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The Triumph Of The Whale Post by :Tecmarc Category :Poems Author :Charles Lamb Date :August 2011 Read :3438

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The Triumph Of The Whale


Io! Paean! Io! sing
To the funny people's King.
Not a mightier whale than this
In the vast Atlantic is;
Not a fatter fish than he
Flounders round the polar sea.
See his blubbers--at his gills
What a world of drink he swills,
From his trunk, as from a spout,
Which next moment he pours out.
Such his person--next declare,
Muse, who his companions are.--
Every fish of generous kind
Scuds aside, or slinks behind;
But about his presence keep
All the Monsters of the Deep;
Mermaids, with their tails and singing
His delighted fancy stinging;
Crooked Dolphins, they surround him,
Dog-like Seals, they fawn around him.
Following hard, the progress mark
Of the intolerant salt sea shark.
For his solace and relief,
Flat fish are his courtiers chief.
Last and lowest in his train,
Ink-fish (libellers of the main)
Their black liquor shed in spite:
(Such on earth the things _that write_.)
In his stomach, some do say,
No good thing can ever stay.
Had it been the fortune of it
To have swallowed that old Prophet,
Three days there he'd not have dwell'd,
But in one have been expell'd.
Hapless mariners are they,
Who beguil'd (as seamen say),
Deeming him some rock or island,
Footing sure, safe spot, and dry land,
Anchor in his scaly rind;
Soon the difference they find;
Sudden plumb, he sinks beneath them;
Does to ruthless seas bequeath them.

Name or title what has he?
Is he Regent of the Sea?
From this difficulty free us,
Buffon, Banks or sage Linnaeus.
With his wondrous attributes
Say what appellation suits.
By his bulk, and by his size,
By his oily qualities,
This (or else my eyesight fails),
This should be the PRINCE OF WHALES.

(The end)
Charles Lamb's poem: Triumph Of The Whale

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The evil of sin visible in the fall of angels and men.When the great Builder arch'd the skies,And form'd all nature with a word,The joyful cherubs tun'd his praise,And every bending throne ador'd.High in the midst of all the throng,Satan, a tall archangel, sat,Amongst the morning stars he sung (1)Till sin destroy'd his heavenly state.('Twas sin that hurl'd him from his throne,Grov'ling in fire the rebel lies:"How art thou sunk in darkness down,"Son of the morning, from the skies!" (2)And thus our two first parents stoodTill sin defil'd the happy placeThey lost their garden and their God,And ruin'd all their unborn