an;
Despatched his gift, nor waited long
The meed of his ingenuous song.

Ere two days pass'd, a hackney chair
Brought a pert spark with languid air,
A lace cravat about his throat,--
Brocaded gown,--en _papillotes_.
("My Lord himself," quoth DICK, "at least!"
But no, 'twas that "inferior priest,"
His Lordship's man.) He held a card:
My Lord (it said) would see the Bard.

The day arrived; DICK went, was shown
Into an anteroom, alone--
A great gilt room with mirrored door,
Festoons of flowers and marble floor,
Whose lavish splendours made him look
More shabby than a sheepskin book.
(His own book--by the way--he spied
On a far table, toss'd aside.)

DICK waited, as they only wait
Who haunt the chambers of the Great.
He heard the chairmen come and go;
He heard the Porter yawn below;
Beyond him, in the Grand Saloon,
He heard the silver stroke of noon,
And thought how at this very time
The old church clock at home would chime.
Dear heart, how plain he saw it all!
The lich-gate and the crumbling wall,
The stream, the pathway to the wood,
The bridge where they so oft had stood.
Then, in a trice, both church and clock
Vanish'd before ... a shuttlecock.

A shuttlecock! And following slow
The zigzag of its to-and-fro,
And so intent upon its flight
She neither look'd to left nor right,
Came a tall girl with floating hair,
Light as a wood-nymph, and as fair.

_O Dea certe!_--thought poor Dick,
And thereupon his memories quick
Ran back to her who flung the ball
In HOMER'S page, and next to all
The dancing maids that bards have sung;
Lastly to One at home, as young,
As fresh, as light of foot, and glad,
Who, when he went, had seem'd so sad.
_O Dea certe!_ (Still, he stirred
Nor hand nor foot, nor uttered word.)

Meanwhile the shuttlecock in air
Went darting gaily here and there;
Now crossed a mirror's face, and next
Shot up amidst the sprawl'd, perplex'd
Olympus overhead. At last,
Jerk'd sidelong by a random cast,
The striker miss'd it, and it fell
Full on the book DICK knew so well.

(If he had thought to speak or bow,
Judge if he moved a muscle now!)

The player paused, bent down to look,
Lifted a cover of the book;
Pished at the Prologue, passed it o'er,