Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/28

On my effusions, when good wine,
To hear the critics read, assign
To other master hands than mine,
Amuses one;
"Oh, this is excellent," they say,
"Bears it not genius' touch, I pray,"
But they, in their good time and way
Are stamped "Anon."

Look closely and my gifts descry,—
In truth to tell them I feel shy,
As linguist, few with me will vie,
For I have made
Translations from, to, every tongue;
Musicians, too, I rank among;
Composer, too, of sacred song,
To worship aid.

As benefactor, too, you'll find,
In meliorating human kind,
I do not fall in far behind
The princely donor;
If my experience I'd express,
The pious who relieve distress
Find what flows in in happiness
Is more than honour.

Pray take not my remarks amiss,
Explain them alt, and then add this:
"An ever-living author is
Our Anon, friend."
Enough, I need not more rehearse,
Nor eulogise myself in verse,
All I have said you will endorse
From end to end.

If asked that you my rank assign
Amongst the mighty, pray decline;
Assured that safe is the last line
On Fame's proud scroll;
Then to "The Temple" walk will I,
"Anonymous" sign silently,
And with becoming modesty
Wind up the Roll!