Oh! know ye not the rocket's flight—
A whizz—an upward progress quick—
A spurt of fire 'gainst the night,
And, after all, a burn-out stick
Falls, fields away, and sinks to rest,
Unnoticed, on earth's kindly breast.
Of old, our kings evanished so.
They ruled and passed, and no one missed—
Dispersed to baser spheres and low
'Mid groves of the Evangelist
Or Kensington or Brompton—these
Received our Ex-authorities.
Nous avons changé tout cela
(Which means the old regime is changed)
No longer falls the full-poised star
From that high orbit it has ranged.
But—teste here His Honour's case—
Returns upon its godly race.
This year, he rules our province—next
He will assist in framing laws—
Grow eloquent on code and text,
And scuffle over point and clause.
By '92, unless I err,
He will be made Commissioner.
Divisions will his care confess
For five full years. Thereafter he
In '97, more or less,
Will find preferment as D.C,
When he will canter o'er the fields
And check the cess his district yields.
By nineteen twelve or twenty-four,
When mind and body feel the brunt
Of ninety-seven years or more,—
He will become a junior 'stunt';
And three-year men, with beardless faces,
Will help him through his maiden cases.
By nineteen-thirty—hopeful thought!
With eighty years of work to show,
We shall behold His Honour brought
To humble E.A.C. you know.
And after that—if life remain—
His Honour will ascend again
Why, Reader, dost thou hesitate
To take my flawless theory?
Go, prove it on a school-room slate—
Look up, oh Doubter, to the sky!
The comet's fiery passage run,
It spins for ever round the Sun.