POET.--Cease, idiot, cease thy loathsome cant! Day-labourer, slave of toil and want! I hate thy babble vain and hollow. Thou art a worm, no child of day: Thy god is Profit--thou wouldst weigh By pounds the Belvidere Apollo. Gain--gain alone to thee is sweet. The marble is a god! ... what of it Thou count'st a pie-dish far above it-- A dish wherein to cook thy meat! MOB.--But, if thou be'st the Elect of Heaven, The gift that God has largely given, Thou shouldst then for our good impart, To purify thy brother's heart. Yes, we are base, and vile, and hateful, Cruel, and shameless, and ungrateful-- Impotent and heartless tools, Slaves, and slanderers, and fools. Come then, if charity doth sway thee, Chase from our hearts the viper-brood; However stern, we will obey thee; Yes, we will listen, and be good! POET.--Begone, begone! What common feeling Can e'er exist 'twixt ye and me? Go on, your souls in vices steeling; The lyre's sweet voice is dumb to ye: Go! foul as reek of charnel-slime, In every age, in every clime, Ye aye have felt, and yet ye feel, Scourge, dungeon, halter, axe, and wheel. Go, hearts of sin and heads of trifling, From your vile streets, so foul and stifling, They sweep the dirt--no useless trade! But when, their robes with ordure staining, Altar and sacrifice disdaining, Did e'er your _priests_ ply broom and spade? 'Twas not for life's base agitation That _we_ were born--for gain nor care-- No--we were born for inspiration, For love, for music, and for prayer! * * * * * The ballad entitled "The Black Shawl" has obtained a degree of popularity among the author's countrymen, for which the slightness of the composition renders it in some measure difficult to account. It may, perhaps, be explained by the circumstance, that the verses are in the original exceedingly well adapted to be sung--one of the highest merits of this class of poetry--for all ancient ballads, in every language throughout the world, were specifically intended to be sung or chanted; and all modern productions, therefore, written in imitation of these ancient compositions--the first lispings of the Muse--can only be successful in proportion as they possess the essential and characteristic quality of being capable of being sung. Independently of the highly musical arrangement of the rhythm, which, in the original, distinguishes "The Black Shawl," the following verses cannot be denied the merit of relating, in a few rapid and energetic measures, a simple and striking story of Oriental love, vengeance, and remorse:-- THE BLACK SHAWL.