I like thy Landlord's Tales!--I like that Idol Of love and Lammermoor--the blue-eyed maid That led to church the mounted cavalcade, And then pull'd up with such a bloody bridal! Throwing equestrian Hymen on his haunches-- I like the family--not silver, branches That hold the tapers To light the serious legend of Montrose. I like M'Aulay's second-sighted vapours, As if he could not walk or talk alone. Without the devil--or the Great Unknown-- Dalgetty is the dearest of Ducrows! XI. I like St. Leonard's Lily--drench'd with dew! I like thy Vision of the Covenanters, That bloody-minded Graham shot and slew. I like the battle lost and won, The hurly-burly's bravely done, The warlike gallops and the warlike _cant_ers! I like that girded chieftain of the ranters, Ready to preach down heathens, or to grapple, With one eye on his sword, And one upon the Word-- How _he_ would cram the Caledonian Chapel! I like stern Claverhouse, though he doth dapple His raven steed with blood of many a corse-- I like dear Mrs. Headrigg, that unravels Her texts of Scripture on a trotting horse-- She is so like Rae Wilson when he travels! XII. I like thy Kenilworth--but I'm not going To take a Retrospective Re-Review Of all thy dainty novels--merely showing The old familiar faces of a few, The question to renew, How thou canst leave such deeds without a name, Forego the unclaim'd dividends of fame, Forego the smiles of literary houris-- Mid Lothian's trump, and Fife's shrill note of praise, And all the Carse of Gowrie's, When thou might'st have thy statue in Cromarty-- Or see thy image on Italian trays, Betwixt Queen Caroline and Buonaparté, Be painted by the Titian of R.A.'s, Or vie in signboards with the Royal Guelph! Perhaps have thy bust set cheek by jowl with Homer's, Perhaps send out plaster proxies of thyself To other Englands with Australian roamers-- Mayhap, in literary Owhyhee Displace the native wooden gods, or be The China-Lar of a Canadian shelf! XIII.