A CRITIC[Apparently the ClevelandLeaderis not a good judge ofpoetry.—The Morning Call.]That fromyou, neighbor! to whose vacant lotEach rhyming literary knacker scourgesHis cart-compelling Pegasus to trot,As folly, fame or famine smartly urges?Admonished by the stimulating goad,How gaily, lo! the spavined crow-bait prances—Its cart before it—eager to unloadThe dead-dog sentiments and swill-tub fancies.Gravely the sweating scavenger pulls outThe tail-board of his curst imagination,Shoots all his rascal rubbish, and, no doubt,Thanks Fortune for so good a dumping-station.To improve your property, the vile cascadeYour thrift invites—to make a higher level.In vain: with tons of garbage overlaid,Your baseless bog sinks slowly to the devil."Rubbish may be shot here"—familiar sign!I seem to see it in your every column.You have your wishes, but if I had mine'Twould to your editor mean something solemn.
[Apparently the ClevelandLeaderis not a good judge ofpoetry.—The Morning Call.]
That fromyou, neighbor! to whose vacant lotEach rhyming literary knacker scourgesHis cart-compelling Pegasus to trot,As folly, fame or famine smartly urges?Admonished by the stimulating goad,How gaily, lo! the spavined crow-bait prances—Its cart before it—eager to unloadThe dead-dog sentiments and swill-tub fancies.Gravely the sweating scavenger pulls outThe tail-board of his curst imagination,Shoots all his rascal rubbish, and, no doubt,Thanks Fortune for so good a dumping-station.To improve your property, the vile cascadeYour thrift invites—to make a higher level.In vain: with tons of garbage overlaid,Your baseless bog sinks slowly to the devil."Rubbish may be shot here"—familiar sign!I seem to see it in your every column.You have your wishes, but if I had mine'Twould to your editor mean something solemn.