The last excursion formed, I ween, To charm our gentle King and Queen, Was on the tide of Thames; A sight that few may e’er forget, That bards, enrapt, are singing yet: Then all the court, defying wet, Embarked at House of Somerset; But now the Royal party met At Palace of St. James! Sunny was that September morn; And groups grotesque were there; The beef-eaters――and those who scorn To taste such vulgar fare―― And those again who daily mourn, Condemned to dine on air. Highest and lowest of the land Were met, and saw no vacant stand; Ladies with white and waving hand, And troops, a fine mustachio’d band, With brandished weapons bare. And coachmen, comely, sleek, and big, Beneath a curly world of wig; And pages slim, a countless race, So dazzlingly disguised in lace, So like a line of dukes they stood, That had their thousand mothers old Beheld them in those suits of gold, They had not known their blood. Now, now the standard fondlier floats, The cannons speak with hoarser throats, And cheek of trumpeter denotes The coming of the king! Each lady now her kerchief throws, Each exquisite with ardour glows, Each treads upon his fellow’s toes, And deems he sees the monarch’s nose,―― Ah! no, ’tis no such thing. Yet hark! now, now in truth he comes, He comes as sure as drums are drums; The drums, the guns, the shouts, the cheers, You hear――or you have lost your ears. Let all look now, or look no more; What stands at yonder palace-door? Gaze, wonderers, gaze; a coach-and-eight Is passing through that palace-gate―― A coach of gold, with steeds of cream, It moves, the marvel of a dream. With coursers six, are some that bring The suite and kindred of the King; Bold Sussex, honest Duke; And him, the darling of renown, A nation’s idol, hope and crown, Great Cumberland――whom yet the town Salutes with sharp rebuke. And not one lazy lacquey there But glance of rapture drew, Like tinselled hero at the fair Of old Bartholomew. Some rode, some walk’d, some trumpets blew, Some were with wands and some without; And all along the line of view From pavement and from housetop too Rose one continual shout; That Charles the First at Charing-cross His head, amazed, might seem to toss. Rang all the Mall with needless noise, From topmost Sams to Moon and Boys! ――――:o:―――― THE SHOW IN LONDON. (THOMAS CAMPBELL.)