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. | CHAPTER V. FOREIGN TOUR. |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | CHAPTER V. FOREIGN TOUR. The Dance of Life |  |
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CHAPTER V. FOREIGN TOUR.
NEW scenes of Life the faithful verse
Is now preparing to rehearse:
The Youthful Bark, our much-lov'd Theme,
Must quit its tranquil, native stream,
In whose smooth course and gentle flow
The oar commands the yielding prow,
And soon be launch'd, with sail unfurl'd,
On the wide Ocean of the world.
Is now preparing to rehearse:
The Youthful Bark, our much-lov'd Theme,
Must quit its tranquil, native stream,
In whose smooth course and gentle flow
The oar commands the yielding prow,
And soon be launch'd, with sail unfurl'd,
On the wide Ocean of the world.
Thus with fond hopes, and tender care,
The Father now resigns his Heir
To distant realms, to learn the ways
Of man, as boundless Life displays
The modes and manners which each clime,
Or change of laws or waste of time
May offer to Reflection's eye,
In every hour's variety.
And as the Bee, from all the flowers
That scent the garden's fragrant bowers,
Extracts their sweets to keep alive
The labours of the humming hive;
So the young Trav'ler from the stores
Of knowledge cull'd on foreign shores,
May, with enlarg'd and treasur'd mind,
And views, by reason well refin'd,
Compleat his Parent's anxious plan
And rise into the promis'd Man.
Thus in whatever state he moves
As Fortune points or duty proves,
He may attain Life's high ascent,
Its bright and solid ornament:
He, of the public weal the friend,
May all its dearest rights defend;
With generous ardor persevere
In Honour's unrestrain'd career,
While, bless'd with wealth and using power
To cheer fair Virtue's drooping hour,
May, every noble toil subdued,
Be rank'd among the great and good.
The Father now resigns his Heir
To distant realms, to learn the ways
Of man, as boundless Life displays
139
Or change of laws or waste of time
May offer to Reflection's eye,
In every hour's variety.
And as the Bee, from all the flowers
That scent the garden's fragrant bowers,
Extracts their sweets to keep alive
The labours of the humming hive;
So the young Trav'ler from the stores
Of knowledge cull'd on foreign shores,
May, with enlarg'd and treasur'd mind,
And views, by reason well refin'd,
Compleat his Parent's anxious plan
And rise into the promis'd Man.
Thus in whatever state he moves
As Fortune points or duty proves,
He may attain Life's high ascent,
Its bright and solid ornament:
He, of the public weal the friend,
May all its dearest rights defend;
With generous ardor persevere
In Honour's unrestrain'd career,
140
To cheer fair Virtue's drooping hour,
May, every noble toil subdued,
Be rank'd among the great and good.
Or if, by love of Science led,
With other views his hopes are fed,
He courts, afar from public strife,
The Majesty of private Life,
He then may foster every art
That does to social scenes impart
Its chaste adornings, and inspire
By fost'ring smile, the latent fire
Of Genius, whose powers demand
The Patron's kind, awak'ning hand
To cheer their early, dubious aim
And guide them in the road to fame.
He may command the dome to rise,
And bid the column mock the skies;
Clothe the rude hill or mountain bare
With umbrage gay and forests fair;
Call torrents from their rocky bed
And o'er the vale their waters spread;
Subdue th'uncultivated plain
To wond'ring Ceres' golden reign,
And to Pomona's wishes yield
The circuit of each verdant field:
While the warm comforts of the cot
Are the contented peasant's lot;
And, as the flocks in plenty graze,
Each Shepherd joins to sing his praise
Whose goodness crowns their happy days.
With other views his hopes are fed,
He courts, afar from public strife,
The Majesty of private Life,
He then may foster every art
That does to social scenes impart
Its chaste adornings, and inspire
By fost'ring smile, the latent fire
Of Genius, whose powers demand
The Patron's kind, awak'ning hand
To cheer their early, dubious aim
And guide them in the road to fame.
He may command the dome to rise,
And bid the column mock the skies;
Clothe the rude hill or mountain bare
With umbrage gay and forests fair;
141
And o'er the vale their waters spread;
Subdue th'uncultivated plain
To wond'ring Ceres' golden reign,
And to Pomona's wishes yield
The circuit of each verdant field:
While the warm comforts of the cot
Are the contented peasant's lot;
And, as the flocks in plenty graze,
Each Shepherd joins to sing his praise
Whose goodness crowns their happy days.
With thoughts like these young Henry's sent
To travel through the Continent.
Each preparation's wisely weigh'd,
And every fond attention paid,
To give him state and fashion due
In figure, purse, and retinue.
Nor these alone, with care was sought
A Sage with all experience fraught,
The youthful Trav'ller to attend
As an Instructor, Guide, and Friend:
One who each foreign country knew,
And could speak ev'ry language too.
Nor was his knowledge thus confin'd:
Within the treasury of his mind
Ages of yore maintain'd a place,
And he could well their hist'ry trace:
Nay, every realm they travell'd o'er
He could to earliest times explore.
But, above all, he had the art
To peep into the human heart;
And when he look'd was well aware
Of what was fabricating there:
Besides, this good man had a tongue
To please the old, and charm the young:
And though his hairs were growing grey,
He to the frolic and the gay
Could in such guise his thoughts convey,
That e'en the thoughtless would attend,
And hail him as their welcome friend.
—His Father breath'd Helvetian air,
His Mother was an English Fair;
And good St. Foix was proud to own
The virtues that in both were known.
To travel through the Continent.
Each preparation's wisely weigh'd,
And every fond attention paid,
To give him state and fashion due
In figure, purse, and retinue.
Nor these alone, with care was sought
A Sage with all experience fraught,
The youthful Trav'ller to attend
As an Instructor, Guide, and Friend:
142
And could speak ev'ry language too.
Nor was his knowledge thus confin'd:
Within the treasury of his mind
Ages of yore maintain'd a place,
And he could well their hist'ry trace:
Nay, every realm they travell'd o'er
He could to earliest times explore.
But, above all, he had the art
To peep into the human heart;
And when he look'd was well aware
Of what was fabricating there:
Besides, this good man had a tongue
To please the old, and charm the young:
And though his hairs were growing grey,
He to the frolic and the gay
Could in such guise his thoughts convey,
That e'en the thoughtless would attend,
And hail him as their welcome friend.
—His Father breath'd Helvetian air,
His Mother was an English Fair;
143
The virtues that in both were known.
To him, Sir William's anxious care
Resign'd his only Son and Heir:
When thus He spoke—“My Henry's mind
“Is a fine soil, and well refin'd,
“By happiest culture, to receive
“The best Instruction you can give.
“Whate'er he travels to attain
“Let him, by slow progression gain:
“Check not his spirits in their flow,
“(I reason well from what I know)
“But turn their course, by playful art,
“And keep your eye upon his heart.
“O never was the human breast
“With a more noble tenant blest,
“Than that whose pulses Life secures
“To the young Man who now is your's.
“Yet thence my apprehensions rise,
“The part that sometimes cheats the wise.
“I have no fears where judgement cool
“Presents its grave, unerring rule;
“I tremble not, though his the age
“When the warm passions often rage:
“From Honour he will never stray,
“Nor turn from Reason's wary way,
“Unless some strong, delusive, art
“Works on the feelings of his heart.
“To guard him from that dangerous hour
“You must exert your utmost power.
“Watch well that post—his heart restore
“Unchang'd, when his long journey's o'er:
“My worthy Friend,—I ask no more.”—
Resign'd his only Son and Heir:
When thus He spoke—“My Henry's mind
“Is a fine soil, and well refin'd,
“By happiest culture, to receive
“The best Instruction you can give.
“Whate'er he travels to attain
“Let him, by slow progression gain:
“Check not his spirits in their flow,
“(I reason well from what I know)
“But turn their course, by playful art,
“And keep your eye upon his heart.
“O never was the human breast
“With a more noble tenant blest,
“Than that whose pulses Life secures
“To the young Man who now is your's.
“Yet thence my apprehensions rise,
“The part that sometimes cheats the wise.
144
“Presents its grave, unerring rule;
“I tremble not, though his the age
“When the warm passions often rage:
“From Honour he will never stray,
“Nor turn from Reason's wary way,
“Unless some strong, delusive, art
“Works on the feelings of his heart.
“To guard him from that dangerous hour
“You must exert your utmost power.
“Watch well that post—his heart restore
“Unchang'd, when his long journey's o'er:
“My worthy Friend,—I ask no more.”—
At length the expected hour is come,
When Henry leaves his native home,
In other regions far to roam.
And now the Chaise is seen to wait
In order, at the Mansion-gate:
When He, with every filial grace,
Receives a Father's fond embrace,
Who thus his parting Son address'd.
“My counsel's brief, but 'tis the best:
“'Tis in his words who had the art
“To dive into the inmost heart:
“And while Man can his wisdom read,
“And while Man doth that wisdom need,
“Will give unerring rules to guide;
“Whether on the impetuous tide,
“Or the still stream he passes o'er
“From Time to the eternal Shore.
“'Tis Shakespeare from whose deathless page
“I borrow the instruction sage,
“Which form a Father's grave adieu
“To a departing Son like You.
“Nor shall I Shakespeare's thoughts resign
“To such imperfect words as mine,
“But give them in the Lines I find
“Transcrib'd from his immortal mind.”
When Henry leaves his native home,
In other regions far to roam.
And now the Chaise is seen to wait
In order, at the Mansion-gate:
When He, with every filial grace,
Receives a Father's fond embrace,
145
“My counsel's brief, but 'tis the best:
“'Tis in his words who had the art
“To dive into the inmost heart:
“And while Man can his wisdom read,
“And while Man doth that wisdom need,
“Will give unerring rules to guide;
“Whether on the impetuous tide,
“Or the still stream he passes o'er
“From Time to the eternal Shore.
“'Tis Shakespeare from whose deathless page
“I borrow the instruction sage,
“Which form a Father's grave adieu
“To a departing Son like You.
“Nor shall I Shakespeare's thoughts resign
“To such imperfect words as mine,
“But give them in the Lines I find
“Transcrib'd from his immortal mind.”
------ “My blessing's with You,
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gawdy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a lender nor a borrower be,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,—to thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewel, my blessing season this in thee.”
And these few precepts in thy memory
146
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gawdy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a lender nor a borrower be,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,—to thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
147
Farewel, my blessing season this in thee.”
Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3.
“One word more, my darling Son,
“One word more, and I have done.—
“Should wayward passion point astray
“And tempt from reason's hallow'd way,
“Remember this my last decree:—
“Think on thy Mother:—Think on me.”
“One word more, and I have done.—
“Should wayward passion point astray
“And tempt from reason's hallow'd way,
“Remember this my last decree:—
“Think on thy Mother:—Think on me.”
The Reverend Gravely too was there,
And thus, with preceptorial air,
He bade farewel.—“My honour'd Boy,
“Thy Father's boast, thy Mother's Joy,
“And I may surely add, the pride
“Of him who was your early guide;
“O soon that Classic Land you'll tread
“With whose immortal fame I fed
“Your infant mind, and fondly taught
“All that its long-fam'd Sages thought.
“Soon you will see the yellow wave
“Of once-Imperial Tiber lave
“Those Banks where courtly Horace strung
“His Lyre, and wondering Senates rung
“With Tully's voice, and Virgil sung.
“And, when you lonely wander there,
“Feel that you breathe th'enlivening air
“Which every listening Muse inspir'd,
“And every Patriot's ardor fir'd.
“Think then, O think on Antient Rome,
“And bring its boasted virtues home.
And thus, with preceptorial air,
He bade farewel.—“My honour'd Boy,
“Thy Father's boast, thy Mother's Joy,
“And I may surely add, the pride
“Of him who was your early guide;
“O soon that Classic Land you'll tread
“With whose immortal fame I fed
148
“All that its long-fam'd Sages thought.
“Soon you will see the yellow wave
“Of once-Imperial Tiber lave
“Those Banks where courtly Horace strung
“His Lyre, and wondering Senates rung
“With Tully's voice, and Virgil sung.
“And, when you lonely wander there,
“Feel that you breathe th'enlivening air
“Which every listening Muse inspir'd,
“And every Patriot's ardor fir'd.
“Think then, O think on Antient Rome,
“And bring its boasted virtues home.
Old Granny, who had never slept
Throughout the night, now sobb'd and wept.
“My feeling, which in riv'lets pours,”
She said, “is different far from yours.
“You may all hope to see the day
“When his return will make you gay:
“Old as I am, the hope were vain
“To see the darling Boy again:
“My pilgrimage will soon be o'er,
“When this old heart will beat no more.
“I'm hast'ning fast unto the bourne
“From whence I never shall return:
“But e'er I bid a long good night
“And thy form fades upon my sight,
“O Henry dear, one boon I crave,
“That you will visit my green grave,
“And pluck the weeds if any grow,
“Where your old Granny sleeps below.”
Throughout the night, now sobb'd and wept.
“My feeling, which in riv'lets pours,”
She said, “is different far from yours.
“You may all hope to see the day
“When his return will make you gay:
149
“To see the darling Boy again:
“My pilgrimage will soon be o'er,
“When this old heart will beat no more.
“I'm hast'ning fast unto the bourne
“From whence I never shall return:
“But e'er I bid a long good night
“And thy form fades upon my sight,
“O Henry dear, one boon I crave,
“That you will visit my green grave,
“And pluck the weeds if any grow,
“Where your old Granny sleeps below.”
The last Adieu that Henry heard,
Was by a Mother's voice preferr'd.
“'Tis thus,” she said, “I ease my heart,
“'Tis for thy welfare that we part;
“That I may, in due time, embrace
“My Son, endued with every grace,
“And worthy of his name and Race.
“Let that ambition fire your mind:
“Not for yourself—but for mankind
“Know you were born: This a truth,
“Which warmly cherish'd in your youth,
“May perfect the momentous plan
“To make our Boy a finish'd Man.
“And O, may Heaven my prayers receive
“Which I pour forth at morn and eve,
“That, cloth'd in Virtue's genuine charms,
“It may restore you to my arms.”
She spoke, and sigh'd, and warmly press'd
Her only offspring to her breast.—
The big tear stood in Henry's eye,
And check'd the voice that would reply.
—One kiss he gave, the scene was o'er,
When soon was clos'd the carriage door:
And as he took a parting view,
As his hand wav'd a fond adieu,
Away the nimble horses flew.
Was by a Mother's voice preferr'd.
“'Tis thus,” she said, “I ease my heart,
“'Tis for thy welfare that we part;
“That I may, in due time, embrace
“My Son, endued with every grace,
“And worthy of his name and Race.
“Let that ambition fire your mind:
“Not for yourself—but for mankind
150
“Which warmly cherish'd in your youth,
“May perfect the momentous plan
“To make our Boy a finish'd Man.
“And O, may Heaven my prayers receive
“Which I pour forth at morn and eve,
“That, cloth'd in Virtue's genuine charms,
“It may restore you to my arms.”
She spoke, and sigh'd, and warmly press'd
Her only offspring to her breast.—
The big tear stood in Henry's eye,
And check'd the voice that would reply.
—One kiss he gave, the scene was o'er,
When soon was clos'd the carriage door:
And as he took a parting view,
As his hand wav'd a fond adieu,
Away the nimble horses flew.
Silence prevail'd, and many a mile
Was swiftly pass'd, without a smile:
Nor did a word break on the ear
The melancholy thought to cheer.
St. Foix more wisely left the heart,
Without controul to play its part
In Henry's bosom, which he knew
Beat warmly at the fond adieu,
To all his present Life had known,
To all that he could call his own.
He sought not to alarm his pride,
What he so deeply felt to hide,
And those emotions to conceal
Which that Affection bade him feel,
Without whose glow in every stage,
In Youth, in Manhood, and in Age,
Life is depriv'd of all its charm
That doth the breast with virtue warm,
Yields to bright honour every claim,
And sinks into an empty name.
Affection, whose warmth comprehends
Whate'er to Man's best objects tends,
By whose fine, animating power,
From Reason's dawn to Life's last hour,
Each noble thought doth time impart,
To soften or inspire the heart.
The parents' fondness, and the glow
Which in return their children know;
Each gen'rous passion and the flame
That the chaste Lover feels, the aim
Of Patriot Ardor, and the tie
That gives to Friendship Constancy,
Attend Affection's wakening call;
The source and fountain of them all.
—This impulse, which is far the best
That animates the human breast,
Though sometimes doom'd to be misled
By art deceived, by flattery fed,
Was among those, which time could trace
Far back, in Henry's virtuous race;
Nor did he, in his earliest age,
Belie the ancient Heritage:
But each grave feeling, by degrees,
Amus'd by what he hears and sees,
From day to day foregoes its pain,
And his high spirits come again.
Was swiftly pass'd, without a smile:
Nor did a word break on the ear
The melancholy thought to cheer.
151
Without controul to play its part
In Henry's bosom, which he knew
Beat warmly at the fond adieu,
To all his present Life had known,
To all that he could call his own.
He sought not to alarm his pride,
What he so deeply felt to hide,
And those emotions to conceal
Which that Affection bade him feel,
Without whose glow in every stage,
In Youth, in Manhood, and in Age,
Life is depriv'd of all its charm
That doth the breast with virtue warm,
Yields to bright honour every claim,
And sinks into an empty name.
Affection, whose warmth comprehends
Whate'er to Man's best objects tends,
By whose fine, animating power,
From Reason's dawn to Life's last hour,
Each noble thought doth time impart,
To soften or inspire the heart.
152
Which in return their children know;
Each gen'rous passion and the flame
That the chaste Lover feels, the aim
Of Patriot Ardor, and the tie
That gives to Friendship Constancy,
Attend Affection's wakening call;
The source and fountain of them all.
—This impulse, which is far the best
That animates the human breast,
Though sometimes doom'd to be misled
By art deceived, by flattery fed,
Was among those, which time could trace
Far back, in Henry's virtuous race;
Nor did he, in his earliest age,
Belie the ancient Heritage:
But each grave feeling, by degrees,
Amus'd by what he hears and sees,
From day to day foregoes its pain,
And his high spirits come again.
153
Now Dover's Clifts, in misty blue,
Are lessening in his lingering view.
And now his nimble footsteps dance
Among the dancing Sons of France.
—St. Foix, with cautious zeal began
To enter on the arduous plan
To form, and frame a finish'd Man.
—No solemn and too curious air
Bade the young man a spy beware:
No servile, sycophantic sneer
Told him a hypocrite was near:
But easy manners, frank and free,
Mirth that ne'er turns to ribaldry;
Courage that mocks unjust offence,
And knowledge without vain pretence;
Truth that no folly dare deride,
And courts e'en beauty to confide;—
Though in each thought and action just,
Though firm and steady to his trust,
The failings in another known
He treated as they were his own.
In short, the qualities that blend
The wise instructor with the friend,
St. Foix, without reserve possess'd:
Such were the inmates of his breast;
And soon did Henry feel a pride
In such example, such a guide.
Are lessening in his lingering view.
And now his nimble footsteps dance
Among the dancing Sons of France.
—St. Foix, with cautious zeal began
To enter on the arduous plan
To form, and frame a finish'd Man.
—No solemn and too curious air
Bade the young man a spy beware:
No servile, sycophantic sneer
Told him a hypocrite was near:
But easy manners, frank and free,
Mirth that ne'er turns to ribaldry;
Courage that mocks unjust offence,
And knowledge without vain pretence;
Truth that no folly dare deride,
And courts e'en beauty to confide;—
Though in each thought and action just,
Though firm and steady to his trust,
The failings in another known
He treated as they were his own.
154
The wise instructor with the friend,
St. Foix, without reserve possess'd:
Such were the inmates of his breast;
And soon did Henry feel a pride
In such example, such a guide.
From Calais now they travell'd on,
A journey so familiar grown
To English eyes and English ears,
And in such various forms appears
That it would be a waste of rhyme,
And what is worse, a waste of time,
To tell what they've so often told,
The towns through which the trav'llers roll'd.
Besides, these pages are design'd,
With slight exception, are confin'd
To trace the travels of the mind,
A hasty sketch, as on they mov'd,
How intellect may be improv'd:
Not by the eye's astonish'd gaze
At Alpine heights, or Ætna's blaze;
Or where the flood is seen to pour
From mountain rock with dashing roar;
But what the mental eye can scan
Of varying manners, and of man;
Of changes in the track of time,
And Nature's ever-varying clime;
The policy of different states,
The jealousies which power creates,
The web which artful Statesmen weave,
By patriot seeming, to deceive;
The half-form'd treasons that foment
The mob to factious discontent;
The bigot rage that reason bends
To superstition's aims and ends;
The slav'ry which the scepter'd hand
Of the proud Despot can command
In free-born minds; and e'en controul
The strong divinity of soul,
Which in its free, unshackled state,
Will conquer chance, and mock at fate.
A journey so familiar grown
To English eyes and English ears,
And in such various forms appears
That it would be a waste of rhyme,
And what is worse, a waste of time,
To tell what they've so often told,
The towns through which the trav'llers roll'd.
Besides, these pages are design'd,
With slight exception, are confin'd
To trace the travels of the mind,
A hasty sketch, as on they mov'd,
How intellect may be improv'd:
Not by the eye's astonish'd gaze
At Alpine heights, or Ætna's blaze;
155
From mountain rock with dashing roar;
But what the mental eye can scan
Of varying manners, and of man;
Of changes in the track of time,
And Nature's ever-varying clime;
The policy of different states,
The jealousies which power creates,
The web which artful Statesmen weave,
By patriot seeming, to deceive;
The half-form'd treasons that foment
The mob to factious discontent;
The bigot rage that reason bends
To superstition's aims and ends;
The slav'ry which the scepter'd hand
Of the proud Despot can command
In free-born minds; and e'en controul
The strong divinity of soul,
Which in its free, unshackled state,
Will conquer chance, and mock at fate.
156
Towards Paris now they steer their way,
Never quite grave, and sometimes gay.
St. Foix did not amuse the time
In sporting tales or spouting rhyme,
Nor tell the names, a common mode,
Of towns they pass'd upon the road.
But left such things, scarce worth possessing,
To Friseurs, while their hair was dressing.
He urg'd his list'ning Pupil's thought
To topics with deep interest fraught.
The general history he weigh'd
Of potent Kings whom France obey'd,
In various change and chance of power
On to the present dubious hour.
Th'infuriate scenes he then explain'd
Since head-strong Revolution reign'd,
And Louis' blood the scaffold stain'd.
He next, as t'were, with chymic art,
Resolv'd into each simple part
That monstrous mass of eyeless
matter
Which Anarchy contriv'd to scatter
Throughout devoted Gallia's realm
While Atheism rul'd the Helm,
And, with the blood of thousands stain'd,
The Dæmon of Destruction reign'd.
—This map of misrule he unroll'd,
And then, in due succession told
The darings of the Tyrant reign
Which Europe's proud, embattled train
So long oppos'd and fought in vain.
At length he reach'd the Goal of Peace,
The Usurper flies, and warrings cease.
The Nations now their Sovereigns see
Bound by one tie of Policy,
To France restore its former crown
Which ne'er again will be o'erthrown,
While its free people firm and true
To rights, which yet they never knew,
Will wisely use the blessings given:
The bounty of relenting Heaven.
Never quite grave, and sometimes gay.
St. Foix did not amuse the time
In sporting tales or spouting rhyme,
Nor tell the names, a common mode,
Of towns they pass'd upon the road.
But left such things, scarce worth possessing,
To Friseurs, while their hair was dressing.
He urg'd his list'ning Pupil's thought
To topics with deep interest fraught.
The general history he weigh'd
Of potent Kings whom France obey'd,
In various change and chance of power
On to the present dubious hour.
Th'infuriate scenes he then explain'd
Since head-strong Revolution reign'd,
And Louis' blood the scaffold stain'd.
He next, as t'were, with chymic art,
Resolv'd into each simple part
157
Which Anarchy contriv'd to scatter
Throughout devoted Gallia's realm
While Atheism rul'd the Helm,
And, with the blood of thousands stain'd,
The Dæmon of Destruction reign'd.
—This map of misrule he unroll'd,
And then, in due succession told
The darings of the Tyrant reign
Which Europe's proud, embattled train
So long oppos'd and fought in vain.
At length he reach'd the Goal of Peace,
The Usurper flies, and warrings cease.
The Nations now their Sovereigns see
Bound by one tie of Policy,
To France restore its former crown
Which ne'er again will be o'erthrown,
While its free people firm and true
To rights, which yet they never knew,
158
The bounty of relenting Heaven.
Thus St. Foix sketch'd an outline true
And brought to one historic view,
As old recording Time supplies,
Its bearings and its policies,
That knowledge which unless 'tis shewn
And by reflection made our own,
All Foreign Travel is mere play
That fills up time from day to day,
Till Fashion makes the allotted round
Which does the post-haste journey bound;
And after it has ceas'd to roam
Bears nought but gawdy gew-gaws home,
While all the memory does supply
Is some vain, trifling Diary.
—It tells, perhaps, that people dance
With such a lively air in France;
And that the Palais Royal far
Excels St. James's Street Bazaar;
While the Dutch women, in a trice,
Can skait a league upon the ice:
That Alpine heights are white with snow
While the clouds veil the depths below:
That our St. Paul's high-rising dome
Is not so large as that of Rome;
And when the Pope, in pomp, goes there
To bless the folk, and mutter prayer,
He does not half the show display
Of our Lord Mayor, on Lord Mayor's day:—
That the Pantheon, as it stands,
The noble work of Grecian hands,
Was once a Pagan Fane, the pride
Of Jove, and all the gods beside,
Who left the Temple in the lurch
Now to become a Romish Church.
That Strasbourg's famous steeple's higher
By some score feet than Salisbury Spire;
That by the side of Naples' Bay
A Mountain smokes both night and day,
And when it chuses to boil o'er,
Doth streams of liquid light'ning pour.
At Venice you your life may pass,
And never see a horse or ass:
There his long whip no coachman cracks,
And boats are us'd instead of hacks;
As ev'ry street is a canal
Throughout that sea-girt capital.
—Many there are who, from the tour
Of smiling Europe, gain no more
When they retouch the British shore.
Who, in the words of Socrates,
Could find out nought in stones and trees :
For they alone employ'd their eyes
To make them good, and learn'd, and wise,
Because we may become all three
Without this transit o'er the sea.
For Learning surely is not found
By posting over foreign ground:
We need not for fair Virtue roam
In other countries, still at home,
It may be seen, nor need we toil
For wisdom in a foreign soil:
That may be gain'd where Newton gain'd it;
Where Bacon, Boyle, and Locke obtain'd it.
But while the folly we deride,
Let truth display the other side;
And now the thought we shall pursue,
As St. Foix did the theme renew.
And brought to one historic view,
As old recording Time supplies,
Its bearings and its policies,
That knowledge which unless 'tis shewn
And by reflection made our own,
All Foreign Travel is mere play
That fills up time from day to day,
Till Fashion makes the allotted round
Which does the post-haste journey bound;
And after it has ceas'd to roam
Bears nought but gawdy gew-gaws home,
While all the memory does supply
Is some vain, trifling Diary.
—It tells, perhaps, that people dance
With such a lively air in France;
And that the Palais Royal far
Excels St. James's Street Bazaar;
159
Can skait a league upon the ice:
That Alpine heights are white with snow
While the clouds veil the depths below:
That our St. Paul's high-rising dome
Is not so large as that of Rome;
And when the Pope, in pomp, goes there
To bless the folk, and mutter prayer,
He does not half the show display
Of our Lord Mayor, on Lord Mayor's day:—
That the Pantheon, as it stands,
The noble work of Grecian hands,
Was once a Pagan Fane, the pride
Of Jove, and all the gods beside,
Who left the Temple in the lurch
Now to become a Romish Church.
That Strasbourg's famous steeple's higher
By some score feet than Salisbury Spire;
That by the side of Naples' Bay
A Mountain smokes both night and day,
And when it chuses to boil o'er,
Doth streams of liquid light'ning pour.
160
And never see a horse or ass:
There his long whip no coachman cracks,
And boats are us'd instead of hacks;
As ev'ry street is a canal
Throughout that sea-girt capital.
—Many there are who, from the tour
Of smiling Europe, gain no more
When they retouch the British shore.
Who, in the words of Socrates,
Could find out nought in stones and trees :
For they alone employ'd their eyes
To make them good, and learn'd, and wise,
Because we may become all three
Without this transit o'er the sea.
For Learning surely is not found
By posting over foreign ground:
We need not for fair Virtue roam
In other countries, still at home,
161
For wisdom in a foreign soil:
That may be gain'd where Newton gain'd it;
Where Bacon, Boyle, and Locke obtain'd it.
But while the folly we deride,
Let truth display the other side;
And now the thought we shall pursue,
As St. Foix did the theme renew.
“This is my long digested plan
“To form the English Gentleman.—
“Not as the witty Stanhope taught,
“Who set all solid good at nought,
“And sacrific'd the mind, the heart
“To outward grace and inward art.
“No, I would blend the grace refin'd
“With all the virtues of the mind;
“The heart's best feelings would unite
“With manners form'd to yield delight;
“While Knowledge, Science, Taste should give
“The potent, grave, prerogative,
“With happy guidance to controul
“The combin'd impulse of the whole.
“An ardent hope holds up to view
“This plan of mine compleat in You.
“To form the English Gentleman.—
“Not as the witty Stanhope taught,
“Who set all solid good at nought,
“And sacrific'd the mind, the heart
“To outward grace and inward art.
“No, I would blend the grace refin'd
“With all the virtues of the mind;
“The heart's best feelings would unite
“With manners form'd to yield delight;
“While Knowledge, Science, Taste should give
“The potent, grave, prerogative,
162
“The combin'd impulse of the whole.
“An ardent hope holds up to view
“This plan of mine compleat in You.
“Where does pure Learning take her stand,
“Where does she with such power command,
“As in Britannia's happy land?
“There Education does not dwell
“In cloister'd gloom or monkish cell;
“But in the sunshine world at large
“Does her important cares discharge.
“Virtue, Religion, Reason bear
“The train of this high character,
“And teach the passions to obey
“The mild, but unrelenting sway:
“While knowledge of all ancient time,
“Of every race, of every clime,
“Flows from the well-expounded page
“Of Saint, Philosopher, and Sage.
“With these fair Science comes to share
“The free, illuminating care;
“And, to the curious mind, makes known
“What Art and Nature call their own.
“How then must we compleat the plan,
“To form the accomplish'd Gentleman?
“Where does she with such power command,
“As in Britannia's happy land?
“There Education does not dwell
“In cloister'd gloom or monkish cell;
“But in the sunshine world at large
“Does her important cares discharge.
“Virtue, Religion, Reason bear
“The train of this high character,
“And teach the passions to obey
“The mild, but unrelenting sway:
“While knowledge of all ancient time,
“Of every race, of every clime,
“Flows from the well-expounded page
“Of Saint, Philosopher, and Sage.
163
“The free, illuminating care;
“And, to the curious mind, makes known
“What Art and Nature call their own.
“How then must we compleat the plan,
“To form the accomplish'd Gentleman?
“Due knowledge is already gain'd;
“The Scholar's character attain'd:
“Honour and Virtue act their part
“In the recesses of the heart:
“In every deed they're seen to shine,
“The fruit of righteous discipline.
“Such qualities are ever found,
“Of matchless worth, on British ground:
“But do not rank and wealth demand
“The polish of a Foreign land,
“Where splendid policy prevails,
“And the clime breathes more genial gales?
“There the mind 'neath despotic sway,
“Is forc'd to bend and to obey;
“And, check'd in its own native powers,
“Must trifle through life's fleeting hours,
“And seek its joys in Pleasure's bowers:
“The Graces there the place supply
“Of manners form'd by Liberty.
“The sons of Lux'ry born to rove
“'Midst odours, in the myrtle grove,
“Will decorate, with soften'd aim,
“Whatever act their duties claim;
“Give a bright colour to each thought,
“With mirth or graver purpose fraught,
“And with a free, habitual ease
“Appear, at least, to wish to please.
“Though qualities of foreign growth,
“Yet British honour, British worth
“May be improv'd, when they receive
“The polish which such arts can give:
“To gain them you do well to roam,
“So that you take your virtues home.”
“The Scholar's character attain'd:
“Honour and Virtue act their part
“In the recesses of the heart:
“In every deed they're seen to shine,
“The fruit of righteous discipline.
“Such qualities are ever found,
“Of matchless worth, on British ground:
“But do not rank and wealth demand
“The polish of a Foreign land,
“Where splendid policy prevails,
“And the clime breathes more genial gales?
“There the mind 'neath despotic sway,
“Is forc'd to bend and to obey;
164
“Must trifle through life's fleeting hours,
“And seek its joys in Pleasure's bowers:
“The Graces there the place supply
“Of manners form'd by Liberty.
“The sons of Lux'ry born to rove
“'Midst odours, in the myrtle grove,
“Will decorate, with soften'd aim,
“Whatever act their duties claim;
“Give a bright colour to each thought,
“With mirth or graver purpose fraught,
“And with a free, habitual ease
“Appear, at least, to wish to please.
“Though qualities of foreign growth,
“Yet British honour, British worth
“May be improv'd, when they receive
“The polish which such arts can give:
“To gain them you do well to roam,
“So that you take your virtues home.”
“When you erect a mansion fair,
“The Architect employs his care
“To suit it to your rank and wealth,
“And every view of use and health;
“The Summer zephyrs to receive,
“And shut up warm in Winter's eve;
“While the whole structure you supply
“With solid uniformity:
“But the plain, simple shape demands
“The aid of decorating hands.
“'Tis then the Frieze is seen to crawl,
“In leafy length, along the wall:
“The capitals of Corinth rise
“In order due to meet the eyes,
“And crown the columns massy proof
“That seem to bear the fretted roof.
“The hollow niche, in its recess,
“Does the fine antique vase possess
“While the Farnesian Flora drest
“In her light-flowing, simple vest,
“And Vestal maids their lamps display,
“That give to Night the beams of Day:
“The sculptur'd tablets deck the dome
“With stories drawn from Greece and Rome,
“And Guido's grace and Titian's glow,
“With many a charm the arts bestow,
“In various order, taste and place
“Diffuse a decorating grace.
“—Thus, while no wanton sacrifice
“Is vainly made to please the eyes,
“Or that some whim of idle pride
“By gew-gaws may be gratified;
“If, in the ornamental cost,
“No plain, domestic use is lost,
“And while the structure's solid frame
“In all its parts remains the same,
“The wealthy owner's rank receives
“The added homage splendour gives.
“Thus manners on Old Wickham's plan
“Step in to make the perfect man ;
“To fashion Virtue rough and rude,
“And give a grace to what is good.
“The Architect employs his care
165
“And every view of use and health;
“The Summer zephyrs to receive,
“And shut up warm in Winter's eve;
“While the whole structure you supply
“With solid uniformity:
“But the plain, simple shape demands
“The aid of decorating hands.
“'Tis then the Frieze is seen to crawl,
“In leafy length, along the wall:
“The capitals of Corinth rise
“In order due to meet the eyes,
“And crown the columns massy proof
“That seem to bear the fretted roof.
“The hollow niche, in its recess,
“Does the fine antique vase possess
“While the Farnesian Flora drest
“In her light-flowing, simple vest,
“And Vestal maids their lamps display,
“That give to Night the beams of Day:
“The sculptur'd tablets deck the dome
“With stories drawn from Greece and Rome,
166
“With many a charm the arts bestow,
“In various order, taste and place
“Diffuse a decorating grace.
“—Thus, while no wanton sacrifice
“Is vainly made to please the eyes,
“Or that some whim of idle pride
“By gew-gaws may be gratified;
“If, in the ornamental cost,
“No plain, domestic use is lost,
“And while the structure's solid frame
“In all its parts remains the same,
“The wealthy owner's rank receives
“The added homage splendour gives.
“Thus manners on Old Wickham's plan
“Step in to make the perfect man ;
“To fashion Virtue rough and rude,
“And give a grace to what is good.
167
“It might be gravely ask'd, 'tis true,
“By those who with nice scruples view,
“And in a rigid ballance weigh
“Whate'er men do, or think, or say,
“Of things like these the real use,
“What moral good they can produce,
“And whether manners can confer
“A sterling worth on character?
“The first of Bards will answer well,
“That, if they do with virtue dwell,
“They virtuous are, and form a part
“Of whatsoe'er improves the heart .
“To merit have they no pretence
“If they can please with innocence?
“To wealth and rank, if they supply
“Superior form and dignity?
“If they with more attractive charm,
“The power of native beauty arm?
“By those who with nice scruples view,
“And in a rigid ballance weigh
“Whate'er men do, or think, or say,
“Of things like these the real use,
“What moral good they can produce,
“And whether manners can confer
“A sterling worth on character?
“The first of Bards will answer well,
“That, if they do with virtue dwell,
“They virtuous are, and form a part
“Of whatsoe'er improves the heart .
“To merit have they no pretence
“If they can please with innocence?
“To wealth and rank, if they supply
“Superior form and dignity?
“If they with more attractive charm,
“The power of native beauty arm?
168
“Let these reflections be impress'd,
“As Reason dictates, on your breast.
“'Tis to see manners more refin'd,
“'Tis to adorn your cultur'd mind,
“That I conduct you on your way
“To splendid courts and cities gay,
“Where men in various fashions drest
“You may observe, and chuse the best.
“Nature's sublime, and Art's proud aim
“Of ancient or of modern name,
“Will, my hopes tell me, as they ought,
“Win the keen eye, and wake the thought:
“But your chief aim, to aid my plan,
“Must be to view and study man.
“You may return to Classic Lore
“When you regain your native shore:
“'Tis then you'll study how to prove
“Your duties in the sphere you move:
“Whether ambition bid you tower
“To gain the high ascent of power,
“Or, without wishing to be great,
“You live in dignified retreat,
“As your wise ancestors have done,
“Who thought it happiness to shun
“The courtly roofs, nor ever trod
“In public Honour's dang'rous road;
“But, turning from all public strife,
“Adorn'd the scenes of private Life.
“What, though of ample wealth possest
“To shine in Fashion's gawdy vest,
“And every costly joy to buy
“That springs from purse-proud vanity,
“Far other pleasures they pursued;
“The luxury of doing good.
“Thus they enjoy'd the peaceful reign
“Of Virtue, in their own Domain.
“They liv'd rever'd, and grateful Fame
“For virtuous deeds, records their name.
“They had their honour and their state—
“But 'twas their goodness made them great:
“Their wealth, by reason well employ'd,
“Pleasures procur'd that never cloy'd:
“No Statesman's skill, no laurels won
“Blazon their monumental Stone:
“For there these words alone are found,
“Thus are their honour'd names renown'd,
“A Blessing to the Country round.
“As Reason dictates, on your breast.
“'Tis to see manners more refin'd,
“'Tis to adorn your cultur'd mind,
“That I conduct you on your way
“To splendid courts and cities gay,
“Where men in various fashions drest
“You may observe, and chuse the best.
“Nature's sublime, and Art's proud aim
“Of ancient or of modern name,
“Will, my hopes tell me, as they ought,
“Win the keen eye, and wake the thought:
“But your chief aim, to aid my plan,
“Must be to view and study man.
“You may return to Classic Lore
“When you regain your native shore:
“'Tis then you'll study how to prove
“Your duties in the sphere you move:
“Whether ambition bid you tower
“To gain the high ascent of power,
“Or, without wishing to be great,
“You live in dignified retreat,
169
“Who thought it happiness to shun
“The courtly roofs, nor ever trod
“In public Honour's dang'rous road;
“But, turning from all public strife,
“Adorn'd the scenes of private Life.
“What, though of ample wealth possest
“To shine in Fashion's gawdy vest,
“And every costly joy to buy
“That springs from purse-proud vanity,
“Far other pleasures they pursued;
“The luxury of doing good.
“Thus they enjoy'd the peaceful reign
“Of Virtue, in their own Domain.
“They liv'd rever'd, and grateful Fame
“For virtuous deeds, records their name.
“They had their honour and their state—
“But 'twas their goodness made them great:
“Their wealth, by reason well employ'd,
“Pleasures procur'd that never cloy'd:
“No Statesman's skill, no laurels won
“Blazon their monumental Stone:
170
“Thus are their honour'd names renown'd,
“A Blessing to the Country round.
“Thus he to whom you owe your birth,
“That Paragon of private worth,
“To Dryads and the Sylvan maids
“Displays, beneath his native shades,
“The manners chaste, the polish'd mien
“That in the courtly halls are seen,
“Without the proud, fallacious glare,
“Form'd to deceive and to ensnare,
“Which, ah, too oft inhabit there.
“How happy he, whose early days,
“Cheer'd by the song of well-earn'd praise,
“Leave, duly printed on his mind,
“A train of virtuous deeds behind,
“From whose rich source his memory draws
“The grateful meed of self applause.
“—But still he lives, and many a year
“May he survive the Bark to steer,
“In which his darling Son may sail;
“Or blown by every varying gale
“To which the canvas is unfurl'd
“On the wide ocean of the world;
“Or, flying from the tempest's strife
“On the calm stream of private Life,
“To ply with ease the dashing oar,
“As his fond Sire has done before.
“'Tis mine the duty to prepare
“His Henry for that future care,
“In which Affection's claims will blend
“The Father, Counsellor and Friend.
“That Paragon of private worth,
“To Dryads and the Sylvan maids
“Displays, beneath his native shades,
“The manners chaste, the polish'd mien
“That in the courtly halls are seen,
“Without the proud, fallacious glare,
“Form'd to deceive and to ensnare,
“Which, ah, too oft inhabit there.
“How happy he, whose early days,
“Cheer'd by the song of well-earn'd praise,
“Leave, duly printed on his mind,
“A train of virtuous deeds behind,
“From whose rich source his memory draws
“The grateful meed of self applause.
“—But still he lives, and many a year
“May he survive the Bark to steer,
171
“Or blown by every varying gale
“To which the canvas is unfurl'd
“On the wide ocean of the world;
“Or, flying from the tempest's strife
“On the calm stream of private Life,
“To ply with ease the dashing oar,
“As his fond Sire has done before.
“'Tis mine the duty to prepare
“His Henry for that future care,
“In which Affection's claims will blend
“The Father, Counsellor and Friend.
“Allow a few reflections more,
“And my long Lecture will be o'er.
“And my long Lecture will be o'er.
“I know the human heart full well,
“And can its various issues tell:
“I've learn'd the art, too seldom known,
“To be the master of my own:
“Too happy, to my wishes true,
“Could I transfer that art to you.
“I've studied it in every stage—
“In Youth, in Manhood, and in Age:
“In ev'ry scene, in many a clime
“From my life's gay and smiling prime,
“On to these years when call'd to share
“Of your young mind the hopeful care.
“No Greybeard I, whose Stoic zeal
“Sternly forbids the heart to feel:
“No—I would wake within the breast,
“Those feelings which I think the best.
“No whimpering Fanatic, I
“Do not to mortal man deny
“Those pleasures which to sooth our care
“Reason allows us all to share;
“Nor ever will they fail to bless
“But when they riot in excess.
“The festive mirth, the social hour
“Which do not Reason over-power,
“Just Heaven to mortals ne'er denies:
“'Tis in excess the error lies.
“Your pleasures in that ballance weigh,
“Let passion this sure rule obey:
“Mock not the privilege that's given,
“And dance, and sing, and go to Heaven.
“And can its various issues tell:
“I've learn'd the art, too seldom known,
“To be the master of my own:
“Too happy, to my wishes true,
“Could I transfer that art to you.
172
“In Youth, in Manhood, and in Age:
“In ev'ry scene, in many a clime
“From my life's gay and smiling prime,
“On to these years when call'd to share
“Of your young mind the hopeful care.
“No Greybeard I, whose Stoic zeal
“Sternly forbids the heart to feel:
“No—I would wake within the breast,
“Those feelings which I think the best.
“No whimpering Fanatic, I
“Do not to mortal man deny
“Those pleasures which to sooth our care
“Reason allows us all to share;
“Nor ever will they fail to bless
“But when they riot in excess.
“The festive mirth, the social hour
“Which do not Reason over-power,
“Just Heaven to mortals ne'er denies:
“'Tis in excess the error lies.
“Your pleasures in that ballance weigh,
“Let passion this sure rule obey:
173
“And dance, and sing, and go to Heaven.
“Such is man's checquer'd state, my voice
“Will only guide you in the choice.
“Into the world this maxim bear—
“All is not gold that glitters there.
“Your's is the age when outward show
“May bid the hasty wish to glow:
“The sudden impulse check, nor seize
“Th'allurements gay, howe'er they please,
“Unless your mind discerns a prize
“Beneath the charms that court your eyes.
“Though in your path the thorn is seen,
“Though all the turf is dingy green,
“And not a rose or floweret shine;
“The dreary soil may hide the Mine.
“Will only guide you in the choice.
“Into the world this maxim bear—
“All is not gold that glitters there.
“Your's is the age when outward show
“May bid the hasty wish to glow:
“The sudden impulse check, nor seize
“Th'allurements gay, howe'er they please,
“Unless your mind discerns a prize
“Beneath the charms that court your eyes.
“Though in your path the thorn is seen,
“Though all the turf is dingy green,
“And not a rose or floweret shine;
“The dreary soil may hide the Mine.
“To that proud scene we now draw near
“Where Pleasure's magic powers rear
“Her painted fanes, her gay alcoves,
“Where fascinating Fancy roves,
“And doth its splendid charms impart
“To lure the eye, and cheat the heart.
“But 'tis not all enchanted ground:
“Learning and Science there are found:
“The Arts their rival skill display,
“And Taste boasts her superior sway;
“While Virtue, by the Graces drest,
“Is often found a welcome guest;
“And may you your best reason use,
“What to receive, and what refuse.
“Oh shun the dissipating hour,
“Join not the song in Syren's bower;
“But seek th'enjoyments in whose train
“Repentance does not follow pain.
“Refuse the cups when Bacchus pours
“The juice that Reason's light obscures;
“But, above all, reject the dice,
“The source of every other vice:
“Nay, he who to that passion's prone
“Has every vice in that alone.
“—Fancy may play her frolic part;
“So be it, so you guard your heart
“To that direct your utmost care.
“Let Reason be the watchman there.
“Live in the world as others do;
“But every night the day review,
“And if a serious thought should say,
“You, like a fool, have pass'd to-day,
“Console, my Friend, the blushing sorrow,
“By chasing Folly from the morrow.
“Where Pleasure's magic powers rear
“Her painted fanes, her gay alcoves,
“Where fascinating Fancy roves,
174
“To lure the eye, and cheat the heart.
“But 'tis not all enchanted ground:
“Learning and Science there are found:
“The Arts their rival skill display,
“And Taste boasts her superior sway;
“While Virtue, by the Graces drest,
“Is often found a welcome guest;
“And may you your best reason use,
“What to receive, and what refuse.
“Oh shun the dissipating hour,
“Join not the song in Syren's bower;
“But seek th'enjoyments in whose train
“Repentance does not follow pain.
“Refuse the cups when Bacchus pours
“The juice that Reason's light obscures;
“But, above all, reject the dice,
“The source of every other vice:
“Nay, he who to that passion's prone
“Has every vice in that alone.
“—Fancy may play her frolic part;
“So be it, so you guard your heart
175
“Let Reason be the watchman there.
“Live in the world as others do;
“But every night the day review,
“And if a serious thought should say,
“You, like a fool, have pass'd to-day,
“Console, my Friend, the blushing sorrow,
“By chasing Folly from the morrow.
“'Tis now of your superior sense
“I ask the boon of Confidence.
“Do not suppose I wish to be
“Of your days' deeds the diary;
“Think not it is my task to pry
“Into each casual levity;
“To dwell on errors that may glance
“From Virtue's rich exuberance,
“Which, though stern Reason cannot love,
“It scarce knows how to disapprove,
“As the keen head, with all its art,
“May be outwitted by the heart.
“Take not the fond request amiss,
“The boon which I demand—is this:
“What shame would tempt you to conceal
“'Tis that I ask you to reveal.
“No pardon need you to implore,
“Reveal the fault; and 'tis no more.
“Then the experience of a friend,
“And to no more do I pretend,
“May calm your passion's frantic hour,
“If you have yielded to its power,
“Or wake the laugh at Folly's tool,
“If you've been led to play the fool.
“I ask the boon of Confidence.
“Do not suppose I wish to be
“Of your days' deeds the diary;
“Think not it is my task to pry
“Into each casual levity;
“To dwell on errors that may glance
“From Virtue's rich exuberance,
“Which, though stern Reason cannot love,
“It scarce knows how to disapprove,
“As the keen head, with all its art,
“May be outwitted by the heart.
176
“The boon which I demand—is this:
“What shame would tempt you to conceal
“'Tis that I ask you to reveal.
“No pardon need you to implore,
“Reveal the fault; and 'tis no more.
“Then the experience of a friend,
“And to no more do I pretend,
“May calm your passion's frantic hour,
“If you have yielded to its power,
“Or wake the laugh at Folly's tool,
“If you've been led to play the fool.
“New scenes, and such as will display
“Their winning forms and glitter gay,
“May dazzle the deluded sense
“With splendour and magnificence;
“While frivolous sports and manners light
“To painted festivals invite,
“Which call the passions into play
“And may th'incautious mind betray:
“But should you feel dispos'd to yield,
“Think on the foes which lie conceal'd
“Amid the wanton, fairy bowers,
“And hide their serpent train in flowers.
“When you the tempting danger see
“That dwells 'mid high-wrought luxury,
“Think on your Father, think on me:
“Th'awak'ning thought, howe'er inclin'd,
“Will surely disenchant your mind
“And set your glowing passions free
“From Pleasure's subtle sorcery.
“Employ the short-allotted time
“To cull the good of every clime;
“Nay, when you eagerly resort
“To where the Graces hold their court,
“And while you range the realms of taste
“Let not your virtues run to waste.
“—The Spring of Youth, the Morn of Life
“Rear in our minds the seeds of strife;
“Passion with Reason then contends,
“While on the conquest all depends;
“And, be the judgement, false or true,
“Life from the colour takes its hue;
“And may the best be found in you.”
“Their winning forms and glitter gay,
“May dazzle the deluded sense
“With splendour and magnificence;
“While frivolous sports and manners light
“To painted festivals invite,
“Which call the passions into play
“And may th'incautious mind betray:
177
“Think on the foes which lie conceal'd
“Amid the wanton, fairy bowers,
“And hide their serpent train in flowers.
“When you the tempting danger see
“That dwells 'mid high-wrought luxury,
“Think on your Father, think on me:
“Th'awak'ning thought, howe'er inclin'd,
“Will surely disenchant your mind
“And set your glowing passions free
“From Pleasure's subtle sorcery.
“Employ the short-allotted time
“To cull the good of every clime;
“Nay, when you eagerly resort
“To where the Graces hold their court,
“And while you range the realms of taste
“Let not your virtues run to waste.
“—The Spring of Youth, the Morn of Life
“Rear in our minds the seeds of strife;
“Passion with Reason then contends,
“While on the conquest all depends;
178
“Life from the colour takes its hue;
“And may the best be found in you.”
Thus as he spoke, the wheels advance
To the gay Capital of France.
But we shall not its scenes rehearse,
Nor strive to form a Guide in verse.
—We leave its grandeur and its shows
To the details of simple prose,
As in descriptions such as these,
Verse must resign its power to please;—
At least such verse as we can bring,
That flows not from Pierian spring.
It will suffice this page to say
The trav'ller pass'd the busy day,
Where'er the stately structures rise
To meet the gazer's eager eyes,
The city's ornament and pride
Where royalty, and wealth reside;
Or where the sculptur'd fountains throw
Their waters in unceasing flow,
And the proud, splendid portals tell
The fate that Gallia's foes befell;
The Fanes that with each other vie
In solemn pomp of Popery;
The Schools, where Art its skill displays,
And Science claims the meed of praise;
And what was rais'd, or left half done
By fell Ambition's fav'rite son,
The vain, the fall'n Napoleon.
While the domes, by power design'd,
Attract and charm the wand'ring mind,
Around, far other scenes appear
Where Pleasure doth its temples rear;
And Fancy strains her utmost power
To animate the passing hour,
That the warm senses may employ
That hour in gay, fantastic joy.
—This sober verse, this tranquil strain,
Were it to strive, would strive in vain
That in its couplets should be shown
The Caffè of the Mille Colonnes.
—The pencil gives a better ken
Of its fair Queen—for ah, no pen
Can paint her glory's grand design,
At least an earth-made pen like mine;
I therefore leave it as 'tis done,
To the rare skill of Rowlandson;
By whose enliv'ning, vivid touch
To which this volume owes so much,
The Lady's splendour will survive
When all her graces cease to live,
And the proud mirrors shall no more
Reflect her beauties ten times o'er;
Or when another takes her chair,
Not half as fat, if half as fair .
To the gay Capital of France.
But we shall not its scenes rehearse,
Nor strive to form a Guide in verse.
—We leave its grandeur and its shows
To the details of simple prose,
As in descriptions such as these,
Verse must resign its power to please;—
At least such verse as we can bring,
That flows not from Pierian spring.
It will suffice this page to say
The trav'ller pass'd the busy day,
Where'er the stately structures rise
To meet the gazer's eager eyes,
The city's ornament and pride
Where royalty, and wealth reside;
Or where the sculptur'd fountains throw
Their waters in unceasing flow,
179
The fate that Gallia's foes befell;
The Fanes that with each other vie
In solemn pomp of Popery;
The Schools, where Art its skill displays,
And Science claims the meed of praise;
And what was rais'd, or left half done
By fell Ambition's fav'rite son,
The vain, the fall'n Napoleon.
While the domes, by power design'd,
Attract and charm the wand'ring mind,
Around, far other scenes appear
Where Pleasure doth its temples rear;
And Fancy strains her utmost power
To animate the passing hour,
That the warm senses may employ
That hour in gay, fantastic joy.
—This sober verse, this tranquil strain,
Were it to strive, would strive in vain
That in its couplets should be shown
The Caffè of the Mille Colonnes.
180
Of its fair Queen—for ah, no pen
Can paint her glory's grand design,
At least an earth-made pen like mine;
I therefore leave it as 'tis done,
To the rare skill of Rowlandson;
By whose enliv'ning, vivid touch
To which this volume owes so much,
The Lady's splendour will survive
When all her graces cease to live,
And the proud mirrors shall no more
Reflect her beauties ten times o'er;
Or when another takes her chair,
Not half as fat, if half as fair .
181
Our Henry, though not prone to err
From Honour's perfect character,
Was not without that treach'rous feeling
Which the young heart is known to deal in:
But St. Foix, with superior skill,
Shap'd the gay pupil to his will.
He ne'er appear'd to be his guide,
For ever dangling by his side,
But left his inclinations free
In all the vast variety
For which this sumptuous city's known;
Where the young mind, to pleasure prone,
May, at each turn, those pleasures find
That pour delusion on the mind,
And tempt the heedless feet to stray
In Dissipation's flow'ry way:
But when that Dæmon did prepare
The tempting smile, the secret snare,
The vigilant St. Foix was there:—
Not with grave looks and warning word,
Or counsel, mix'd with threats, preferr'd;
But in an easy, social tone,
That all suspicion would disown;
Without the seeming ought to know;
In temperate wit's sarcastic flow,
He check'd the impulse in its way
To lead the yielding heart astray.
From Honour's perfect character,
Was not without that treach'rous feeling
Which the young heart is known to deal in:
But St. Foix, with superior skill,
Shap'd the gay pupil to his will.
He ne'er appear'd to be his guide,
For ever dangling by his side,
But left his inclinations free
In all the vast variety
For which this sumptuous city's known;
Where the young mind, to pleasure prone,
May, at each turn, those pleasures find
That pour delusion on the mind,
And tempt the heedless feet to stray
In Dissipation's flow'ry way:
But when that Dæmon did prepare
The tempting smile, the secret snare,
The vigilant St. Foix was there:—
Not with grave looks and warning word,
Or counsel, mix'd with threats, preferr'd;
182
That all suspicion would disown;
Without the seeming ought to know;
In temperate wit's sarcastic flow,
He check'd the impulse in its way
To lead the yielding heart astray.
With watchful eye, and arts like these,
While he controul'd he sought to please;
And did the passions so chastise
By Reason's constant exercise,
That never did they overflow
The bounds which Reason's laws allow.
Vain were th'allurements that invite
In every form of gay delight,—
Where the Enchantress waves her wand,
And instant, at the dread command,
The Genii of her realms appear,
To attend her fav'rite temple here;
To waft her sweets, to gild her guile,
To deck the vice with Virtue's smile,
Warm the soft passion, and prepare
For the young mind, the painted snare.
While he controul'd he sought to please;
And did the passions so chastise
By Reason's constant exercise,
That never did they overflow
The bounds which Reason's laws allow.
Vain were th'allurements that invite
In every form of gay delight,—
Where the Enchantress waves her wand,
And instant, at the dread command,
The Genii of her realms appear,
To attend her fav'rite temple here;
To waft her sweets, to gild her guile,
To deck the vice with Virtue's smile,
183
For the young mind, the painted snare.
This ordeal pass'd, without delay,
The Travellers pursued their way,
And trac'd the Belgian plains to view
Th'immortal Field of Waterloo,
Where glory in its splendor shone
Around the brow of Wellington;
And a new Marlborough arose
To dash the pride of Britain's foes.
—Brief we must be:—Two years or more
Were now employ'd in passing o'er,
On knowledge and improvement bent,
The countries of the Continent.
They climb'd the Alps, whose craggy height
Defies the eagle's daring flight;
Then sought, with an enchanted eye,
The lovely realms of Italy.
—Here the Muse might, if she were mine,
Present an offering to the shrine
Of ancient Rome, and bend her knee,
With pious vows, to Liberty.
Here, in her glowing numbers, tell
How Tully spoke, how Cæsar fell.
Or court the fancy's fairy power
And ask a wreath of every flower
To perfume the immortal fame
That grateful lives in Virgil's name.
For Horace too she would entwine
The verdant ivy with the vine,
And roses drown in bowls of wine.
But mine's an handmaid of the Muse,
That will all lofty flights refuse:
No lyre has she, her humble reed
Dares not to tell heroic deed,
And only tunes the joy or strife
Of homely scenes and private life.
She joins not the Parnassian chime:—
To clothe her moral prose in rhyme,
Is all her power, is all her aim;
Contented, if allow'd the claim,
'Tis all she asks as a reward,
For her earth-born, unlaurell'd Bard.
Her Pegasus, of mortal breed,
Is no impetuous winged steed,
But train'd to take a common track,
Though not high bred, a decent hack:
For this same nag, will, free from trouble,
Amble along, and carry double.
Thus Rowlandson holds tight the bit,
While I upon the crupper sit.
I follow as he's pleas'd to guide;
Each, in his place, we onward ride,
And, or in picture, prose, or song,
As friends should do, we pace along;
Keep our young Trav'ller in view,
And thus his measur'd route pursue:
But, though its wide extent embrace
Half Europe's ever varying space,
We are compell'd, as we have done,
To let our Hero travel on;
View cities, courts, and all the show
Which Art and Nature can bestow;
But cannot on descriptions dwell,
As we have better things to tell:
To other points we must attend,
And bring him to his journey's end.
The Travellers pursued their way,
And trac'd the Belgian plains to view
Th'immortal Field of Waterloo,
Where glory in its splendor shone
Around the brow of Wellington;
And a new Marlborough arose
To dash the pride of Britain's foes.
—Brief we must be:—Two years or more
Were now employ'd in passing o'er,
On knowledge and improvement bent,
The countries of the Continent.
They climb'd the Alps, whose craggy height
Defies the eagle's daring flight;
Then sought, with an enchanted eye,
The lovely realms of Italy.
—Here the Muse might, if she were mine,
Present an offering to the shrine
184
With pious vows, to Liberty.
Here, in her glowing numbers, tell
How Tully spoke, how Cæsar fell.
Or court the fancy's fairy power
And ask a wreath of every flower
To perfume the immortal fame
That grateful lives in Virgil's name.
For Horace too she would entwine
The verdant ivy with the vine,
And roses drown in bowls of wine.
But mine's an handmaid of the Muse,
That will all lofty flights refuse:
No lyre has she, her humble reed
Dares not to tell heroic deed,
And only tunes the joy or strife
Of homely scenes and private life.
She joins not the Parnassian chime:—
To clothe her moral prose in rhyme,
Is all her power, is all her aim;
Contented, if allow'd the claim,
185
For her earth-born, unlaurell'd Bard.
Her Pegasus, of mortal breed,
Is no impetuous winged steed,
But train'd to take a common track,
Though not high bred, a decent hack:
For this same nag, will, free from trouble,
Amble along, and carry double.
Thus Rowlandson holds tight the bit,
While I upon the crupper sit.
I follow as he's pleas'd to guide;
Each, in his place, we onward ride,
And, or in picture, prose, or song,
As friends should do, we pace along;
Keep our young Trav'ller in view,
And thus his measur'd route pursue:
But, though its wide extent embrace
Half Europe's ever varying space,
We are compell'd, as we have done,
To let our Hero travel on;
View cities, courts, and all the show
Which Art and Nature can bestow;
186
As we have better things to tell:
To other points we must attend,
And bring him to his journey's end.
Socrates had never stirred out of Athens; and being frequently asked by his admirers, why he affected this singularity, was used to reply, that Stones and Trees did not edify him.
The well-known proverb of the revered Founder of Winchester College:—
“Manners make the Man,
“Says William of Wickham.”
“Says William of Wickham.”
To say my wife sings, plays, and dances well,
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
Othello, Act iii. Sc. 3.
Caffè des Mille Colonnes, is in the Palais Royal, and receives its title from the beautiful gilt columns which are reflected by enormous mirrors, disposed with such skill, that they appear to be at least a thousand. The room presents an overwhelming glare of decoration. The priestess, or rather the divinity of this luxurious temple, is unrivalled among these places of public entertainment, for the charms of her person, the splendor of her dress, and the elegance of her manners. The elevated seat which she occupies was once the Throne of the Viceroy of Italy, and was purchased by the proprietor of the coffee-house for the exorbitant sum of twelve thousand livres. Planta's New Picture of Paris, p. 86.
| CHAPTER V. FOREIGN TOUR. The Dance of Life | |