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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


THE SWISS COTTAGE by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839)

First Line: YE GASTRIC GRACES OF PALL MALL
Last Line: IS BRIGHT ILLUMINATION.
Subject(s): DREAMS; FATE; YOUTH; NIGHTMARES; DESTINY;

"YE gastric graces of Pall Mall,
Fish, soup, and pate, fare ye well,
Give me some cot Helvetian,
Thither I fain my flight would wing,
Of clubs the abdicated king,
An uncrown'd Dioclesian."

Scarce had I thus petitioned Fate,
When lo! a card with lines so straight,
Arachne seemed to rule 'em,
Wooed me to fair Pastora's shrine --
An invitation out to dine
At Ivy Cottage, Fulham!

"'Tis well!" I cried. "At Wilt's control
Here Temperance will pass the bowl,
And Health rise up the winner,
Full well I know the classic spot --
Swiss is the scenery, Swiss the cot,
And Swiss, no doubt the dinner.

"Deal table; cloth as smooth as silk;
Brown loaf; an avalanche of milk;
At most a brace of rabbits;
Cheese, hard enough to pose a shark;
And water, 'clear as di'mond spark,'
To suit my Hindoo habits.

"Six three-legg'd stools, of antique shapes:
Ripe figs; a plate of purple grapes,
As sweet as honeysuckles;
A girl to wait, of buxom hue,
In dark-brown bodice, apron blue,
Red hose, and silver buckles."

Nought rose to sever lip and cup:
I came. Had Fanny Kelly up
The outside stair been skipping,
With three long plaits of braided hair,
'Twould seem the @3ipse locus@1 where
Macready pierced the pippin.

But soon the inside put to rout
The dreams engender'd by the out;
Chintz chairs with sofa paddings;
Bright stoves, at war with humid damps;
Pianos; rosewood tables; lamps,
As brilliant as Aladdin's.

Fish, soup, and mutton, finely dress'd,
Adorned the board: a pleasant guest
Was placed my right and left on;
With dishes lateral, endued
With flavor to astonish Ude,
Lucullus, or Lord Sefton.

The party, 'mid the sound of corks,
(Although the bread was white; the forks
Were silver, not metallic,)
Seemed not to see the joke was this,
That, while the outside walls were Swiss,
The feast was Anglo-Gallic.

So, as in eastern song is shown,
Some sable, antiquated crone,
As wily as a bailiff,
Leads, blindfold, on his hands and knees,
Some youth, through alleys dark, to please
Great Haroun the Caliph.

The bandage gone, a blaze of light
Salutes his now enchanted sight;
He views a new creation:
Dim Bagdad totters to its fall,
A fairy palace smiles, and all
Is bright illumination.



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