John Hookham Frere

Anonymous, in "Ballidehob: a Poem" The Literary Gazette (22 July 1820) 476.

How glorious is this morning! the bright sun
Has just o'er topped the dewclad mountain side,
And it is beautiful to look upon
The pile of cloud his orient beams have dyed
In fringes rich and deep-inlaid, which run
Far as the eye can reach; while from the tide
Fragrant and cooling, ocean breezes come,
Murmuring in concert with the wave's hoarse hum.

Hum! that's a good beginning for my song,
As good as Beppo or as Whistlecraft;
I trust that I have taken quite as strong
And deep potations — quite as full a draught
Of Hippocrene's waters, where so long
Poets and bards of every clime have quaffed;
Where still in crowds the tribes Parnassian jostle,
As Frere or Byron, Cornwall or Will. Wastle.

The four great masters of the rima ottava,
Whom I regard with very great respect;
I hope you'll not imagine that I have a
Contempt, an undervaluing, a neglect
Of their superior names, if I should crave a
Like share of rhyming tact with those select
Princes of this Italian kind of strain—
But bards, and even rhymesters, will be vain.