Thoughts On The Present Government Of Ireland.

Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride,     Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride     Two stately steeds--standing, with graceful straddle,     Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle,     While to soft tunes--some jigs and some andantes--     He steers around his light-paced Rosinantes.     So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant,     That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at present;--     Papist and Protestant the coursers twain,     That lend their necks to his impartial rein,     And round the ring--each honored, as they go,     With equal pressure from his gracious toe--     To the old medley tune, half "Patrick's Day"     And half "Boyne Water," take their cantering way,     While Peel, the showman in the middle, cracks     His long-lasht whip to cheer the doubtful hacks.     Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art!     How blest, if neither steed would bolt or start;--     If Protestant's old restive tricks were gone,     And Papist's winkers could be still kept on!     But no, false hopes--not even the great Ducrow     'Twixt two such steeds could 'scape an overthrow:     If solar hacks played Phaton a trick,     What hope, alas, from hackneys lunatic?     If once my Lord his graceful balance loses,     Or fails to keep each foot where each horse chooses;     If Peel but gives one extra touch of whip     To Papist's tail or Protestant's ear-tip--     That instant ends their glorious horsmanship!     Off bolt the severed steeds, for mischief free.     And down between them plumps Lord Anglesea!