That thou'rt a proser, even thy birthplace might Vouchsafe;--and Mr. Cadell _may_, God wot, Have paid thee many a pound for many a blot,-- Cadell's a wayward wight! Although no Walter, still thou art a Scot, And I can throw, I think, a little light Upon some works thou hast written for the town,-- And publish'd, like a Lilliput Unknown! "Highways and Byeways" is thy book, no doubt (One whole edition's out), And next, for it is fair That Fame, Seeing her children, should confess she had 'em;-- "Some _Passages_ from the life of Adam Blair"-- (Blair is a Scottish name), What are they, but thy own good roads, M'Adam? VII. O! indefatigable labourer In the paths of men! when thou shalt die, 'twill be A mark of thy surpassing industry, That of the monument, which men shall rear Over thy most inestimable bone, Thou didst thy very self lay the first stone! Of a right ancient line thou comest,--through Each crook and turn we trace the unbroken clue, Until we see thy sire before our eyes, Rolling his gravel walks in Paradise! But he, our great Mac Parent, err'd, and ne'er Have our walks since been fair! Yet Time, who, like the merchant, lives on 'Change, For ever varying, through his varying range, Time maketh all things even! In this strange world, turning beneath high heaven! He hath redeem'd the Adams, and contriv'd-- (How are Time's wonders hiv'd!) In pity to mankind, and to befriend 'em-- (Time is above all praise) That he, who first did make our evil ways, Reborn in Scotland, should be first to mend 'em! ODE TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. O breathe not his name!--MOORE. I. Thou Great Unknown! I do not mean Eternity nor Death, That vast incog! For I suppose thou hast a living breath, Howbeit we know not from whose lung 'tis blown, Thou man of fog! Parent of many children--child of none! Nobody's son! Nobody's daughter--but a parent still! Still but an ostrich parent of a batch Of orphan eggs,--left to the world to hatch. Superlative Nil! A vox and nothing more,--yet not Vauxhall; A head in papers, yet without a curl! Not the Invisible Girl! No hand--but a hand-writing on a wall-- A popular nonentity, Still call'd the same,--without identity! A lark, heard out of sight,-- A nothing shin'd upon,--invisibly bright, "Dark with excess of light!" Constable's literary John-a-nokes-- The real Scottish wizard--to no which, Nobody--in a niche; Every one's hoax! Maybe Sir Walter Scott-- Perhaps not! Why dost thou so conceal and puzzle curious folks? II.