POETRY.

BLACK DAYS IN ROME, 1888.89.

GROWLING by my fire of logs,

(Lightning, thunder, cats and dogs),—

Watch I how the waters vex Passers-by about the necks: For each soul that ventures out, Every roof a waterspout, 'Gainst whose pools contends in vain All the filth of Drury Lane.

Squares as ancient as the flood

All afloat with modern mud,

Crossings, after many trials, Perilous as Seven Dials, Wanting at the least, between 'em

Caracalla's baths to clean 'em,—

Muddy slopes and patches greasy For the Villa Ludovisi, All in lots and plots laid down

Like a sucking Camden Town,—

Fair Borghese, we are told, For like purpose to be sold, And the old and famous Corso

Just like Fleet Street—only more so—

Add me but some yellow fogs, Growl I by my fire of logs !

Harry's, Tom's, and Dick's delight Maddening the Roman night With a course of hideous howls Envied of belated owls, And with catcalls from afar Welcoming the Gentile star*,— Jarvies neither sweet nor rare Yelling for six times their fare, Many touts and many bells, Many sniffs and many smells, Whining beggars' dulcet tones, Horses all raw flesh and bones.— Summonses for warning sent That there is a Government, Rating, in a just supply, Manners low, but customs high,— Boxes packed and sent from home Taking just six weeks to come, (Lucky even then the box Which arrives with all its locks)— Once again (" Adelphi Ode ") Catch me in the Old Kent Road, Heavy be the forfeit when Rome shall catch me out'again !

Prayers arranged by Roman rules, Cheers and glasses and camp-stools, Olden churches, all re-made For the decorator's trade, In their greens and golds defaced By the worst of later taste,— Galleries of beauty thrifty (One good picture out of fifty), Colours killed by Bourbon gildings, Ruins framed in jerry buildings, Temples twain to dwarf all others, Cwsar's and Bocconi Brothers'. Everything you want to view, Go at three—'twas shut at two— Or, at two if there you be, Come another day at three,— Tickets here, permessos there, Post to pillar everywhere,— All that Art has ever dreamed, All that Beauty ever seemed, Sculptor's grace and painter's glow All a mixed mismanaged show ! Thou, whose throne all History fills,

Jewel of the Seven Hills, Fount of Faith and Thought sublime, Timeless Monument of Time, Must we then thy lesson miss ? Empress ! art thou come to this?

HERMAN MERIYALE.

• The Romans honour the Epiphany by blowing penny trumpets all night.