Poems By Mr. Polwhele. In three volumes |
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CANTO THE SECOND.
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 | Poems |  |
19
CANTO THE SECOND.
ARGUMENT.
1. The Guardian Genius of the House of Andarton convening the inferior Spirits—apprehensive of some impending evil—assigning to the Feri their different Stations in the Protection of the Family, &c. &c.—2. Sir Humphrey's private Life—Rachel's Occupations—Harriet's—Miss Prue's—Twelfth-Day, on which Sir Humphrey was born—Sir Humphrey, &c. in public—At Church—Herbert the Curate—Sir Humphrey, a Justice of the Peace—Ned Jerkairs, his Clerk.—3. Harriet's Pregnancy—Birth of a Son, Allan-de-Andarton.
Such was the household of Andarton-Grove,
A patriarchal tent, sustain'd by love,
Where all (but one) delighted to impart
The bliss that springs from harmony of heart;
When now the spirit, who with guardian sway
Had watch'd Andarton from its earliest day,
Glanc'd thro' the glimmering park at fall of eve,
And, as the duskier wood began to heave
With universal tremor, sought the roof
Of a fair oak, whose leaves were knit, star-proof—
An oak whose acorn in the genial earth
Sir Humphrey's father, at his infant's birth,
Had duly set, and round it smooth'd the green,
And trimm'd the neighbour trees, an ambient screen.
There, as beneath its arborous boughs he stood,
He smil'd upon the pride of all the wood.
A patriarchal tent, sustain'd by love,
Where all (but one) delighted to impart
The bliss that springs from harmony of heart;
20
Had watch'd Andarton from its earliest day,
Glanc'd thro' the glimmering park at fall of eve,
And, as the duskier wood began to heave
With universal tremor, sought the roof
Of a fair oak, whose leaves were knit, star-proof—
An oak whose acorn in the genial earth
Sir Humphrey's father, at his infant's birth,
Had duly set, and round it smooth'd the green,
And trimm'd the neighbour trees, an ambient screen.
There, as beneath its arborous boughs he stood,
He smil'd upon the pride of all the wood.
The genius mus'd; while, towering on his head,
A helm appear'd, with Paynim carnage red.
Sudden his potent wand he wav'd around,
And fleeting shadows brush'd the chequer'd ground;
When, gathering in aërial squadrons, shone
The inferior spirits, that his empire own—
The Feri, who had lent their magic aid,
Thro' ages, to protect Andarton's shade.
A helm appear'd, with Paynim carnage red.
Sudden his potent wand he wav'd around,
And fleeting shadows brush'd the chequer'd ground;
When, gathering in aërial squadrons, shone
The inferior spirits, that his empire own—
The Feri, who had lent their magic aid,
Thro' ages, to protect Andarton's shade.
21
“Ye Fayes, (he cried) by whom that ancient wood,
“By whom, firm-rooted, those stout oaks have stood,
“To whom these beeches owe their circling shade,
“By whom those elms, rich-tufted, are array'd;
“To you, ye Fayes, the important cares belong
“To guard the parent-trees, to rear the young.
“Ere wakes the foliage to the morning breeze,
“Be yours to number all these precious trees,
“Protect each scion, nurse the shrubs below,
“And hover o'er the blossoms as they blow.
“And ye, who give the fattening ox to feed,
“Full-udder the fair kine, and guard the breed;
“Bid o'er soft slopes the bearded barley flow,
“Or wheaten furrows wave with golden glow;
“Ah! summon, at this hour, your utmost skill,
“To fence the farm and all its stores from ill.
“What tho', when night hath all the scene o'erbrow'd,
“And the pale Iris glimmers from her cloud,
“Ye freely range, or haunt, as Oberon wills,
“Far winding vallies, and translucent rills;
“Yet is it yours, and Oberon's, to obey
“This wand, and tremble at superior sway.
“By whom, firm-rooted, those stout oaks have stood,
“To whom these beeches owe their circling shade,
“By whom those elms, rich-tufted, are array'd;
“To you, ye Fayes, the important cares belong
“To guard the parent-trees, to rear the young.
“Ere wakes the foliage to the morning breeze,
“Be yours to number all these precious trees,
“Protect each scion, nurse the shrubs below,
“And hover o'er the blossoms as they blow.
“And ye, who give the fattening ox to feed,
“Full-udder the fair kine, and guard the breed;
“Bid o'er soft slopes the bearded barley flow,
“Or wheaten furrows wave with golden glow;
“Ah! summon, at this hour, your utmost skill,
“To fence the farm and all its stores from ill.
“What tho', when night hath all the scene o'erbrow'd,
“And the pale Iris glimmers from her cloud,
“Ye freely range, or haunt, as Oberon wills,
“Far winding vallies, and translucent rills;
22
“This wand, and tremble at superior sway.
“And you, domestic Feri, full of mirth,
“By whom the chirping cricket glads the hearth,
“Who, at the plenteous board, good-humour shed,
“And pour sweet influence o'er the genial bed;—
“Still with benign assistance hover near,
“And deem not I indulge an idle fear.
“I mark some ill—but, ah! the Immortal shrouds
“Its features in impenetrable clouds!
“Then, all ye spirits! watch these sacred groves;
“Cherish their generous lord, and speed his loves.”
He said, and wav'd his wand; when every Fay
Dissolv'd, as at the kindling blush of day.
“By whom the chirping cricket glads the hearth,
“Who, at the plenteous board, good-humour shed,
“And pour sweet influence o'er the genial bed;—
“Still with benign assistance hover near,
“And deem not I indulge an idle fear.
“I mark some ill—but, ah! the Immortal shrouds
“Its features in impenetrable clouds!
“Then, all ye spirits! watch these sacred groves;
“Cherish their generous lord, and speed his loves.”
He said, and wav'd his wand; when every Fay
Dissolv'd, as at the kindling blush of day.
Thus foster'd by the favor of the sprite,
Thy grove, Andarton! bower'd its worthy Knight.
There, of his ancient park, his pastures proud,
He hail'd the summer-sun, the winter-cloud;
Content to run the farmer's annual round,
Monotonous, amid his native ground.
Thy grove, Andarton! bower'd its worthy Knight.
There, of his ancient park, his pastures proud,
He hail'd the summer-sun, the winter-cloud;
23
Monotonous, amid his native ground.
When vernal breezes fann'd the waving shade,
Ere with the morn his starry curtains play'd,
He hasten'd to salute the balmy dawn,
And by the path's alluring softness drawn
To the hill-summit, caught the skylark's note
That from a heaven of amber seem'd to float;
Or listen'd to the wood-dove's tale of woes
That, gurgling, from the impervious dingle rose.
Yet not to lonely pensiveness inclin'd,
He lov'd the cares that wait the watchful hind.
Oft, as he grasp'd his silver-mounted staff,
(A palm-tree branch transmitted from Sir Ralph—
A branch that, with its dates delicious crown'd,
Sir Ralph himself had cut on Salem's ground)
He pac'd the broom-clad upland, or the glade,
To “tell his tale” of sheep, or track the stray'd;
Mark the young daisies, as, with half a smile,
They faintly peep'd thro' fescue, or trefoil,
And, kind in promise to the dairy-lass,
Catch the first gleams where kingcups gild the grass.
Ere with the morn his starry curtains play'd,
He hasten'd to salute the balmy dawn,
And by the path's alluring softness drawn
To the hill-summit, caught the skylark's note
That from a heaven of amber seem'd to float;
Or listen'd to the wood-dove's tale of woes
That, gurgling, from the impervious dingle rose.
Yet not to lonely pensiveness inclin'd,
He lov'd the cares that wait the watchful hind.
Oft, as he grasp'd his silver-mounted staff,
(A palm-tree branch transmitted from Sir Ralph—
A branch that, with its dates delicious crown'd,
Sir Ralph himself had cut on Salem's ground)
He pac'd the broom-clad upland, or the glade,
To “tell his tale” of sheep, or track the stray'd;
Mark the young daisies, as, with half a smile,
They faintly peep'd thro' fescue, or trefoil,
24
Catch the first gleams where kingcups gild the grass.
The sympathetic spirit hath averr'd,
That human kindness draws the beast, the bird:
And, goodness on his countenance portray'd,
Each creature seem'd to court Sir Humphrey's shade.
What tho' the hoop, too conscious of her crime,
Where bursting buds announc'd the joyous prime,
To other orchards from his presence fled,
Ere long to forfeit her felonious head;
Yet would the finch, with gold-streak'd pinions gay,
With short shrill jerks salute him on his way,
Plunge in the thistle her white bill, and shed
Its glistening down, and rear her scarlet head,
Sleek, on the spray above, her brightening plume,
And with arch eye that confidence resume
Which erst, amid the laurel glossy-leav'd,
Her beauteous nest beneath his window weav'd.
That human kindness draws the beast, the bird:
And, goodness on his countenance portray'd,
Each creature seem'd to court Sir Humphrey's shade.
What tho' the hoop, too conscious of her crime,
Where bursting buds announc'd the joyous prime,
To other orchards from his presence fled,
Ere long to forfeit her felonious head;
Yet would the finch, with gold-streak'd pinions gay,
With short shrill jerks salute him on his way,
Plunge in the thistle her white bill, and shed
Its glistening down, and rear her scarlet head,
Sleek, on the spray above, her brightening plume,
And with arch eye that confidence resume
Which erst, amid the laurel glossy-leav'd,
Her beauteous nest beneath his window weav'd.
But, e'er, one tenant of Andarton-Grove
Claim'd from the friendly. Knight peculiar love,
The associate of his young and vigorous years,
Whose honors, time-confer'd, awaken'd tears—
His old roan horse, that, o'er his acres free,
Stray'd, or by sunny hill, or shady tree,
That own'd with pride, each faithful service past,
A generous master's kindness to the last.
The shaggy mane, the hoof with tufts o'ergrown,
The toothless jaws, each rib a staring bone,
Sunk in its socket the dim'd eye of glass,
And knees that scarce sustain'd the tottering mass—
Say, could the skeleton breathe vital air?
Yes! memory, gratitude still linger'd there!
If, in the mead or park he miss'd his Roan,
The Knight, with fears confest by love alone,
Would pierce the skirting thicket, or of thorn
Or birch, tho' cover'd by the drops of morn,
Then, chiding, as affection oft hath chid,
Hail his poor friend, by holly-leaves half hid;
While Roany hasten'd thro' the rustling shade,
And to his prattling master fondly neigh'd!
From Nature's hand accepting Nature's boon,
Such hours of rural peace he pass'd till noon;
When, from his walk return'd, in loose plaid gown,
Oft times he welcom'd, from the neighbour town,
The master of the razor and the puff,
Who, scattering round a store of news and snuff,
Now check'd his tongue, the foaming horn to swig,
Now powder'd, in much haste, the bushy wig.
Claim'd from the friendly. Knight peculiar love,
25
Whose honors, time-confer'd, awaken'd tears—
His old roan horse, that, o'er his acres free,
Stray'd, or by sunny hill, or shady tree,
That own'd with pride, each faithful service past,
A generous master's kindness to the last.
The shaggy mane, the hoof with tufts o'ergrown,
The toothless jaws, each rib a staring bone,
Sunk in its socket the dim'd eye of glass,
And knees that scarce sustain'd the tottering mass—
Say, could the skeleton breathe vital air?
Yes! memory, gratitude still linger'd there!
If, in the mead or park he miss'd his Roan,
The Knight, with fears confest by love alone,
Would pierce the skirting thicket, or of thorn
Or birch, tho' cover'd by the drops of morn,
Then, chiding, as affection oft hath chid,
Hail his poor friend, by holly-leaves half hid;
While Roany hasten'd thro' the rustling shade,
And to his prattling master fondly neigh'd!
From Nature's hand accepting Nature's boon,
Such hours of rural peace he pass'd till noon;
26
Oft times he welcom'd, from the neighbour town,
The master of the razor and the puff,
Who, scattering round a store of news and snuff,
Now check'd his tongue, the foaming horn to swig,
Now powder'd, in much haste, the bushy wig.
Meantime, old Rachel would her charge resume,
And observation dart, from room to room;
The motions of her breathless housemaids watch,
And from the tap'stry-chamber strait dispatch
Their feet impatient, to the blue, the red,
From the pal'd damask, to the new chintz-bed;
Nor quit their heels, till now, their labour done,
In each plump hand the nimble needle shone;
When, keenly searching every dusty nook,
She hied to form arrangements with the cook.
Nor sooner were o'erpast her kitchen cares,
Than her snug closet, half-way up the stairs,
With a quick jerk she duly would unclose,
In triumph tossing her red rivell'd nose;
Thence, thro' a light of lattice, glances throw
O'er all the kitchen, opening-wide, below;
And shrewdly, tho' invisible herself,
Mix in the bustle of each menial elf.
Her room, indeed, was passing-dark, I ween,
While, fading from a ground of rusty green,
A tatter'd paper just disclos'd to sight
Its old rais'd figures, once vermilion-bright.
There, stood in shadow a moth-eaten desk;
And there, a veteran cabinet grotesque,
By some great aunt with filligree adorn'd,
And a bare toilette, long as lumber scorn'd,
Tho', rich-enamel'd, nigh the damask bed
Its posies once a golden radiance shed.
On shelves above were rang'd along the wall,
To stimulate the stomach, or to pall,
Pickles or green or red, and potted meats,
And sparkling syrups, and confection-sweets,
And many a gallipot of rich conserves,
And jaleps, and still-waters for the nerves,
And, fit for Falstaff's self, delicious sack,
But chief, a large case-bottle of coniac.
And observation dart, from room to room;
The motions of her breathless housemaids watch,
And from the tap'stry-chamber strait dispatch
Their feet impatient, to the blue, the red,
From the pal'd damask, to the new chintz-bed;
Nor quit their heels, till now, their labour done,
In each plump hand the nimble needle shone;
When, keenly searching every dusty nook,
She hied to form arrangements with the cook.
Nor sooner were o'erpast her kitchen cares,
Than her snug closet, half-way up the stairs,
With a quick jerk she duly would unclose,
In triumph tossing her red rivell'd nose;
27
O'er all the kitchen, opening-wide, below;
And shrewdly, tho' invisible herself,
Mix in the bustle of each menial elf.
Her room, indeed, was passing-dark, I ween,
While, fading from a ground of rusty green,
A tatter'd paper just disclos'd to sight
Its old rais'd figures, once vermilion-bright.
There, stood in shadow a moth-eaten desk;
And there, a veteran cabinet grotesque,
By some great aunt with filligree adorn'd,
And a bare toilette, long as lumber scorn'd,
Tho', rich-enamel'd, nigh the damask bed
Its posies once a golden radiance shed.
On shelves above were rang'd along the wall,
To stimulate the stomach, or to pall,
Pickles or green or red, and potted meats,
And sparkling syrups, and confection-sweets,
And many a gallipot of rich conserves,
And jaleps, and still-waters for the nerves,
And, fit for Falstaff's self, delicious sack,
But chief, a large case-bottle of coniac.
28
Full oft would Harriet a kind wish impart,
To aid the housewife in her various art.
But, cautious lest another should eclipse
Her fame in crust, in mangoes, or in hips,
Still as her various art the housewife plied,
Her boast “in crowds, her solitary pride,”
Untroubled each indulg'd her different taste;
And Harriet read, while Rachel rais'd her paste.
To aid the housewife in her various art.
But, cautious lest another should eclipse
Her fame in crust, in mangoes, or in hips,
Still as her various art the housewife plied,
Her boast “in crowds, her solitary pride,”
Untroubled each indulg'd her different taste;
And Harriet read, while Rachel rais'd her paste.
And Harriet bade the pencil's magic power
Fling radiance, gilding many a gloomy hour;
And, if her pensive bosom own'd a grief,
Sought, in her dulcet harp, the sure relief.
Fling radiance, gilding many a gloomy hour;
And, if her pensive bosom own'd a grief,
Sought, in her dulcet harp, the sure relief.
Yet she could e'er disperse the cloud of thought
With music by applauding seraphs brought;
While o'er each village, with a kind concern,
Prompt every tale from sorrow's lips to learn,
'Twas hers, her cares, her pity to extend,
The poor man's patroness, to all a friend.
With music by applauding seraphs brought;
While o'er each village, with a kind concern,
Prompt every tale from sorrow's lips to learn,
'Twas hers, her cares, her pity to extend,
The poor man's patroness, to all a friend.
29
Oft, when along the avenue she seem'd
To saunter, where the unfolding landscape beam'd,
And gaze, as if its many-glancing hues
She panted to her tablets to transfuse;
She slop'd her path (yet still appear'd to stray)
To the dim woodwalk, ting'd by dancing day;
Trip'd lightly onward thro' its laurel gloom,
And, heedless of the fragrance and the bloom,
Quick, thro' its waving vista, caught the dale,
And the sweet groupe of cots ascending pale;
And now, by every curious eye unseen,
With pleasure op'd the wicket on the green.
To saunter, where the unfolding landscape beam'd,
And gaze, as if its many-glancing hues
She panted to her tablets to transfuse;
She slop'd her path (yet still appear'd to stray)
To the dim woodwalk, ting'd by dancing day;
Trip'd lightly onward thro' its laurel gloom,
And, heedless of the fragrance and the bloom,
Quick, thro' its waving vista, caught the dale,
And the sweet groupe of cots ascending pale;
And now, by every curious eye unseen,
With pleasure op'd the wicket on the green.
There, as her hands the ready purse unstrung,
She drop'd delicious accents from her tongue;
And, more than with her purse (the poor confess'd)
Cheer'd with that angel-voice the burthen'd breast;
While the sad widow felt a genial glow,
And left, half-told, the story of her woe;
While feeble age, its crutch low-bending o'er,
Forgot the pain it just had mourn'd before;
And lisping babes, attracted by her charms,
Stretch'd out, as she approach'd, their little arms.
She drop'd delicious accents from her tongue;
And, more than with her purse (the poor confess'd)
Cheer'd with that angel-voice the burthen'd breast;
While the sad widow felt a genial glow,
And left, half-told, the story of her woe;
While feeble age, its crutch low-bending o'er,
Forgot the pain it just had mourn'd before;
30
Stretch'd out, as she approach'd, their little arms.
But chief, with tutelary care to guide
A little cottage-school, was Harriet's pride.
Where, on a hillock-slope, beside the wood,
By rude oak-props sustain'd, a structure stood,
And with an air grotesque o'erbrow'd the scene,
Its thatch with moss, its walls with ivy green—
While spir'd its smoke, or roll'd a dusky wreath
O'er the dun hamlet in the dell beneath;
There Harriet visited a veteran aunt,
Who taught her imps the horn-book how to chaunt,
Or how to knit, with azure yarn, the hose;
High-spectacled her venerable nose!
And, lo! at Harriet's voice, the pigmy crowd
Start from their seats, saluting her aloud;
When, as their several tasks they sing or say,
No more they tremble at the birchen spray,
But each, ambitious of a plauding look,
Thumbs with new zeal his not unsullied book;
When the hose-girls their flippant fingers ply,
To steal approving glances from her eye.
A little cottage-school, was Harriet's pride.
Where, on a hillock-slope, beside the wood,
By rude oak-props sustain'd, a structure stood,
And with an air grotesque o'erbrow'd the scene,
Its thatch with moss, its walls with ivy green—
While spir'd its smoke, or roll'd a dusky wreath
O'er the dun hamlet in the dell beneath;
There Harriet visited a veteran aunt,
Who taught her imps the horn-book how to chaunt,
Or how to knit, with azure yarn, the hose;
High-spectacled her venerable nose!
And, lo! at Harriet's voice, the pigmy crowd
Start from their seats, saluting her aloud;
When, as their several tasks they sing or say,
No more they tremble at the birchen spray,
But each, ambitious of a plauding look,
Thumbs with new zeal his not unsullied book;
31
To steal approving glances from her eye.
And tho' the magic of a smile could bribe
To diligence, the sweet untainted tribe;
Yet, little volumes, gilt, or green, or blue,
And silver pennies, pleas'd attention drew;
When, at the unhoped-for holiday high-flusht,
Forth at her nod—their hats in air—they rush'd;
Spread o'er the green, in various pastime gay,
And bask'd and wanton'd in the sunny ray.
To diligence, the sweet untainted tribe;
Yet, little volumes, gilt, or green, or blue,
And silver pennies, pleas'd attention drew;
When, at the unhoped-for holiday high-flusht,
Forth at her nod—their hats in air—they rush'd;
Spread o'er the green, in various pastime gay,
And bask'd and wanton'd in the sunny ray.
Far other were the selfish Prue's pursuits,
Amid her plants, her trinkets, or her brutes.
If the clear morning wore a summer smile,
The greenhouse might, perhaps, an hour beguile:
Yet, as she shrunk, too sensitive, from air,
Her visit to her costly plants was rare.
Amid her plants, her trinkets, or her brutes.
If the clear morning wore a summer smile,
The greenhouse might, perhaps, an hour beguile:
Yet, as she shrunk, too sensitive, from air,
Her visit to her costly plants was rare.
When to her dressing-room Miss Prue retir'd,
With the fond love of varying fashion fir'd;
Incorrigibly formal, she betray'd
An aukward imitation of her maid!
With the fond love of varying fashion fir'd;
32
An aukward imitation of her maid!
Heavens! o'er her chamber what a rich display
Of female frippery in disorder lay!
Here combs of tortoise, elephant, or lead,
There powders that ambrosial essence shed;
Here patches, and pomatums, and perfumes,
There friendly rouge, to bring back female blooms;
And cushions stuck with many a black hair-pin,
And night-gloves from some former Tripsey's skin;
And brushes for the teeth, so ivory white;
And two reflecting mirrors, burnisht bright;
And letters freshly penn'd, where all her soul
The girl had vapour'd to a swart Creole
Her school-companion erst, whose grinning grace
Had taught her how to prize the monkey race!
Of female frippery in disorder lay!
Here combs of tortoise, elephant, or lead,
There powders that ambrosial essence shed;
Here patches, and pomatums, and perfumes,
There friendly rouge, to bring back female blooms;
And cushions stuck with many a black hair-pin,
And night-gloves from some former Tripsey's skin;
And brushes for the teeth, so ivory white;
And two reflecting mirrors, burnisht bright;
And letters freshly penn'd, where all her soul
The girl had vapour'd to a swart Creole
Her school-companion erst, whose grinning grace
Had taught her how to prize the monkey race!
In truth, her monkeys, her perpetual boast,
By the good Knight's connivance, had engross'd
The room that ran along the western wall,
(Propt by the pillars of the extensive hall)
That, by Sir Roger, her great grandsire, built,
Was deck'd with sculpture and superbly gilt;
The “golden room,” that once knew better days,
When, lighten'd by the taper's midnight blaze,
And by its cedar fires perfum'd around,
It sprung elastic to the dancer's bound.
Alas! where wreaths of fragrance gently roll'd
O'er those dim pannels, once of burnisht gold,
From cells assign'd to Tripsey's sweet repose,
Odours, of other sort, assail the nose!
Where, from the viol and the harp high-strung,
With choral notes the copper ceiling rung,
Far other sounds the wondering ear engage,
Amid the proud orchestra now a cage!
Here with long plumes macaws the floor o'ershade,
Where birth-night ladies glitter'd in brocade!
Here Prue with smart Annette a parley holds,
Her monkey fondles or her parrot scolds;
Where brilliant youths dissolv'd in amorous sighs,
And courtly damsels roll'd their charming eyes!
By the good Knight's connivance, had engross'd
33
(Propt by the pillars of the extensive hall)
That, by Sir Roger, her great grandsire, built,
Was deck'd with sculpture and superbly gilt;
The “golden room,” that once knew better days,
When, lighten'd by the taper's midnight blaze,
And by its cedar fires perfum'd around,
It sprung elastic to the dancer's bound.
Alas! where wreaths of fragrance gently roll'd
O'er those dim pannels, once of burnisht gold,
From cells assign'd to Tripsey's sweet repose,
Odours, of other sort, assail the nose!
Where, from the viol and the harp high-strung,
With choral notes the copper ceiling rung,
Far other sounds the wondering ear engage,
Amid the proud orchestra now a cage!
Here with long plumes macaws the floor o'ershade,
Where birth-night ladies glitter'd in brocade!
Here Prue with smart Annette a parley holds,
Her monkey fondles or her parrot scolds;
Where brilliant youths dissolv'd in amorous sighs,
And courtly damsels roll'd their charming eyes!
34
Ah! whether music melts, or dancing fires
The social passion fades, and fast expires;
Tho' once it kindled up the Baron's hall,
And warm'd with equal rays the mud-built wall!
The social passion fades, and fast expires;
Tho' once it kindled up the Baron's hall,
And warm'd with equal rays the mud-built wall!
While now the sounds of cordial union fail,
Where the lone structure darkens every dale;
While floats no more the voice of castled mirth,
And scarce a cricket cheers the cottage-hearth;
Each little neighbourhood may, perhaps, afford
Some grave historian of its ancient lord—
Some hoary peasant once a pamper'd groom,
Who tells, with rueful air, the mansion's doom;
Some gamekeeper, who now with drooping mien,
Eyes his bare plush, alas! no longer green;
And, as each feature various griefs distort,
Regrets the sad cessation of the sport,
While boys with fearless shouts around him run,
And at mid day the poacher vaunts his gun—
Perhaps some vicar, who, half-craz'd with care,
Recounts the ruin of a thriftless heir,
Pointing with signs that grief and pity mark,
To his old patron's pale-dismantled park,
Fell'd trees, where whispering airs no longer play,
And dismal windows that exclude the day!
Yet the good Knight still triumph'd to impart
His own kind feelings to the mantling heart;
When, 'midst the Autumnal or the Winter's feast,
He deem'd the sum of human joy increast.
Where the lone structure darkens every dale;
While floats no more the voice of castled mirth,
And scarce a cricket cheers the cottage-hearth;
Each little neighbourhood may, perhaps, afford
Some grave historian of its ancient lord—
Some hoary peasant once a pamper'd groom,
Who tells, with rueful air, the mansion's doom;
Some gamekeeper, who now with drooping mien,
Eyes his bare plush, alas! no longer green;
And, as each feature various griefs distort,
Regrets the sad cessation of the sport,
While boys with fearless shouts around him run,
And at mid day the poacher vaunts his gun—
Perhaps some vicar, who, half-craz'd with care,
Recounts the ruin of a thriftless heir,
35
To his old patron's pale-dismantled park,
Fell'd trees, where whispering airs no longer play,
And dismal windows that exclude the day!
Yet the good Knight still triumph'd to impart
His own kind feelings to the mantling heart;
When, 'midst the Autumnal or the Winter's feast,
He deem'd the sum of human joy increast.
In the gay circle of convivial cheer,
Blithe Christmas came, with chaplets never sear:
And chief, around his table, Twelfth-day drew
The neighbours of the Knight, a social few;
Cornubian cousins, all alert to pay
A heart-felt homage to his natal day.
Blithe Christmas came, with chaplets never sear:
And chief, around his table, Twelfth-day drew
The neighbours of the Knight, a social few;
Cornubian cousins, all alert to pay
A heart-felt homage to his natal day.
Lo, for the last few years dispos'd to wear
On this peculiar day the gloom of care,
(As rose the morn) half-serious, half-in-joke,
Sir Humphrey hail'd his coetaneous oak.
“Each year (the Knight would cry), each year I see
“Thy stem that argues a more vigorous tree;
“Whilst I, my brother, am grown old and shrunk,
“Full soon to wither, a poor sapless trunk!”
But quick his open forehead from the eclipse
Emerg'd, as squeezing hands and smacking lips,
(To shame the hollowness of modish art)
He smil'd on every neighbour from the heart.
On this peculiar day the gloom of care,
(As rose the morn) half-serious, half-in-joke,
Sir Humphrey hail'd his coetaneous oak.
“Each year (the Knight would cry), each year I see
“Thy stem that argues a more vigorous tree;
36
“Full soon to wither, a poor sapless trunk!”
But quick his open forehead from the eclipse
Emerg'd, as squeezing hands and smacking lips,
(To shame the hollowness of modish art)
He smil'd on every neighbour from the heart.
Nor sooner, at its chill and transient close,
Had evening ting'd a dreary waste of snows,
Than from the great plumb-cake, whose charms entice
Each melting mouth, was dealt the luscious slice;
As all the painted tapers in array
Flung round the jovial room a mimic day,
To wake to wonted sports the fancy wild,
Where, e'en the greybeard re-assum'd the child.
Had evening ting'd a dreary waste of snows,
Than from the great plumb-cake, whose charms entice
Each melting mouth, was dealt the luscious slice;
As all the painted tapers in array
Flung round the jovial room a mimic day,
To wake to wonted sports the fancy wild,
Where, e'en the greybeard re-assum'd the child.
Yes! all—the gay, the serious—prompt to share
The merry pastime, cried—avaunt to care!
All—while each slip a forfeit would incur,
(A slip that hardly left a lasting slur!)
With the same ardor as when childhood dawns,
Survey'd the accumulating store of pawns;
And all enjoy'd, with eyes that rapture beam'd,
The frolic penance that each pawn redeem'd—
Perhaps, self-doom'd to ply the gipsey's trade,
Or thro' the gridiron kiss the kitchen-maid,
Or, by a gentle metaphoric trick,
With cleaner lips salute the candlestick,
Or catch the elusive apple with a bound
As with its taper it flew whizzing round,
Or, into wildness as the spirits work,
Display a visage blacken'd o'er with cork.
The merry pastime, cried—avaunt to care!
All—while each slip a forfeit would incur,
(A slip that hardly left a lasting slur!)
With the same ardor as when childhood dawns,
Survey'd the accumulating store of pawns;
37
The frolic penance that each pawn redeem'd—
Perhaps, self-doom'd to ply the gipsey's trade,
Or thro' the gridiron kiss the kitchen-maid,
Or, by a gentle metaphoric trick,
With cleaner lips salute the candlestick,
Or catch the elusive apple with a bound
As with its taper it flew whizzing round,
Or, into wildness as the spirits work,
Display a visage blacken'd o'er with cork.
Meantime, the geese-dance gains upon the sight,
In all the pride of mimic splendour bright;
As urchin bands display the pageant show,
In tinsel glitter, and in ribbons glow;
And pigmy kings with carnage stain their path,
Shake their cock-plumes, and lift their swords of lath;
And great St. George struts, valorous, o'er the plain,
Deck'd with the trophies of the dragon slain;
And, thick where shiver'd lances strew the ground,
A champion falls, transfix by many a wound,
And little dames their favouring smiles bestow,
And “father Christmas” bows his head of snow!
In all the pride of mimic splendour bright;
As urchin bands display the pageant show,
In tinsel glitter, and in ribbons glow;
And pigmy kings with carnage stain their path,
Shake their cock-plumes, and lift their swords of lath;
And great St. George struts, valorous, o'er the plain,
Deck'd with the trophies of the dragon slain;
And, thick where shiver'd lances strew the ground,
A champion falls, transfix by many a wound,
38
And “father Christmas” bows his head of snow!
Amid the quiet of Andarton's bower,
So pass'd unsullied each domestic hour.
So pass'd unsullied each domestic hour.
Much to the public still Sir Humphrey ow'd:
And, as his heart benevolently flow'd
To patriot zeal, he paid the willing debt;
Whether, at church, as Sunday came, he set
A strict example to the vulgar train;
Or, legal order anxious to maintain,
Settled, an honest justice-of-the-peace,
Parochial forms, and bade contention cease.
And, as his heart benevolently flow'd
To patriot zeal, he paid the willing debt;
Whether, at church, as Sunday came, he set
A strict example to the vulgar train;
Or, legal order anxious to maintain,
Settled, an honest justice-of-the-peace,
Parochial forms, and bade contention cease.
Soon as the sabbath-morn began to break,
Sir Humphrey would a dismal air bespeak;
And teach his household thro' the day to wear,
However borrow'd, the same dismal air.
Yet, as instructed some mishap to rue,
Tho' thus they strove together to look blue,
And Rachel deck'd her visage with a gloom
That seem'd to indicate the day of doom;
Miss Prue, her ceremonies flung aside,
A tribute to her independent pride,
Took up a window-novel, degagee,
And winc'd, and lolling prest the soft settee;
Wonder'd how folks could indolently search
For poor amusement in a cold damp church;
And, as her sire began to talk of sin,
Flew to her monkey with a sister-grin.
Sir Humphrey would a dismal air bespeak;
And teach his household thro' the day to wear,
However borrow'd, the same dismal air.
Yet, as instructed some mishap to rue,
Tho' thus they strove together to look blue,
39
That seem'd to indicate the day of doom;
Miss Prue, her ceremonies flung aside,
A tribute to her independent pride,
Took up a window-novel, degagee,
And winc'd, and lolling prest the soft settee;
Wonder'd how folks could indolently search
For poor amusement in a cold damp church;
And, as her sire began to talk of sin,
Flew to her monkey with a sister-grin.
Behold the frowning twain with painted poles,
Those stern compellers of backsliding souls,
Their coming master in the porch await;
Prepar'd to drag to day, or soon or late,
The soaking tribe, whom only canns of gin
And Nantz more potent to devotion win.
Those stern compellers of backsliding souls,
Their coming master in the porch await;
Prepar'd to drag to day, or soon or late,
The soaking tribe, whom only canns of gin
And Nantz more potent to devotion win.
Sir Humphrey, bowing, pac'd the crouded aisle,
And to the curate glanc'd a gracious smile;
When now his short thick form from every pew
The homage of an awed attention drew—
When his large eye-brows that his eyes o'erhung,
Dark on his Roman nose their shadows flung;
As age with furrowing lines began to break
The ruddy fullness of his healthful cheek;
Tho' candour cloth'd his open forehead high,
And mild good nature grac'd his hazel eye.
And to the curate glanc'd a gracious smile;
When now his short thick form from every pew
The homage of an awed attention drew—
40
Dark on his Roman nose their shadows flung;
As age with furrowing lines began to break
The ruddy fullness of his healthful cheek;
Tho' candour cloth'd his open forehead high,
And mild good nature grac'd his hazel eye.
Amid the varying service, he display'd
The enthusiast's ardour, if the curate pray'd:
Indeed, such fervid zeal Sir Humphrey felt,
He stood himself, to see that others knelt;
And look'd, as if his sight, as erst, were keen,
On many an aunt the pillar'd rows between;
Then, on pale monuments his eye repos'd,
Fix'd his calm thought on beavers half unclos'd,
His glance now upwards to the banners flung,
While o'er his head the heavy gauntlet hung;
Now seem'd to shiver down the steps that led
To all the charnel horrors of the dead,
And, as along the vault reflection ran,
Mourn'd, with moist eye, the transient pride of man.
The enthusiast's ardour, if the curate pray'd:
Indeed, such fervid zeal Sir Humphrey felt,
He stood himself, to see that others knelt;
And look'd, as if his sight, as erst, were keen,
On many an aunt the pillar'd rows between;
Then, on pale monuments his eye repos'd,
Fix'd his calm thought on beavers half unclos'd,
His glance now upwards to the banners flung,
While o'er his head the heavy gauntlet hung;
Now seem'd to shiver down the steps that led
To all the charnel horrors of the dead,
And, as along the vault reflection ran,
Mourn'd, with moist eye, the transient pride of man.
41
Meantime the curate, with a modest port,
Had gain'd the rostrum, ready to exhort,
Perhaps on some fresh outrage to declaim,
And spread on conscious cheeks the blush of shame.
Certain it is, he oft dispens'd advice
Season'd with much vituperative spice,
Nor seldom to the gentler feelings spoke,
And touch'd the bosom by a tender stroke.
Yet, whether to a high censorial pitch
He rais'd his voice in declamation rich,
Or drew, by all the meltingness of tone,
From careless youth a sigh, from age a groan;
The Knight reports, he rarely was so rude
As on the hour of dinner to intrude,
But in good season, with a decent grace,
Resign'd the preacher's for the chaplain's place.
Had gain'd the rostrum, ready to exhort,
Perhaps on some fresh outrage to declaim,
And spread on conscious cheeks the blush of shame.
Certain it is, he oft dispens'd advice
Season'd with much vituperative spice,
Nor seldom to the gentler feelings spoke,
And touch'd the bosom by a tender stroke.
Yet, whether to a high censorial pitch
He rais'd his voice in declamation rich,
Or drew, by all the meltingness of tone,
From careless youth a sigh, from age a groan;
The Knight reports, he rarely was so rude
As on the hour of dinner to intrude,
But in good season, with a decent grace,
Resign'd the preacher's for the chaplain's place.
Yet was young Herbert not of supple mind,
Tho', as Sir Humphrey lik'd, he preach'd or din'd.
Tho', as Sir Humphrey lik'd, he preach'd or din'd.
Not so the rector; whom, e'en once a year,
Sir Huhphrey grudg'd the hospitable cheer;
Who, as with courtly countenance he cring'd,
The Knight's assum'd civilities unhing'd.
“Tho' cheerfully I consecrate a goose,
“(Spite of her cackling) to the curate's use,
“And (sister grunting now) devote a pig;
“Yet to that priest, with ostentation big,
“Who, a proud prebend, once a year, salutes
“His poor parishioners, the Cornish brutes,
“I pay my composition with ill grace,
“And make, at every shilling, a wry face.
“'Zooks! he's a pastor only fit for Prue,
“Who bridling up, as Swellum struts in view,
“Curtsies, and spreads her fan, and talks with ease
“Of lords and ladies, and such-like grandees.
“Who, who can draw his purse-strings, nothing loath
“For doctors of the ton that slight the cloth?
“Indeed, 'tis lucky, that, of ancient date,
“I plead a modus on my own estate.”
Sir Huhphrey grudg'd the hospitable cheer;
42
The Knight's assum'd civilities unhing'd.
“Tho' cheerfully I consecrate a goose,
“(Spite of her cackling) to the curate's use,
“And (sister grunting now) devote a pig;
“Yet to that priest, with ostentation big,
“Who, a proud prebend, once a year, salutes
“His poor parishioners, the Cornish brutes,
“I pay my composition with ill grace,
“And make, at every shilling, a wry face.
“'Zooks! he's a pastor only fit for Prue,
“Who bridling up, as Swellum struts in view,
“Curtsies, and spreads her fan, and talks with ease
“Of lords and ladies, and such-like grandees.
“Who, who can draw his purse-strings, nothing loath
“For doctors of the ton that slight the cloth?
“Indeed, 'tis lucky, that, of ancient date,
“I plead a modus on my own estate.”
At every innovation prompt to spurn,
His law of modus he deriv'd—from Burn:
And Burn he studied with incessant pains
Till now his failing eyesight sav'd his brains.
His law of modus he deriv'd—from Burn:
43
Till now his failing eyesight sav'd his brains.
So qualified, the Knight would sally forth,
A justice of the peace of mickle worth;
His knowlege of the laws, each Woden's day,
To brethren of the quorum to display;
Snug at the Grey-goose all disputes compose,
And with his grave companions dine or doze.
A justice of the peace of mickle worth;
His knowlege of the laws, each Woden's day,
To brethren of the quorum to display;
Snug at the Grey-goose all disputes compose,
And with his grave companions dine or doze.
There, if Sir Humphrey wander'd in the dark,
Ned Jerkairs was at hand, his duteous clerk;
And with adroitness to the legal way
Would guide his worship tho' far gone astray,
And, panting with hoarse eloquence, aver:
“Sir, you have push'd ('tis my idea, Sir,
“But I'll consult my brethren of the bar—)
“Sir, you have push'd the matter much too far.
“And, Sir, if you'll excuse a friend's advice,
“(In points of law we cannot be too nice)
“Perhaps, at intervals to cast your eye
“On volumes that within my office lie—
“The statutes, not abridg'd, Sir,—but at large,
“Would fit you, your high duty to discharge.
“For, tho' a magistrate with decent grace
“May fix the mulct in each familiar case,
“(The case, suppose of riot assault,)
“Yet justices, like hounds, are oft at fault.”
Ned Jerkairs was at hand, his duteous clerk;
And with adroitness to the legal way
Would guide his worship tho' far gone astray,
And, panting with hoarse eloquence, aver:
“Sir, you have push'd ('tis my idea, Sir,
“But I'll consult my brethren of the bar—)
“Sir, you have push'd the matter much too far.
“And, Sir, if you'll excuse a friend's advice,
“(In points of law we cannot be too nice)
“Perhaps, at intervals to cast your eye
“On volumes that within my office lie—
44
“Would fit you, your high duty to discharge.
“For, tho' a magistrate with decent grace
“May fix the mulct in each familiar case,
“(The case, suppose of riot assault,)
“Yet justices, like hounds, are oft at fault.”
'Twas thus the days of good Sir Humphrey pass'd
Serene; or ruffled by a transient blast;
When, gathering on his brow, the cloud of care
Betray'd his anxious wishes for an heir.
Serene; or ruffled by a transient blast;
When, gathering on his brow, the cloud of care
Betray'd his anxious wishes for an heir.
At length his lovely wife began to deem
The idea of a son no empty dream.
The idea of a son no empty dream.
And now the Knight alternate fears and hopes
Indulg'd in silence or express'd in tropes;
Assum'd amidst his friends a strict reserve;
Shrunk from a smile with irritable nerve;
And smother'd up his jokes of every sort,
In dread of lips too ready to retort.
Indulg'd in silence or express'd in tropes;
Assum'd amidst his friends a strict reserve;
Shrunk from a smile with irritable nerve;
And smother'd up his jokes of every sort,
In dread of lips too ready to retort.
45
Old Rachel, too, from other cares detacht,
Each symptom with a sharper visage watch'd;
Mark'd every longing with mysterious look,
And puzzled with chimeric cates the cook.
Each symptom with a sharper visage watch'd;
Mark'd every longing with mysterious look,
And puzzled with chimeric cates the cook.
And, lo! pale expectation hover'd nigh;
And the house witness'd one convulsive sigh.
Say who, remote from marriage-scenes, could guess
At such an hour the husband's wild distress;
Shivering at every pin that chanc'd to drop,
For quick relief beseeching Doctor Slop?
Ah! who could tell, how strong the emotion rose
In the Knight's bosom, at his Harriet's throes?
Or, who could paint Sir Humphrey bliss-begone,
When Rachel, with a scream, announc'd—a SON!
Joy ran electric thro' the dancing dome;
And all was transport—but the monkey-room!
And the house witness'd one convulsive sigh.
Say who, remote from marriage-scenes, could guess
At such an hour the husband's wild distress;
Shivering at every pin that chanc'd to drop,
For quick relief beseeching Doctor Slop?
Ah! who could tell, how strong the emotion rose
In the Knight's bosom, at his Harriet's throes?
Or, who could paint Sir Humphrey bliss-begone,
When Rachel, with a scream, announc'd—a SON!
Joy ran electric thro' the dancing dome;
And all was transport—but the monkey-room!
Sunk on her pillow as his Harriet lay,
Her eye-lash veiling each effulgent ray,
Her lily-hand so tremulously-weak,
A lovely blush fast-mounting to her cheek—
Scarce had the Knight his fingers snapt for joy,
Press'd her pale lip, and kiss'd the bouncing boy,
Ere to his astrologic books he slew;
The horoscope with nice precision drew;
And on the hereditary vellum-page
(In cedar cas'd but tawny-ting'd from age)
Enter'd, with all his grandsire Roger's care,
The moment of the birth, the natal star—
Enrich'd with mystic figures quaint and dark,
And many a sage, and many a shrewd remark;
While to his penetrating eye appears
The colour of his Allan's future years!
Her eye-lash veiling each effulgent ray,
Her lily-hand so tremulously-weak,
A lovely blush fast-mounting to her cheek—
46
Press'd her pale lip, and kiss'd the bouncing boy,
Ere to his astrologic books he slew;
The horoscope with nice precision drew;
And on the hereditary vellum-page
(In cedar cas'd but tawny-ting'd from age)
Enter'd, with all his grandsire Roger's care,
The moment of the birth, the natal star—
Enrich'd with mystic figures quaint and dark,
And many a sage, and many a shrewd remark;
While to his penetrating eye appears
The colour of his Allan's future years!
END OF THE SECOND CANTO.
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