As PALINODE sat in the summer shade, With nymphs and shepherds on the grass around, He told the tender tale by COLIN made, Of love-lorn knights on sad adventures bound. Nearer they press, enamour'd of the sound; While some for joy, and some for pity weep; Gazing in silence solemn and profound, Such as to midnight moons the woodlands keep, While all the echoing groves and winds and waters sleep.
Then of POMPOSO he unroll'd the page, Commencing an oration erudite, Wherein conglomerating glooms engage With corruscations colorific bright. Enrag'd the rustic rout, with foul despite, From PALINODE the sapient volume tore, And to DAN SATHANAS condemn'd it quite, With clamours fierce, as when on SCYLLA'S shore Rough torrents thro' harsh rocks regurgitating roar. CALIDORE. London, Jan. 30.
