Classic Poem

I' D like my favourite books to bind
So that their outward dress
To every bibliomaniac's mind
Their contents should express.

Napoleon's life should glare in red,
John Calvin's life in blue;
Thus they would typify bloodshed
And sour religion's hue.

The prize-ring record of the past
Must be in blue and black;
While any colour that is fast
Would do for Derby track.

The Popes in scarlet well may go;
In jealous green, Othello;
In grey, Old Age of Cicero,
And London Cries in yellow.

My Walton should his gentle art
In salmon best express,
And Penn and Fox the friendly heart
In quiet drab confess.

Statistics of the lumber trade
Should be embraced in boards,
While muslin for the inspired Maid
A fitting garb affords.

Intestine wars I'd clothe in vellum,
While pig-skin Bacon grasps,
And flat romances such as “Pelham”
Should stand in calf with clasps.

Blind-tooled should be blank verse and rhyme
And prose of epic Milton;
But Newgate Calendar of Crime
I'd lavishly dab gilt on.

The edges of a sculptor's life
May fitly marbled be,
But sprinkle not, for fear of strife,
A Baptist history.

Crimea's warlike facts and dates
Of fragrant Russia smell;
The subjugated Barbary States
In crushed Morocco dwell.

But oh! that one I hold so dear
Should be arrayed so cheap
Gives me a qualm; I sadly fear
My Lamb must be half-sheep!