Crossed a long dagger with a jewelled hilt; Then some were full of wondrous stories told Stranger, whose eyes the shadowy isle survey, As the black steamer dashes through the bay, Why ask his buried secret to divine? He was thy brother; speak, and tell us thine! THE BANKER'S DINNER. THE Banker's dinner is the stateliest feast Of all the joys of earthly pride or power, Life's sovereign moment is a battle won. But say what next? To shape a Senate's choice By the strong magic of the master's voice; To ride the stormy tempest of debate That whirls the wavering fortunes of the state. If some would have it first instead of third, So let it be,-I answer not a word. The fourth, sweet readers, let the thoughtless half Have its small shrug and inoffensive laugh; Among the great whom Heaven has made to shine, How few have learned the art of arts, to dine! Nature, indulgent to our daily need, But the chief art, -how rarely Nature flings This choicest gift among her social kings! Say, man of truth, has life a brighter hour Between the rested fork and lifted glass;· His hour has come, he looks along the chairs, - - That's the young traveller,— is n't much to show, – Fast on the road, but at the table slow. - Next him, you see the author in his look, His forehead lined with wrinkles like a book, Wrote the great history of the ancient Huns, - Poets are prosy in their common talk, As the fast trotters, for the most part, walk. By right divine, no doubt, among the wits, The man that often speaks, but never talks. Why should he talk, whose presence lends a grace every He knows the manual of the silver fork, Is not this talking? Ask Quintilian's rules; If they say No, the town has many fools. Pause for a moment, - for our eyes behold The plain unsceptred king, the man of gold, The thrice illustrious threefold millionnaire; Mark his slow-creeping, dead, metallic stare; His eyes, dull glimmering, like the balance-pan That weighs its guinea as he weighs his man. - Who's next? An artist, in a satin tie Whose ample folds defeat the curious eye. -And there's the cousin,-must be asked, you know,— Looks like a spinster at a baby-show. Hope he is cool, they set him next the door, And likes his place, between the gap and bore. -Next comes a Congress-man, distinguished guest! We don't count him, -they asked him with the rest; And then some white cravats, with well-shaped ties, And heads above them which their owners prize. Of all that cluster round the genial board, Not one so radiant as the banquet's lord. Some say they fancy, but they know not why, Nothing, perhaps, the rooms are over-hot, Yet see his cheek,—the dull-red burning spot, |