Enigma The Second Poem by Robert Anderson

In yon fair town, where Lagan's lazy stream
Steals softly past, and men of commerce dream;
Where wealth, where fashion, hold the gay levee,
Or dry the tear of each wan wretch they see;
Where merit ever finds a sure reward,
And each has the good wishes of our bard;
Where Drummond, learn'd, with all a poet's art,
In verse majestic, sways at will the heart;
Where Balfour strikes her lyre, the silver sound,
Terne hears, and spreads her fame around;
Where Bunting, eager for his country's praise,
Snatches from time the songs of other days,
The harp new strings, that long aside was thrown--
Throughout the Em'rald Isle, long be it known;
Where sons of genius, bow'd by want or care,
Too little known, sing ``to the desert air;''
There am I found.--Yes, I'm at each one's call,
And some to me attribute their downfall;
Strange falsehoods, these; for I would none offend,
But to the multitude would be a friend.
I'm known to kings, and am to kings unknown;
Tho' round them daily is my influence shewn.
I'm oft--times found in France's gay domain,
With sans culottes; and eke with haughty Spain;
With slovenly Mynheer, I too am seen;
And am the fav'rite of each Mandarine.
In Scotland more than Ireland am I priz'd;
In many parts of England much despis'd.
Behold yon captive in his dark dank cell,
With such as he I'm ne'er asham'd to dwell.
The insolvent debtor, from all friends exil'd,
With hazard look, where health once blooming smil'd,
The thoughts of happy years, long since flown by,
Break night's repose, and force the daily sigh;
Yet, 'mid the solemn stilness of the night,
Aided by me, ev'n he tastes pure delight;
With my assistance, he his foes may dare,
Hope's rays on him I dart--now cause despair.
I'm from afar, and little known afar--
I'm priz'd by seamen, scorn'd by many a tar:
The dauntless sailor on the giddy mast,
Draws comfort from me, 'mid the roughest blast;
He toils submissive, scorning to complain,
Laughs, jokes, and sings, then thinks of me again.
The shiv'ring centinel, I too can cheer;
Or down his manly cheek force many a tear.
The peasant, happy in his straw--roof'd cot,
Beholds me--in a trice beholds me not;
And oft a--field with him, caress'd I'm seen,
But ere next morn he knows not what I mean.
I'm seen with Bess the beggar, in the street;
Princes, alas! don't know me, when we meet.
Many they are, who know me but by name;
Many they are, I daily put to shame:
Some great men know me not, some weak ones do;
Some mortals I enrich, some ruin too.
The lawyer, doctor, parson, I befriend,
And at the grave, some heroes I attend.
Now for my colour--still am I at ease,
I'm white, red, black, blue, green, whate'er you please;
And as for form, I'm lusty now, now spare,
Now perpendicular, now round, now square;
Diagonal, and horizontal too;
Believe our author, faith he tells you true:
Now long, now short, and now so very small,
Saddle your nose, I'm scarcely seen at all.
I, Proteus like, change fifty times a--day,
But I'll be cautious, nor myself betray.

And now, dissect me, reader, if you please;
In schools I'm flogg'd, in schools I sit at ease.
I'm now a bird--am now by soldiers worn--
Next by all ages, by both sexes borne--
Our blooming sisters, pride of Britain's court,
To where the Loves and Graces still resort,
Have worn me oft; I'm ever at their call;
God grant them virtuous husbands, one and all!--
You hear me, and an useful creature see--
Now I'm the virtuous man, the villain's plea--
The carrier uses me, ay, day by day--
The tradesman too, whatever sum you pay--
You try me, every dainty I refuse,
Now greedily devour whate'er you chuse:
You see you coxcombs flutt'ring in the street;
They'll use me, ten to one, if chance they meet.
I animals can please, both great and small--
In every country, mankind on me call.
Now I'm what many thousands fain wou'd know--
I make yon Corsican our country's foe;
And shou'd the tyrant, and his sanguine host,
But rashly dare to venture on our coast,
They'll find an hundred Nelsons in command,
And Moores, and Wellingtons, throughout the land!--
On me, tho' many millions love to tread;
Grateful am I, and yield them daily bread--
An useful piece of furniture you see;
It serves our author, reader it serves thee--
Now I'm a liquid, topers think a treat;
I'm strong, I'm weak, I'm bitter, sour, and sweet--
I'm like a noisy instrument oft heard--
And now to every pleasure I'm preferr'd;
You use me, nor without me can you live;
I make you sick, and well, new vigour give
To lisping infancy and hoary age:
Shame on me war 'gainst poverty to wage!--
I many a tear provoke, cause oft a smile;
And seen in Albion's, more than Erin's Isle--
Now I adorn a city, cottage feast--
Now I become a bold, a cunning beast--
I form a part of many a female dress,
Worn by our good queen Charlotte, bluff queen Bess;
And Egypt's amorous queen bore me about,
When romping with Mark Anthony, no doubt--
I'm seen on flow'rs, each garden's gayest pride--
I'm what you eat, with fowls plac'd side by side--
Next I'm a bird, some taste, some never taste;
Near gormandizing aldermen oft plac'd--
Now I'm a name in Scripture oft thou'st read,
If e'er that best of books ran in thy head--
A name thou'lt find me in great Shakspeare's page,
He who pourtray'd the manners of each age;
Who robb'd dame Nature, oft, with matchless skill,
And leads the mind a captive at his will:
Unlike the boasted Philos of our age,
Who flatter folly, for a rabble's praise--
Now I'm an idol--Now a patriot found--
Now please the sportsman, and the crowd around--
I'm us'd in sickness, and I'm us'd in health;
And I'm a place of fashion, fame, and wealth--
Yon simp'ring quack, precise, with wig and cane,
Makes use of me, alas! too oft in vain--
Mark well what changes I can make appear;
Without me, reader, long thoud'st not been here--
Oft I refresh you--Now o'er me you ride--
I'm us'd by builders--I'm the drunkard's pride--
I'm like a hero, when he gasps in death--
I please the sportsman, when he pants for breath--
You hear me loudly call'd at each review--
You hear me bawl'd out on each race--course, too--
Now I'm a place, where men, where women meet,
Lies propagate, enjoy a social treat;
Near me, this hour, Care hides his hideous head,
But ere the next, all harmony is fled--
An artist's tool am I, whom all admire--
Now I enliven millions round the fire--
Now many a son of Erin I offend,
Now I'm their summer--now their winter friend--
Now Gripus views me oft, with greedy joy--
Now many a town and hamlet I destroy--
Of tot'ring age, you find me next the boast--
By me, alas! some hundreds have been lost--
I'm now a vowel--Now are we a pair;
Glance o'er the Chronicle, you'll find us there--
Oft I delight you, make you stand aghast--
Lastly, I'm like some houses in Belfast.

Reader, an author little known to fame,
But one whose labours may some notice claim,
(Proud if his song, or enigmatic lay
Can soothe a sorrowing brother on his way)
Again has dar'd to trespass on thy time,
And pardon craves; he lives not by his rhyme;
But wou'd amuse some friends, when labour's o'er--
This cost him three hours study, and not more.