SONNET.

SHADES of Great Caesar! Is it come to this, -

On Tiber's yellow wave that steamers ply,

Cutting up memories of days gone by

With plashing paddle wheels, and fizz and hiss;

Smirching with smoke the lapis lazuli,

Ultramarine of fair Italia's sky?

Dost thou not, Pompey, take it much amiss,

That cries of "Ease her!" "Stop her!" "She's afloat!"

And pop of ginger and of bottled beer

Should wake the echoes of old Tiber's shores?

Patres conscripti, when ye took the boat

That bore ye to Philippi, oh, how queer,

Impelled by steam instead of good old oars,

Would ye have looked, ye reverend Governors!