The Dance of Life A Poem, by the author of "Doctor Syntax;%" [i.e. William Combe] Illustrated with coloured engravings, by Thomas Rowlandson |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | CHAPTER I. INFANCY. The Dance of Life |  |
Away she pass'd, with easy grace,
And smile sarcastic on her face;
To claim elsewhere, some fresh attention
To stories, half her own invention.
Lady G---.
“Now that the curious Dame is gone,
“And we, dear Nurse, are left alone,
“In your own way, you will supply
“What you know of the History,
“Which the good Doctor S--- began,
“Of this extraordinary man!”
Nurse.
Lady ---.
“My dear, good Nurse, you reason well
“The art of Life is living well:
“In what is just, in what is true,
“The learn'd can do no more than you:
“The whole, when rightly understood,
“Is to shun ill, and to be good.
“—But now proceed, I pray, to show
“What yet remains for me to know.”
Nurse.
“A Gardener and his wife, those two
“Did all the Curate had to do:
“And, when he died, he left them clear
“Full five and twenty pounds a year.
“Throughout their service, they ne'er heard
“One harsh or discontented word:
“They always said, that, through the day,
“To them he cheerful seem'd, and gay;
“But sorrow, that tormenting sprite,
“Was wont to haunt him through the night;
“And oft his pillow did appear
“Bedew'd with many a secret tear.
“At length, reduc'd to skin and bone,
“He was a walking Skeleton;
“And all throughout the village said,
“He soon would sleep among the dead.
“One morn, but e'er the dawning light
“Had quite dispers'd the gloomy night,
“A shriek was on a sudden heard:
“The Gardener 'woke, and curs'd the bird,
“The screech-owl, whose ill-omen'd note
“With fatal augury fill'd its throat:
“'Tis worse, said Margery, I beshrew
“It was the griesly cock that crew.—
“Again I hear it, my good Dame,
“It from my Master's chamber came:
“My heart forbodes—and much I fear
“That Death himself is busy there.
“Soon did the taper's glimm'ring light
“Display the horrors of the night:
“The groan had broke his heart in twain;
“For he ne'er op'd his eyes again:
“Those eyes, alas, were clos'd by sorrow,
“And ne'er beheld another morrow.
“Strange things were said the village through,
“Nay, some there were who thought them true.
“I heard my Grandame say, the bell
“Rung from Church tower a dismal knell;
“Though the old Sexton stoutly swore
“No one had pass'd the Belfry door:
“The night was blust'ring, and her ear
“Might fancy sounds she did not hear.
“Others declar'd a horse was seen
“As white as snow upon the Green;
“And to his back that wings were given
“To bear the Curate's soul to Heaven.
“It was enough for us to know
“That he had left a world of woe:
“While we may trust his soul is blest
“In mansions of eternal rest.
“—The village wept throughout the day
“That gave him to the worms a prey:
“Grief on each eye in streamlets hung,
“And told its tale from ev'ry tongue.
“Your worthy Doctor, as he stood,
“Wip'd from his cheeks the trickling flood;
“The Rector fault'ring, scarce could read
“The prayers appointed for the dead;
“And, as he Dust to Dust consign'd,
“The dumb peal loiter'd in the wind.
“Upon the grave sweet flowers were seen
“Blending their bright leaves with the green:
“I wove a garland fresh and fair,
“Which bloom'd awhile, then wither'd there.”
Lady G---.
“But I suppose, good Nurse, you know
“Some hist'ry of this child of woe:
“What poignant, rooted cares oppress'd
“The deep recesses of his breast;
“And, e'er it reach'd meridian day,
“What caus'd his Life to waste away.
“He might th'unhappy cause conceal,
“But Death would every part reveal.”
Nurse.
And smile sarcastic on her face;
To claim elsewhere, some fresh attention
To stories, half her own invention.
Lady G---.
“Now that the curious Dame is gone,
“And we, dear Nurse, are left alone,
30
“What you know of the History,
“Which the good Doctor S--- began,
“Of this extraordinary man!”
Nurse.
“If, to enjoy the general love,
“Doth Man's superior virtue prove,
“He was, as 'tis indeed confess'd,
“Among the very good—the best.
“Yes, he was lov'd by old and young,
“And his praise flow'd from ev'ry tongue:
“The old he counsell'd, and the youth
“Were shewn by him, the paths of truth;
“While with the children he would play,
“And seem'd as jovial as they:
“Oh, when he was in cheerful mood
“The sight of him would do one good.
“No pride had he; if Sue or Pat
“Curtsied or bow'd, off went his hat.
“—Well I remember, at a Feast,
“When all the Summer labours ceas'd,
“We were all dancing on the Green.
“And he approach'd with smiling mien;
“The pipe play'd, and the tabor's drum
“Tun'd forth the joyous Harvest Home;
“Nor did his well-ton'd voice disdain
“To mingle with the rural strain.
“—Give me a chalk,” said he, “I'll scrawl
“My thoughts upon the wainscot wall:
“And, fast as I can speak, he wrote
“The verses which I now shall quote.
“Doth Man's superior virtue prove,
“He was, as 'tis indeed confess'd,
“Among the very good—the best.
“Yes, he was lov'd by old and young,
“And his praise flow'd from ev'ry tongue:
“The old he counsell'd, and the youth
“Were shewn by him, the paths of truth;
“While with the children he would play,
“And seem'd as jovial as they:
“Oh, when he was in cheerful mood
“The sight of him would do one good.
“No pride had he; if Sue or Pat
“Curtsied or bow'd, off went his hat.
“—Well I remember, at a Feast,
“When all the Summer labours ceas'd,
31
“And he approach'd with smiling mien;
“The pipe play'd, and the tabor's drum
“Tun'd forth the joyous Harvest Home;
“Nor did his well-ton'd voice disdain
“To mingle with the rural strain.
“—Give me a chalk,” said he, “I'll scrawl
“My thoughts upon the wainscot wall:
“And, fast as I can speak, he wrote
“The verses which I now shall quote.
“‘Dance on and sing, till night is done,
“But wait not for the morning sun:
“Then hie to rest, and when you rise,
“Offer your tribute to the skies:
“For thus, with innocence, 'tis given
“To sing and dance, and go to Heaven.’”
“But wait not for the morning sun:
“Then hie to rest, and when you rise,
“Offer your tribute to the skies:
“For thus, with innocence, 'tis given
“To sing and dance, and go to Heaven.’”
“The Farmer had these verses scor'd
“Deep with a knife upon the board;
“Nor would he sell them, were he told,
“For ev'ry word, a piece of gold.
“My Lady, when she takes the air,
“May call and read the verses there.
“Deep with a knife upon the board;
“Nor would he sell them, were he told,
“For ev'ry word, a piece of gold.
32
“May call and read the verses there.
“Whene'er He preach'd, the country round
“Crouded to hear the Gospel sound,
“Which his voice did with power proclaim
“In a Redeeming Saviour's name.
“—When to that bed He came to pray,
“Where my departing Father lay;
“When he to Heaven his prayer preferr'd,
“It was an Angel's voice I heard:
“He seem'd a Messenger from Heaven,
“To say—Thy sins are all forgiven.
“Crouded to hear the Gospel sound,
“Which his voice did with power proclaim
“In a Redeeming Saviour's name.
“—When to that bed He came to pray,
“Where my departing Father lay;
“When he to Heaven his prayer preferr'd,
“It was an Angel's voice I heard:
“He seem'd a Messenger from Heaven,
“To say—Thy sins are all forgiven.
“Sometimes, when he stray'd alone,
“He look'd like one all woe begone:
“I've seen him stretch'd on yonder mead,
“Beneath the Bush, as he were dead;
“Flowers he too would cull and throw
“Into the brook that ran below;
“And then would pace the streamlet's side,
“To watch them on the eddying tide.
“He too was often seen to rove,
“As if in sadness, through the grove;
“In the church-yard aloud would read,
“As if he did address the dead;
“Stretch forth his arms, then strike his breast,
“And cry—‘Perturbed Spirit rest:’
“Yet he would, sometimes dance along,
“Tuning his motions to a song.
“—I've often heard the shepherds say,
“Watching their flocks at early day,
“That o'er the uplands he would stray,
“With wand'ring steps, now here, now there,
“Like some one who was craz'd with care:
“Or on a point, would stand to view
“The distant sea's æthereal blue,
“As though he watch'd the gentle sail,
“Borne onward by the swelling gale.
“—His cottage—'twas a perfect treat
“To see the place so trim and neat:
“Books, all on shelves, were rang'd around,
“E'en from the ceiling to the ground,
“And various pictures, in a row,
“Hung on the walls, a goodly show.
“The Garden boasted every flower
“That scents the Spring or Summer hour;
“And all the birds that built a home
“Within his hedge, ne'er wish'd to roam:
“They liv'd secure, for his command
“Forbade the violating hand.
“Oft he would sit the whole day long
“As if he listen'd to their song:
“Nay, when the earth by frost was bound,
“Or the snow whiten'd all the ground,
“His little Choristers he fed
“With scatter'd seeds or crumbs of bread;
“And flocks of Robins would attend
“The summons of their generous Friend.
“—Nor did the poor-man ling'ring wait
“The bounties of the cottage gate.
“He calm'd the cares of those who griev'd;
“The wants of others he reliev'd;
“And did, on all around, bestow
“The happiness he did not know.
“He comfort gave to many a heart
“While his own felt the rankling smart
“Of angry Fortune's envious dart,
“That tortur'd with a pain severe
“Which e'en his virtues could not bear.
“—In its wise judgements Heaven knows best
“Why these are wretched, those are blest;
“Why some are call'd in early day,
“Like flowers, in Spring, to pass away,
“While others are allow'd to live,
“As long as Life its hours can give.
“The learned know these things—but we,
“Brought up in low-born privacy,
“Can only strive each ill to shun;
“And say to Heaven—‘Thy will be done.’”
“He look'd like one all woe begone:
“I've seen him stretch'd on yonder mead,
“Beneath the Bush, as he were dead;
“Flowers he too would cull and throw
“Into the brook that ran below;
“And then would pace the streamlet's side,
“To watch them on the eddying tide.
33
“As if in sadness, through the grove;
“In the church-yard aloud would read,
“As if he did address the dead;
“Stretch forth his arms, then strike his breast,
“And cry—‘Perturbed Spirit rest:’
“Yet he would, sometimes dance along,
“Tuning his motions to a song.
“—I've often heard the shepherds say,
“Watching their flocks at early day,
“That o'er the uplands he would stray,
“With wand'ring steps, now here, now there,
“Like some one who was craz'd with care:
“Or on a point, would stand to view
“The distant sea's æthereal blue,
“As though he watch'd the gentle sail,
“Borne onward by the swelling gale.
“—His cottage—'twas a perfect treat
“To see the place so trim and neat:
“Books, all on shelves, were rang'd around,
“E'en from the ceiling to the ground,
34
“Hung on the walls, a goodly show.
“The Garden boasted every flower
“That scents the Spring or Summer hour;
“And all the birds that built a home
“Within his hedge, ne'er wish'd to roam:
“They liv'd secure, for his command
“Forbade the violating hand.
“Oft he would sit the whole day long
“As if he listen'd to their song:
“Nay, when the earth by frost was bound,
“Or the snow whiten'd all the ground,
“His little Choristers he fed
“With scatter'd seeds or crumbs of bread;
“And flocks of Robins would attend
“The summons of their generous Friend.
“—Nor did the poor-man ling'ring wait
“The bounties of the cottage gate.
“He calm'd the cares of those who griev'd;
“The wants of others he reliev'd;
“And did, on all around, bestow
“The happiness he did not know.
35
“While his own felt the rankling smart
“Of angry Fortune's envious dart,
“That tortur'd with a pain severe
“Which e'en his virtues could not bear.
“—In its wise judgements Heaven knows best
“Why these are wretched, those are blest;
“Why some are call'd in early day,
“Like flowers, in Spring, to pass away,
“While others are allow'd to live,
“As long as Life its hours can give.
“The learned know these things—but we,
“Brought up in low-born privacy,
“Can only strive each ill to shun;
“And say to Heaven—‘Thy will be done.’”
Lady ---.
“My dear, good Nurse, you reason well
“The art of Life is living well:
“In what is just, in what is true,
“The learn'd can do no more than you:
36
“Is to shun ill, and to be good.
“—But now proceed, I pray, to show
“What yet remains for me to know.”
Nurse.
“A Gardener and his wife, those two
“Did all the Curate had to do:
“And, when he died, he left them clear
“Full five and twenty pounds a year.
“Throughout their service, they ne'er heard
“One harsh or discontented word:
“They always said, that, through the day,
“To them he cheerful seem'd, and gay;
“But sorrow, that tormenting sprite,
“Was wont to haunt him through the night;
“And oft his pillow did appear
“Bedew'd with many a secret tear.
“At length, reduc'd to skin and bone,
“He was a walking Skeleton;
“And all throughout the village said,
“He soon would sleep among the dead.
37
“Had quite dispers'd the gloomy night,
“A shriek was on a sudden heard:
“The Gardener 'woke, and curs'd the bird,
“The screech-owl, whose ill-omen'd note
“With fatal augury fill'd its throat:
“'Tis worse, said Margery, I beshrew
“It was the griesly cock that crew.—
“Again I hear it, my good Dame,
“It from my Master's chamber came:
“My heart forbodes—and much I fear
“That Death himself is busy there.
“Soon did the taper's glimm'ring light
“Display the horrors of the night:
“The groan had broke his heart in twain;
“For he ne'er op'd his eyes again:
“Those eyes, alas, were clos'd by sorrow,
“And ne'er beheld another morrow.
“Strange things were said the village through,
“Nay, some there were who thought them true.
“I heard my Grandame say, the bell
“Rung from Church tower a dismal knell;
38
“No one had pass'd the Belfry door:
“The night was blust'ring, and her ear
“Might fancy sounds she did not hear.
“Others declar'd a horse was seen
“As white as snow upon the Green;
“And to his back that wings were given
“To bear the Curate's soul to Heaven.
“It was enough for us to know
“That he had left a world of woe:
“While we may trust his soul is blest
“In mansions of eternal rest.
“—The village wept throughout the day
“That gave him to the worms a prey:
“Grief on each eye in streamlets hung,
“And told its tale from ev'ry tongue.
“Your worthy Doctor, as he stood,
“Wip'd from his cheeks the trickling flood;
“The Rector fault'ring, scarce could read
“The prayers appointed for the dead;
“And, as he Dust to Dust consign'd,
“The dumb peal loiter'd in the wind.
39
“Blending their bright leaves with the green:
“I wove a garland fresh and fair,
“Which bloom'd awhile, then wither'd there.”
Lady G---.
“But I suppose, good Nurse, you know
“Some hist'ry of this child of woe:
“What poignant, rooted cares oppress'd
“The deep recesses of his breast;
“And, e'er it reach'd meridian day,
“What caus'd his Life to waste away.
“He might th'unhappy cause conceal,
“But Death would every part reveal.”
Nurse.
“The Rector knew it all, but he
“Would ne'er unfold the mystery.
“He lov'd his friend, and many a day,
“Nay, many a month had pass'd away
“E'er he resum'd the chearful grace
“That us'd to deck his ruddy face:
“Yet the fair Legacy he gain'd
“Of all the Curate's cot contain'd;
“And many curious things and rare
“Were known to have been treasur'd there.
“—The country round, it was agreed
“That Love perform'd the cruel deed;
“Strange, he in Love a foe should find
“Who was the Friend of human kind.
“And yet, as I shall now explain,
“He surely did not love in vain.
“Would ne'er unfold the mystery.
“He lov'd his friend, and many a day,
“Nay, many a month had pass'd away
“E'er he resum'd the chearful grace
“That us'd to deck his ruddy face:
40
“Of all the Curate's cot contain'd;
“And many curious things and rare
“Were known to have been treasur'd there.
“—The country round, it was agreed
“That Love perform'd the cruel deed;
“Strange, he in Love a foe should find
“Who was the Friend of human kind.
“And yet, as I shall now explain,
“He surely did not love in vain.
“It was about three months, or more,
“After the Funeral rites were o'er,
“That here a fair young Lady came,
“But no one e'er could learn her name:
“I saw her in a carriage wait
“As it stood by the Church-yard gate.
“She quickly for the Sexton sent,
“And to the Curate's grave they went.
“She wept—and with such deep-fetch'd sighs,
“As brought tears into Gabriel's eyes;
“And he was seldom known to melt
“At tales of woe which others felt.
“—I took the basket from my head
“To see what pass'd among the dead:
“I stood beside the Church-yard wall,
“And near enough to hear it all.
“With doleful look, and sighs profound,
“She knelt, and thrice she kiss'd the ground;
“Then, as around the space she trod,
“She pluck'd the nettles from the sod.
“There, she exclaim'd, no weeds should grow,
“But violets bloom and roses blow:
“Such plants as scented blossoms bear
“Or fragrant leaves, should flourish there.
“Guard the grave well and keep it clean,
“And let it be a shaven Green:
“Make it, I ask, your faithful care,
“For my fond heart is buried there.
“There's gold, my honest friend, she said,
“With which your pains will be repaid:
“And oh, may Justice blast the pride,
“The fatal cause that Henry died.
“Why did I let that crime destroy
“The only source of Emma's joy.”
“After the Funeral rites were o'er,
“That here a fair young Lady came,
“But no one e'er could learn her name:
“I saw her in a carriage wait
“As it stood by the Church-yard gate.
“She quickly for the Sexton sent,
“And to the Curate's grave they went.
“She wept—and with such deep-fetch'd sighs,
“As brought tears into Gabriel's eyes;
41
“At tales of woe which others felt.
“—I took the basket from my head
“To see what pass'd among the dead:
“I stood beside the Church-yard wall,
“And near enough to hear it all.
“With doleful look, and sighs profound,
“She knelt, and thrice she kiss'd the ground;
“Then, as around the space she trod,
“She pluck'd the nettles from the sod.
“There, she exclaim'd, no weeds should grow,
“But violets bloom and roses blow:
“Such plants as scented blossoms bear
“Or fragrant leaves, should flourish there.
“Guard the grave well and keep it clean,
“And let it be a shaven Green:
“Make it, I ask, your faithful care,
“For my fond heart is buried there.
“There's gold, my honest friend, she said,
“With which your pains will be repaid:
42
“The fatal cause that Henry died.
“Why did I let that crime destroy
“The only source of Emma's joy.”
| CHAPTER I. INFANCY. The Dance of Life | |