The voice of Dunwoodie never lost its authority with his inferiors; and
the applause which followed his song, though by no means so riotous as
that which succeeded the effort of the captain, was much more
flattering.
"If, sir," said the doctor, after joining in the plaudits of his
companions, "you would but learn to unite classical allusions with your
delicate imagination you would become a pretty amateur poet."
"He who criticizes ought to be able to perform," said Dunwoodie with a
smile. "I call on Dr. Sitgreaves for a specimen of the style
he admires."
"Dr. Sitgreaves' song! Dr. Sitgreaves' song!" echoed all at the table
with delight; "a classical ode from Dr. Sitgreaves!"
The surgeon made a complacent bow, took the remnant of his glass, and
gave a few preliminary hems, that served hugely to delight three or four
young cornets at the foot of the table. He then commenced singing, in a
cracked voice, and to anything but a tune, the following ditty:--
Hast thou ever felt love's dart, dearest,
Or breathed his trembling sigh--
Thought him, afar, was ever nearest,
Before that sparkling eye?
Then hast thou known what 'tis to feel
The pain that Galen could not heal.
"Hurrah!" shouted Lawton. "Archibald eclipses the Muses themselves; his
words flow like the sylvan stream by moonlight, and his melody is a
crossbreed of the nightingale and the owl.
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