1832 ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION

Alaric Alexander Watts

Anonymous, "A Classic Chant between Lord Francis Leveson Gower and Alaric Attila Watts" Fraser's Magazine 5 (June 1832) 583.



LORD F. L. G.
The pride of the Peerage — the POET of power
Is the graphic Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
There never was poet, from John o' Groat's
To Scilly, like Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
The glory of Goethe is forced to cower
To the NOUS of Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
I verily believe that Sir Walter Scott's
Nearly equal to Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
The fustian of Faust none to gold could scour
But the magic Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
The moral and modest Tom Moore, not a jot's
To compare with great Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
Into Wallenstein's Camp not e'en SCHILLER could pour
Such soul as Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
Not Southey himself ever scribbled such lots
Of verses as Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
Knowles, Kenney, and Kotzebue, all must lower
Their heads to Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
Whilst forgotten old Wordsworth, the wordy, rots,
Immortal is Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
Greek, German, and gibberish, alike to devour,
Who rivals Lord Francis Leveson Gower?

A. A. W.
Tom Campbell's old Pegasus, plagued with the botts,
Limps after spruce Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
Victor Hugo's Hernani had scarce lived an hour
Unillumed by Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
Though I shouldn't say it, 'tis clear that forgot's
E'en Byron for Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
Anne of Cleves ne'er had taught Fanny Kemble to tower,
Were it not for Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
Leigh Hunt and B. Barton, the bards of the grots,
Yield the palm to brave Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
At th' Adelphi, the German Prince brought down a shower
Of shouts for Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
A nosegay of nettles for cynics and sots
Are the satires of Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
Though the cream of my temper vile cynics would sour,
Mild as milk is Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
What though mine escutcheon NOL YORKE sadly blots,
Still splendid is Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
My genius in glow, and my fancy in flower,
Still triumphs Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
Though they darken my disc, on the sun there are spots,
As well as on Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
The poet of palaces, ball-room, and bower,
Is the far-famed Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
The first niche in his temple Apollo allots,
To the all-inspired Alaric Attila Watts.

LORD F. L. G.
Ho, ho! my bold bard! since thus sun-ward you tower,
In your flight take Lord Francis Leveson Gower.

A. A. W.
Agreed, — and our glories, like true lovers' knots,
Blend Gower with great Alaric Attila Watts.