LVIII.

The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock;
The ocean when its yeasty war is waging

Is awful to the vessel near the rock;
But violent things will sooner bear assuaging,
Their fury being spent by its own shock,
Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire
Of a strong human heart, and in a sire.

LIX.

It is a hard although a common case

To find our children running restive-they In whom our brightest days we would retrace, Our little selves re-form'd in finer clay, Just as old age is creeping on apace,

And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company-the gout and stone..

LX.

Yet a fine family is a fine thing

(Provided they don't come in after dinner); 'Tis beautiful to see a matron bring

Her children up (if nursing them don't thin her); Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling

To the fire-side (a sight to touch a sinner).

A lady with her daughters or her nieces
Shine like a guinea and seven shilling pieces.

LXI.

Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate,
And stood within his hall at eventide ;
Meantime the lady and her lover sate

At wassail in their beauty and their pride:

An ivory inlaid table spread with state

Before them, and fair slaves on every side;

Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly, Mother of pearl and coral the less costly.

D

LXII.

The dinner made about a hundred dishes;
Lamb and pistachio nuts-in short, all meats,
And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fishes
Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets,
Drest to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes;
The beverage was various sherbets

Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice,

Squeezed through the rind, which makes it best for use.

LXIII.

These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer,

And fruits, and date-bread loaves closed the repast, And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure,

In small fine China cups, came in at last;

Gold

cups of filigree made to secure

The hand from burning underneath them placed,
Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd
Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spoil'd.

LXIV.

The hangings of the room were tapestry, made
Of velvet pannels, each of different hue,
And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid;
And round them ran a yellow border too;
The upper border, richly wrought, display'd,
Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue,

Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters,

From poets, or the moralists their betters.

LXV.

These oriental writings on the wall,

Quite common in those countries, are a kind Of monitors adapted to recall,

Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the mind The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall,

And took his kingdom from him: You will find, Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, There is no sterner moralist than pleasure.

LXVI.

A beauty at the season's close grown hectic,

A genius who has drunk himself to death, A rake turn'd methodistic or eclectic—

(For that's the name they like to pray beneath)— But most, an alderman struck apoplectic,

Are things that really take away the breath, And show that late hours, wine, and love are able To do not much less damage than the table.

LXVII.

Haidée and Juan carpeted their feet

On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue; Their sofa occupied three parts complete

Of the apartment—and appear'd quite new; The velvet cushions-(for a throne more meet)Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew A sun emboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue, Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue.