He came with his harp from the mountains of Wales-- The spirit of poetry flowed in his blood; Declining the engine that runs on the rails, He tramped to the fortified City of Lud. For him had the universe paused in its course, For him had all progress been nipped in the bud; He came as a bard, haughty, hoary, and hoarse, To sing in the fortified City of Lud. He sought for a mountain to sit on its brow, And give off his lay after chewing the cud; And he found, after searching, the mount that is now “Snow Hill,” in the fortified City of Lud. He called on the Britons who gathered to jeer To list to a lay which would curdle their blood; But a bobby came up, and said, “None o’ that here!” Strange! in the fortified City of Lud. He saw no policeman--such things could not be-- But the words of invective came forth in a flood And so the policeman 092 C Ran him in, in the fortified City of Lud. With his harp he was placed in the dock the next day, When the magistrate brought down his fist with a thud, And told him ten shillings he’d have for to pay For obstructing the road in the City of Lud. The bard has gone back to his mountain in Wales With his national vanity dragged through the mud, And his faith rudely shaken in Taffy-told tales Of the ancient and fortified City of Lud. The Magistrate. (BY A LUNATIC LAUREATE.) Gaily the constable kissed the book, And said with a smile, as his oath he took, “It’s only the facts as I mean to state”-- “I believe you, my boy,” said the magistrate. Then the constable told the strangest tales, How the chap in the dock was the Prince of Wales, And he’d seen him begging at Albert Gate-- “I believe you, my boy,” said the magistrate. He had watched the Prince till he saw him try The pockets of ladies walking by, And pass the swag to a swell-mob mate-- “I believe you, my boy,” said the magistrate. Then the constable added he’d seen the Queen, Who said what a handful her boy had been, And she guessed that the gallows would be his fate-- “I believe you, my boy,” said the magistrate. Then the constable said when he ran Wales in, He swore and struggled and kicked his shin, And bit off his ear and a portion ate-- “I believe you, my boy,” said the magistrate. The Prince he called for his royal mamma, And into the box went Victoria; She proved an alibi full of weight-- “You’re not on your oath!” yelled the magistrate. “The case is proved,” to the Prince said he; “You deserve six months, but I’ll give you three.” “I’ll write to the _Times_,” cried the Prince irate-- “Take him away!” shrieked the magistrate.