Mr. Roger Dodsworth.

A poem by Thomas Moore

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

Sir--Having just heard of the wonderful resurrection of Mr. Roger Dodsworth from under an avalanche, where he had remained, bien frappe, it seems, for the last 166 years, I hasten to impart to you a few reflections on the subject.--Yours, etc.

Laudator Temporis Acti.


What a lucky turn-up!--just as Eldon's withdrawing,
To find thus a gentleman, frozen in the year
Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants thawing
To serve for our times quite as well as the Peer;--

To bring thus to light, not the Wisdom alone
Of our Ancestors, such as 'tis found on our shelves,
But in perfect condition, full-wigged and full-grown,
To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves!

Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth and send him safe home--
Let him learn nothing useful or new on the way;
With his wisdom kept snug from the light let him come,
And our Tories will hail him with "Hear!" and "Hurrah!"

What a God-send to them!--a good, obsolete man,
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a reader;--
Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth as fast as you can,
And the Lonsdales and Hertfords shall choose him for leader.

Yes, Sleeper of Ages, thou shalt be their chosen;
And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men,
To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen,
So altered thou hardly wilt know it again.

And Eldon will weep o'er each sad innovation
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he
Has been also laid up in a long congelation,
And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee.