The Crystal Palace

With ganial foire
Thransfuse me loyre,
Ye sacred nymphths of Pindus,
The whoile I sing
That wondthrous thing
The Palace made o' windows!

Say, Paxton, truth,
Thou wondthrous youth,
What sthroke of art celistial
What power was lint
You to invint
This combineetion cristial

O would before
That Thomas Moore
Likewoise the late Lord Boyron,
Thim aigles sthrong
Of 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 words
Is like the birds
That roosts beneath the panes there;
Her wings she spoils
'Gainst them bright toiles,
And cracks her silly brains there.

This Palace tall,
This Cristial Hall,
Which imperors might covet,
Stands in Hide Park
Like Noah's Ark
A rainbow bint above it.

The towers and faynes,
In other scaynes,
The fame of this will undo,
Saint Paul's big doom,
St. Payther's Room,
And Dublin's proud Rotundo.

'Tis here that roams,
As well becomes
Her dignitee and stations,
Victoria great,
And houlds in state
The Congress of the Nations.

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

Here comes likewise
Her bould allies,
Both Asian and Europian;
From East and West
They sent their best
To fill her Coornocopean.

I seen (thank Grace!)
This wondthrous place
(His Noble Honor Misteer
H. Cole it was
That gave the pass,
And let me see what is there.)

With conscious proide
I stud insoide
And look'd the World's Great Fair in.
Until me sight
Was dazzled quite,
And couldn't see for staring.

There's holy saints
And window paints,
By Maydiayval Pugin;
Alhamborough Jones
Did paint the tones
Of yellow and gambouge in.

There's fountains there
And crosses fair;
There's water-gods with urrns;
There's organs three,
To play, d'ye see,
"God save the Queen," by turns.

There's statues bright
Of marble white,
Of silver and of copper,
And some in zink,
And some, I think,
That isn't over proper.

There's staym Ingynes,
That stand in lines,
Enormous and amazing,
That squeal and snort,
Like whales in sport,
Or elephants a-grazing.

There's carts and gigs,
And pins for pigs;
There's dibblers and there's harrows,
And plows like toys,
For little boys,
And illegant wheel-barrows.