Is it not written in the Himakoot book (That mighty Baly from Kehama took), "Who blows on pounce Must the Swerga renounce?" It is! it is! Yamen, thine hour is nigh; Like as an eagle claws an asp, Veeshnoo has caught him in his mighty grasp, And hurl'd him in spite of his shrieks and his squalls, Whizzing aloft like the Temple fountain, Three times as high as Meru mountain, Which is Ninety-nine times as high as St. Paul's. Descending, he twisted like Levy the Jew, Who a durable grave meant To dig in the pavement Of Monument Yard; To earth by the laws of attraction he flew, And he fell, and he fell, To the regions of hell; Nine centuries bounced he from cavern to rock, And his head, as he tumbled, went nickety-nock, Like a pebble in Carisbrooke well. Now Veeshnoo turn'd round to a capering varlet, Array'd in blue and white and scarlet, And cried, "Oh! brown of slipper as of hat! Lend me, harlequin, thy bat!" He seiz'd the wooden sword, and smote the earth, When lo! upstarting into birth, A fabric, gorgeous to behold, Outshone in elegance the old, And Veeshnoo saw, and cried, "Hail, playhouse mine!" Then, bending his head, to Surya he said, "Go, mount yon edifice, And show thy steady face In renovated pride, More bright, more glorious than before!" But ah! coy Surya still felt a twinge, Still smarted from his former singe, And to Veeshnoo replied, In a tone rather gruff, "No, thank you! one tumble's enough!" DRURY'S DIRGE. BY LAURA MATILDA. You praise our sires: but though they wrote with force, Their rhymes were vicious, and their diction coarse: We want their strength, agreed; but we atone For that and more, by sweetness all our own.--GIFFORD. I. Balmy Zephyrs lightly flitting, Shade me with your azure wing; On Parnassus' summit sitting, Aid me, Clio, while I sing. II. Softly slept the dome of Drury, O'er the empyreal crest, When Alecto's sister-fury, Softly slumb'ring sunk to rest. III. Lo! from Lemnos limping lamely, Lags the lowly Lord of Fire, Cytherea yielding tamely, To the Cyclops dark and dire. IV. Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness, Dulcet joys and sports of youth, Soon must yield to haughty sadness, Mercy holds the veil to Truth. V. See Erostratus the second, Fires again Diana's fane; By the Fates from Orcus beckon'd, Clouds envelop Drury Lane. VI.