To The Rev. Charles Overton, Curate Of Romaldkirk.

AUTHOR OF THE POETICAL PORTRAITURE OF THE CHURCH.     Sweet singer of Romaldkirk, thou who art reckoned,     By critics Episcopal, David the Second,[1]     If thus, as a Curate, so lofty your flight,     Only think, in a Rectory, how you would write!     Once fairly inspired by the "Tithe-crowned Apollo,"     (Who beats, I confess it, our lay Phoebus hollow,     Having gotten, besides the old Nine's inspiration,     The Tenth of all eatable things in creation.)     There's nothing in fact that a poet like you,     So be-nined and be-tenthed, couldn't easily do.     Round the lips of the sweet-tongued Athenian[2] they say,     While yet but a babe in his cradle he lay,     Wild honey-bees swarmed as presage to tell     Of the sweet-flowing words that thence afterwards fell.     Just so round our Overton's cradle, no doubt,     Tenth ducklings and chicks were seen flitting about;     Goose embryos, waiting their doomed decimation,     Came, shadowing forth his adult destination,     And small, sucking tithe-pigs, in musical droves,     Announced the Church poet whom Chester approves.     O Horace! when thou, in thy vision of yore,     Didst dream that a snowy-white plumage came o'er     Thy etherealized limbs, stealing downily on,     Till, by Fancy's strong spell, thou wert turned to a swan,     Little thought'st thou such fate could a poet befall,     Without any effort of fancy, at all;     Little thought'st thou the world would in Overton find     A bird, ready-made, somewhat different in kind,     But as perfect as Michaelmas' self could produce,     By gods yclept anser, by mortals a goose.