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George Gordon Byron - Don Juan: Canto The Sixteenth
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The antique Persians taught three useful things, 
    To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth. 
  This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings-- 
    A mode adopted since by modern youth. 
  Bows have they, generally with two strings; 
    Horses they ride without remorse or ruth; 
  At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever, 
  But draw the long bow better now than ever. 

  The cause of this effect, or this defect,--
    `For this effect defective comes by cause,`-- 
  Is what I have not leisure to inspect; 
    But this I must say in my own applause, 
  Of all the Muses that I recollect, 
    Whate`er may be her follies or her flaws 
  In some things, mine`s beyond all contradiction 
  The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction. 

  And as she treats all things, and ne`er retreats 
    From any thing, this epic will contain 
  A wilderness of the most rare conceits, 
    Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain. 
  `Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets, 
    Yet mix`d so slightly, that you can`t complain, 
  But wonder they so few are, since my tale is 
  `De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis.` 

  But of all truths which she has told, the most 
    True is that which she is about to tell. 
  I said it was a story of a ghost-- 
    What then? I only know it so befell. 
  Have you explored the limits of the coast, 
    Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell? 
  `Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as 
  The sceptics who would not believe Columbus. 

  Some people would impose now with authority, 
    Turpin`s or Monmouth Geoffry`s Chronicle; 
  Men whose historical superiority 
    Is always greatest at a miracle. 
  But Saint Augustine has the great priority, 
    Who bids all men believe the impossible, 
  Because `tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he 
  Quiets at once with `quia impossibile.` 

  And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all; 
    Believe:--if `tis improbable you must, 
  And if it is impossible, you shall: 
    `Tis always best to take things upon trust. 
  I do not speak profanely, to recall 
    Those holier mysteries which the wise and just 
  Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, 
  As all truths must, the more they are disputed: 

  I merely mean to say what Johnson said, 
    That in the course of some six thousand years, 
  All nations have believed that from the dead 
    A visitant at intervals appears; 
  And what is strangest upon this strange head, 
    Is, that whatever bar the reason rears 
  `Gainst such belief, there`s something stronger still 
  In its behalf, let those deny who will. 

  The dinner and the soiree too were done, 
    The supper too discuss`d, the dames admired, 
  The banqueteers had dropp`d off one by one - 
    The song was silent, and the dance expired: 
  The last thin petticoats were vanish`d, gone 
    Like fleecy Clouds into the sky retired, 
  And nothing brighter gleam`d through the saloon 
  Than dying tapers - and the peeping moon. 

  The evaporation of a joyous day 
    Is like the last glass of champagne, without 
  The foam which made its virgin bumper gay; 
    Or like a system coupled with a doubt; 
  Or like a soda bottle when its spray 
    Has sparkled and let half its spirit out; 
  Or like a billow left by storms behind, 
  Without the animation of the wind; 

  Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest, 
    Or none; or like--like nothing that I know 
  Except itself;--such is the human breast; 
    A thing, of which similitudes can show 
  No real likeness,--like the old Tyrian vest 
    Dyed purple, none at present can tell how, 
  If from a shell-fish or from cochineal. 
  So perish every tyrant`s robe piece -meal! 

  But next to dressing for a rout or ball, 
    Undressing is a woe; our robe de chambre 
  May sit like that of Nessus, and recall 
    Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber. 
  Titus exclaim`d, `I`ve lost a day!` Of all 
    The nights and days most people can remember 
  (I have had of both, some not to be disdain`d), 
  I wish they `d state how many they have gain`d. 

  And Juan, on retiring for the night, 
    Felt restless, and perplex`d, and compromised: 
  He thought Aurora Raby`s eyes more bright 
    Than Adeline (such is advice) advised; 
  If he had known exactly his own plight, 
    He probably would have philosophised: 
  A great resource to all, and ne`er denied 
  Till wanted; therefore Juan only sigh`d. 

  He sigh`d;--the next resource is the full moon, 
    Where all sighs are deposited; and now 
  It happen`d luckily, the chaste orb shone 
    As clear as such a climate will allow; 
  And Juan`s mind was in the proper tone 
    To hail her with the apostrophe--`O thou!` 
  Of amatory egotism the Tuism, 
  Which further to explain would be a truism. 

  But lover, poet, or astronomer, 
    Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold, 
  Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her: 
    Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold 
  Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err); 
    Deep secrets to her rolling light are told; 
  The ocean`s tides and mortals` brains she sways, 
  And also hearts, if there be truth in lays. 

  Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed 
    For contemplation rather than his pillow: 
  The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed, 
    Let in the rippling sound of the lake`s billow, 
  With all the mystery by midnight caused; 
    Below his window waved (of course) a willow; 
  And he stood gazing out on the cascade 
  That flash`d and after darken`d in the shade. 

  Upon his table or his toilet,--which 
    Of these is not exactly ascertain`d 
  (I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch 
    Of nicety, where a fact is to be gain`d),--
  A lamp burn`d high, while he leant from a niche, 
    Where many a Gothic ornament remain`d, 
  In chisell`d stone and painted glass, and all 
  That time has left our fathers of their hall. 

  Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw 
    His chamber door wide open - and went forth 
  Into a gallery, of a sombre hue, 
    Long, furnish`d with old pictures of great worth, 
  Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too, 
    As doubtless should be people of high birth. 
  But by dim lights the portraits of the dead 
  Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread. 

  The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint 
    Look living in the moon; and as you turn 
  Backward and forward to the echoes faint 
    Of your own footsteps - voices from the urn 
  Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint 
    Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern, 
  As if to ask how you can dare to keep 
  A vigil there, where all but death should sleep. 

  And the pale smile of beauties in the grave, 
    The charms of other days, in starlight gleams, 
  Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave 
    Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams 
  On ours, or spars within some dusky cave, 
    But death is imaged in their shadowy beams. 
  A picture is the past; even ere its frame 
  Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same. 

  As Juan mused on mutability, 
    Or on his mistress - terms synonymous - 
  No sound except the echo of his sigh 
    Or step ran sadly through that antique house; 
  When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh, 
    A supernatural agent - or a mouse, 
  Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass 
  Most people as it plays along the arras. 

  It was no mouse, but lo! a monk, array`d 
    In cowl and beads and dusky garb, appear`d, 
  Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, 
    With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard; 
  His garments only a slight murmur made; 
    He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, 
  But slowly; and as he pass`d Juan by, 
  Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye. 

  Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint 
    Of such a spirit in these halls of old, 
  But thought, like most men, there was nothing in`t 
    Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold, 
  Coin`d from surviving superstition`s mint, 
    Which passes ghosts in currency like gold, 
  But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper. 
  And did he see this? or was it a vapour? 

  Once, twice, thrice pass`d, repass`d--the thing of air, 
    Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t`other place; 
  And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, 
    Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base 
  As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair 
    Twine like a knot of snakes around his face; 
  He tax`d his tongue for words, which were not granted, 
  To ask the reverend person what he wanted. 

  The third time, after a still longer pause, 
    The shadow pass`d away--but where? the hall 
  Was long, and thus far there was no great cause 
    To think his vanishing unnatural: 
  Doors there were many, through which, by the laws 
    Of physics, bodies whether short or tall 
  Might come or go; but Juan could not state 
  Through which the spectre seem`d to evaporate. 

  He stood -- how long he knew not, but it seem`d 
    An age -- expectant, powerless, with his eyes 
  Strain`d on the spot where first the figure gleam`d; 
    Then by degrees recall`d his energies, 
  And would have pass`d the whole off as a dream, 
    But could not wake; he was, he did surmise, 
  Waking already, and return`d at length 
  Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength. 

  All there was as he left it: still his taper 
    Burnt, and not blue, as modest tapers use, 
  Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour; 
    He rubb`d his eyes, and they did not refuse 
  Their office; he took up an old newspaper; 
    The paper was right easy to peruse; 
  He read an article the king attacking, 
  And a long eulogy of `patent blacking.` 

  This savour`d of this world; but his hand shook-- 
    He shut his door, and after having read 
  A paragraph, I think about Horne Tooke, 
    Undrest, and rather slowly went to bed. 
  There, couch`d all snugly on his pillow`s nook, 
    With what he had seen his phantasy he fed; 
  And though it was no opiate, slumber crept 
  Upon him by degrees, and so he slept. 

  He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed, 
    Ponder`d upon his visitant or vision, 
  And whether it ought not to be disclosed, 
    At risk of being quizz`d for superstition. 
  The more he thought, the more his mind was posed: 
    In the mean time, his valet, whose precision 
  Was great, because his master brook`d no less, 
  Knock`d to inform him it was time to dress. 

  He dress`d; and like young people he was wont 
    To take some trouble with his toilet, but 
  This morning rather spent less time upon`t; 
    Aside his very mirror soon was put; 
  His curls fell negligently o`er his front, 
    His clothes were not curb`d to their usual cut, 
  His very neckcloth`s Gordian knot was tied 
  Almost an hair`s breadth too much on one side. 

  And when he walk`d down into the saloon, 
    He sate him pensive o`er a dish of tea, 
  Which he perhaps had not discover`d soon, 
    Had it not happen`d scalding hot to be, 
  Which made him have recourse unto his spoon; 
    So much distrait he was, that all could see 
  That something was the matter -- Adeline 
  The first -- but what she could not well divine. 

  She look`d, and saw him pale, and turn`d as pale 
    Herself; then hastily look`d down, and mutter`d 
  Something, but what`s not stated in my tale. 
    Lord Henry said his muffin was ill butter`d; 
  The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke play`d with her veil, 
    And look`d at Juan hard, but nothing utter`d. 
  Aurora Raby with her large dark eyes 
  Survey`d him with a kind of calm surprise. 

  But seeing him all cold and silent still, 
    And everybody wondering more or less, 
  Fair Adeline enquired, `If he were ill?` 
    He started, and said, `Yes--no--rather--yes.` 
  The family physician had great skill, 
    And being present, now began to express 
  His readiness to feel his pulse and tell 
  The cause, but Juan said, `He was quite well.` 

  `Quite well; yes,--no.`--These answers were mysterious, 
    And yet his looks appear`d to sanction both, 
  However they might savour of delirious; 
    Something like illness of a sudden growth 
  Weigh`d on his spirit, though by no means serious: 
    But for the rest, as he himself seem`d loth 
  To state the case, it might be ta`en for granted 
  It was not the physician that he wanted. 

  Lord Henry, who had now discuss`d his chocolate, 
    Also the muffin whereof he complain`d, 
  Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate, 
    At which he marvell`d, since it had not rain`d; 
  Then ask`d her Grace what news were of the duke of late? 
    Her Grace replied, his Grace was rather pain`d 
  With some slight, light, hereditary twinges 
  Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges. 

  Then Henry turn`d to Juan, and address`d 
    A few words of condolence on his state: 
  `You look,` quoth he, `as if you had had your rest 
    Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late.` 
  `What friar?` said Juan; and he did his best 
    To put the question with an air sedate, 
  Or careless; but the effort was not valid 
  To hinder him from growing still more pallid. 

  `Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar? 
    The spirit of these walls?`--`In truth not I.` 
  `Why Fame--but Fame you know `s sometimes a liar-- 
    Tells an odd story, of which by and by: 
  Whether with time the spectre has grown shyer, 
    Or that our sires had a more gifted eye 
  For such sights, though the tale is half believed, 
  The friar of late has not been oft perceived. 

    (Who watch`d the changes of Don Juan`s brow, 
  And from its context thought she could divine 
    Connexions stronger then he chose to avow 
  With this same legend)--`if you but design 
    To jest, you`ll choose some other theme just now, 
  Because the present tale has oft been told, 
  And is not much improved by growing old.` 

  `Jest!` quoth Milor; `why, Adeline, you know 
    That we ourselves - `twas in the honey-moon-- 
    But, come, I`ll set your story to a tune.` 
  Graceful as Dian, when she draws her bow, 
    She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled soon 
  As touch`d, and plaintively began to play 
  The air of ``Twas a Friar of Orders Gray.` 

  `But add the words,` cried Henry, `which you made; 
    For Adeline is half a poetess,` 
  Turning round to the rest, he smiling said. 
    Of course the others could not but express 
  In courtesy their wish to see display`d 
    By one three talents, for there were no less-- 
  The voice, the words, the harper`s skill, at once 
  Could hardly be united by a dunce. 

  After some fascinating hesitation,-- 
    The charming of these charmers, who seem bound, 
  I can`t tell why, to this dissimulation,-- 
    Fair Adeline, with eyes fix`d on the ground 
  At first, then kindling into animation, 
    Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound, 
  And sang with much simplicity,--a merit 
  Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it. 

       Beware! beware! of the Black Friar, 
         Who sitteth by Norman stone, 
       For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air, 
         And his mass of the days that are gone. 
       When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville, 
         Made Norman Church his prey, 
       And expell`d the friars, one friar still 
         Would not be driven away. 

       Though he came in his might, with King Henry`s right, 
         To turn church lands to lay, 
       With sword in hand, and torch to light 
         Their walls, if they said nay; 
       A monk remain`d, unchased, unchain`d, 
         And he did not seem form`d of clay, 
       For he`s seen in the porch, and he `s seen in the church, 
         Though he is not seen by day. 

       And whether for good, or whether for ill, 
         It is not mine to say; 
       But still with the house of Amundeville 
         He abideth night and day. 
       By the marriage-bed of their lords, `tis said, 
         He flits on the bridal eve; 
       And `tis held as faith, to their bed of death 
         He comes - but not to grieve. 

       When an heir is born, he`s heard to mourn, 
         And when aught is to befall 
       That ancient line, in the "we moonshine 
         He walks from hall to hall. 
       His form you may trace, but not his face, 
         `Tis shadow`d by his cowl; 
       But his eyes may be seen from the folds between, 
         And they seem of a parted soul. 

       But beware! beware! of the Black Friar, 
         He still retains his sway, 
       For he is yet the church`s heir 
         Whoever may be the lay. 
       Amundeville is lord by day, 
         But the monk is lord by night; 
       Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal 
         To question that friar`s right. 

       Say nought to him as he walks the hall, 
         And he`ll say nought to you; 
       He sweeps along in his dusky pall, 
         As o`er the grass the dew. 
       Then grammercy! for the Black Friar; 
         Heaven sain him, fair or foul! 
       And whatsoe`er may be his prayer, 
         Let ours be for his soul. 

  The lady`s voice ceased, and the thrilling wires 
    Died from the touch that kindled them to sound; 
  And the pause follow`d, which when song expires 
    Pervades a moment those who listen round; 
  And then of course the circle much admires, 
    Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound, 
  The tones, the feeling, and the execution, 
  To the performer`s diffident confusion. 

  Fair Adeline, though in a careless way, 
    As if she rated such accomplishment 
  As the mere pastime of an idle day, 
    Pursued an instant for her own content, 
  Would now and then as `twere without display, 
    Yet with display in fact, at times relent 
  To such performances with haughty smile, 
  To show she could, if it were worth her while. 

  Now this (but we will whisper it aside) 
    Was - pardon the pedantic illustration-- 
  Trampling on Plato`s pride with greater pride, 
    As did the Cynic on some like occasion; 
  Deeming the sage would be much mortified, 
    Or thrown into a philosophic passion, 
  For a spoil`d carpet - but the `Attic Bee` 
  Was much consoled by his own repartee. 

  Thus Adeline would throw into the shade 
    (By doing easily, whene`er she chose, 
  What dilettanti do with vast parade) 
    Their sort of half profession; for it grows 
  To something like this when too oft display`d; 
    And that it is so everybody knows 
  Who have heard Miss That or This, or Lady T`other, 
  Show off - to please their company or mother. 

  Oh! the long evenings of duets and trios! 
    The admirations and the speculations; 
  The `Mamma Mia`s!` and the `Amor Mio`s!` 
    The `Tanti palpiti`s` on such occasions: 
  The `Lasciami`s,` and quavering `Addio`s!` 
    Amongst our own most musical of nations; 
  With `Tu mi chamas`s` from Portingale, 
  To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail. 

  In Babylon`s bravuras - as the home 
    Heart-ballads of Green Erin or Gray Highlands, 
  That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam 
    O`er far Atlantic continents or islands, 
  The calentures of music which o`ercome 
    All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands, 
  No more to be beheld but in such visions - 
  Was Adeline well versed, as compositions. 

  She also had a twilight tinge of `Blue,` 
    Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote, 
  Made epigrams occasionally too 
    Upon her friends, as everybody ought. 
  But still from that sublimer azure hue, 
    So much the present dye, she was remote; 
  Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet, 
  And what was worse, was not ashamed to show it. 

  Aurora - since we are touching upon taste, 
    Which now-a-days is the thermometer 
  By whose degrees all characters are class`d - 
    Was more Shakspearian, if I do not err. 
  The worlds beyond this world`s perplexing waste 
    Had more of her existence, for in her 
  There was a depth of feeling to embrace 
  Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Space. 

  Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace, 
    The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind, 
  If she had any, was upon her face, 
    And that was of a fascinating kind. 
  A little turn for mischief you might trace 
    Also thereon,--but that`s not much; we find 
  Few females without some such gentle leaven, 
  For fear we should suppose us quite in heaven. 

  I have not heard she was at all poetic, 
    Though once she was seen reading the `Bath Guide,` 
  And `Hayley`s Triumphs,` which she deem`d pathetic, 
    Because she said her temper had been tried 
  So much, the bard had really been prophetic 
    Of what she had gone through with - since a bride. 
  But of all verse, what most ensured her praise 
  Were sonnets to herself, or `bouts rimes.` 

  `Twere difficult to say what was the object 
    Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay 
  To bear on what appear`d to her the subject 
    Of Juan`s nervous feelings on that day. 
  Perhaps she merely had the simple project 
    To laugh him out of his supposed dismay; 
  Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it, 
  Though why I cannot say - at least this minute. 

  But so far the immediate effect 
    Was to restore him to his self -propriety, 
  A thing quite necessary to the elect, 
    Who wish to take the tone of their society: 
  In which you cannot be too circumspect, 
    Whether the mode be persiflage or piety, 
  But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy, 
  On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy. 

  And therefore Juan now began to rally 
    His spirits, and without more explanation 
  To jest upon such themes in many a sally. 
    Her Grace, too, also seized the same occasion, 
  With various similar remarks to tally, 
    But wish`d for a still more detail`d narration 
  Of this same mystic friar`s curious doings, 
  About the present family`s deaths and wooings. 

  Of these few could say more than has been said; 
    They pass`d as such things do, for superstition 
  With some, while others, who had more in dread 
    The theme, half credited the strange tradition; 
  And much was talk`d on all sides on that head: 
    But Juan, when cross-question`d on the vision, 
  Which some supposed (though he had not avow`d it) 
  Had stirr`d him, answer`d in a way to cloud it. 

  And then, the mid-day having worn to one, 
    The company prepared to separate; 
  Some to their several pastimes, or to none, 
    Some wondering `twas so early, some so late. 
  There was a goodly match too, to be run 
    Between some greyhounds on my lord`s estate, 
  And a young race-horse of old pedigree 
  Match`d for the spring, whom several went to see. 

  There was a picture-dealer who had brought 
    A special Titian, warranted original, 
  So precious that it was not to be bought, 
    Though princes the possessor were besieging all. 
  The king himself had cheapen`d it, but thought 
    The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all 
  His subjects by his gracious acceptation) 
  Too scanty, in these times of low taxation. 

  But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,-- 
    The friend of artists, if not arts,--the owner, 
  With motives the most classical and pure, 
    So that he would have been the very donor, 
  Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer, 
    So much he deem`d his patronage an honour, 
  Had brought the capo d`opera, not for sale, 
  But for his judgment - never known to fail. 

  There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic 
    Bricklayer of Babel, call`d an architect, 
  Brought to survey these grey walls, which though so thick, 
    Might have from time acquired some slight defect; 
  Who after rummaging the Abbey through thick 
    And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect 
  New buildings of correctest conformation, 
  And throw down old - which he call`d restoration. 

  The cost would be a trifle - an `old song,` 
    Set to some thousands (`tis the usual burden 
  Of that same tune, when people hum it long)-- 
    The price would speedily repay its worth in 
  An edifice no less sublime than strong, 
    By which Lord Henry`s good taste would go forth in 
  Its glory, through all ages shining sunny, 
  For Gothic daring shown in English money. 

  There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage 
    Lord Henry wish`d to raise for a new purchase; 
  Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage, 
    And one on tithes, which sure are Discord`s torches, 
  Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage, 
    `Untying` squires `to fight against the churches;` 
  There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman, 
  For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman. 

  There were two poachers caught in a steel trap, 
    Ready for gaol, their place of convalescence; 
  There was a country girl in a close cap 
    And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since-- 
  Since--since--in youth, I had the sad mishap-- 
    But luckily I have paid few parish fees since): 
  That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigour, 
  Presents the problem of a double figure. 

  A reel within a bottle is a mystery, 
    One can`t tell how it e`er got in or out; 
  Therefore the present piece of natural history 
    I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt; 
  And merely state, though not for the consistory, 
    Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout 
  The constable, beneath a warrant`s banner, 
  Had bagg`d this poacher upon Nature`s manor. 

  Now justices of peace must judge all pieces 
    Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game 
  And morals of the country from caprices 
    Of those who have not a license for the same; 
  And of all things, excepting tithes and leases, 
    Perhaps these are most difficult to tame: 
  Preserving partridges and pretty wenches 
  Are puzzles to the most precautious benches. 

  The present culprit was extremely pale, 
    Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red 
  By nature, as in higher dames less hale 
    `Tis white, at least when they just rise from bed. 
  Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail, 
    Poor soul! for she was country born and bred, 
  And knew no better in her immorality 
  Than to wax white - for blushes are for quality. 

  Her black, bright, downcast, yet espiegle eye, 
    Had gather`d a large tear into its corner, 
  Which the poor thing at times essay`d to dry, 
    For she was not a sentimental mourner 
  Parading all her sensibility, 
    Nor insolent enough to scorn the scorner, 
  But stood in trembling, patient tribulation, 
  To be call`d up for her examination. 

  Of course these groups were scatter`d here and there, 
    Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent. 
  The lawyers in the study; and in air 
    The prize pig, ploughman, poachers; the men sent 
  From town, viz., architect and dealer, were 
    Both busy (as a general in his tent 
  Writing despatches) in their several stations, 
  Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations. 

  But this poor girl was left in the great hall, 
    While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail, 
  Discuss`d (he hated beer yclept the `small`) 
    A mighty mug of moral double ale. 
  She waited until justice could recall 
    Its kind attentions to their proper pale, 
  To name a thing in nomenclature rather 
  Perplexing for most virgins - a child`s father. 

  You see here was enough of occupation 
    For the Lord Henry, link`d with dogs and horses. 
  There was much bustle too, and preparation 
    Below stairs on the score of second courses; 
  Because, as suits their rank and situation, 
    Those who in counties have great land resources 
  Have `Public days,` when all men may carouse, 
  Though not exactly what`s call`d `open house.` 

  But once a week or fortnight, uninvited 
    (Thus we translate a general invitation), 
  All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted, 
    May drop in without cards, and take their station 
  At the full board, and sit alike delighted 
    With fashionable wines and conversation; 
  And, as the isthmus of the grand connection, 
  Talk o`er themselves the past and next election. 

  Lord Henry was a great electioneerer, 
    Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit; 
  But county contests cost him rather dearer, 
    Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit 
  Had English influence in the self-same sphere here; 
    His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrabbit, 
  Was member for the `other interest` (meaning 
  The same self-interest, with a different leaning). 

  Courteous and cautious therefore in his county, 
    He was all things to all men, and dispensed 
  To some civility, to others bounty, 
    And promises to all - which last commenced 
  To gather to a somewhat large amount, he 
    Not calculating how much they condensed; 
  But what with keeping some, and breaking others, 
  His word had the same value as another`s. 

  A friend to freedom and freeholders--yet 
    No less a friend to government--he held, 
  That he exactly the just medium hit 
    `Twixt place and patriotism--albeit compell`d, 
  Such was his sovereign`s pleasure (though unfit, 
    He added modestly, when rebels rail`d), 
  To hold some sinecures he wish`d abolish`d, 
  But that with them all law would be demolish`d. 

  He was `free to confess` (whence comes this phrase? 
    Is`t English? No--`tis only parliamentary) 
  That innovation`s spirit now-a-days 
    Had made more progress than for the last century. 
  He would not tread a factious path to praise, 
    Though for the public weal disposed to venture high; 
  As for his place, he could but say this of it, 
  That the fatigue was greater than the profit. 

  Heaven, and his friends, knew that a private life 
    Had ever been his sole and whole ambition; 
  But could he quit his king in times of strife, 
    Which threaten`d the whole country with perdition? 
  When demagogues would with a butcher`s knife 
    Cut through and through (oh! damnable incision!) 
  The Gordian or the Geordi-an knot, whose strings 
  Have tied together commons, lords, and kings. 

  Sooner `come lace into the civil list 
    And champion him to the utmost`--he would keep it, 
  Till duly disappointed or dismiss`d: 
    Profit he care not for, let others reap it; 
  But should the day come when place ceased to exist, 
    The country would have far more cause to weep it: 
  For how could it go on? Explain who can! 
  He gloried in the name of Englishman. 

  He was as independent--ay, much more-- 
    Than those who were not paid for independence, 
  As common soldiers, or a common--shore, 
    Have in their several arts or parts ascendance 
  O`er the irregulars in lust or gore, 
    Who do not give professional attendance. 
  Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager 
  To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar. 

  All this (save the last stanza) Henry said, 
    And thought. I say no more--I`ve said too much; 
  For all of us have either heard or read--
    Off--or upon the hustings--some slight such 
  Hints from the independent heart or head 
    Of the official candidate. I`ll touch 
  No more on this--the dinner-bell hath rung, 
  And grace is said; the grace I should have sung-- 

  But I`m too late, and therefore must make play. 
    `Twas a great banquet, such as Albion old 
  Was wont to boast--as if a glutton`s tray 
    Were something very glorious to behold. 
  But `twas a public feast and public day,--
    Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold, 
  Great plenty, much formality, small cheer, 
  And every body out of their own sphere. 

  The squires familiarly formal, and 
    My lords and ladies proudly condescending; 
  The very servants puzzling how to hand 
    Their plates--without it might be too much bending 
  From their high places by the sideboard`s stand-- 
    Yet, like their masters, fearful of offending. 
  For any deviation from the graces 
  Might cost both man and master too--their places. 

  There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen, 
    Whose hounds ne`er err`d, nor greyhounds deign`d to lurch; 
  Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, seen 
    Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search 
  Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen. 
    There were some massy members of the church, 
  Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches, 
  And several who sung fewer psalms than catches. 

  There were some country wags too - and, alas! 
    Some exiles from the town, who had been driven 
  To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass, 
    And rise at nine in lieu of long eleven. 
  And lo! upon that day it came to pass, 
    I sate next that o`erwhelming son of heaven, 
  The very powerful parson, Peter Pith, 
  The loudest wit I e`er was deafen`d with. 

  I knew him in his livelier London days, 
    A brilliant diner out, though but a curate; 
  And not a joke he cut but earn`d its praise, 
    Until preferment, coming at a sure rate 
  (O Providence! how wondrous are thy ways! 
    Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurate?), 
  Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o`er Lincoln, 
  A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on. 

  His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes; 
    But both were thrown away amongst the fens; 
  For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks. 
    No longer ready ears and short-hand pens 
  Imbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax: 
    The poor priest was reduced to common sense, 
  Or to coarse efforts very loud and long, 
  To hammer a horse laugh from the thick throng. 

  There is a difference, says the song, `between 
    A beggar and a queen,` or was (of late 
  The latter worse used of the two we`ve seen-- 
    But we`ll say nothing of affairs of state); 
  A difference ``twixt a bishop and a dean,` 
    A difference between crockery ware and plate, 
  As between English beef and Spartan broth-- 
  And yet great heroes have been bred by both. 

  But of all nature`s discrepancies, none 
    Upon the whole is greater than the difference 
  Beheld between the country and the town, 
    Of which the latter merits every preference 
  From those who have few resources of their own, 
    And only think, or act, or feel, with reference 
  To some small plan of interest or ambition-- 
  Both which are limited to no condition. 

  But `en avant!` The light loves languish o`er 
    Long banquets and too many guests, although 
  A slight repast makes people love much more, 
    Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know 
  Even from our grammar upwards, friends of yore 
    With vivifying Venus, who doth owe 
  To these the invention of champagne and truffles: 
  Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles. 

  Dully past o`er the dinner of the day; 
    And Juan took his place, he knew not where, 
  Confused, in the confusion, and distrait, 
    And sitting as if nail`d upon his chair: 
  Though knives and forks clank`d round as in a fray, 
    He seem`d unconscious of all passing there, 
  Till some one, with a groan, exprest a wish 
  (Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish. 

  On which, at the third asking of the bans, 
    He started; and perceiving smiles around 
  Broadening to grins, he colour`d more than once, 
    And hastily--as nothing can confound 
  A wise man more than laughter from a dunce--
    Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound, 
  And with such hurry, that ere he could curb it 
  He had paid his neighbour`s prayer with half a turbot. 

  This was no bad mistake, as it occurr`d, 
    The supplicator being an amateur; 
  But others, who were left with scarce a third, 
    Were angry--as they well might, to be sure. 
  They wonder`d how a young man so absurd 
    Lord Henry at his table should endure; 
  And this, and his not knowing how much oats 
  Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes. 

  They little knew, or might have sympathised, 
    That he the night before had seen a ghost, 
  A prologue which but slightly harmonised 
    With the substantial company engross`d 
  By matter, and so much materialised, 
    That one scarce knew at what to marvel most 
  Of two things--how (the question rather odd is) 
  Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies. 

  But what confused him more than smile or stare 
    From all the `squires and `squiresses around, 
  Who wonder`d at the abstraction of his air, 
    Especially as he had been renown`d 
  For some vivacity among the fair, 
    Even in the country circle`s narrow bound 
  (For little things upon my lord`s estate 
  Were good small talk for others still less great)-- 

  Was, that he caught Aurora`s eye on his, 
    And something like a smile upon her cheek. 
  Now this he really rather took amiss: 
    In those who rarely smile, their smiles bespeak 
  A strong external motive; and in this 
    Smile of Aurora`s there was nought to pique 
  Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles 
  Which some pretend to trace in ladies` smiles. 

  `Twas a mere quiet smile of contemplation, 
    Indicative of some surprise and pity; 
  And Juan grew carnation with vexation, 
    Which was not very wise, and still less witty, 
  Since he had gain`d at least her observation, 
    A most important outwork of the city-- 
  As Juan should have known, had not his senses 
  By last night`s ghost been driven from their defences. 

  But what was bad, she did not blush in turn, 
    Nor seem embarrass`d--quite the contrary; 
  Her aspect was as usual, still--not stern-- 
    And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye, 
  Yet grew a little pale--with what? concern? 
    I know not; but her colour ne`er was high-- 
  Though sometimes faintly flush`d--and always clear, 
  As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere. 

  But Adeline was occupied by fame 
    This day; and watching, witching, condescending 
  To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game, 
    And dignity with courtesy so blending, 
  As all must blend whose part it is to aim 
    (Especially as the sixth year is ending) 
  At their lord`s, son`s, or similar connection`s 
  Safe conduct through the rocks of re-elections. 

  Though this was most expedient on the whole, 
    And usual--Juan, when he cast a glance 
  On Adeline while playing her grand role, 
    Which she went through as though it were a dance, 
  Betraying only now and then her soul 
    By a look scarce perceptibly askance 
  (Of weariness or scorn), began to feel 
  Some doubt how much of Adeline was real; 

  So well she acted all and every part 
    By turns--with that vivacious versatility, 
  Which many people take for want of heart. 
    They err--`tis merely what is call`d mobility, 
  A thing of temperament and not of art, 
    Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; 
  And false--though true; for surely they `re sincerest 
  Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest. 

  This makes your actors, artists, and romancers, 
    Heroes sometimes, though seldom--sages never; 
  But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers, 
    Little that`s great, but much of what is clever; 
  Most orators, but very few financiers, 
    Though all Exchequer chancellors endeavour, 
  Of late years, to dispense with Cocker`s rigours, 
  And grow quite figurative with their figures. 

  The poets of arithmetic are they 
    Who, though they prove not two and two to be 
  Five, as they might do in a modest way, 
    Have plainly made it out that four are three, 
  Judging by what they take, and what they pay. 
    The Sinking Fund`s unfathomable sea, 
  That most unliquidating liquid, leaves 
  The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives. 

  While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces, 
    The fair Fitz-Fulke seem`d very much at ease; 
  Though too well bred to quiz men to their faces, 
    Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize 
  The ridicules of people in all places - 
    That honey of your fashionable bees - 
  And store it up for mischievous enjoyment; 
  And this at present was her kind employment. 

  However, the day closed, as days must close; 
    The evening also waned - and coffee came. 
  Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose, 
    And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame, 
  Retired: with most unfashionable bows 
    Their docile esquires also did the same, 
  Delighted with their dinner and their host, 
  But with the Lady Adeline the most. 

  Some praised her beauty; others her great grace; 
    The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity 
  Was obvious in each feature of her face, 
    Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity. 
  Yes; she was truly worthy her high place! 
    No one could envy her deserved prosperity. 
  And then her dress - what beautiful simplicity 
  Draperied her form with curious felicity! 

  Meanwhile Sweet Adeline deserved their praises, 
    By an impartial indemnification 
  For all her past exertion and soft phrases, 
    In a most edifying conversation, 
  Which turn`d upon their late guests` miens and faces, 
    And families, even to the last relation; 
  Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses, 
  And truculent distortion of their tresses. 

  True, she said little - `twas the rest that broke 
    Forth into universal epigram; 
  But then `twas to the purpose what she spoke: 
    Like Addison`s `faint praise,` so wont to damn, 
  Her own but served to set off every joke, 
    As music chimes in with a melodrame. 
  How sweet the task to shield an absent friend! 
  I ask but this of mine, to - not defend. 

  There were but two exceptions to this keen 
    Skirmish of wits o`er the departed; one 
  Aurora, with her pure and placid mien; 
    And Juan, too, in general behind none 
  In gay remark on what he had heard or seen, 
    Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone: 
  In vain he heard the others rail or rally, 
  He would not join them in a single sally. 

  `Tis true he saw Aurora look as though 
    She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook 
  Its motive for that charity we owe 
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