The Sun.
London, England, 1833-09-14 00:00:00

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LOST AND FOUND,

OR
TUE ULTRA'S LAMENT FOR NICHOLAS.

The Emperor Nicholas appears to be non est inventus, for no
account of the steam-boat in which he embarked had been rc-
Nved at Troppau.---sun of yesterday.
It would appear from the Berlin Official Gazette, of the 6th
inst., that the Emperor Nicholas had reached Schwedt on the
Oder, and that he had narrowly escaped shipwreck.—Times of
this Morning.

Oh, where is our Nick ? Ohone! Ohone !
h he alive, or is he gone,
Ohone! to that mysterious shore
Where all such Monarchs have gone before ?
To pay the respects (Oh thought accurst!)
Of Nick the Second to Nick the First,
'Till all the fiends in exulting choir
Cry " Virtuous son, how he loves his sire!"—
Has our Nick really sought that shore,
And Satan received one subject more ?
Or doth the world of waters hide
Toss'd on its bosom our prop and pride ?
ita,„ lignant Neptune ! indulge thy mirth
ziY wrecking the vulgar sons of earth,
Whet to the utmost thy moral spite
On the convict crew of the Amphitrite,
Or strew our coasts with corpses thick ;
ut spare, oh spare, our darling Nick!
Nick on the land and Nep on the sea
Should partners in death and ruin be,
Each safe from the other's jealousy.
Oh, where is our Nick, our Heaven-sent ? (1)
Echo replies—" Non eat invent."
(Like Wynford's patience, or Stanhope's brains,
Or the Vicar of Bramham's clerical gains)
Disastrous loss! Weep, Ultras, all—
Groan, Peel—and thou, Charles Wetherall,
Quick, put thy shirt, both rear and front,
In deeper mourning than is thy wont ;
Muffle, 0 Vane, thy fool's-cap bells,
And Scott, while thy soul with anguish swells,
Sob out with Lyndhurst,—" Ohone! phone!
Nick's gone, and Satan bath claimed his own."

ttut, joy to my soul, what's this I see ?
The Post and Standardare full of glee,
And our Carlton Club shouts (welcome sound)
" Down with Freedom, our Nick is found!"
Aye, down with Freedom, her arm is vain ;
Thalaba Nick is abroad again, (2)
And again shall his blood red banner wave
o'er many a Polish patriot's grave;
Thanks, Nep, who bast thus restor'd our Nick,
(Sound, wind and limb, though perhaps sca.sick)
Thy claims on us shall never sleep,
For this last new monster sprung from the deep,
Who rivals, in his terrestrial slaughters,
The havoc made by thy world of waters.
(I) A
seat,. favourite phrase with the Ultras. Vide their " heaven-
9rfac tt
,i and that other " heaven-sent" Minister, Sir Joseph
the eel, now, we fear, anything but " heaven-sent," in
(2)V . on of his former ltra admirers.
'de Southey's Poem of " Thalaba the Destroyer."