On Attending an E—Lecture

Genial his face, his figure rather stout,
Erect he stands, and mouths his phrases out.
His words come forth, not in a mass, pell-mell,
But like the accents of a slow-tolled bell,
From which reluctant music, note by note,
Wells slowly forth from out the brazen throat.
Or, when I close my weary eyes awhile,
My brain is lulled, as though o'er many a mile,
From lowing kine, the "moos" sonorous swell.
Shiv'ring the air in thicket, copse and dell.
Then, as I to the drowsy tones succumb,
All through my dreams I hear the deep-toned hum
Of hov'ring insects—then their voices crack;
I wake and open wide my eyes on—Mac!

Schnorret.