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Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 66, No 405, July 1849
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2017
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Thunder-storms travel fast and far – but here they seem simultaneous; Thule is more vociferous than the whole of Wales together – yet perhaps the sound itself of the verses is the loudest of all – and we cease to hear the thunder in the din that describes it.
BULLER.
Severe – but just.
NORTH.
Ha! Thou comest in such a questionable shape —
ENTRANT.
That I will speak to thee. How do you do, my dear sir? God bless you, how do you do?
NORTH.
Art thou a spirit of health or goblin damned?
ENTRANT.
A spirit of health.
NORTH.
It is – it is the voice of Talboys. Don't move an inch. Stand still for ten seconds – on the very same site, that I may have one steady look at you, to make assurance doubly sure – and then let us meet each other half-way in a Cornish hug.
TALBOYS.
Are we going to wrestle already, Mr North?
NORTH.
Stand still ten seconds more. He is He – You are You – gentlemen – H. G. Talboys – Seward, my crutch – Buller, your arm —
TALBOYS.
Wonderful feat of agility! Feet up to the ceiling —
NORTH.
Don't say ceiling —
TALBOYS.
Why not? ceiling – cœlum. Feet up to heaven.
NORTH.
An involuntary feat – the fault of Swing – sole fault – but I always forget it when agitated —
BULLER.
Some time or other, sir, you will fly backwards and fracture your skull.
NORTH.
There, we have recovered our equilibrium – now we are in grips, don't fear a fall – I hope you are not displeased with your reception.
TALBOYS.
I wrote last night, sir, to say I was coming – but there being no speedier conveyance – I put the letter in my pocket, and there it is —
NORTH.
(On reading "Dies Boreales.– No. 1.")
A friend returned! spring bursting forth again!
The song of other years! which, when we roam,
Brings up all sweet and common things of home,
And sinks into the thirsty heart like rain!
Such the strong influence of the thrilling strain
By human love made sad and musical,
Yet full of high philosophy withal,
Poured from thy wizard harp o'er land and main!
A thousand hearts will waken at its call,
And breathe the prayer they breathed in earlier youth, —
May o'er thy brow no envious shadow fall!
Blaze in thine eye the eloquence of truth!
Thy righteous wrath the soul of guilt appal,
As lion's streaming hair or dragon's fiery tooth!
TALBOYS.
I blush to think I have given you the wrong paper.
NORTH.
It is the right one. But may I ask what you have on your head?
TALBOYS.
A hat. At least it was so an hour ago.
NORTH.
It never will be a hat again.
TALBOYS.
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