Then trumpet, and timbrel, and deafening shout, Like wind through a ruin rang lustily out, High o’er the rocks that jut over the deep, Where the souls of the damned to eternity weep; Echo threw forward her answer of fear, Dull as the dust that clanks over a bier, Or death-watch that beats in a sick man’s ear. From the gulph where they howl to the lead colored night, The shadowless spectres leaped up with delight, And “Buy Warren’s Blacking” they shouted aloud, As the night-wind sighs through a coffinless shroud. The evil one frowned while they bellowed amain, But “Buy Warren’s Blacking” he chorussed again; For tho’ worsted in fight, yet, by order of fate, The vanquished must temper the pulse of his hate, And yield to the victor (his will’s despite) Unbridled sway o’er the fiends of night. ’Tis done, and sore with his recent thwacking, Abaddon hath purchased O’Warren’s Blacking; Fate stood by while the bargain was made, Signed a receipt when the money was paid, Then summoned her sprites, an exemplary band, To kneel in respect to the Lord of the Strand. But hark, ’tis the voice of the crowing cock! And hark, ’tis the toll of Saint Dunstan’s clock! The morn rides high in the Eastern sky, And the little birds carol it merrily: Already have waned at the gladsome sight, Each scene of darkness, each goblin sprite; Abaddon to whit, and the whole of his crew, Pink, yellow, or rosy, green, purple, or blue, For cheered by the rays thro’ his lattice that peep, The bard hath awoke from the “Pains of Sleep.” This is probably the most amusing parody of _Christabel_ that has ever been written. It appeared originally in “_Warreniana_,” a small anonymous volume of imitations published by Longmans & Co., in 1824. It is now known that the author was Mr. W. F. Deacon, who died about 1845. Between 60 and 70 years ago Robert Warren’s Blacking was the best advertised article of the day, and even Lord Byron was accused of writing puffs for it. Hence this collection of squibs, in which all the leading poets of the day were represented as singing its praises. Some few redundant passages have been cut out, but nothing which is necessary to the plot of the poem has been omitted. _Warreniana_ may still be met with occasionally as a second-hand book, and is well worth the few shillings it will cost. ―――― A PARODY OF CHRISTABELLE. _The Baron Rich._ ’Tis a quarter to ten by the castle clock, And the ‘mastiff bitch’ has awakened the cock, And the cock has awakened the ‘Baron Rich,’ And he in return will thump the bitch; Say what can ail her, in her sleep, That thus she begins to ‘moan and leap,’ I know not, I know not the reason I swear, And e’en if I did, I’ll be hang’d if I care. * * * * *