Rev. George Croly

Anonymous, "To the Rev. George Croly, on observing the moral, intellectual, brick and mortar, and other Improvements, which his Writings have effected at Brompton" Fraser's Magazine 1 (July 1830) 713.

Let Brompton remember the days of yore,
Ere in fustian her bard arrayed her;
Ere Kitchener stopped at her Croly's door,
And tipped him a huge "persuader."
When her fields were unburthened with standard brick,
Where scaffolds now groan and squeak, sir;
And her children were muddied full two foot thick,
Who now wash — once a week, sir!

Let Brompton remember all this, and own
That thy Orphic songs first crazed her,
And stirred up the bricks and the Portland stone,
And the Limerick boys who raised her!
What, though by the barracks some Crockery strays
And grieves, in bad humour solely
That he misses the mud of the bye-gone days
Let him go to the D—l, my Croly!

What is it to us, and what is it to thee,
Thou blushing and iligant Poet?
The TRUMPETS OF BURLINGTON still are free!
Thou hast worth — and the world all know it.
Only turn to the papers — those honest records,
(I read 'em without suspicion),
And behold, 'midst a bother of beautiful words,
"SALATHIEL, Eightieth Edition!"

O Croly! O Poet! O wandering Jew!
Part parson and part politician!
Heav'n's Critic! Earth's Angel! — whatever I do,
I must have your Eightieth Edition!
I see by the Post, "A few copies remain
In the Publisher's hands" — so, by Goley,
If I dine with the Duke (it's Duke Humphrey I mane),
I will have a taste of my Croly!