train
Making loud way, when lo! so fates ordain,
As proud, and loud, and close at hand are seen
The fervid squadron, headed by the Dean
The chiefs approaching, show a turbid grace;
They measure with their eyes, they fume, they face;
And, had they hoofs, had pawed upon the place.

Thus two proud bulls, whom equal flames surprise
For some fair heifer with her Juno's eyes,
Forget their pasture, meet with horrid bows,
And stooping, threaten with their stormy brows.

But the sad Everard, elbowed as he passed,
No longer could endure his demi-fast,
Plunged in the shop, he seizes on a book,
A " Cyrus" (lucky in the first he took),
And aiming at the man (Boirude was he)
Launched at his head the chaste enormity.
Boirude evaded, grazed in cheek alone,
But Sidrac's stomach felt it with a groan.
Punched by the dire " Artamenes", he fell
At the dean's feet, and lay incapable.
His troop believe him dead, and with a start
Feel their own stomachs for the wounded part

But rage and fear alike now rouse their gall,
And twenty champions on the murd'rer fall
The canons, to support the shock, advance:
On every side ferments the direful dance;
Then Discord gives a roar, loud as when meet
Two herds of rival graziers in a street.
The bookseller was out, the troops rush in,
Fast fly his quartos; his octavos spin.
On Everard most they fall as thick as hail,
As when in spring the stony showers prevail,
And beat the blossoms till the season fail.
All arm them as they can: one gives a scotch
With " Love's Decree;" another, with the " Watch:"
This a French Tasso flings, a harmless wound,
And that the only " Jonas" ever bound.

The boy of Barbin vainly interferes,
And thrusts amidst the fray his generous ears:
Within, without, the books fly o'er and o'er,
Seek the dipped heads, and thump the dusty floor,
And strew the wondering platform at the door.
Here, with Guarini, Terence lies; and there
Jostles with Xenophon the fop La Serre.
Oh what unheard-of books, what great unknowns,
Quitted that day their dusty garrisons!
You, " Almerinde and Simander," mighty twins,
Were there, tremendous in your ancient skins:
And you, most hidden " Caloander," saw
The light for once, drawn forth by Gaillerbois
Doubtful of blood, each handles his brain-pan:
On every chair there lies a clergyman
A critical " Le Vayer" hits Giraut
Just where a reader yawns, and lays him low.
Marin, who thought himself translator proof,
On his right shoulder feels a dire Brebeuf;
The weary pang pervades his arm; he frowns,
And damns the Lucan dear to country towns.
Poor Dodillon, with senses rendered thick
By a " Pinchêne" in quarto, rises sick;
Then walks away. Him scorned in vain Garagne,
Smitten in forehead by a Charlemagne:
O wonderful effect of sacred verse!
The warrior slumbers where he meant to curse.
Great glory with a " Clelia," Bloc obtained;
Ten times he threw it, and ten times regained.

But nought, Fabri, withstood thy bulky Mars,
Thou canon, nursed in all the church's wars
Big was Fabri, big-boned, a large divine;
No water knew his elemental wine.
By him both Gronde and Gourme were overthrown,
And tenor Gras, and Gros the bary-tone,
And Gervis, bad except in easy parts,
And Gigue, whose alto touched the ladies' hearts.

At last the Singers, turning one and all,
Fly to regain the loop-holes of the Hall:
So fly from a grey wolf, with sudden sweep,
The bleating terrors of a flock of sheep;
Or thus, o'erborne by the Pelidean powers,
The Trojans turning sought their windy towers.
Brontin beheld, and thus addressed Boirude:
" Illustrious carrier of the sacred wood,
Thou, who one step didst never yet give way,
Huge as the burthen was, and hot the day;
Say, shall we look on this inglorious scene,
And bear a Canon conquering a Dean?
And shall our children's children have it said,
The rochet's dignity, through us, fell dead?
Ah, no; disabled though I thus recline,
A carcase still, and a Quinaut, are mine;
Accept the covert of my bulk, and aim;
A blow may crown thee with a David's fame."
He said, — and tended him the gentle book;
With ardour in his eyes the sexton took.
Then lurked, then aimed, and right between the eye
Hit the great athlete, to his dumb surprise.
O feeble storm! O bullet, not of lead!
The book, like butter, dumps against his head.
With scorn the Canon chafed: " Now mark," said he,
" Ye secret couple, base and cowardly;
See if this arm consents against the foe
To launch a book, that softens in the blow"

He said; and on an old Infortiat seized,
In distant ages much by lawyers greased, —
A huge black-letter mass, whose mighty hoards
More mighty looked, bound in two ponderous boards.
Half sides of old black parchment wooed the grasp,
And from three nails there hung the remnant of a clasp
To heave it on its shelf, among the I's,
Would take three students of the common size.
The Canon, nathless, raised it to his head,
And on the pair, now crouching and half dead,
Sent with both hands the wooden thunder down:
Groan the two warriors, clashing in the crown,
And murdered and undone with oak and nails,
Forth from the platform roll, and seek the guttery vales.

The Dean, astonished at a fall so dire,
Utters a cry as when the punched expire.
He curses in his heart all devilish broils,
And making awful room, six steps recoils
Not long: — for now all eyes encountering his,
To see how Deans endure calamities,
Like a great chief he makes no further stand,
But drawing from his cloak his good right hand,
And stretching meek the sacred fingers twain,
Goes blessing all around him, might and main,
He knows full well, not only that the foe
Once smitten thus, can neither stand nor go,
But that the public sense of their defeat
Must leave him lord, in church as well as street.
The crowd already on his side he sees;
The cry is fierce, " Profane ones, on your knees:
The Chanter, who beheld the stroke from far,
In vain seeks courage for a sacred war:
His heart abandons him: he yields, he flies;
His soldiers follow with bewildered eyes:
All fly, all fear, but none escape the pain;
The conqu'ring fingers follow and detain.
Everard alone, upon a book employed,
Had hoped the sacred insult to avoid;
But the wise chief, keeping a side-long eye,
And feigning to the right to pass him by,
Suddenly turned, and facing him in van,
Beyond redemption blessed th' unhappy man.
The man, confounded with the mortal stroke,
From his long vision of rebellion woke,
Fell on his knees in penitential wise,
And gave decorum what he owed the skies

Home trod the Dean victorious, and ordained
The resurrection of the Desk regained:
While the vain Chapter, with its fallen crest,
Slunk to its several musings, lost and blessed .