APOLLO'S VISIT.

So, putting on a gentleman's disguise,

He straightway took his congé of the skies.

And now in the metropolis we view him

Preserving an incognito; a task

Not difficult, for, e'en without a mask,

'Twas clear that nobody in London knew him.

Immediately, upon his errand bent,

In active search for all the nine he went;

And first he looked for Clio, history's muse, Whose province 'twas great actions to record; But she had pined away, because, oh Lord!

In England for her pen she found no use.

Euterpe, muse of music, then he sought,
And looked for the Lyceum, where he thought,
Being an English opera, he should find her;
But she had left her quarters in the Strand,
Burnt out, was Phoebus led to understand,
Leaving no vestige of herself behind her.

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APOLLO'S VISIT.

Thalia then he went about to seek,

And heard she might be met with, once a week Or so, at Drury Lane or Covent Garden; But, 'neath her mask he found a grinning face, Distorted by the vulgarest grimace;

So he pass'd on and begg'd the lady's pardon.

Next for Melpomene he turned to look

In Covent Garden, once her favourite nook;

But there he found she scarcely ever came, Having resigned her dagger and her bowl Unto a noisy, ranting, raving soul,

With Madame Melodrama for her name.

In quest then of Terpsichore he went,
And at the Opera an evening spent,

In hopes the graceful maiden there to see ;— Sad disappointment! in her place he found

A painted, half-dressed lady twirling round,

With petticoats a foot above her knee.