So, when an angel by divine command
With rising tempest shakes a guilty land--
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed--
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast,
And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm."
"Excellent! excellent!" cried Lord Claud, when the poet at last
flung himself into his chair, exhausted by his own flow of
eloquence. "That will take them! That will hit them! My good
friend, your fortune is made.
"Capital, was it not, Tom? Why, it has raised a sparkle in your
calm bucolic eyes!
"'Tis a fine poem i' sooth, Master Addison; as fine a piece of work
as any man of this day ever produced. You might have seen it all
yourself. You have had information, one can see, from high
quarters. Now tell me, I pray, something in detail of this great
battle;" and forthwith poet and gallant fell to discussing the
campaign in such a fashion as filled Tom with wonder at his
companion, such as he was always feeling.
Lord Claud seemed to have such a masterly knowledge of military
detail, that it was hard to believe he had not at some time been a
soldier himself; and his knowledge of public affairs, and of the
intricacies of foreign and home politics, struck the country-bred
youth as something little short of marvellous.
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