« VorigeDoorgaan »
The portion of this world which I at present
Have taken up to fill the following sermon, Is one of which there 's no description recent :
The reason why, is easy to determine :
There is a sameness in its gems and ermine,
With much to excite, there 's little to exalt;
Nothing that speaks to all men and all times; A sort of varnish over every fault ;
A kind of common-place, even in their crimes ; Factitious passions, wit without much salt,
A want of that true nature which sublimes Whate'er it shows with truth ; a smooth monotony Of character, in those at least who have got any.
XVII. Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade,
They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill; But then the roll-call draws them back afraid,
And they must be or seem what they were : still
But when of the first sight you ’ve had your fill,
XVIII.' When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming,
Dress’d, voted, shone, and, may be, something more; With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming ;
Seen beauties brought to market by the score ; Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming ;
There 's little left but to be bored or bore. Witness those “ ci-devant jeunes hommes” who strm The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them.
That no one has succeeded in describing
that authors only snatch, by bribing The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint,
To furnish matter for their moral gibing ; And that their books have but one style in commonMy lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman.
But this can't well be true, just now ; for writers
of the beau monde a part potential : I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters,
Especially when young, for that 's essential. Why do their sketches fail them as inditers
Of, what they deem themselves most consequential, The real portrait of the highest tribe ? 'T is that, in fact, there 's little to describe.
Pars parva fui,” but still art and part.
A battle, wreck, or history of the heart,
For reasons which I chuse to keep apart. " Vétabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgaret Which means, that vulgar people must not share it.
Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of freemasons,
As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's.
My music has some mystic diapasons ;
The world (as, since that history, less polite
Has not yet given up the practice quite. Poor thing of usages ! coerced, compellid,
Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right, Condemn'd to child-bed, as men for their sins Have shaving too entaild upon their chins,
May average on the whole with parturition.
The real sufferings of their she-condition ?
Has much of selfishness and more suspicion.
But even this is difficult, Heaven knows !
Such small distinction between friends and foes, The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter,
That -but ask any woman if she 'd chuse (Take her at thirty, that is) to have been Female or male ? a school-boy or a queen?
XXVI. “ Petticoat influence” is a great reproach,
Which e’en those who obey would fain be thought To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach;
But, since beneath it upon earth we 're brought By various joltings of life's hackney-coach,
I for one venerate a petticoat-
In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil, Which holds a treasure, like a miser's hoard,
And more attracts by all it doth conceal-
A loving letter with a mystic seal,
With a sirocco, for example, blowing-
And sulkily the river's ripple 's flowing,
gray, The sober, sad antithesis to glowing, 'T is pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant, To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant.
XXIX.; We left our heroes and our heroines
In that fair clime which don't depend on climate, Quite independent of the zodiac's signs,
Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at, Because the sun and stars, and aught that shines,
Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at, Are there oft dull and dreary as a dunWhether a sky's or tradesman's is all one.
XXX. And in-door life is less poetical;
And out of door hath showers, and mists, and sleet, With which I could not brew a pastoral.
But be it as it may, a bard must meet
To spoil his undertaking or complete,
Was all things unto people of all sorts,
In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts
And mingling modestly in toils or sports.
XXXII. A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange ;
'T is also subject to the double danger Of tumbling first, and having in exchange
Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger ; But Juan had been early taught to range
The wilds, as doth an Arab turn'd avenger, 'So that his horse, charger, hunter, hack, Knew that he had a rider on his back.
He clear’d hedge, ditch, and double post, and rail,
And only fretted when the scent 'gan fail. He broke, 't is true, some statutes of the laws
Of hunting-for the sagest youth is frail; Rode o'er the hounds, it may be, now and then, And once o’er several country gentlemen.
xxxiv. : But, on the whole, to general admiration
He acquitted both himself and horse : the squires Marveli'd at merit of another nation;
The boors cried “Dang it! who 'd have thought it ?” Sires, The Nestors of the sporting generation,
Swore praises, and recall’d their former fires ;
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes ; Yet I must own, although in this I yield
To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes, He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,
Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes, And what not, though he rode beyond all price, Ask’d, next day, “ if men ever hunted twice? ”
To early risers after a long chase,
December's drowsy day to his dull race;-
When her soft, liquid words run on apace, Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner, He did not fall asleep just after dinner,
And shone in the best part of dialogue,
And listening to the topics most in vogue ;
And smiling but in secret-cunning rogue ! He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer ; In short, there never was a better hearer.
The serious Angles in the eloquence.
With emphasis, and also with good sense-
He danced without theatrical pretence,
And elegance was sprinkled o'er his figure ;
And rather held in than put forth bis vigour; And then he had an ear for music's sound,
Which might defy a crotchet critic's rigour. Such classic pas--sans flaws set off our herg, He glanced like a personified bolero ;