Punch (53.1867)

December 21. 1867.]

PUNCH OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

2 49

CIRCUMSTANCES MAKE THE MAN.

“Leave off, you little Brutes, can’t you? Police!” “Now, Shy, you Cowards, if you dare!”

BRENN US-BONAPARTE.

“ Hark! The Gaul is at her gates.”

Do States, like stars, fixed orbits fill ?

And is the Muse of History’s song,

With all its variations, still

One weary round—a round of wrong ?

Must Jove’s fane, and St. Peter’s dome,

Witness the self-same fears and fates ?

See the same captives chained in Rome,

The same invader at her gates ?

Again look on, as Brennus flings
His scornful sword into the scale,

And while the uneven balance swings,

Bids steel’s dead weight o’er faith prevail ?

Upon Mentana’s bloody mead,

As erst by Alia’s * margin clear,

Must we again “ vce victis” t read,

By Chassepot writ, as once by spear ?

Or is all but the baser part
Of Rome’s great drama set aside ?

Shall we have Brennus-Bonaparte,

Camillus, Pablo's be denied ?

Hear the loud cackle of the flock
The Capitol that claim to save,

But see no Manlius strike the stroke
That to the chin the invader clave P

Where are those stately sires that sat
Serene, before the sacred stairs,

To guard the Capitol, in state
Of bordered robes, and curule chairs ?

While whiter than their ivory wands,

Or the bleached togas’ stainless flow,

O’er their broad breasts and folded bauds,_

Swept their great beards like swathes of snow.

* The stream near which the Gauls first defeated, the Romans,
t The bitter words put by Livy into the mouth of Brennus, when the Romans
complained of his flinging his sword into the scale.

While surge of red-haired Gauls, at gaze
On all around, fierce-eyed and free,

Broke on that band, and felt, amaze
To reverence grow, and bent the knee.

Till Gaulish scorn revived its laugh,

Aud the irrevereut hand was reared.

And old Papirius raised his staff,

And smote the Gaul that stroked his beard.

Here is the Gaul agaiu : as bold
Of brow, as insolent of mien ;

Lacking in reverence, as of old,

On Alia’s bank or Clusium’s green :

On Rome’s white age aud warning frown,

Again he lifts profaning hands,

But no Paplrius strikes him down,

Welcomed, not buffeted, he stands.

Still, still the same, that Gaulish clan :

But these, cau these Rome’s worthies be ?

This triple-crowued white-haired old man,

With woman’s face, and weakly kneeP
These cardinals, a blood-red show,

The Priests of peace, in dyes of war,

That kiss, not strike the invader low.

And to the Gaul their gates unbar ?

Ah me, it, is not as I thought—

That History all her tale repeats ;

She but re-writes the chapters fraught

With frauds aud crimes, with wrongs and cheats ;
Renews Rome in her baser fate.

Her dull decline, her feeble fall:

Brings back the Brennus to her gate,

But uot the Manlius to her wail.

TO BARENTS AND GUARDIANS.—If you would educate your

children, as well as make their hair grow, purchase Punch's Almanack, and place
it on their pillows when they retire to rest.—NIB. If one Almanack won't prove tha
fact, you had better buy another.

Tj’LIRTS ! FLIRTS ! FLIRTS! Where do you expect to go? Buy

Pu nch’s Almanack, and see.