With ganial foire Thransfuse me loyre, Ye sacred nympths of Pindus, The whoile I sing
That wondthrous thing, The Palace made o’ windows! Say, Paxton, truth, Thou wondthrous youth,
What sthroke of art celistial, What power was lint You to invint This combineetion cristial.
O would before That Thomas Moore, Likewoise the late Lord Boyron, Thim aigles sthrong
Of godlike song, Cast oi on that cast oiron! And saw thim walls, And glittering halls,
Thim rising slendther columns, Which I poor pote, Could not denote, No, not in twinty vollums.
My Muse's words Is like the bird's That roosts beneath the panes there; Her wing she spoils
‘ Gainst them bright toiles, And cracks her silly brains there. This Palace tall, This Cristial Hall,
Which Imperors might covet, Stands in High Park Like Noah's Ark, A rainbow bint above it.
The towers and fanes, In other scaynes, The fame of this will undo, Saint Paul's big doom,
Saint Payther's Room, And Dublin's proud Rotundo. ‘ Tis here that roams, As well becomes
Her dignitee and stations, Victoria Great, And houlds in state The Congress of the Nations.
Her subjects pours From distant shores, Her Injians and Canajians; And also we,
Her kingdoms three, Attind with our allagiance. Here come likewise Her bould allies,
Both Asian and Europian; From East and West They send their best To fill her Coornucopean.
I seen ( thank Grace! ) This wonthrous place ( His Noble Honor Misther H. Cole it was
That gave the pass, And let me see what is there ). With conscious proide I stud insoide
And look'd the World's Great Fair in, Until me sight Was dazzled quite, And could n't see for staring.
There's holy saints And window paints, By Maydiayval Pugin; Alhamborough Jones
Did paint the tones Of yellow and gambouge in. There's fountains there And crosses fair;
There's water-gods with urrns: There's organs three, To play, d'ye see? “God save the Queen,” by turrns.
There's Statues bright Of marble white, Of silver, and of copper; And some in zinc,
And some, I think, That is n't over proper. There's staym Ingynes, That stands in lines,
Enormous and amazing, That squeal and snort Like whales in sport, Or elephants a-grazing.
There's carts and gigs, And pins for pigs, There's dibblers and there's harrows. And ploughs like toys
For little boys, And ilegant wheelbarrows. For thim genteels Who ride on wheels,
There's plenty to indulge‘ em: There's Droskys snug From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium.
There's Cabs on Stands And Shandthry danns; There's Waggons from New York here; There's Lapland Sleighs
Have cross'd the seas, And Jaunting Cyars from Cork here. Amazed I pass From glass to glass,
Deloighted I survey‘ em; Fresh wondthers grows Before me nose In this sublime Musayum!
Look, here's a fan From far Japan, A sabre from Damasco: There's shawls ye get
From far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgow. There's German flutes, Marocky boots,
And Naples Macaronies; Bohaymia Has sent Bohay; Polonia her polonies.
There's granite flints That's quite imminse, There's sacks of coals and fuels, There's swords and guns,
And soap in tuns, And Gingerbread and Jewels. There's taypots there, And cannons rare;
There's coffins fill'd with roses; There's canvas tints, Teeth insthrumints, And shuits of clothes by MOSES.
There's lashins more Of things in store, But thim I do n't remimber; Nor could disclose
Did I compose From May time to Novimber! Ah, JUDY thru! With eyes so blue,
That you were here to view it! And could I screw But tu pound tu, ‘ Tis I would thrait you to it!
So let us raise Victoria's praise, And Albert's proud condition, That takes his ayse
As he surveys This Cristial Exhibition.
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