The Dance of Life A Poem, by the author of "Doctor Syntax;%" [i.e. William Combe] Illustrated with coloured engravings, by Thomas Rowlandson |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | CHAPTER II. CHILDHOOD. The Dance of Life |  |
I've ne'er forgot, from Youth to Age,
The Lessons of the Matron Sage;
Her deep-sown truths, I still avow;
I felt them then—I feel them now.
I felt them when but Little Sue,—
And now, grown old, I find them true.
—I know that old John Ravelin says,
When in the midst of wicked ways,
He oft was check'd, if he but thought
Of what his good, old Mistress taught:—
If sick with wounds gain'd in the wars,
Of which he now can show the scars,
He real comfort felt, whene'er
He whisper'd forth the Cottage prayer.
Brave John, now pension'd and retir'd,
When, with his former valour fir'd,
He tells of England's fame and glory,
Oaths oft are heard to deck the story;
But if, by chance, the spot he sees
Where the Cot stood among the trees,
The blasphemy's no more preferr'd
But sinks into some pious word:
He seems to see, as if in air,
The Cot, and his old Mistress there.
He has far distant regions sought,
And many a bloody battle fought;
Has sail'd the stormy Ocean o'er,
And travers'd India's sultry shore;
Yet still he owns, in Life's last stage,
Th'instructions of his Boyish Age,
When tutor'd by the Matron sage.
But the good Dame has long been dead,
And all that sacred scene is fled:
Gone is the Hawthorn bower and wood,
And Corn grows where the Cottage stood.
The Lessons of the Matron Sage;
Her deep-sown truths, I still avow;
I felt them then—I feel them now.
I felt them when but Little Sue,—
And now, grown old, I find them true.
71
When in the midst of wicked ways,
He oft was check'd, if he but thought
Of what his good, old Mistress taught:—
If sick with wounds gain'd in the wars,
Of which he now can show the scars,
He real comfort felt, whene'er
He whisper'd forth the Cottage prayer.
Brave John, now pension'd and retir'd,
When, with his former valour fir'd,
He tells of England's fame and glory,
Oaths oft are heard to deck the story;
But if, by chance, the spot he sees
Where the Cot stood among the trees,
The blasphemy's no more preferr'd
But sinks into some pious word:
He seems to see, as if in air,
The Cot, and his old Mistress there.
He has far distant regions sought,
And many a bloody battle fought;
Has sail'd the stormy Ocean o'er,
And travers'd India's sultry shore;
72
Th'instructions of his Boyish Age,
When tutor'd by the Matron sage.
But the good Dame has long been dead,
And all that sacred scene is fled:
Gone is the Hawthorn bower and wood,
And Corn grows where the Cottage stood.
| CHAPTER II. CHILDHOOD. The Dance of Life | |