THE BELGRAVIAN’S LAMENT.

New Zealand Spectator and Cook's Strait Guardian, Volume VII, Issue 572, 25 January 1851, Page 3

THE BELGRAVIAN’S LAMENT.

(Being a MS. which dropped out of Colxr S—bth—p s hat during the Debate of Thunda* NightJ ' Thebe is a sound of sorrow through Wilton’s Crescent fair; The Dowagers of Lowndes Street are rearing off their hair; The muffins stand in Eaton Square uneaten on the plate; The footmen group in gloomy knots round many an area gate. And rents and hearts are going down in paltrv Albert Row, -- g-iasty .me of blank “ To Leis" the nrst-noor windows show; The white cross on the old Park elms the sorrv ledger sees, And straight prepares Lis trunk to go. like the unhappy trees. The word is spoke— us past a joke—Hvde Park the spot shall be, Where to the skies shall soon arise the House of Industry— Pile high the bricks, the mortar mix, knock up the scaffold-poles, .tread out the green, cut up the turf, with ruts, and hills, and holes. The Prince commands—in ready hands the trenchant axe is nigh t Soon maimed and marred, upon the sward, the headless trunks will He. A ain Campbell’s law, Brougham's power of jaw, and and Sibthorp’s jolly row— A Prince to please, not onlv trees, but Woods and Forests bow. When sudden, hark, into the Park wide Albert Gates are flung. And lo! a band that suppliant stand, the noble, fair and young; Right well we know of Rotten Row the glow and the pride. The Maidens in their habits, the noble Swells beside. Then up and spake a lady—that round her neck did wear A halter for a habit-shin—a la Eustace St. Pierre ; * Our necks are thine, all in a line to string un, if you please; 1 ' And none shall cut us down, if vou will not cut down the trees. “• Spare but these trunks, we give our heads; and ladies, as they ride, In days to come will talk of us for Rotten Row that died ; ’Tis no plebeian precinct thus rudely you invade ; The sacred ride for noble swells and high-born ladies made. “ There's Regent’s Park is Parvenue ; there's Battersea is low; What hann to cut up snobbish turf, and ’sparagus also ? Or is there not the Isle of Dogs by Thames’ salubrious side ? Oh, thither you might cut your stick, and cut no stick beside. “ But to come down on Rotten Row, to mar ‘ The Ladies’ Mile !’ To spifflicate the railings, where lean the gents and smile' Oh, pale. I trow sweet cheeks will grow, that wan from ball-rooms hot, Repair the galope’s ravages with a gallop, <?i a

<< Think, cruel Prince, how much there is that with these trees must fall, The scandal of the drawing-room, the chitchat of the hall— Rogers’ last mot unspread will go; Macaulay's last good thing Like a bad shilling ne’er will pass, because it has no Ring I “ Then take our lives, and spare our ride, the only place we know, Where ladies, pent in London, for exercise can go. ’Tis not with us as with our Lords ; for they, the Park beside, Have got the House of Commons, where their hobbies they may ride." The Prince looked grim—it was his whim —Humbugged he would not be ; When lo—a stately Lady is kneeling at his knee. “ I too would ride,” she sweetly cried, so Albert, if you please, Don’t—there’s a darling—for my sake—please don’t cut down the trees." He fain had spurned —and restless turned—but * * » » ♦ * s (Fere the M. S. becomes illegible.)—Punch.