To love a beast in any sort,
Is no great sign of grace;
But I have loved a flouting Ape’s
’Bove any lady’s face.

I have known the power of two fair eyes,
In smile, or else in glance,
And how (for I a lover was)
They make the spirits dance;

But I would give two hundred smiles,
Of them that fairest be,
For one look of my staring Ape,
That used to stare on me.

This beast, this Ape, it had a face—­
If face it might be styl’d—­
Sometimes it was a staring Ape,
Sometimes a beauteous child—­

A Negro flat—­a Pagod squat,
Cast in a Chinese mold—­
And then it was a Cherub’s face,
Made of the beaten gold!

But TIME, that’s meddling, meddling still
And always altering things—­
And, what’s already at the best,
To alteration brings—­

That turns the sweetest buds to flowers,
And chops and changes toys—­
That breaks up dreams, and parts old friends,
And still commutes our joys—­

Has changed away my Ape at last
And in its place convey’d,
Thinking therewith to cheat my sight,
A fresh and blooming maid!

And fair to sight is she—­and still
Each day doth sightlier grow,
Upon the ruins of the Ape,
My ancient play-fellow!

The tale of Sphinx, and Theban jests,
I true in me perceive;
I suffer riddles; death from dark
Enigmas I receive: 

Whilst a hid being I pursue,
That lurks in a new shape,
My darling in herself I miss—­
And, in my Ape, THE APE.

In tabulam eximii pictoris B. HAYDONI, in qua Solymaei, adveniente Domino, palmas in via, prosternentes mira arte depinguntur

(1820)

Quid vult iste equitans? et quid oclit ista virorum
Palmifera ingens turba, et vox tremebunda Hosanna,
Hosanna Christo semper semperque canamus.

Palma fuit Senior pictor celeberrimus olim;
Sed palmam cedat, modo si foret ille superstes,
Palma, Haydone, tibi:  tu palmas omnibus aufers.

Palma negata macrum, donataque reddit opimum. 
Si simul incipiat cum fama increscere corpus,
Tu cito pinguesces, fies et, amicule, obesus.

Affectat lauros pictores atque poetae
Sin laurum invideant (sed quis tibi?) laurigerentes,
Pro lauro palma viridante tempora cingas.

CARLAGNULUS.

Translation of the Latin Verses on Mr. Haydon’s Picture

What rider’s that? and who those myriads bringing
Him on his way with palms, Hosannas singing?
Hosanna to the Christ, HEAVEN—­EARTH—­should still be ringing.

In days of old, old Palma won renown: 
But Palma’s self must yield the painter’s crown,
Haydon, to thee.  Thy palm put every other down.

        If Flaccus’ sentence with the truth agree,
        That “palms awarded make men plump to be,”
        Friend Horace, Haydon soon in bulk shall match with thee.