"Vain as th' attempt on summer eve to count What dogs and beggars haunt the Pincian Mount. All Tuzzi's frauds, all Coco's falsehoods tell, And all the _Beckers_[1] all the rogues shall sell; How many sick some sapient quack at Rome Helps--not to England, but their _longer home_;[2] How many Couriers forge the scoundrel tale; How many Maids their mistress' fame assail; How many English girls, by foreign arts Seduced, have smiled on needy '_Knaves of Hearts!_' Or left our church, in spite of solemn 'caves,' To score off sins by rosaries and aves! Number the gnats that cloud the dewy lawn, Or flitting flies that light the sparkling corn; Or pirate hawks that haunt Rome's lawless sky, Or the fell fevers Pontine plains supply; The locust legions count; or say as soon What hoarse Cicadæ stun the sultry noon With ringing dissonance; what flow'rets fair In early spring inebriate the air: Or count the gems in every dazzling shower That Roman rockets detonating pour, Dropping their liquid light o'er Hadrian's glowing tower: Or tell what crowds on Easter-day repair To see their Pontiff-bird, in high-swung chair Upborne magnificent; when, rising slow, _Th' emerging figure stands, all white as snow_, Like some large albatross his arms outspreads, O'er all that mighty, silent, sea of heads! Thrice waves his wings, the voiceless blessing sends Far, far away to earth's remotest ends! The joyous news th' impatient cannon tells, Louder and louder, as the discord swells, Of clashing bands, and shouts, and drums, and loud-tongued bells!"
[1] Becker, a celebrated coiner from the antique, recently deceased in Prussia,--_N.B._--His widow carries on the business.
[2] _Quot Themison oegros autumno occiderit uno._ Alas! and there are many Themisons still in Rome; for whose address _vide_ the Guide-Books.