_January 6, 1821._ [First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 442.] FOOTNOTES: [119] [The allusion is explained in Rivington's _Annual Register_, October 30, 1820 (vol. lxii. pp. 114, 115)-- "ADDRESSES TO THE QUEEN. " ... The most splendid exhibition of the day was that of the brass-founders and braziers. The procession was headed by a man dressed in a suit of burnished plate armour of brass, and mounted on a handsome black horse, the reins being held by pages ... wearing brass helmets.... A man in a complete suite of brass armour ... was followed by two persons, bearing on a cushion a most magnificent imitation of the imperial Crown of England. A small number of the deputation of brass-founders were admitted to the presence of her Majesty, and one of the persons in armour advanced to the throne, and bending on one knee, presented the address, which was enclosed in a brass case of excellent workmanship."--See _Letters_, 1901, v. 219, 220, _note_ 2. In a postscript to a letter to Murray, dated January 19, 1821, he writes, "I sent you a line or two on the Braziers' Company last week, _not_ for publication. The lines were even worthy 'Of ----dsworth the great metaquizzical poet, A man of great merit amongst those who know it, Of whose works, as I told Moore last autumn at _Mestri_ I owe all I know to my passion for _Pastry_.'" He adds, in a footnote, "_Mestri_ and _Fusina_ are the ferry trajects to Venice: I believe, however, that it was at Fusina that Moore and I embarked in 1819, when Thomas came to Venice, like Coleridge's Spring, 'slowly up this way.'" Again, in a letter to Moore, dated January 22, 1821, he encloses slightly different versions of both epigrams, and it is worth noting that the first line of the pendant epigram has been bowdlerized, and runs thus-- "Of Wordsworth the grand metaquizzical poet." --_Letters_, 1901, v. 226, 230.] ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY. JANUARY 22, 1821.[120] THROUGH Life's dull road, so dim and dirty, I have dragged to three-and-thirty. What have these years left to me? Nothing--except thirty-three. [First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 414.] FOOTNOTES: [120] ["To-morrow is my birthday--that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight; _i.e._ in twelve minutes I shall have completed thirty and three years of age!!! and I go to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose. * * * It is three minutes past twelve--''Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,' and I am now thirty-three!-- 'Eheu, fugaces, Posthume, Posthume, Labuntur anni;'-- but I don't regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have done."--Extracts from a Diary, January 21, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 182.