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Of every branch of wisdom and of knowledge-
But what has been discovered of late time,
By our philosophers of every station,
And tease the reader like a new taxation;
As truth's oft mystified by explanation;
Whence sprung those engines which our boats
propel, 'Gainst wind and weather, o'er the surgy wave; And railway coaches, which have sent to hell,
Or at the least to a precocious grave, Their mangled thousands, horrible to tell,
Without a moment mercy then to crave; And power-looms, saw-mills, all kinds of ma
chines: But then they've damned our country by those
Thus have discovery and invention reign'd,
And triumphed in the island of the freeWho would have thought the kettle had contained
Such complex wonders as we daily see ? Strange the perfection which has been attained,
And what great novelties may further be:
Say ere a few short years—who knows how soon ? That we may have a trip up to the moon;
And with the Lunites correspondence hold,
And learn the manners and the customs thereTheir modes of life, pursuits both new and old
And note them in a journal with much care; Their government and politics unfold, On which, if Peel would bring his wits to
bear, His statesman eye might see some better plan, To rule, than shuffling, gulling all he can.
But politics I never could endure,
So shall I leave them, seeing I've digressed; Then to our subject, for I'm almost sure
Our Lunar visit soon will be no jest, Great Henson's genius seems it to ensure,
And little doubt he knows about it best, Who is constructing, or at least is trying, To frame a vehicle on the plan of flying:
From having one day seen from off a rock
A golden eagle rise and then descend; Which struck his brain, and gave his wits a poke,
And caused his flaming genius to ascend: Around whose glare astonished thousands flock
To gaze and wonder, if not comprehend, This prodigy quite new, unprecedented, Which hints some almost thinks he's half demented.
But why insult his occult mystic brain,
Who knows the benefits they yet may yield ? Oh! the cold treatment worth and merit gain,
Enough to frighten Genius from the field ! Ye dull, what more this thing to fly and caper Than any vile balloon of silk or paper ?
When the immortal Newton lived and wrote,
That ornament and honour of mankind, From that dark age his theories how remote ! The truth of his deep reas’nings few could
find; What wondrous facts to light his genius brought Which ne'er before flashed o'er the human
mind: Who ever dreamt the falling of an apple Would caused him with such mighty laws to
As those which matter ev'rywhere control-
In all the compact masses that there be;
From contact and confusion ever free-
All this was wonderful, extremely clever,
And gained for Newton never-dying fame, Embalmed his memory to all for ever,
And with an iris crow'd his noble name:
He could identify this world the same;
Beyond all doubt, were Socrates to rise,
That sage philosopher of ancient days, And great Archimedes, and Plato wise,
And thence to Albion find their sev'ral ways; How would they gaze, all speechless with surprise,
Upon the wonders intellect displays,
But all is shaded that has yet been shown,
Eclipsed beyond what any could conceive, For passing wise have many lately grown,
And some for gospel all they say receive; Their talent dazzles, I must freely own, Though their pretensions fools may disbe
lieve The Mesmerites I mean, and now will show 'em In their true colours in this epic poem.
Well, to our tale, true as my pipe is cocket:
But there's no hurry: reader, me excuse,
And stay until the “ dottle” is but smoket.
You know that smoking stimulates the MuseByron says tea; no doubt his Lordship joked;
And Burns the British, alias mountain, dews: But were I umpire in this serious matter, Of all the three, with Burns, I'd choose the latter.
Now for it—that is, Mesmerism, I mean
Which was discovered, you must understand, At first in Germany, and hence has been
Imported and diffused throughout our land By many an able mouthpiece, as is seen From bills and placards, which our eyes
command In every town and village, small and great, By Galt and others now esteemed first-rate.
This science, as some call it, now must claim
Our serious, candid study and attention; No blushing feeling of half-smothered shame
Can here exist, to mar my good intention. O surely if it such great heads became
As those above, whom I am proud to mention, It well deserves such care, upon the whole, Though sceptics style it flimsy rigmarole.
They say its states or stages number seven,
With strange conditions which must be obeyed, So difficult that scarcely under heaven
One can be found who has the trial made;