The Crystal Palace

With ganial foireThransfuse me loyre,Ye sacred nympths of Pindus,The whoile I singThat wondthrous thing,The Palace made o' windows!

Say, Paxton, truth,Thou wondthrous youth,What sthroke of art celistial,What power was lintYou to invintThis combineetion cristial.

O would beforeThat Thomas Moore,Likewoise the late Lord Boyron,Thim aigles sthrongOf 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 wordsIs like the bird'sThat 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 ParkLike 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 becomesHer dignitee and stations,Victoria Great,And houlds in stateThe Congress of the Nations.

Her subjects poursFrom distant shores,Her Injians and Canajians;And also we,Her kingdoms three,Attind with our allagiance.

Here come likewiseHer bould allies,Both Asian and Europian;From East and WestThey send their bestTo fill her Coornucopean.

I seen (thank Grace!)This wonthrous place(His Noble Honor MistherH. Cole it wasThat gave the pass,And let me see what is there).

With conscious proideI stud insoideAnd look'd the World's Great Fair in,Until me sightWas dazzled quite,And couldn't see for staring.

There's holy saintsAnd window paints,By Maydiayval Pugin;Alhamborough JonesDid paint the tonesOf yellow and gambouge in.

There's fountains thereAnd 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 brightOf marble white,Of silver, and of copper;And some in zinc,And some, I think,That isn't over proper.

There's staym Ingynes,That stands in lines,Enormous and amazing,That squeal and snortLike 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 toysFor little boys,And ilegant wheelbarrows.

For thim genteelsWho ride on wheels,There's plenty to indulge 'em:There's Droskys snugFrom Paytersbug,And vayhycles from Bulgium.

There's Cabs on StandsAnd Shandthry danns;There's Waggons from New York here;There's Lapland SleighsHave cross'd the seas,And Jaunting Cyars from Cork here.

Amazed I passFrom glass to glass,Deloighted I survey 'em;Fresh wondthers growsBefore me noseIn this sublime Musayum!

Look, here's a fanFrom far Japan,A sabre from Damasco:There's shawls ye getFrom far Thibet,And cotton prints from Glasgow.

There's German flutes,Marocky boots,And Naples Macaronies;BohaymiaHas sent Bohay;Polonia her polonies.

There's granite flintsThat'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 moreOf things in store,But thim I don't remimber;Nor could discloseDid I composeFrom May time to Novimber!

Ah, JUDY thru!With eyes so blue,That you were here to view it!And could I screwBut tu pound tu,'Tis I would thrait you to it!

So let us raiseVictoria's praise,And Albert's proud condition,That takes his ayseAs he surveysThis Cristial Exhibition.