The three tours of Doctor Syntax In search of 1. The picturesque, 2. Of consolation, 3. Of a wife. The text complete. [By William Combe] With four illustrations |
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
At this same moment, Honest Pat, As if to parley, touch'd his hat,—
But when he saw the waving hand, He understood the kind command.
Indeed he had a tale to tell, (And much his tongue long'd to rebel)
Of murder, robbery and blood, At midnight hour, and in a wood,
Which though he knew not how or why,
Had just popp'd on his memory:
For he had oft in alehouse glory Told his strange terror-striking story;
And, in his own pathetic strain He wish'd to tell it once again;
But the hand told him 'twas in vain.
The signal therefore he obey'd, To hear what more his master said;
Who thus as he pac'd on at leisure,
Conveyed to Pat his further pleasure.
“All those to whom I've long been known,
Must see I've habits of my own,
Gain'd in the solitary hour, That's pass'd in learning's silent bower,
And brought to practice 'mid the toil
That oft consumes the midnight oil:
They know, nor do I fear to own, I often talk when I'm alone,
And to myself declaim as loud As I were speaking to a crowd.
Patrick, I have said this before, Nor let me say it o'er and o'er;
I tell you it would give me pain, Were I to give these hints again.”
Now in grave, contemplative mood,
Syntax his beauteous way pursued;
Detaching with his skilful eye, From this proud stretch of scenery,
Such chosen parts as might display,
The landscape grand, or rude, or gay;
The spreading wood, the awful steep, Impending o'er the crystal deep,
And many a more familiar scene, That here and there might intervene,
Such as his less ambitious art To the fair sketch-book could impart,
And graphic notices secure, To give these views a miniature.
The native beauties that preside And form the charms of Ambleside,
As they all open'd on the sight, Perplex'd the bosom with delight;
—Then Stockgill Force, with deaf'ning roar,
Did from a height stupendous pour
Its rushing streams from unseen source
Impetuous; they their foaming course,
Dash'd on from rock to rock, pursue, Now hid, now open to the view:
When many a craggy bottom past, They the deep Rothay reach at last,
And, rushing on in bold career, Give up their waves to Windermere.
But when he saw the waving hand, He understood the kind command.
Indeed he had a tale to tell, (And much his tongue long'd to rebel)
Of murder, robbery and blood, At midnight hour, and in a wood,
Which though he knew not how or why,
Had just popp'd on his memory:
For he had oft in alehouse glory Told his strange terror-striking story;
And, in his own pathetic strain He wish'd to tell it once again;
But the hand told him 'twas in vain.
153
Who thus as he pac'd on at leisure,
Conveyed to Pat his further pleasure.
“All those to whom I've long been known,
Must see I've habits of my own,
Gain'd in the solitary hour, That's pass'd in learning's silent bower,
And brought to practice 'mid the toil
That oft consumes the midnight oil:
They know, nor do I fear to own, I often talk when I'm alone,
And to myself declaim as loud As I were speaking to a crowd.
Patrick, I have said this before, Nor let me say it o'er and o'er;
I tell you it would give me pain, Were I to give these hints again.”
Now in grave, contemplative mood,
Syntax his beauteous way pursued;
Detaching with his skilful eye, From this proud stretch of scenery,
Such chosen parts as might display,
The landscape grand, or rude, or gay;
The spreading wood, the awful steep, Impending o'er the crystal deep,
And many a more familiar scene, That here and there might intervene,
Such as his less ambitious art To the fair sketch-book could impart,
And graphic notices secure, To give these views a miniature.
The native beauties that preside And form the charms of Ambleside,
As they all open'd on the sight, Perplex'd the bosom with delight;
—Then Stockgill Force, with deaf'ning roar,
Did from a height stupendous pour
Its rushing streams from unseen source
Impetuous; they their foaming course,
Dash'd on from rock to rock, pursue, Now hid, now open to the view:
When many a craggy bottom past, They the deep Rothay reach at last,
And, rushing on in bold career, Give up their waves to Windermere.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |