  BY A. BIRD. Oh when I was a little boy, how well I can remember, The jolly day we had upon the fifth of each November! But now the march of intellect has changed the matter quite, And Boyhood's day of merriment is turned to sober night: His hoops are made of iron, like our ships upon the seas; From infancy to manhood now—from elephants to fleas All life is hurry-scurry—toil—trouble, and contentions: Oh, what an age we live in! with its wonderful inventions! But yesterday—and granite paved our good old London town, Now patent wood is all the go—and nothing else goes down, Excepting horses by the score, yet that's a trifle too— We only wait perfection in a "horse's patent shoe." We talk by electricity—we've got an infant "Steam" Who smokes, and with an iron rod he drives a pretty team, And a pretty pace he goes! the boy! and a pretty power is his! Beware, my gentle reader, or he'll flatten out your phiz. Oh, what an age is this! how very wonderful and new! Our bridges once were always square, now half are built askew. Our horses once were taught to draw a something at their tails, A coach, or cart, or gig—but now, another mode prevails; The horse is trained to stand within a carriage of his own, And while he eats a bit of hay some forty miles are done. There are wonders upon wonders whichever way one peeps; They say our poor are starving, yet, Lascars are turned to sweeps. Our cattle-shows are wonders too—the fat out-weighs the meat, Which is, no doubt, for tallow good—detestable to eat!— Oh, what an age is this—for beasts!—how wonderful and new With wire just fit for binding corks, we've built a bridge at Kew They'll cost the nation but a song, yet be much better than the best, (To say thus much—this wonder tell—I know those lines exceed, But when the Piper's paid by Bull, for extra feet I plead;) To (For want of something better, q?) "they are the best of fare." Young steam has swamped the wherries, which is "wery" sad for those Who tell unto "the Funny Club" their miserable woes "How steamers run the river down—and boats by hundreds too"— "In this inwentive, vicked hage"—so wonderful and new! Exchequer bills were sometime held much safer than the Bank, Now holders find they've only held a monstrous ugly blank. The very piles Now go the pace, the railroad pace! by some mechanic power. Within a little—ay—alas! and ere its pipes are old, Bright Bude will come and Gas will pass, "e'en as a tale that's told." Then we shall see!—I wonder what! 'tis dazzling quite to think, "I'm downright dizzy with the thought"—I'm standing on a brink, It turns my brain! this age so economical and new, When tories, like our steamers, try—to go the pace, and—screw! "And said I that my eyes were dim" with glories dazzling bright! When I confess my rising thoughts, you'll say that well they might. This age, methought, this wondrous age must understand the thing, Since England's Queen—our blessed Queen—outshines each former King! May Heaven unite this wondrous age in one harmonic whole! I pray and hope—and think it will—I do upon my soul. E'en hand-bills match the mighty Times; tho' strip them from the walls, Miss Kemble and her Norma would soon paper up St. Paul's. God bless, say I, the Queen I love—her loving subjects too— And with this universal prayer I bid the age—adieu! |
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