By Gleeson White
Excerpt from Book-Song: An Anthology of Poems of Books and Bookmen From sleek Authors
This ardour, performing on very assorted natures, is apt to excite very comparable utterance. for example, expressions of pleasure within the excitement of ownership, except the excitement of analysis, can be quoted from Horace, or the ancients, or the newest rhymer. Richard de Bury, Montaigne, and the good cloud of witnesses Mr. Alexander eire gathers to gether in his book-lover's Enchiridion, want yet to be named in passing as evidence of this very nearly common behavior of joying within the possession of the useless our bodies with residing souls, these immortals who stay alway to mildew the destinies of guys, notwithstanding creeds are forgotten and the gods themselves are dead.
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Additional resources for Book-song: An anthology of poems of books and bookmen from modern authors
Tulip, wind-flower, and columbine Blossomed. To his believing mind These things were real, and the wind. Blown through the mullioned window, took Scent from the lilies in the book. " cried Friar Jerome, "Whatever man illumined this. Though he were steeped heart-deep in sin, Was worthy of unending bliss. And no doubt hath it! Ah! dear Lord, Might I so beautify Thy Word! What sacristan, the convents through, Transcribes with such precision? who Does such initials as I do? Lo! I will gird me to this work, And save me, ere the one chance slips.
I lost the Third that own'd me when French Noailles fled at Dettingen; The year James Wolfe surpris'd Quebec, The Fourth in hunting broke his neck; The day that William Hogarth dy'd The Fifth one found me in Cheapside. This was a Scholar, one of those Whose Greek is sounder than their hose; He lov'd old books and nappy ale. So liv'd at Streatham, next to Thrale. 'Twas there this stain of grease I boast Was made by Dr. Johnson's toast. ) And now that I so long to-day Have rested post discrimina, Safe in the brass-wir'd bookcase where I watch'd the Vicar's whit'ning hair.
My Lever left me long ago, I know not when or how— I can't build "castles in the air," my Mason's missing now. And yet, in spite of these mishaps, I have some pleasures still. For can I not devour my Lamb and Bullock, too, at will? A tit-bit, too, from Hog(g) is rare—a slice of Wolf(e) not bad— And then, when I am thirsty—why, I've Porter too, bedad. My Spencer has been boned, 'tis true, but they have left my Hood, Nor have they filched my Mackintosh, so I can face a flood. At last I've found a Key to Lock(e), though, it is odd, no doubt, That, when I take his meaning in, I find his meaning out!