_AN APOLOGETIC IDYL._
My life is held to be a round of Pleasures;
All I can say is, they who thus would rate it,
For life's delights have most peculiar measures:
For though in plainest English they don't state it,
'Tis clear "no recreation" meets their views,
Or why that sneering cry, "_Le Prince s'amuse?_"
Or do they think a Prince, without repining,
Foundation-stones unceasingly is laying,
Rewarded with a glut of public dining,
The pangs of hunger ever to be staying,
Is recreation such as he would choose?
If so--I understand "_Le Prince s'amuse!_"
But how a world that notes his daily doings,
The everlasting round of weary function,--
The health-returnings, speeches, interviewings.
Can grudge him some relief, without compunction,
Seems quite to me "another pair of shoes!"
Dyspeptic is that cry, "_Le Prince s'amuse!_"
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