My Muse's words Is like the bird's That roosts beneath the panes there; Her wing she spoils 'Gainst them bright toiles, And cracks her silly brains there.
This Palace tall, This Cristial Hall, Which Imperors might covet, Stands in High Park Like Noah's Ark, A rainbow bint above it.
The towers and fanes, In other scaynes, The fame of this will undo, Saint Paul's big doom, Saint Payther's Room, And Dublin's proud Rotundo.
'Tis here that roams, As well becomes Her dignitee and stations, Victoria Great, And houlds in state The Congress of the Nations.
Her subjects pours From distant shores, Her Injians and Canajians; And also we, Her kingdoms three, Attind with our allagiance.
Here come likewise Her bould allies, Both Asian and Europian; From East and West They send their best To fill her Coornucopean.
I seen (thank Grace!) This wonthrous place (His Noble Honor Misther H. Cole it was That gave the pass, And let me see what is there).
With conscious proide I stud insoide And look'd the World's Great Fair in, Until me sight Was dazzled quite, And couldn't see for staring.
There's holy saints And window paints, By Maydiayval Pugin; Alhamborough Jones Did paint the tones Of yellow and gambouge in.
There's fountains there And crosses fair; There's water-gods with urrns: There's organs three, To play, d'ye see? "God save the Queen," by turrns.
There's Statues bright Of marble white, Of silver, and of copper; And some in zinc, And some, I think, That isn't over proper.
There's staym Ingynes, That stands in lines, Enormous and amazing, That squeal and snort Like whales in sport, Or elephants a-grazing.
There's carts and gigs, And pins for pigs, There's dibblers and there's harrows. And ploughs like toys For little boys, And ilegant wheelbarrows.
For thim genteels Who ride on wheels, There's plenty to indulge 'em: There's Droskys snug From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium.
There's Cabs on Stands And Shandthry danns; There's Waggons from New York here; There's Lapland Sleighs Have cross'd the seas, And Jaunting Cyars from Cork here.
Amazed I pass From glass to glass, Deloighted I survey 'em; Fresh wondthers grows Before me nose In this sublime Musayum!
Look, here's a fan From far Japan, A sabre from Damasco: There's shawls ye get From far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgow.