The Battle of the Bays

d decorously clad, Their very ankles hardly visible, Recalled his motions ; while, for chaperon, Good Mrs. Grundy up against the wall Beamed approbation. On his face I read Signs of high sadness such as poets wear, Being divinely discontented with The praise of jeunes filles. Even as I looked, He touched the portion of his pipe reserved For minor poetry of solemn tone, Checking the humorous stops intended for Electioneering posters and the like ; And therewithal he made the following Addition to his Songs Unsung, or else His Unremarked Remarks: " Dear Sir," he said, " Excuse my saying ' Sir ' like that; it is Our way in Hades here among the damned ; For you must know that some of us are damned Not only by faint praise but full applause Of simple critics. Take my case. In me Behold the good knight Marsyas, M.A., Three times a candidate for Parliament, And twice retired ; a Justice of the Peace ; Master of Arts (I said), and better known In literary spheres as Master of The Mediocre-Obvious ; and read By boarding-misses in their myriads. These dote upon me. Sweetly have I sung The commonplaces of philosophy In common parlance. You have read perhaps The Cymric Triads ? Poetry, they say, Excels alone by sheer simplicity Of language, subject, and invention. Sir ! The excellence of mine lay that way too. But fate is partial. Heaven's fulgour moulds ' To happiness some, some to unhappiness !' (Look you, the harp was Welsh that figured forth That ...