Poems By Mr. Polwhele. In three volumes |
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CANTO THE SEVENTH.
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| III. |
 | Poems |  |
159
CANTO THE SEVENTH.
ARGUMENT.
1. Allan, in consequence of the Lady of Landor-abbey's Visit to Juliet, abandoning his Project, and returning to Andarton— There meeting the Rector Swellum, Prue, and Jenny Jerkairs—The Conversation of the Rector, and the two Females repulsive to the Feelings of Allan and Herbert.— 2. Preparations for the Nabob's Ball in compliment to Julia— Allan at the Ball—Various Characters there—Portrait of Laura—Juliet's growing Affectation—Juliet refusing her Hand to Allan in the Dance—Miss Prue's Party to Church in honour of the Rector—A Sunday-evening Concert—A Tinmine visited by Allan, Laura, Emma—A Pilchard-Seine —Emma dropping the Purse by accident, in presence of Juliet, &c. &c.—3. The Incident of the Purse confirming every Suspicion of Allan's Infidelity and Emma's Guilt.
Confus'd and silent, as the hero fled
The gibes and glances of sarcastic Ned,
‘Rather,’ thought Allan, ‘had a threelane ghost
‘The road, his hands imbrued in carnage, crost!
‘Alas! the gathering fiends my projects mar,
‘Darting malignant beams from every star
‘Yet now, perhaps, the destin'd lady waits
‘My homage, nigh my own paternal gates.’
There, as he re-appear'd, exclaim'd Miss Prue,
“What, back again? And simple Sancho, too?”
While, mounting to her cheeks thro' many a sluice,
In livid rancour spread the bilious juice:—
When Swellum (who had made his annual trip
In quest of tithes) a little purs'd his lip,
Yet bow'd, and somewhat quicken'd, with an air
Of ease, the light momentum of his chair.—
“Goils! what a fine adventure! I'm amaz'd!”
The females bridled, and the rector gaz'd.
The rector, who was measuring out his stuff
Of modish sort, (a pleasant lounge enough)
And, as he bade the gentle pair believe
His fulsome lies, was laughing in his sleeve;
“Why, (as I said just now) 'tis mother's wit,”
Exclaim'd, “and not a fierce romantic sit
“That qualifies the stripling for a tour:
“This, this alone, is the true native ore
“That e'er invites, amidst a foreign land,
“And gains a polish from an artist's hand.
“And, if his Quixotte follies he discard,
“And render himself worthy my regard,
“To Allan I would recommend my plan
“To look at France awhile, nor slight Lausanne;
“And, where no vulgar English hiss or hoax,
“Give him a soft access to tonish folks.
“Then with an air of fashion will he move,
“Nor longer herd with rustics, hand and glove;
“And, if he seek, at length, his Cornish home,
“Doubtless, pull down this antiquated dome,
“And, well instructed in the modern stile
“Of fabrics, rear at once an airy pile.
“E'en now, should those old bays, that chesnut fall,
“Whose long-leav'd branches overshade the hall;
“And light should enter these unsocial rooms,
“Nor comfort be devoted to the glooms
“Of moss-grown arches dank and diamond panes,
“And the dull pondering upon dusky stains.”—
“Ah, (whisper'd in soft tones the admiring niece)
“Too much is old Andarton of a piece.
“But such the strange delirium of the youth,
“He calls ‘an ancient tree—a friend,’ forsooth;
“And, rather than his chesnuts slight, or bays,
“Would live, immur'd in darkness, all his days.”—
“My fine old mansion-house at Gruntley-dale,
“Like this, was only on a larger scale:
“But soon the gothic shadows I discuss'd,
“(Its massy turrets crumbling into dust)
“And rear'd a dome magnificent, yet light,
“That overlooks from Nature's proudest height
“Each hamlet glittering thro' the morning-mist
“Where in smooth verdure winds the vale of Clyst.
“Indeed, my drawings, exquisitely fine,
“Of Gruntley-dale display the grand design:
“And of my lawns and wildwoods, ever new,
“How sweetly pencil'd is each varying view.
“There, to this day, where-e'er I turn mine eyes,
“A thousand points of beauty still surprize
“My mind, and bid me with the enthusiast's glow
“The pencil seize—and, ladies, a-propos!
“Your smiles would give a finish to my groves,
“And win to every bower the laughing loves!”
The gibes and glances of sarcastic Ned,
160
‘The road, his hands imbrued in carnage, crost!
‘Alas! the gathering fiends my projects mar,
‘Darting malignant beams from every star
‘Yet now, perhaps, the destin'd lady waits
‘My homage, nigh my own paternal gates.’
There, as he re-appear'd, exclaim'd Miss Prue,
“What, back again? And simple Sancho, too?”
While, mounting to her cheeks thro' many a sluice,
In livid rancour spread the bilious juice:—
When Swellum (who had made his annual trip
In quest of tithes) a little purs'd his lip,
Yet bow'd, and somewhat quicken'd, with an air
Of ease, the light momentum of his chair.—
“Goils! what a fine adventure! I'm amaz'd!”
The females bridled, and the rector gaz'd.
The rector, who was measuring out his stuff
Of modish sort, (a pleasant lounge enough)
And, as he bade the gentle pair believe
His fulsome lies, was laughing in his sleeve;
“Why, (as I said just now) 'tis mother's wit,”
Exclaim'd, “and not a fierce romantic sit
161
“This, this alone, is the true native ore
“That e'er invites, amidst a foreign land,
“And gains a polish from an artist's hand.
“And, if his Quixotte follies he discard,
“And render himself worthy my regard,
“To Allan I would recommend my plan
“To look at France awhile, nor slight Lausanne;
“And, where no vulgar English hiss or hoax,
“Give him a soft access to tonish folks.
“Then with an air of fashion will he move,
“Nor longer herd with rustics, hand and glove;
“And, if he seek, at length, his Cornish home,
“Doubtless, pull down this antiquated dome,
“And, well instructed in the modern stile
“Of fabrics, rear at once an airy pile.
“E'en now, should those old bays, that chesnut fall,
“Whose long-leav'd branches overshade the hall;
“And light should enter these unsocial rooms,
“Nor comfort be devoted to the glooms
“Of moss-grown arches dank and diamond panes,
“And the dull pondering upon dusky stains.”—
162
“Too much is old Andarton of a piece.
“But such the strange delirium of the youth,
“He calls ‘an ancient tree—a friend,’ forsooth;
“And, rather than his chesnuts slight, or bays,
“Would live, immur'd in darkness, all his days.”—
“My fine old mansion-house at Gruntley-dale,
“Like this, was only on a larger scale:
“But soon the gothic shadows I discuss'd,
“(Its massy turrets crumbling into dust)
“And rear'd a dome magnificent, yet light,
“That overlooks from Nature's proudest height
“Each hamlet glittering thro' the morning-mist
“Where in smooth verdure winds the vale of Clyst.
“Indeed, my drawings, exquisitely fine,
“Of Gruntley-dale display the grand design:
“And of my lawns and wildwoods, ever new,
“How sweetly pencil'd is each varying view.
“There, to this day, where-e'er I turn mine eyes,
“A thousand points of beauty still surprize
“My mind, and bid me with the enthusiast's glow
“The pencil seize—and, ladies, a-propos!
163
“And win to every bower the laughing loves!”
Prue bow'd her head, with odd affections smit,
And Jenny Jerkairs, in a kindred sit
Unable to contain herself, sweet nymph,
Betray'd her crisis in a trickling lymph.
And Jenny Jerkairs, in a kindred sit
Unable to contain herself, sweet nymph,
Betray'd her crisis in a trickling lymph.
The rector, who had guess'd, with looks demure,
The fine effect of gratitude so pure,
As still, the gentle maidens to amuse,
He seem'd to fumble for his pocket-views,
Resum'd, full soon, his wonderous tale of self;
A tale he told to every mortal elf.
At length, exhausted from his self-applause,
He ceas'd, and, after an emphatic pause,
Stretch'd out his legs, and yawning with an air
Egotic, to the curate cried: “Prepare
“Your pupil, Herbert, for my travelling scheme,
“And wake him from his wild heroic dream.
“Teach him the urbanities that now embrace
“New men, alike, with those of ancient race:
“Tell him, indeed, in this enlighten'd age,
“The manners of the merchant oft engage
“Our liberal homage, tho' we meet with scorn
“The narrow notions of the nobly born.
“Bid him no more survey with scowling eyes
“The opinions or the fashions as they rise;
“Nor deem the luxuries of the polisht, crimes,
“But bend with due submission to the times.”
Quick on his heel the reddening curate turn'd,
And with an honest indignation burn'd.
“What! shall I sacrifice to Fashion's rage,
“To the false tenets of a vicious age,
“Each good old maxim that our fathers lov'd,
“Each usage long by Wisdom's self approv'd?
“What! shall I hold each homebred virtue vain,
“And Dissipation court with all her train?
“O, while I deem my cassock no disgrace,
“From Allan may I bar an upstart race,
“Who, wont o'er every varying clime to roam,
“Have lost the sacred sense that cleaves to home,
“Licentious notions with their wares import,
“The sons alone of gay profusion court,
“With philosophic minds enlarg'd, despise
“As Superstition's chain, the Christian ties,
“On holy rites opprobrious terms bestow,
“And fly a churchman as their deadliest foe.
“Tho' never may Sir Humphrey's heir contemn
“The merchant merely of ignoble stem,
“Yet may, in him, his father's feelings rate
“Worth with patrician blood as truly great;
“And point his aim, where Virtue best aspires,
“To a long lineage of ingenuous fires.”
“Fool! (cried the rector) din my ears no more
“With nonsense! How incredible a bore!
“Say, had no wandering upstarts left their homes,
“What magic could support your hoary domes?
“And, but by them, what ancient house enjoys
“The varied luxuries of earth and skies?
“Could high Andarton's lords, without their aid,
“Have strutted, deep in ermine and brocade,
“Or e'en their liveried menials shine in lace,
“Or their proud steeds expire amidst the chace
“When little vanity beholds and brags,
“The tails of foxes or the horns of stags?
“Say, tho' your gallery boast an aweful name,
“Frowning on light saloons of modern fame;
“O say, what mimic pencil could unfold
“Its drapery, or of silk or woven gold,
“But for those arts that give the woof to glow,
“Or with rich colouring mock the braided bow?
“Perhaps, tho' dozing thro' the year supine
“By rule exact you rise, by rule you dine,
“You triumph in the generous soul that rays
“Its favours o'er a few on festal days!
“Yet, lo! from each contracted usage free,
“The sons of trade but emulate the sea,
“As riches still unceasing they diffuse,
“Or shed their blessings like the silent dews!
“Those antique notions to disperse in air,
“Break Custom's yoke that only minions bear,
“On freeborn man expand an equal ray,
“And give the social passions room to play,
“While such the power thy tribes, O Commerce, claim,
“Shall old Andarton bow its head with shame!”
The fine effect of gratitude so pure,
As still, the gentle maidens to amuse,
He seem'd to fumble for his pocket-views,
Resum'd, full soon, his wonderous tale of self;
A tale he told to every mortal elf.
At length, exhausted from his self-applause,
He ceas'd, and, after an emphatic pause,
Stretch'd out his legs, and yawning with an air
Egotic, to the curate cried: “Prepare
“Your pupil, Herbert, for my travelling scheme,
“And wake him from his wild heroic dream.
“Teach him the urbanities that now embrace
“New men, alike, with those of ancient race:
164
“The manners of the merchant oft engage
“Our liberal homage, tho' we meet with scorn
“The narrow notions of the nobly born.
“Bid him no more survey with scowling eyes
“The opinions or the fashions as they rise;
“Nor deem the luxuries of the polisht, crimes,
“But bend with due submission to the times.”
Quick on his heel the reddening curate turn'd,
And with an honest indignation burn'd.
“What! shall I sacrifice to Fashion's rage,
“To the false tenets of a vicious age,
“Each good old maxim that our fathers lov'd,
“Each usage long by Wisdom's self approv'd?
“What! shall I hold each homebred virtue vain,
“And Dissipation court with all her train?
“O, while I deem my cassock no disgrace,
“From Allan may I bar an upstart race,
“Who, wont o'er every varying clime to roam,
“Have lost the sacred sense that cleaves to home,
“Licentious notions with their wares import,
“The sons alone of gay profusion court,
165
“As Superstition's chain, the Christian ties,
“On holy rites opprobrious terms bestow,
“And fly a churchman as their deadliest foe.
“Tho' never may Sir Humphrey's heir contemn
“The merchant merely of ignoble stem,
“Yet may, in him, his father's feelings rate
“Worth with patrician blood as truly great;
“And point his aim, where Virtue best aspires,
“To a long lineage of ingenuous fires.”
“Fool! (cried the rector) din my ears no more
“With nonsense! How incredible a bore!
“Say, had no wandering upstarts left their homes,
“What magic could support your hoary domes?
“And, but by them, what ancient house enjoys
“The varied luxuries of earth and skies?
“Could high Andarton's lords, without their aid,
“Have strutted, deep in ermine and brocade,
“Or e'en their liveried menials shine in lace,
“Or their proud steeds expire amidst the chace
166
“The tails of foxes or the horns of stags?
“Say, tho' your gallery boast an aweful name,
“Frowning on light saloons of modern fame;
“O say, what mimic pencil could unfold
“Its drapery, or of silk or woven gold,
“But for those arts that give the woof to glow,
“Or with rich colouring mock the braided bow?
“Perhaps, tho' dozing thro' the year supine
“By rule exact you rise, by rule you dine,
“You triumph in the generous soul that rays
“Its favours o'er a few on festal days!
“Yet, lo! from each contracted usage free,
“The sons of trade but emulate the sea,
“As riches still unceasing they diffuse,
“Or shed their blessings like the silent dews!
“Those antique notions to disperse in air,
“Break Custom's yoke that only minions bear,
“On freeborn man expand an equal ray,
“And give the social passions room to play,
“While such the power thy tribes, O Commerce, claim,
“Shall old Andarton bow its head with shame!”
167
Meantime, had busy murmurs fill'd the dome,
And the light maiden skipp'd from room to room—
Here whisperings in a consultation grave,
While feathers at each breath were taught to wave;
There sighs that heav'd the gossamery gauze,
And the short laugh as prescient of applause;
And gentle rustlings, as the bandbox pours
Its crapes and paduasoys and silver flowers.
And the light maiden skipp'd from room to room—
Here whisperings in a consultation grave,
While feathers at each breath were taught to wave;
There sighs that heav'd the gossamery gauze,
And the short laugh as prescient of applause;
And gentle rustlings, as the bandbox pours
Its crapes and paduasoys and silver flowers.
And what, in truth, could such attention call,
Debate so serious, as the fancy-ball?
Miss Jerkairs felt as erst, the tragic sire,
And Prudence walk'd at least six inches higher.
Miss Prue, indeed, poor damsel! had been sick,
As amorous cunning plied each pretty trick.
What tho' her little winking eyes, so weak,
Gleam'd on the moles that etch'd her sallow cheek;
Yet striving the poor rector to entrap
With glances soften'd by her waving cap,
The girl had languish'd for a sweet love-tale
Amid the secret bowers of Gruntley-dale!
But, by the rector for the ball engag'd,
Her bosom with triumphant ardour rag'd.
Debate so serious, as the fancy-ball?
Miss Jerkairs felt as erst, the tragic sire,
And Prudence walk'd at least six inches higher.
Miss Prue, indeed, poor damsel! had been sick,
As amorous cunning plied each pretty trick.
What tho' her little winking eyes, so weak,
Gleam'd on the moles that etch'd her sallow cheek;
Yet striving the poor rector to entrap
With glances soften'd by her waving cap,
The girl had languish'd for a sweet love-tale
Amid the secret bowers of Gruntley-dale!
168
Her bosom with triumphant ardour rag'd.
Yet scarce had the good females to themselves
Devoted a few hours, ere, generous elves,
To Allan they propos'd, with kind regard,
The acceptance of the Nabob's friendly card—
Subjoining, with a soft submitted air,
Trevalso's people are expected there—
‘And Lady Laura's form, by Fashion grac'd,
‘May win some notice from a man of Taste.’
Devoted a few hours, ere, generous elves,
To Allan they propos'd, with kind regard,
The acceptance of the Nabob's friendly card—
Subjoining, with a soft submitted air,
Trevalso's people are expected there—
‘And Lady Laura's form, by Fashion grac'd,
‘May win some notice from a man of Taste.’
Tho' Allan saw in each unwonted smile
But ill conceal'd the subterfuge of guile,
Yet curious, Lady Laura to survey,
And fond, perhaps, to catch one parting ray
From Juliet's eye, he lent the according ear,
And met from both the involuntary sneer.
But ill conceal'd the subterfuge of guile,
Yet curious, Lady Laura to survey,
And fond, perhaps, to catch one parting ray
From Juliet's eye, he lent the according ear,
And met from both the involuntary sneer.
Not that the Nabob he was prompt to court,
Too mindful of the proud insulting port:
But, crossing strait his own too wayward will,
He wish'd his sire's injunction to fulfil,
As all the homage due to rank, he paid
To the high lady, to the abbey-maid.
The thrilling night arriv'd: 'twas Saturn's night;
What time the rural fashionists delight
To imp their plumes, and mock with empty scorn
The sacred opening of a Sabbath morn.
Too mindful of the proud insulting port:
169
He wish'd his sire's injunction to fulfil,
As all the homage due to rank, he paid
To the high lady, to the abbey-maid.
The thrilling night arriv'd: 'twas Saturn's night;
What time the rural fashionists delight
To imp their plumes, and mock with empty scorn
The sacred opening of a Sabbath morn.
Innumerous lustres flung a dazzling light
O'er stairs, that wound in waxen polish bright,
To where vast Indian monsters, taught to sprawl
In red and azure, deck'd the glaring wall.
O'er stairs, that wound in waxen polish bright,
To where vast Indian monsters, taught to sprawl
In red and azure, deck'd the glaring wall.
As pass'd young Allan with a decent pride
Along rich sophas rang'd on either side,
Strait beelike buzzings thro' the ballroom ran,
And a soft whisper breath'd from many a fan.
Along rich sophas rang'd on either side,
Strait beelike buzzings thro' the ballroom ran,
And a soft whisper breath'd from many a fan.
In one wide brilliance burst upon the sight
Forms of all sorts by various Fashion dight:
Here, kindling its thin gauze the bosom bare,
And floating o'er its bloom, luxuriant hair;
And, from behind, desiring eyes to check,
The truss'd-up tresses, and the cranelike neck;
Or insect shapes, by prudish Folly brac'd;
Or bedgown figures loose without a waist;
Or maids who, sick'ning thro' their rouge, betray'd
The hollow cheek where green chlorosis prey'd;
Or those who, plaistering o'er their furrow'd skin,
Would to the doll-like daub the Cupids win;
Or waists awry but ill-conceal'd from sight,
Or elbows that the modest eye affright;
Or mimic breasts of pasteboard round and plump,
Or wriggling for the dance the corken rump.
There too, amidst the splendour, men or apes
Look'd grave or gay, exhibiting their shapes.
A few, above the rest, attention won
To outrè character, caprice, or ton;—
This, tho' a priest, who stoutly damns the church,
And leaves his charge, a letcher, in the lurch,
Who oft by gout condemn'd to painful nights,
Yet, spouseless, rails against the nuptial rites,
And, with the first fruits of good living stuft,
Ogles a well-bred whore, and hunts a tuft—
That, who, a squire amus'd by various whims,
Thro' all the round of dissipation swims;
Yet, tho' he glitter at each public place,
Dance at each ball, or bet at every race,
Yet, in a dissipated age how rare,
At Church he never slights the hour of prayer,
And, as his pencil's heavenly groupes attest,
Shines, to all eyes, the Raffael of the West.
His foes indeed (and he has many a foe)
Attribute all to fashion, form or show.
‘Whether (they cry) the Proteus pray or paint,
‘The flatter'd amateur, the sniveling saint,
‘Observe him, in his changes, where yon will,
‘'Tis ostentation, form, or fashion still.’—
And next another, whose vociferous strain
Betray'd a dreary vacuum of the brain,
Whose laugh, tho' meant to mark a lucky hit,
Yet only shew'd his wond'rous lack of wit,
Whom blustering, other fools have often check'd,
But blundering, fools alone would dare correct—
Another, foremost of the sons of guile
Who met each welcome with a specious smile,
And, as the well-concerted tale he told,
Suspicion lull'd, and e'en the wise cajol'd!
Not thus in promising exterior smooth,
But like the ruddy yeoman of the booth,
And rough to fashionists, perhaps, at first,
As in the haunts of some lone mansion nurst,
A gentleman appear'd, of ancient birth,
Who in the genuine heart conceal'd his worth.
But, by the hands of love and fashion drest,
A female tower'd, distinguisht o'er the rest.
Tossing her ostrich-shadow'd head, she flung
Now smiles, now frowns on youths that round her hung;
Whilst the fierce brilliants of her wide bandeau
With flashings dazzled each attracted beau.
Nor wonder that the fluttering youths survey'd
With love, the beauties of the splendid maid—
The large tall form, whose majesty controul'd
The gaze, full eyes that darted as they roll'd
Pernicious lightnings, or voluptuous play'd
As her dark eyebrows arch'd their meeting shade;
Fair temples azure-vein'd, the Grecian nose,
And heaving breasts that too luxurious rose;
A rich-zon'd waist where trembled young delight,
And graceful arms that beam'd with rosy white;
And all the gestures that the soul ensnare,
The step of elegance, the modish air.
Forms of all sorts by various Fashion dight:
170
And floating o'er its bloom, luxuriant hair;
And, from behind, desiring eyes to check,
The truss'd-up tresses, and the cranelike neck;
Or insect shapes, by prudish Folly brac'd;
Or bedgown figures loose without a waist;
Or maids who, sick'ning thro' their rouge, betray'd
The hollow cheek where green chlorosis prey'd;
Or those who, plaistering o'er their furrow'd skin,
Would to the doll-like daub the Cupids win;
Or waists awry but ill-conceal'd from sight,
Or elbows that the modest eye affright;
Or mimic breasts of pasteboard round and plump,
Or wriggling for the dance the corken rump.
There too, amidst the splendour, men or apes
Look'd grave or gay, exhibiting their shapes.
A few, above the rest, attention won
To outrè character, caprice, or ton;—
This, tho' a priest, who stoutly damns the church,
And leaves his charge, a letcher, in the lurch,
Who oft by gout condemn'd to painful nights,
Yet, spouseless, rails against the nuptial rites,
171
Ogles a well-bred whore, and hunts a tuft—
That, who, a squire amus'd by various whims,
Thro' all the round of dissipation swims;
Yet, tho' he glitter at each public place,
Dance at each ball, or bet at every race,
Yet, in a dissipated age how rare,
At Church he never slights the hour of prayer,
And, as his pencil's heavenly groupes attest,
Shines, to all eyes, the Raffael of the West.
His foes indeed (and he has many a foe)
Attribute all to fashion, form or show.
‘Whether (they cry) the Proteus pray or paint,
‘The flatter'd amateur, the sniveling saint,
‘Observe him, in his changes, where yon will,
‘'Tis ostentation, form, or fashion still.’—
And next another, whose vociferous strain
Betray'd a dreary vacuum of the brain,
Whose laugh, tho' meant to mark a lucky hit,
Yet only shew'd his wond'rous lack of wit,
Whom blustering, other fools have often check'd,
But blundering, fools alone would dare correct—
172
Who met each welcome with a specious smile,
And, as the well-concerted tale he told,
Suspicion lull'd, and e'en the wise cajol'd!
Not thus in promising exterior smooth,
But like the ruddy yeoman of the booth,
And rough to fashionists, perhaps, at first,
As in the haunts of some lone mansion nurst,
A gentleman appear'd, of ancient birth,
Who in the genuine heart conceal'd his worth.
But, by the hands of love and fashion drest,
A female tower'd, distinguisht o'er the rest.
Tossing her ostrich-shadow'd head, she flung
Now smiles, now frowns on youths that round her hung;
Whilst the fierce brilliants of her wide bandeau
With flashings dazzled each attracted beau.
Nor wonder that the fluttering youths survey'd
With love, the beauties of the splendid maid—
The large tall form, whose majesty controul'd
The gaze, full eyes that darted as they roll'd
Pernicious lightnings, or voluptuous play'd
As her dark eyebrows arch'd their meeting shade;
173
And heaving breasts that too luxurious rose;
A rich-zon'd waist where trembled young delight,
And graceful arms that beam'd with rosy white;
And all the gestures that the soul ensnare,
The step of elegance, the modish air.
Frolic and arch, around her fond to waft
Her favours, or capricious as she laugh'd,
Perchance her favours fonder to withdraw
And strike the sneakers of the crowd with awe,
She triumph'd in the credit or the guilt
That marks the sly deceptions of the jilt.
Nor while the plumage of her head she toss'd,
And of each youth the love and fear engross'd,
Did envy slumber in the female groupe,
Nor vanity that gave them, cock-a-hoop,
To ape her negligence of dress, of air—
A model they might copy to a hair!
Alas! that charming dress, nor loose nor trim,
That set, as if created for each limb,
O'er all her polisht form that waving line
Which language idly labours to define—
That Proteus of inimitable ease—
Alas! the fleeting vision who could seize?
Fill'd with soft witcheries, arm'd with aweful scorn,
'Twas love and grandeur hail'd their Laura born.
Her favours, or capricious as she laugh'd,
Perchance her favours fonder to withdraw
And strike the sneakers of the crowd with awe,
She triumph'd in the credit or the guilt
That marks the sly deceptions of the jilt.
Nor while the plumage of her head she toss'd,
And of each youth the love and fear engross'd,
Did envy slumber in the female groupe,
Nor vanity that gave them, cock-a-hoop,
To ape her negligence of dress, of air—
A model they might copy to a hair!
Alas! that charming dress, nor loose nor trim,
That set, as if created for each limb,
174
Which language idly labours to define—
That Proteus of inimitable ease—
Alas! the fleeting vision who could seize?
Fill'd with soft witcheries, arm'd with aweful scorn,
'Twas love and grandeur hail'd their Laura born.
Tho' less a fashionist, a lovely girl,
Her hair inwreath'd with flowers, and deck'd with pearl,
To Laura talk'd, scarce heeding what she said,
And with a childish folly winc'd her head,
Laugh'd at mere nothings, hand and glove with rank,
And stole from affectation many a prank:
At every sentence, now her tongue let slip,
Low as the whispering breeze, ‘your ladyship!’
And now pronounc'd, as more familiar grown,
‘Laura, dear cousin!’ in distincter tone—
When Allan, all amid her feverish trance
Met from her eye a cold contemptuous glance,
And from her lips in censure seem'd to hear,
As Laura's laugh half-smother'd struck his ear—
‘Yes! yes! it was a less adventurous lot!
‘We dubb'd him the knight-errant of the cot!’
And, doubting whether yet he heard aright,
Caught, still more audible, ‘the cottage-knight.’
Her hair inwreath'd with flowers, and deck'd with pearl,
To Laura talk'd, scarce heeding what she said,
And with a childish folly winc'd her head,
Laugh'd at mere nothings, hand and glove with rank,
And stole from affectation many a prank:
At every sentence, now her tongue let slip,
Low as the whispering breeze, ‘your ladyship!’
And now pronounc'd, as more familiar grown,
‘Laura, dear cousin!’ in distincter tone—
When Allan, all amid her feverish trance
Met from her eye a cold contemptuous glance,
And from her lips in censure seem'd to hear,
As Laura's laugh half-smother'd struck his ear—
175
‘We dubb'd him the knight-errant of the cot!’
And, doubting whether yet he heard aright,
Caught, still more audible, ‘the cottage-knight.’
With all the flush that crimsons guilt confus'd,
A moment wretched, tho' not self-accus'd,
He stagger'd and retir'd; then strove again
To brave each glance, but felt his effort vain;
Till onwards, by a sense of duty borne,
And pride resolv'd to punish Juliet's scorn,
With one bold struggle he retrac'd his way,
To Lady Laura his devoirs to pay;
Yet, as he saw Sir Hawtrap quick advance
And lead out Lady Laura to the dance,
To Juliet bow'd, and losing self-command,
Ask'd with faint voice the honour of her hand,
But strait, as passion trembled, to convulse
Her frame, was answer'd by a stern repulse.
A moment wretched, tho' not self-accus'd,
He stagger'd and retir'd; then strove again
To brave each glance, but felt his effort vain;
Till onwards, by a sense of duty borne,
And pride resolv'd to punish Juliet's scorn,
With one bold struggle he retrac'd his way,
To Lady Laura his devoirs to pay;
Yet, as he saw Sir Hawtrap quick advance
And lead out Lady Laura to the dance,
To Juliet bow'd, and losing self-command,
Ask'd with faint voice the honour of her hand,
But strait, as passion trembled, to convulse
Her frame, was answer'd by a stern repulse.
The sun now rising, and the dancing clos'd,
To some selected friends Miss Prue propos'd
A scheme to Pleasure's votaries new and strange—
‘To church to make a party’—said, ‘The change,
‘From a gay ball to prayers was dull enough,’
But whisper'd, that ‘the doctor would shew off,’
And ‘to Andarton to conclude the day
‘With music, begg'd they all would bend their way.’
To some selected friends Miss Prue propos'd
176
‘To church to make a party’—said, ‘The change,
‘From a gay ball to prayers was dull enough,’
But whisper'd, that ‘the doctor would shew off,’
And ‘to Andarton to conclude the day
‘With music, begg'd they all would bend their way.’
The hour arriv'd: the bells began to chime,
And the tower-clock announc'd the lapse of time;
And Herbert in the spirit 'gan to groan,
Viewing the pews all crouded—all but one,
Where its snug chimney cast unwonted rays
To kindle up the solitary baize.
And long, midst many a yawn, the chimney drew
Cold damps that chill'd the green-invested pew;
When Herbert, all impatient to begin,
And from his head avert the doctor's sin,
Rose with an air that indignation spoke,
And in slow tones the sacred silence broke.
And the tower-clock announc'd the lapse of time;
And Herbert in the spirit 'gan to groan,
Viewing the pews all crouded—all but one,
Where its snug chimney cast unwonted rays
To kindle up the solitary baize.
And long, midst many a yawn, the chimney drew
Cold damps that chill'd the green-invested pew;
When Herbert, all impatient to begin,
And from his head avert the doctor's sin,
Rose with an air that indignation spoke,
And in slow tones the sacred silence broke.
Now the first service o'er, the gallery rang
From rustic noses to the harmonious twang,
To viols mingled with the female shriek,
And hautboys taught like sucking-pigs to squeak;
When sudden a long rushing sound was heard,
And the quick glitter of the train appear'd—
Fellows, whose boast—the staring city-face—
Was crown'd with all the consequence of lace,
And next the fair with steps that rank assumes,
With light veils floating and aërial plumes,
And bustling far behind, as if to bilk
His eager flock, the rector rich in silk.
His part, for tittering and each rattling fan
Scarce Herbert could perform, when, lo, began
The farce.—Behold his pew the doctor leaves,
And strutting in the pomp of pudding sleeves,
With gait important tho' well-nigh a dwarf,
Exhibits to the crowd his staring scarf;
The pulpit with an air devout ascends,
Propp'd on a stool with adoration bends;
Recites the collect with low voice, and next
In energetic tones repeats the text,
As if he acted an apostle's part
Twice uttering—“I am lowly, meek in heart.”
Yes! thou art meek, poor self-dejected thing,
Witness the sparkling of thy diamond ring,
That to thy fine white hand attention draws,
And to thy graceful gestures steals applause;
Witness those solemn emphases that roll
With deep persuasion round, and trance the soul;
Those artificial falls that o'er the throng
Slide in soft music from thy silver tongue;
That oratorial pause which oft affords
Some little respite to thy swelling words!
And what thy topics? Lo, the moral sense,
The glorious light that Nature's works dispense;
And reason, that rejects with proud disdain
The atoning Saviour—topics after Payne.
From rustic noses to the harmonious twang,
177
And hautboys taught like sucking-pigs to squeak;
When sudden a long rushing sound was heard,
And the quick glitter of the train appear'd—
Fellows, whose boast—the staring city-face—
Was crown'd with all the consequence of lace,
And next the fair with steps that rank assumes,
With light veils floating and aërial plumes,
And bustling far behind, as if to bilk
His eager flock, the rector rich in silk.
His part, for tittering and each rattling fan
Scarce Herbert could perform, when, lo, began
The farce.—Behold his pew the doctor leaves,
And strutting in the pomp of pudding sleeves,
With gait important tho' well-nigh a dwarf,
Exhibits to the crowd his staring scarf;
The pulpit with an air devout ascends,
Propp'd on a stool with adoration bends;
Recites the collect with low voice, and next
In energetic tones repeats the text,
As if he acted an apostle's part
Twice uttering—“I am lowly, meek in heart.”
178
Witness the sparkling of thy diamond ring,
That to thy fine white hand attention draws,
And to thy graceful gestures steals applause;
Witness those solemn emphases that roll
With deep persuasion round, and trance the soul;
Those artificial falls that o'er the throng
Slide in soft music from thy silver tongue;
That oratorial pause which oft affords
Some little respite to thy swelling words!
And what thy topics? Lo, the moral sense,
The glorious light that Nature's works dispense;
And reason, that rejects with proud disdain
The atoning Saviour—topics after Payne.
Clear'd for the concert was the golden room,
Whilst brightening lustres broke the cobweb gloom
Where paroquets had scream'd and lapdogs slept,
And monkeys had so long their sabbath kept.
Say, Jenny Jerkairs, whence the wild caprice
That stirs the placid bosom of thy niece?
Wrapp'd in a cloak of satin lin'd with fur
As on the concert-room to cast a slur,
Deckt with a warm Elizabethan ruff,
And up to elbows in a sable muff,
See Lady Laura from her carriage swim,
The child of spirit, ease, and frolic whim;
And hear her cough apologize for dress,
That seem'd to cause a delicate distress.
“Lord! what a shivering church! How dear we pay
“To hear a prebend preach, a curate pray!
“But, Juliet! let us haste to join the throng,
“Smit with the love, it seems, of sacred song.”
Yet soon was Handel to the shades dismisst;
And, such as modish taste could ne'er resist,
Light airs and glees, and soft enticing trills
Promis'd to pierce the soul with pleasant thrills.
“The ladies, who alone can banish care,
“Will each oblige us with a gentle air,”
The rector, of his post a little proud,
Exclaim'd, and first to Lady Laura bow'd.
Amus'd by all the levities of chat
Close to her ladyship whilst Allan sat,
My lady with a sportive smile obey'd;
And such a witching meltingness display'd,
Such wantonness, as if lascivious fire
Her soul had ravish'd from Anacreon's lyre.
Whilst brightening lustres broke the cobweb gloom
Where paroquets had scream'd and lapdogs slept,
And monkeys had so long their sabbath kept.
Say, Jenny Jerkairs, whence the wild caprice
That stirs the placid bosom of thy niece?
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As on the concert-room to cast a slur,
Deckt with a warm Elizabethan ruff,
And up to elbows in a sable muff,
See Lady Laura from her carriage swim,
The child of spirit, ease, and frolic whim;
And hear her cough apologize for dress,
That seem'd to cause a delicate distress.
“Lord! what a shivering church! How dear we pay
“To hear a prebend preach, a curate pray!
“But, Juliet! let us haste to join the throng,
“Smit with the love, it seems, of sacred song.”
Yet soon was Handel to the shades dismisst;
And, such as modish taste could ne'er resist,
Light airs and glees, and soft enticing trills
Promis'd to pierce the soul with pleasant thrills.
“The ladies, who alone can banish care,
“Will each oblige us with a gentle air,”
The rector, of his post a little proud,
Exclaim'd, and first to Lady Laura bow'd.
180
Close to her ladyship whilst Allan sat,
My lady with a sportive smile obey'd;
And such a witching meltingness display'd,
Such wantonness, as if lascivious fire
Her soul had ravish'd from Anacreon's lyre.
The hero blush'd, and bow'd, and blush'd again;
Thank'd Laura for her fascinating strain,
But begg'd to deem her, with the doctor's leave,
Too sweet a syren for a Sunday's eve.
Thank'd Laura for her fascinating strain,
But begg'd to deem her, with the doctor's leave,
Too sweet a syren for a Sunday's eve.
Behind the benches as he seem'd to sneak,
In vain the little doctor strove to speak:
But Laura, with a gay good-humour'd tone,
An unembarrast manner all her own,
Said, that ‘a favour she had meant to ask,
‘Still flatter'd he would not decline the task—
‘To shew the process of the Cornish tin;
‘If, peradventure, 'twas no heinous sin
‘Touching his tender conscience with alarms,
‘On Monday morn to meet a syren's charms.’
In vain the little doctor strove to speak:
But Laura, with a gay good-humour'd tone,
An unembarrast manner all her own,
Said, that ‘a favour she had meant to ask,
‘Still flatter'd he would not decline the task—
‘To shew the process of the Cornish tin;
‘If, peradventure, 'twas no heinous sin
‘Touching his tender conscience with alarms,
‘On Monday morn to meet a syren's charms.’
181
Next morning, Allan, at the appointed hour,
Hands Laura to her phaeton and four,
And to his vast surprize, the timid grace
Of rustic Emma meets in Juliet's place;
Beside them, as the silver axle rings,
With Emma's lightness to the seat upsprings,
And (on his courser catching Hawtrap's eye)
Bids the fleet steeds across the common fly.
Hands Laura to her phaeton and four,
And to his vast surprize, the timid grace
Of rustic Emma meets in Juliet's place;
Beside them, as the silver axle rings,
With Emma's lightness to the seat upsprings,
And (on his courser catching Hawtrap's eye)
Bids the fleet steeds across the common fly.
Soon as they reach'd the region, where pale dearth
Appears to mourn the disembowel'd earth,
Where Cornish zephyrs are content to waft
The sounds of whirling whims from shaft to shaft,
And turbid streams thro' dull morasses flow,
Where vegetation never learn'd to glow,
He stopp'd; and with his charge o'er fractur'd ground
Sought a deep shaft that yawn'd terrific round.
The Nabob, who in breathless haste advanc'd,
On her odd freak a gentle censure glanc'd;
Said, ‘She complain'd of cold the night before,
‘Tho' now she dreaded not a dismal moor
‘Where such fine eyes had never shed a ray,
‘And urg'd her to retrace the dreary way.’
“No—no,” (she cried, with mystic meaning arch)
“Be mine this morning an infernal march.
“Come, then, my Indian chief, without a joke—
“Conduct me to the subterranean folk.”
Appears to mourn the disembowel'd earth,
Where Cornish zephyrs are content to waft
The sounds of whirling whims from shaft to shaft,
And turbid streams thro' dull morasses flow,
Where vegetation never learn'd to glow,
He stopp'd; and with his charge o'er fractur'd ground
Sought a deep shaft that yawn'd terrific round.
The Nabob, who in breathless haste advanc'd,
On her odd freak a gentle censure glanc'd;
Said, ‘She complain'd of cold the night before,
‘Tho' now she dreaded not a dismal moor
182
‘And urg'd her to retrace the dreary way.’
“No—no,” (she cried, with mystic meaning arch)
“Be mine this morning an infernal march.
“Come, then, my Indian chief, without a joke—
“Conduct me to the subterranean folk.”
His terror to disguise, the Nabob laugh'd,
Confess'd, he seldom had disturb'd a shaft,
But hop'd, ‘'twas badinage—Her self regard
‘Would quick such whimsies from her mind discard.’
“Then, Allan!” (cried my lady) “let us go”—
(And slily wink'd) “the brave, the brave, you know.”
Whilst off flew Hawtrap with a thrilling oath,
She hasten'd down the ladder nothing loath;
At the first landing view'd the impending height,
Now distant from the beams of balmy light,
Pac'd with a steady step the platform round,
And from the bottom as she caught the sound
Of labouring pickaxes, still ventur'd down
Three lengthsome ladders, ere, her wish to crown,
She saw rich masses by the glimmering lamp
Whose sickly rays scarce pierc'd the somb'rous damp.
Half-cover'd by her huddling cloak, her face
Look'd like the sweet Madona's pictur'd grace:
The miners, strait respiring from their toil,
Grin on her beauteous form a ghastly smile,
And soften'd by the music of her voice
That gives each high-roof'd echo to rejoice,
The various mazes of the mine explain,
Huge rocks burst open by the nitrous grain—
Dire glooms, where ochrous waters slumber'd dank,
Now hissing to the chain's enormous clank
While the vast prowess of explosive steam
Whirls to the ethereal arch the foamy stream,
And where amidst the perilous abode
Gleams, in its long dun path, the lumpish lode.
Thus, whilst gay Laura trac'd the mineral shade,
A white-hair'd spaniel sudden joy betray'd;
Lick'd Emma's friendly feet, and jump'd around,
And with loud barking bade the vault resound,
Ran to a peasant half conceal'd from view,
Then back to shrinking Emma wildly flew.
“Heigh, Emma!” (as he mark'd her downcast eyes,
Cried Allan) “what, a lover in disguise?
“Tho' woman may her bosom-feelings masque,
“A dog not seldom answers all we ask.”
Confess'd, he seldom had disturb'd a shaft,
But hop'd, ‘'twas badinage—Her self regard
‘Would quick such whimsies from her mind discard.’
“Then, Allan!” (cried my lady) “let us go”—
(And slily wink'd) “the brave, the brave, you know.”
Whilst off flew Hawtrap with a thrilling oath,
She hasten'd down the ladder nothing loath;
At the first landing view'd the impending height,
Now distant from the beams of balmy light,
Pac'd with a steady step the platform round,
And from the bottom as she caught the sound
Of labouring pickaxes, still ventur'd down
Three lengthsome ladders, ere, her wish to crown,
183
Whose sickly rays scarce pierc'd the somb'rous damp.
Half-cover'd by her huddling cloak, her face
Look'd like the sweet Madona's pictur'd grace:
The miners, strait respiring from their toil,
Grin on her beauteous form a ghastly smile,
And soften'd by the music of her voice
That gives each high-roof'd echo to rejoice,
The various mazes of the mine explain,
Huge rocks burst open by the nitrous grain—
Dire glooms, where ochrous waters slumber'd dank,
Now hissing to the chain's enormous clank
While the vast prowess of explosive steam
Whirls to the ethereal arch the foamy stream,
And where amidst the perilous abode
Gleams, in its long dun path, the lumpish lode.
Thus, whilst gay Laura trac'd the mineral shade,
A white-hair'd spaniel sudden joy betray'd;
Lick'd Emma's friendly feet, and jump'd around,
And with loud barking bade the vault resound,
Ran to a peasant half conceal'd from view,
Then back to shrinking Emma wildly flew.
184
Cried Allan) “what, a lover in disguise?
“Tho' woman may her bosom-feelings masque,
“A dog not seldom answers all we ask.”
Safe with her squire escap'd to genial air,
Hied to the smelting-house the valorous fair;
Where, as in wide extent the furnace glow'd,
Metallic masses, bright in fusion, flow'd;
And in the dye huge blocks lay cooling round,
Or to each stroke return'd a ringing sound,
Glitter'd, along the pavement, to the sun,
Or on the backs of mules far blazing shone.
Now as the steaks that kiss'd the steaming blocks,
Sputter'd and whizz'd, like Abyssinia's ox,
Old Geoffrey's savoury treat upon the tin
Her ladyship partook without a sin.
Hied to the smelting-house the valorous fair;
Where, as in wide extent the furnace glow'd,
Metallic masses, bright in fusion, flow'd;
And in the dye huge blocks lay cooling round,
Or to each stroke return'd a ringing sound,
Glitter'd, along the pavement, to the sun,
Or on the backs of mules far blazing shone.
Now as the steaks that kiss'd the steaming blocks,
Sputter'd and whizz'd, like Abyssinia's ox,
Old Geoffrey's savoury treat upon the tin
Her ladyship partook without a sin.
The gentry seem'd, all union, to agree
That such a scheme was only markt for glee,
But, striving to disperse their grief or spleen,
Discover'd the vain effort in chagrin;
And most, Sir Hawtrap; who, extremely grave,
Could scarcely Laura's penetration brave,
And e'en into a mousehole could have crept,
When, ‘for her sake, she begg'd he would accept
‘A specimen of Cornish metals, fine
‘And fresh, he might depend on't, from the mine.’
“As Laura seems to relish, well enough,”
(Cries Allan with a smile) “our Cornish stuff,
“Suppose, if morrow evening set serene,
“We show her ladyship the pilchard-seine?”
That such a scheme was only markt for glee,
But, striving to disperse their grief or spleen,
Discover'd the vain effort in chagrin;
185
Could scarcely Laura's penetration brave,
And e'en into a mousehole could have crept,
When, ‘for her sake, she begg'd he would accept
‘A specimen of Cornish metals, fine
‘And fresh, he might depend on't, from the mine.’
“As Laura seems to relish, well enough,”
(Cries Allan with a smile) “our Cornish stuff,
“Suppose, if morrow evening set serene,
“We show her ladyship the pilchard-seine?”
Mild was the morrow's eve; yet dense the shade
Of broken clouds, where pale the moonbeam play'd.
The party, all assembled at the beach,
Look'd down the bay, as far eye could reach,
To where the seiners, winding round the shore,
Whistled blithe songs, or plied the dashing oar.
Now, as more near their nets the sein-men drew,
Where redness speck'd the sea's extensive blue,
And shoals on shoals, along the watery way,
One vivid crimson, colour'd all the bay,
And silvery streams, where erst the surge was fir'd,
Flash'd o'er the boats and quiver'd and expir'd;
A thing that seem'd but trivial, discompos'd
The curious gazers, and their pleasure clos'd—
A trivial thing that slipp'd from Emma's hand
(Too careless maid) and glister'd on the sand;
Whilst conscious Allan started at the gleam,
And Juliet utter'd a distressful scream,
And trembled the whole groupe, they knew not why—
The purse of love—betray'd to every eye!
Yet Emma, flutter'd by a moment's fear,
Dismiss'd the fleeting tremour in a tear,
And on the ground her eye serenely cast,
Its lustre sparkling—for its cloud was past.
Of broken clouds, where pale the moonbeam play'd.
The party, all assembled at the beach,
Look'd down the bay, as far eye could reach,
To where the seiners, winding round the shore,
Whistled blithe songs, or plied the dashing oar.
Now, as more near their nets the sein-men drew,
Where redness speck'd the sea's extensive blue,
And shoals on shoals, along the watery way,
One vivid crimson, colour'd all the bay,
186
Flash'd o'er the boats and quiver'd and expir'd;
A thing that seem'd but trivial, discompos'd
The curious gazers, and their pleasure clos'd—
A trivial thing that slipp'd from Emma's hand
(Too careless maid) and glister'd on the sand;
Whilst conscious Allan started at the gleam,
And Juliet utter'd a distressful scream,
And trembled the whole groupe, they knew not why—
The purse of love—betray'd to every eye!
Yet Emma, flutter'd by a moment's fear,
Dismiss'd the fleeting tremour in a tear,
And on the ground her eye serenely cast,
Its lustre sparkling—for its cloud was past.
Allan! what apprehensions to thy heart
Could from the purse one casual glitter start!
How many a dormant thought, the wizard snare
That talisman of love, awaken'd there!—
Alas! so strange his first emotions rose
That scarce he deem'd (till reason, to compose
His spirit came) how stain'd with deepest dyes
From perfidy, he stood in Juliet's eyes;
Tho' Emma, to censorious tongues betray'd,
He mourn'd, and melted o'er the faultless maid!
Could from the purse one casual glitter start!
How many a dormant thought, the wizard snare
That talisman of love, awaken'd there!—
Alas! so strange his first emotions rose
That scarce he deem'd (till reason, to compose
187
From perfidy, he stood in Juliet's eyes;
Tho' Emma, to censorious tongues betray'd,
He mourn'd, and melted o'er the faultless maid!
END OF THE SEVENTH CANTO.
| Poems | |