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Updated: June 1, 2025
"We constantly find ourselves recalling the Poet Laureate's modernized Ulysses, the great wanderer, insatiate of new experiences, as we read the story of the octogenarian traveller and his many friends in many lands: 'I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart, Much have I seen and known.
My grandmother had a very fine farm 'Way down in the fields of Older. With a quack-quack here, And a quack-quack there, Here and there a quack-quack, Quack-quack here and there, Down in the fields at Older. This is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., as long as the laureate's imagination and the infant's breath hold good.
And what a blaze of blue pervaded the room! ... delicate ethereal blue as of shimmering lakes and summer skies melted together into one luminous radiance, ... radiance that, while filmy, was yet perfectly transparent, and in which the Laureate's classic form appeared to be gloriously enveloped like that of some new descended god!
"Ah, Sah-luma is thine host?" he said with a touch of melancholy surprise in his tone "Then wherefore art thou here? ... here in this dark abode where none may linger and escape with life? ... how earnest thou within the bounds of Lysid's fatal pleasaunce! ... Has the Laureate's friendship thus misguided thee?" Theos hesitated before replying.
Most assuredly in modern sea-warfare it may be said, in the Laureate's words used by him, of course, with a very different sense that "the individual dwindles," so that the prediction, which some of our readers may remember was once made by a First Lord of the Admiralty, seems not unlikely one day to become sober fact that the time will come when we shall no longer require sailors, because all that our warships will need will be stokers and artillerymen.
In 1340 he received offers of a laureate's crown from Rome, the capital of the world, and from Paris, 'the birth-place of learning. 'I start to-day, he wrote to Colonna, 'to receive my reward over the graves of those who were the pride of ancient Rome, and in the very theatre of their exploits. The Capitol resounded to such cheers that its walls and 'antique dome' seemed to share in the public joy: the senator placed a chaplet on his brow, and old Stephen Colonna added a few words of praise amid the applause of the Roman people.
Her young, plaintive voice quavered into a half sob, and again she endeavored to break away from the Laureate's hold. But he, overcome by the excess of his own grief and agitation, seized her other hand, and drew her close up to him. "Niphrata, Niphrata!" he cried despairingly. "What evil hath befallen thee?
Fortunately, beneath the crust of insolence and vanity, there was a substratum of genuine power in the Laureate's make, which rendered him not only a match for these, but for even a greater than these, the author of the "Dunciad." Pope's antipathy for the truculent actor dated some distance back. Back to the 'Devil, the last echoes roll, And 'Coll! each butcher roars at Hockley-hole.
Theos smiled at the proud boast, but made no reply, as by this time they had reached the Laureate's palace, and were ascending the steps that led into the entrance-hall. A young page advanced to meet them, and, dropping on one knee before his master, held out a small scroll tied across and across with what appeared to be a thick strand of amber-colored floss silk.
The two great dictators of literature, Ben Jonson in the earlier and Dryden in the later part of the century, only kept their heads above water by help of the laureate's pittance, though reckless imprudence, encouraged by the precarious life, was the cause of much of their sufferings.
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