So we're treated (our feelings we needn't define) To a beastly slow book called the 'Fall and Decline' By a fellow called Gibbon, be d----d to him; then Comes the 'Esprit des lois et des moeurs,' from the pen Of a chap hight _Voltaire_--un pédant--qui je crois Ne se fichait pas mal et des moeurs et des lois. After which just to vary the pleasures, _Rousseau_ By Emile--no: Emile by _Rousseau_? Gad! I know That which ever it be it's infernally slow, And I'm glad Billy's neither Emile nor Rousseau-- Such my fate is to listen to, longing to slope-- Then come horrid long epics of Dryden and Pope, Which I mentally swear a big oath I'll confine To the tombs of the Capulets, every line-- Not but what the old beggars may do in their way, Gad! Uncommonly fine soporifics are they; But they seem after Tennyson, Shelley, and Poe Just a trifle _too_ Rosy for Billy Barlow-- Oh, dear Raggedy, oh! Ulalume and Ænone for William Barlow.
Erst, they're short. Then they breathe in their mystical tone An essence, a spirit, a draught which alone Can content Billy's lust, for the weird and unknown (Billy's out of his depth) they've an undefined sense Of the infinite 'mersed in their sorrow intense (Billy's sinking! A rope! Some one quick! Damn it! hence That mystical feeling so sweetly profound Which weaves round the senses a spell (Billy's drowned) (Here run for the drags of the Royal Humane!) A mystical feeling, half rapture, half pain, Such as moves in sweet melodies, such as entrances In Chopin's 'Etudes,' and in Schubert's 'Romances.'
Ah! Chopin's 'Impromptu'! Schubert's 'Serenade'! Have you ever heard these pretty decently played? If you haven't, old fellow, I'll merely observe That a treat most delicious you have in reserve. Lord! How Billy's soul grazes in diggins of clover, While Stefani rapidly fingers them over, Feelingly, fervidly fingers them over. Illusion that enervates! Feverish dream Of excitement magnetic, inspired, supreme, Or despairing dejection, alternate, extreme! Gad! These opium-benumbing performances seem, In their sad wild unresting irregular flow Just expressly concocted for William Barlow. Oh! dear Raggedy, oh! Why, they ravish the heart, sir, of Billy Barlow."