[Poems by Paulding in] Salmagundi ; or, the whim-whams and opinions of Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. and others . A new and improved edition, with tables of contents and a copious index |
 | 1. | VOLUME I |
 | 2. |
 | [Poems by Paulding in] Salmagundi ; or, the whim-whams and opinions of Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. and others . |  |
53
1. VOLUME I
TO LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ.
DEAR LAUNCE,
As I find you have taken the quiil,
To put our gay town, and its fair under drill,
I offer my hopes for success to your cause,
And send you unvarnish'd my mite of applause.
As I find you have taken the quiil,
To put our gay town, and its fair under drill,
I offer my hopes for success to your cause,
And send you unvarnish'd my mite of applause.
Ah, Launce, this poor town has been wofully fash'd;
Has long been be-frenchman'd, be-cockney'd, be-trash'd;
And our ladies be-devil'd, bewilder'd astray,
From the rules of their grandames have wander'd away.
No longer that modest demeanor we meet,
Which whilom the eyes of our fathers did greet;—
No longer be-mobbled, be-ruffled, be-quill'd,
Be-powder'd, be-hooded, be-patch'd and be-frill'd.—
No longer our fair ones their grograms display,
And stiff in brocade, strut “like castles” away.
Has long been be-frenchman'd, be-cockney'd, be-trash'd;
And our ladies be-devil'd, bewilder'd astray,
From the rules of their grandames have wander'd away.
No longer that modest demeanor we meet,
Which whilom the eyes of our fathers did greet;—
No longer be-mobbled, be-ruffled, be-quill'd,
Be-powder'd, be-hooded, be-patch'd and be-frill'd.—
No longer our fair ones their grograms display,
And stiff in brocade, strut “like castles” away.
Oh, how fondly my soul forms departed has traced,
When our ladies in stays, and in boddice well laced,
When bishop'd, and cushion'd, and hoop'd to the chin,
Well callash'd without, and well bolster'd within;
All eased in their buckrams, from crown down to tail,
Like O'Brallagan's mistress, where shaped like a pail.
When our ladies in stays, and in boddice well laced,
When bishop'd, and cushion'd, and hoop'd to the chin,
Well callash'd without, and well bolster'd within;
All eased in their buckrams, from crown down to tail,
Like O'Brallagan's mistress, where shaped like a pail.
Well—peace to those fashions—the joy of our eyes—
Tempora mutantur,—new follies will rise;
Yet, “like joys that are past,” they still crowd on the mind,
In moments of thought, as the soul looks behind.
Tempora mutantur,—new follies will rise;
Yet, “like joys that are past,” they still crowd on the mind,
In moments of thought, as the soul looks behind.
54
Sweet days of our boyhood, gone by, my dear Launce,
Like the shadows of night, or the forms in a trance:
Yet oft we retrace those bright visions again,
Nos mutamur, tis true—but those visions remain.
I recall with delight, how my bosom would creep,
When some delicate foot from its chamber would peep:
And when I a neat stocking'd ankle could spy,
—By the sages of old, I was rapt to the sky!
All then was retiring—was modest—discreet;
The beauties, all shrouded, were left to conceit;
To the visions which fancy would form in her eye,
Of graces that snug in soft ambush would lie.
And the heart, like the poets, in thought would pursue
The elysium of bliss, which was veil'd from its view.
Like the shadows of night, or the forms in a trance:
Yet oft we retrace those bright visions again,
Nos mutamur, tis true—but those visions remain.
I recall with delight, how my bosom would creep,
When some delicate foot from its chamber would peep:
And when I a neat stocking'd ankle could spy,
—By the sages of old, I was rapt to the sky!
All then was retiring—was modest—discreet;
The beauties, all shrouded, were left to conceit;
To the visions which fancy would form in her eye,
Of graces that snug in soft ambush would lie.
And the heart, like the poets, in thought would pursue
The elysium of bliss, which was veil'd from its view.
We are old-fashion'd fellows, our nieces will say:
Old-fashion'd, indeed, coz—and swear it they may—
For I freely confess that it yields me no pride,
To see them all blaze what their mothers would hide:
To see them, all shivering, some cold winter's day,
So lavish their beauties and graces display,
And give to each fopling that offers his hand,
Like Moses from Pisgah—a peep at the land.
Old-fashion'd, indeed, coz—and swear it they may—
For I freely confess that it yields me no pride,
To see them all blaze what their mothers would hide:
To see them, all shivering, some cold winter's day,
So lavish their beauties and graces display,
And give to each fopling that offers his hand,
Like Moses from Pisgah—a peep at the land.
But a truce with complaining—the object in view
Is to offer my help in the work you pursue;
And as your effusions and labors sublime,
May need, now and then, a few touches of rhyme,
I humbly solicit, as cousin and friend,
A quiddity, quirk, or remonstrance to send:
Or should you a laureate want in your plan,
By the muff of my grandmother, I am your man
You must know I have got a poetical mill,
Which with odd lines, and couplets, and triplets I fill
And a poem I grind, as from rags white and blue
The paper-mill yields you a sheet fair and new.
I can grind down an ode, or an epic that's long,
Into sonnet, acrostic, conundrum or song:
As to dull hudibrastic, so boasted of late,
The doggerel discharge of some muddled brain'd pate.
I can grind it by wholesale—and give it its point,
With billingsgate dish'd up in rhymes out of joint.
Is to offer my help in the work you pursue;
And as your effusions and labors sublime,
May need, now and then, a few touches of rhyme,
I humbly solicit, as cousin and friend,
A quiddity, quirk, or remonstrance to send:
Or should you a laureate want in your plan,
By the muff of my grandmother, I am your man
55
Which with odd lines, and couplets, and triplets I fill
And a poem I grind, as from rags white and blue
The paper-mill yields you a sheet fair and new.
I can grind down an ode, or an epic that's long,
Into sonnet, acrostic, conundrum or song:
As to dull hudibrastic, so boasted of late,
The doggerel discharge of some muddled brain'd pate.
I can grind it by wholesale—and give it its point,
With billingsgate dish'd up in rhymes out of joint.
I have read all the poets—and got them by heart,
Can slit them, and twist them, and take them apart;
Can cook up an ode out of patches and shreds,
To muddle my readers, and bother their heads.
Old Homer, and Virgil, and Ovid, I scan,
Anacreon, and Sappho, (who changed to a swan;)—
Iambics and sapphics I grind at my will,
And with ditties of love every noddle can fill.
Can slit them, and twist them, and take them apart;
Can cook up an ode out of patches and shreds,
To muddle my readers, and bother their heads.
Old Homer, and Virgil, and Ovid, I scan,
Anacreon, and Sappho, (who changed to a swan;)—
Iambics and sapphics I grind at my will,
And with ditties of love every noddle can fill.
Oh, twould do your heart good, Launce, to see my mill grind
Old stuff into verses, and poems refined;—
Dan Spencer, Dan Chaucer, those poets of old,
Though cover'd with dust, are yet true sterling gold;
I can grind off their tarnish, and bring them to view,
New modell'd, new mill'd, and improved in their hue.
Old stuff into verses, and poems refined;—
Dan Spencer, Dan Chaucer, those poets of old,
Though cover'd with dust, are yet true sterling gold;
I can grind off their tarnish, and bring them to view,
New modell'd, new mill'd, and improved in their hue.
But I promise no more—only give me the place,
And I'll warrant I'll fill it with credit and grace;
By the living! I'll figure and cut you a dash
—As bold as Will Wizard, or 'Sbidlikens-flash!
And I'll warrant I'll fill it with credit and grace;
By the living! I'll figure and cut you a dash
—As bold as Will Wizard, or 'Sbidlikens-flash!
PINDAR COCKLOFT
79
PROCLAMATION,
FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ.
To all the young belles who enliven our scene.
From ripe five-and-forty, to blooming fifteen;
Who racket at routs, and who rattle at plays,
Who visit, and fidget, and dance out their days:
Who conquer all hearts, with a shot from the eye,
Who freeze with a frown, and who thaw with a sigh:—
To all those bright youths who embellish the age,
Whether young boys, or old boys, or numskull or sage
Whether DULL DOGS, who cringe at their mistress' feet,
Who sigh and who whine, and who try to look sweet;
Whether TOUGH DOGS, who squat down stock still in a row
And play wooden gentlemen stuck up for show;
Or SAD DOGS, who glory in running their rigs,
Now dash in their sleighs, and now whirl in their gigs:
Who riot at Dyde's on imperial champaign,
And then scour our city—the peace to maintain;
From ripe five-and-forty, to blooming fifteen;
Who racket at routs, and who rattle at plays,
Who visit, and fidget, and dance out their days:
Who conquer all hearts, with a shot from the eye,
Who freeze with a frown, and who thaw with a sigh:—
To all those bright youths who embellish the age,
Whether young boys, or old boys, or numskull or sage
Whether DULL DOGS, who cringe at their mistress' feet,
Who sigh and who whine, and who try to look sweet;
Whether TOUGH DOGS, who squat down stock still in a row
And play wooden gentlemen stuck up for show;
Or SAD DOGS, who glory in running their rigs,
Now dash in their sleighs, and now whirl in their gigs:
Who riot at Dyde's on imperial champaign,
And then scour our city—the peace to maintain;
To whoe'er it concerns or may happen to meet,
By these presents their worships I lovingly greet.
Now KNOW YE, that I, Pindar Cockloft, esquire.
Am Laureate, appointed at special desire;—
A censor, self-dubb'd, to admonish the fair,
And tenderly take the town under my care.
By these presents their worships I lovingly greet.
Now KNOW YE, that I, Pindar Cockloft, esquire.
Am Laureate, appointed at special desire;—
80
And tenderly take the town under my care.
I'm a ei-devant beau, cousin Launcelot has said—
A remnant of habits long vanish'd and dead:
But still, though my heart dwells with rapture sublime
On the fashions and customs which reign'd in my prime,
I yet can perceive—and still candidly praise,
Some maxims and manners of these “latter days;”
Still own that some wisdom and beauty appears,
Though almost entomb'd in the rubbish of years.
A remnant of habits long vanish'd and dead:
But still, though my heart dwells with rapture sublime
On the fashions and customs which reign'd in my prime,
I yet can perceive—and still candidly praise,
Some maxims and manners of these “latter days;”
Still own that some wisdom and beauty appears,
Though almost entomb'd in the rubbish of years.
No fierce nor tyrannical cynic am I,
Who frown on each soible I chance to espy;
Who pounce on a novelty, just like a kite,
And tear up a victim through malice or spite:
Who expose to the scoffs of an ill natured crew.
A trembler for starting a whim that is new.
No, no—I shall cautiously hold up my glass,
To the sweet little blossoms who heedlessly pass:
My remarks not too pointed to wound or offend,
Nor so vague as to miss their benevolent end:
Each innocent fahion shall have its full sway;
New modes shall arise to astonish Broadway;
Red hats and red shawls still illumine the town,
And each belle, like a bon-fire, blaze up and down
Who frown on each soible I chance to espy;
Who pounce on a novelty, just like a kite,
And tear up a victim through malice or spite:
Who expose to the scoffs of an ill natured crew.
A trembler for starting a whim that is new.
No, no—I shall cautiously hold up my glass,
To the sweet little blossoms who heedlessly pass:
My remarks not too pointed to wound or offend,
Nor so vague as to miss their benevolent end:
Each innocent fahion shall have its full sway;
New modes shall arise to astonish Broadway;
Red hats and red shawls still illumine the town,
And each belle, like a bon-fire, blaze up and down
Fair spirits, who brighten the gloom of our days,
Who cheer this dull scene with your heavenly rays,
No mortal can love you more firmly and true,
From the crown of the head, to the sole of your shoe.
I'm old fashion'd, tis true—but still runs in my heart
That affectionate stream, to which youth gave the start
More calm in its current—yet potent in force;
Less ruffled by gales—but still stedfast in course.
Though the lover, enraptured, no longer appears,—
Tis the guide and the guardian enlighten'd by years.
All ripen'd, and mellow'd, and soften'd by time,
The asperities polish'd which chased in my prime:
I am fully prepared for that delicate end,
The fair one's instructor, companion and friend.
—And should I perceive you in fashion's gay dance.
Allured by the frippery mongers of France,
Expose your weak frames to a chill wintry sky
To be nipp'd by its frosts, to be torn from the eye;
My soft admonitions shall fall on your ear—
Shall whisper those parents to whom you are dear—
Shall warn you of hazards you heedlessly run,
And sing of those fair ones whom frost has undone;
Bright suns that would scarce on our horizon dawn,
Ere shrouded from sight, they were early withdrawn
Gay sylphs, who have floated in circles below,
As pure in their souls, and as transient as snow;
Sweet roses, that bloom'd and decay'd to my eye,
And of forms that have flitted and pass'd to the sky
Who cheer this dull scene with your heavenly rays,
No mortal can love you more firmly and true,
From the crown of the head, to the sole of your shoe.
I'm old fashion'd, tis true—but still runs in my heart
That affectionate stream, to which youth gave the start
81
Less ruffled by gales—but still stedfast in course.
Though the lover, enraptured, no longer appears,—
Tis the guide and the guardian enlighten'd by years.
All ripen'd, and mellow'd, and soften'd by time,
The asperities polish'd which chased in my prime:
I am fully prepared for that delicate end,
The fair one's instructor, companion and friend.
—And should I perceive you in fashion's gay dance.
Allured by the frippery mongers of France,
Expose your weak frames to a chill wintry sky
To be nipp'd by its frosts, to be torn from the eye;
My soft admonitions shall fall on your ear—
Shall whisper those parents to whom you are dear—
Shall warn you of hazards you heedlessly run,
And sing of those fair ones whom frost has undone;
Bright suns that would scarce on our horizon dawn,
Ere shrouded from sight, they were early withdrawn
Gay sylphs, who have floated in circles below,
As pure in their souls, and as transient as snow;
Sweet roses, that bloom'd and decay'd to my eye,
And of forms that have flitted and pass'd to the sky
But as to those brainless pert bloods of our town,
Those sprigs of the town who run decency down;
Who lounge and who lout, and who booby about,
No knowledge within, and no manners without;
Who stare at each beauty with insolent eyes;
Who rail at those morals their fathers would prize;
Who are loud at the play—and who impiously dare
To come in their cups to the routs of the fair;
I shall hold up my mirror, to let them survey
The figures they cut as they dash it away:
Should my good humored verse no amendment produce,
Like scare crows, at least, they shall still be of use;
I shall stitch them, in effigy, up in my rhyme,
And hold them aloft through the progress of time,
As figures of fun to make the folks laugh,
Like that b---h of an angel erected by Pass,
“What shtops,” as he says,” all de people what come:
“What smiles on dem all, and what peats on de trum.”
Those sprigs of the town who run decency down;
Who lounge and who lout, and who booby about,
No knowledge within, and no manners without;
Who stare at each beauty with insolent eyes;
Who rail at those morals their fathers would prize;
Who are loud at the play—and who impiously dare
To come in their cups to the routs of the fair;
82
The figures they cut as they dash it away:
Should my good humored verse no amendment produce,
Like scare crows, at least, they shall still be of use;
I shall stitch them, in effigy, up in my rhyme,
And hold them aloft through the progress of time,
As figures of fun to make the folks laugh,
Like that b---h of an angel erected by Pass,
“What shtops,” as he says,” all de people what come:
“What smiles on dem all, and what peats on de trum.”
123
TO THE LADIES.
FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ
Though jogging down the hill of life,
Without the comfort of a wife;
And though I ne'er a helpmate chose,
To stock my house and mend my hose;
With care my person to adorn,
And spruce me up on Sunday morn;
Still do I love the gentle sex,
And still with cares my brain perplex
To keep the fair ones of the age
Unsullied as the spotless page;
All pure, all simple, all refined,
The sweetest solace of mankind.
Without the comfort of a wife;
And though I ne'er a helpmate chose,
To stock my house and mend my hose;
With care my person to adorn,
And spruce me up on Sunday morn;
Still do I love the gentle sex,
And still with cares my brain perplex
To keep the fair ones of the age
Unsullied as the spotless page;
All pure, all simple, all refined,
The sweetest solace of mankind.
I hate the loose insidious jest
In beauties modest ear addrest,
And hold that frowns should never fail
To check each smooth, but fulsome tale
But he whose impious pen should dare
Invade the morals of the fair;
To taint that purity divine
Which should each female heart enshrine;
Though soft his vitious strains should swell,
As those which erst from Gabriel fell,
Should yet be held aloft to shame,
And soul dishonor shade his name.
In beauties modest ear addrest,
124
To check each smooth, but fulsome tale
But he whose impious pen should dare
Invade the morals of the fair;
To taint that purity divine
Which should each female heart enshrine;
Though soft his vitious strains should swell,
As those which erst from Gabriel fell,
Should yet be held aloft to shame,
And soul dishonor shade his name.
Judge then, my friends, of my surprise
The ire that kindled in my eyes,
When I relate, that t'other day
I went a morning call to pay,
On two young nieces; just come down
To take the polish of the town:
By which I mean no more or less
Than a la francaise to undress;
To whirl the modest waltz' rounds,
Taught by Duport for snug ten pound
To thump and thunder through a song,
Play fortes soft and dolce's strong;
Exhibit loud piano feats,
Caught from that crotchet-hero, Meet?
To drive the rose bloom from the face,
And fix the lily in its place;
To doff the white, and in its stead
To bounce about in brazen red.
The ire that kindled in my eyes,
When I relate, that t'other day
I went a morning call to pay,
On two young nieces; just come down
To take the polish of the town:
By which I mean no more or less
Than a la francaise to undress;
To whirl the modest waltz' rounds,
Taught by Duport for snug ten pound
To thump and thunder through a song,
Play fortes soft and dolce's strong;
Exhibit loud piano feats,
Caught from that crotchet-hero, Meet?
To drive the rose bloom from the face,
And fix the lily in its place;
To doff the white, and in its stead
To bounce about in brazen red.
While in the parlor I delay'd,
Till they their persons had array'd,
A dapper volume caught my eye,
That on the window chanced to lie:
A book's a friend—I always choose
To turn its pages and peruse:—
It proved those poems known to fame
For praising every cyprian dame;—
The bantlings of a dapper youth,
Renown'd for gratitude and truth;
A little pest, hight Tommy Moore,
Who hopp'd and skipp'd our country o'er;
Who sipp'd our tea and lived on sops,
Revell'd on syllabubs and slops,
And when his brain, of cobweb fine,
Was fuddled with five drops of wine,
Would all his puny loves rehearse,
And many a maid debauch—in verse.
Till they their persons had array'd,
125
That on the window chanced to lie:
A book's a friend—I always choose
To turn its pages and peruse:—
It proved those poems known to fame
For praising every cyprian dame;—
The bantlings of a dapper youth,
Renown'd for gratitude and truth;
A little pest, hight Tommy Moore,
Who hopp'd and skipp'd our country o'er;
Who sipp'd our tea and lived on sops,
Revell'd on syllabubs and slops,
And when his brain, of cobweb fine,
Was fuddled with five drops of wine,
Would all his puny loves rehearse,
And many a maid debauch—in verse.
Surprised to meet in open view,
A book of such lascivious hue,
I chid my nieces—but they say,
Tis all the passion of the day;—
That many a fashionable belle
Will with enraptured accents dwell
On the sweet morceau she has found
In this delicious, curst, compound!
A book of such lascivious hue,
I chid my nieces—but they say,
Tis all the passion of the day;—
That many a fashionable belle
Will with enraptured accents dwell
On the sweet morceau she has found
In this delicious, curst, compound!
Soft do the tinkling numbers roll,
And lure to vice the unthinking soul;
They tempt by softest sounds away,
They lead entranced the heart astray;
And satan's doctrine sweetly sing,
As with a seraph's heavenly string.
Such sounds, so good, old Homer sung,
Once warbled from the siren's tongue;—
Sweet melting tones were heard to pour
Along Ansonia's sun-gilt shore;—
Seductive strains in æther float,
And every wild deceitful note
That could the yielding heart assail,
Were wafted on the breathing gale;
And every gentle accent bland
To tempt Ulysses to their strand.
And lure to vice the unthinking soul;
They tempt by softest sounds away,
They lead entranced the heart astray;
And satan's doctrine sweetly sing,
As with a seraph's heavenly string.
126
Once warbled from the siren's tongue;—
Sweet melting tones were heard to pour
Along Ansonia's sun-gilt shore;—
Seductive strains in æther float,
And every wild deceitful note
That could the yielding heart assail,
Were wafted on the breathing gale;
And every gentle accent bland
To tempt Ulysses to their strand.
And can it be this book so base,
Is laid on every window-case?
Oh! fair ours, if you will profane
Those breasts were heaven itself should reign.
And throw those pure recesses wide,
Where peace and virtue should reside;
To let the holy pile admit
A guest unhallowed and unfit;
Pray, like the frail ones of the night,
Who hide their wanderings from the light
So let your errors secret be,
And hide, at least, your fault from me
Seek some bye corner to explore
The smooth polluted pages o'er:
There drink the insidious poison in,
There slily nurse your souls for sin
And while that purity you blight
Which stamps you messengers of light,
And sap those mounds the gods bestow,
To keep you spotless here below:
Still in compassion to our race,
Who joy, not only in the face,
But in that more exalted part,
The sacred temple of the heart;
Oh! hide forever from our view,
The fatal mischief you pursue:—
Let MEN your praises still exalt,
And none but ANGELS mourn your fault.
Is laid on every window-case?
Oh! fair ours, if you will profane
Those breasts were heaven itself should reign.
And throw those pure recesses wide,
Where peace and virtue should reside;
To let the holy pile admit
A guest unhallowed and unfit;
Pray, like the frail ones of the night,
Who hide their wanderings from the light
So let your errors secret be,
And hide, at least, your fault from me
Seek some bye corner to explore
The smooth polluted pages o'er:
There drink the insidious poison in,
There slily nurse your souls for sin
And while that purity you blight
Which stamps you messengers of light,
And sap those mounds the gods bestow,
To keep you spotless here below:
127
Who joy, not only in the face,
But in that more exalted part,
The sacred temple of the heart;
Oh! hide forever from our view,
The fatal mischief you pursue:—
Let MEN your praises still exalt,
And none but ANGELS mourn your fault.
171
FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ.
How oft in musing mood my heart recalls,
From grey-beard father Time's oblivious halls,
The modes and maxims of my early day,
Long in those dark recesses stow'd away:
Drags once more to the cheerful realms of light
Those buckram fashions, long since lost in night.
And makes, like Endor's witch, once more to rise
My grogram grandames to my raptured eyes!
From grey-beard father Time's oblivious halls,
The modes and maxims of my early day,
Long in those dark recesses stow'd away:
Drags once more to the cheerful realms of light
Those buckram fashions, long since lost in night.
And makes, like Endor's witch, once more to rise
My grogram grandames to my raptured eyes!
Shades of my fathers! in your pasteboard skirts,
Your broidered waistcoats and your plaited shirts,
Your formal bag-wigs—wide-extended cuffs,
Your five inch chitterlings and nine inch ruffs!
Gods! how ye strut, at times, in all your state.
Amid the visions of my thoughtful pate!
I see ye move the solemn minuet o'er,
The modest foot scarce rising from the floor;
No thundering rigadoon with boisterous prance.
No pigeon-wing disturb your contre-danse
But silent as the gentle Lethe's tide,
Adown the festive maze ye peaceful glide!
Your broidered waistcoats and your plaited shirts,
Your formal bag-wigs—wide-extended cuffs,
Your five inch chitterlings and nine inch ruffs!
Gods! how ye strut, at times, in all your state.
Amid the visions of my thoughtful pate!
I see ye move the solemn minuet o'er,
The modest foot scarce rising from the floor;
No thundering rigadoon with boisterous prance.
No pigeon-wing disturb your contre-danse
172
Adown the festive maze ye peaceful glide!
Still in my mental eye each dame appears—
Each modest beauty of departed years;
Close by mamma I see her stately march,
Or sit, in all the majesty of starch;—
When for the dance a stranger seeks her hand
I see her doubting, hesitating, stand;
Yield to his claim with most fastidious grace,
And sigh for her intended in his place!
Each modest beauty of departed years;
Close by mamma I see her stately march,
Or sit, in all the majesty of starch;—
When for the dance a stranger seeks her hand
I see her doubting, hesitating, stand;
Yield to his claim with most fastidious grace,
And sigh for her intended in his place!
Ah! golden days! when every gentle fair
On sacred sabbath conn'd with pious care
Her holy bible, or her prayer-book o'er,
Or studied honest Bunyan's drowsy lore.
Travell'd with him the PILGRIM'S PROGRESS through.
And storm'd the famous town of MAN-SOUL too;—
Beat Eye and Ear-gate up with thundering jar,
And fought triumphant through the HOLY WAR;
Or if, perchance, to lighter works inclined,
They sought with novels to relax the mind,
Twas GRANDISON'S politely formal page,
Or CLELIA or PAMELA were the rage.
On sacred sabbath conn'd with pious care
Her holy bible, or her prayer-book o'er,
Or studied honest Bunyan's drowsy lore.
Travell'd with him the PILGRIM'S PROGRESS through.
And storm'd the famous town of MAN-SOUL too;—
Beat Eye and Ear-gate up with thundering jar,
And fought triumphant through the HOLY WAR;
Or if, perchance, to lighter works inclined,
They sought with novels to relax the mind,
Twas GRANDISON'S politely formal page,
Or CLELIA or PAMELA were the rage.
No plays were then—theatrics were unknown—
A learned pig—a dancing monkey shown—
The feats of Punch—a running juggler's slight,
Were sure to fill each bosom with delight.
An honest, simple, humdrum race we were,
Undazzled yet by fashion's wildering glare;
Our manners unreserved, devoid of guile,
We knew not then the modern monster style:
Style, that with pride each empty bosom swells,
Puffs boys to manhood, little girls to belles.
A learned pig—a dancing monkey shown—
The feats of Punch—a running juggler's slight,
Were sure to fill each bosom with delight.
An honest, simple, humdrum race we were,
Undazzled yet by fashion's wildering glare;
Our manners unreserved, devoid of guile,
We knew not then the modern monster style:
173
Puffs boys to manhood, little girls to belles.
Scarce from the nursery freed, our gentle fair
Are yielded to the dancing-master's care;
And e'er the head one mite of sense can gain.
Are introduced mid folly's frippery train.
A stranger's grasp no longer gives alarms,
Our fair surrender to their very arms.
And in the insidious waltz will swim and twine.
And whirl and languish tenderly divine!
Oh, how I hate this loving, hugging, dance;
This imp of Germany—brought up in France;
Nor can I see a niece its windings trace,
But all the honest blood glows in my face.
“Sad, sad refinement this,” I often say,
“Tis modesty indeed refined away!
“Let France its whim, its sparkling wit supply,
“The easy grace that captivates the eye;
“But curse their waltz—their loose lascivious arts,
“That smooth our manners, to corrupt our hearts!
Where now those books, from which in days of yore
Our mothers gain'd their literary store?
Alas! stiff skirted Grandison gives place
To novels of a new and rakish race;
And honest Bunyan's pious dreaming love,
To the lascivious rhapsodies of MOORE.
Are yielded to the dancing-master's care;
And e'er the head one mite of sense can gain.
Are introduced mid folly's frippery train.
A stranger's grasp no longer gives alarms,
Our fair surrender to their very arms.
And in the insidious waltz will swim and twine.
And whirl and languish tenderly divine!
Oh, how I hate this loving, hugging, dance;
This imp of Germany—brought up in France;
Nor can I see a niece its windings trace,
But all the honest blood glows in my face.
“Sad, sad refinement this,” I often say,
“Tis modesty indeed refined away!
“Let France its whim, its sparkling wit supply,
“The easy grace that captivates the eye;
“But curse their waltz—their loose lascivious arts,
“That smooth our manners, to corrupt our hearts!
Where now those books, from which in days of yore
Our mothers gain'd their literary store?
Alas! stiff skirted Grandison gives place
To novels of a new and rakish race;
And honest Bunyan's pious dreaming love,
To the lascivious rhapsodies of MOORE.
And, last of all, behold the mimic stage
Its morals lend to polish off the age,
With flimsy farce, a comedy miscall'd,
Garnish'd with vulgar cant, and proverbs bald
With puns most puny, and a plenteous store
Of smutty jokes, to catch a gallery roar.
Or see, more fatal, graced with every art
To charm and captivate the female heart
The false, “the gallant, gay Lothario” smiles,
And loudly boasts his base seductive wiles;—
In glowing colors paints Calista's wrongs,
And with voluptuous scenes the tale prolongs:
When COOPER lends his fascinating powers,
Decks vice itself in bright alluring flowers,
Pleased with his manly grace, his youthful fire,
Our fair are lured the villain to admire;
While humbler virtue, like a stalking horse,
Struts clumsily and croaks in honest Morse.
Its morals lend to polish off the age,
With flimsy farce, a comedy miscall'd,
Garnish'd with vulgar cant, and proverbs bald
174
Of smutty jokes, to catch a gallery roar.
Or see, more fatal, graced with every art
To charm and captivate the female heart
The false, “the gallant, gay Lothario” smiles,
And loudly boasts his base seductive wiles;—
In glowing colors paints Calista's wrongs,
And with voluptuous scenes the tale prolongs:
When COOPER lends his fascinating powers,
Decks vice itself in bright alluring flowers,
Pleased with his manly grace, his youthful fire,
Our fair are lured the villain to admire;
While humbler virtue, like a stalking horse,
Struts clumsily and croaks in honest Morse.
Ah, hapless days! when trials thus combined,
In pleasing garb assail the female mind;
When every smooth insidious snare is spread
To sap the morals and delude the head!
Not Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego,
To prove their faith and virtue here below,
Could more an angel's helping hand require
To guide their steps uninjured through the fire,
Where had but heaven its guardian aid denied,
The holy trio in the proof had died.
If, then, their manly vigor sought supplies
From the bright stranger in celestial guise,
Alas! can we from feebler nature's claim,
To brave seduction's ordeal, free from blame;
To pass through fire unhurt like golden ore,
Through ANGEL MISSIONS bless the earth no more!
In pleasing garb assail the female mind;
When every smooth insidious snare is spread
To sap the morals and delude the head!
Not Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego,
To prove their faith and virtue here below,
Could more an angel's helping hand require
To guide their steps uninjured through the fire,
Where had but heaven its guardian aid denied,
The holy trio in the proof had died.
If, then, their manly vigor sought supplies
From the bright stranger in celestial guise,
Alas! can we from feebler nature's claim,
To brave seduction's ordeal, free from blame;
To pass through fire unhurt like golden ore,
Through ANGEL MISSIONS bless the earth no more!
231
FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ.
Though enter'd on that sober age,
When men withdraw from fashion's stage,
And leave the follies of the day,
To shape their course a graver way;
Still those gay scenes I loiter round,
In which my youth sweet transport sound:
And though I feel their joys decay,
And languish every hour away,—
Yet like an exile doom'd to part,
From the dear country of his heart,
From the fair spot in which he sprung,
Where his first notes of love were sung,
Will often turn to wave the hand,
And sigh his blessings on the land;
Just so my lingering watch I keep,—
Thus oft I take my farewell peep.
When men withdraw from fashion's stage,
And leave the follies of the day,
To shape their course a graver way;
Still those gay scenes I loiter round,
In which my youth sweet transport sound:
And though I feel their joys decay,
And languish every hour away,—
Yet like an exile doom'd to part,
From the dear country of his heart,
From the fair spot in which he sprung,
Where his first notes of love were sung,
Will often turn to wave the hand,
And sigh his blessings on the land;
Just so my lingering watch I keep,—
Thus oft I take my farewell peep.
And, like that pilgrim, who retreats
Thus lagging from his parent seats,
When the sad thought pervades his mind
That the fair land he leaves behind
Is ravaged by a foreign foe,
Its cities waste, its temples low,
And ruined all those haunts of joy
That gave him rapture when a boy;
Turns from it with averted eye,
And while he heaves the anguish'd sigh.
Scarce feels regret that the loved shore
Shall beam upon his sight no more;
Just so it grieves my soul to view,
While breathing forth a fond adieu.
The innovations pride has made,
The fustian, frippery and parade,
That now usurp with mawkish grace
Pure tranquil pleasure's wonted place!
Thus lagging from his parent seats,
When the sad thought pervades his mind
That the fair land he leaves behind
232
Its cities waste, its temples low,
And ruined all those haunts of joy
That gave him rapture when a boy;
Turns from it with averted eye,
And while he heaves the anguish'd sigh.
Scarce feels regret that the loved shore
Shall beam upon his sight no more;
Just so it grieves my soul to view,
While breathing forth a fond adieu.
The innovations pride has made,
The fustian, frippery and parade,
That now usurp with mawkish grace
Pure tranquil pleasure's wonted place!
Twas joy we look'd for in my prime.
That idol of the olden time;
When all our pastimes had the art
To please, and not mislead, the heart
Style cursed us not,—that modern flash,
That love of racket and of trash;
Which scares at once all feeling joys,
And drowns delight in empty noise;
Which barters friendship, mirth and truth.
The artless air, the bloom of youth,
And all those gentle sweets that swarm
Round nature in her simplest form,
For cold display, for hollow state,
The trappings of the would-he-great.
That idol of the olden time;
When all our pastimes had the art
To please, and not mislead, the heart
Style cursed us not,—that modern flash,
That love of racket and of trash;
Which scares at once all feeling joys,
And drowns delight in empty noise;
Which barters friendship, mirth and truth.
The artless air, the bloom of youth,
And all those gentle sweets that swarm
Round nature in her simplest form,
For cold display, for hollow state,
The trappings of the would-he-great.
Oh! once again those days recall,
When heart met heart in fashion's ball;
When every honest guest would flock
To add his pleasure to the stock,
More fond his transports to express,
Than show the tinsel of his dress!
These were the times that clasp'd the soul
In gentle friendship's soft control;
Our fair ones, unprofaned by art.
Content to gain one honest heart,
No train of sighing swains desired,
Sought to be loved and not admired
But now tis form, not love unites;
Tis show, not pleasure that invites
Each seeks the ball to play the queen,
To flirt, to conquer, to be seen;
Each grasps at universal sway,
And reigns the idol of the day;
Exults amid a thousand sighs,
And triumphs when a lover dies;
Each belle a rival belle survey,
Like deadly foe with hostile gaze,
Nor can her “dearest friend” caress,
Till she has slyly scann'd her dress;
Ten conquests in one year will make.
And six eternal friendships break!
When heart met heart in fashion's ball;
233
To add his pleasure to the stock,
More fond his transports to express,
Than show the tinsel of his dress!
These were the times that clasp'd the soul
In gentle friendship's soft control;
Our fair ones, unprofaned by art.
Content to gain one honest heart,
No train of sighing swains desired,
Sought to be loved and not admired
But now tis form, not love unites;
Tis show, not pleasure that invites
Each seeks the ball to play the queen,
To flirt, to conquer, to be seen;
Each grasps at universal sway,
And reigns the idol of the day;
Exults amid a thousand sighs,
And triumphs when a lover dies;
Each belle a rival belle survey,
Like deadly foe with hostile gaze,
Nor can her “dearest friend” caress,
Till she has slyly scann'd her dress;
Ten conquests in one year will make.
And six eternal friendships break!
How oft I breathe the inward sigh,
And feel the dew-drop in my eye,
When I behold some beauteous frame
Divine in every thing but name,
Just venturing, in the tender age,
On fashion's late new fangled stage
Where soon the guiltless heart shall cease
To beat in artlessness and peace;
Where all the flowers of gay delight
With which youth decks its prospects bright,
Shall wither mid the cares, the strife,
The cold realities of life!
And feel the dew-drop in my eye,
When I behold some beauteous frame
Divine in every thing but name,
Just venturing, in the tender age,
On fashion's late new fangled stage
234
To beat in artlessness and peace;
Where all the flowers of gay delight
With which youth decks its prospects bright,
Shall wither mid the cares, the strife,
The cold realities of life!
Thus lately, in my careless mood,
As I the world of fashion view'd
While celebrating great and small,
That grand solemnity, a ball,
My roving vision chanced to light
On two sweet forms, divinely bright;
Two sister nymphs, alike in face,
In mein, in loveliness, and grace;
Twin rose-buds, bursting into bloom,
In all their brilliance and perfume;
Like those fair forms that often beam
Upon the eastern poets dream!
For Eden had each lovely maid
In native innocence arrayed,—
And heaven itself had almost shed
Its sacred halo round each head!
As I the world of fashion view'd
While celebrating great and small,
That grand solemnity, a ball,
My roving vision chanced to light
On two sweet forms, divinely bright;
Two sister nymphs, alike in face,
In mein, in loveliness, and grace;
Twin rose-buds, bursting into bloom,
In all their brilliance and perfume;
Like those fair forms that often beam
Upon the eastern poets dream!
For Eden had each lovely maid
In native innocence arrayed,—
And heaven itself had almost shed
Its sacred halo round each head!
They seem'd, just entering hand in hand
To cautious tread this fairy land;
To take a timid hasty view,
Enchanted with a scene so new.
The modest blush, untaught by art
Bespoke their purity of heart;
And every timorous act unfurl'd
Two souls unspotted by the world
To cautious tread this fairy land;
To take a timid hasty view,
Enchanted with a scene so new.
The modest blush, untaught by art
Bespoke their purity of heart;
And every timorous act unfurl'd
Two souls unspotted by the world
235
Oh, how these strangers joy'd my sight,
And thrill'd my bosom with delight!
They brought the visions of my youth
Back to my soul in all their truth;
Recall'd fair spirits into day,
That time's rough hand had swept away!
Thus the bright natives from above,
Who come on messages of love,
Will bless, at rare and distant whiles,
Our sinful dwelling by their smiles!
And thrill'd my bosom with delight!
They brought the visions of my youth
Back to my soul in all their truth;
Recall'd fair spirits into day,
That time's rough hand had swept away!
Thus the bright natives from above,
Who come on messages of love,
Will bless, at rare and distant whiles,
Our sinful dwelling by their smiles!
Oh! my romance of youth is past,
Dear airy dreams too bright to last!
Yet when such forms as these appear,
I feel your soft remembrance here;
For, ah! the simple poet's heart,
On which fond love once play'd its part,
Still feels the soft pulsations beat,
As loth to quit their former seat.
Just like the harp's melodious wire,
Swept by a bard with heavenly fire,
Though ceased the loudly swelling strain,
Yet sweet vibrations long remain.
Dear airy dreams too bright to last!
Yet when such forms as these appear,
I feel your soft remembrance here;
For, ah! the simple poet's heart,
On which fond love once play'd its part,
Still feels the soft pulsations beat,
As loth to quit their former seat.
Just like the harp's melodious wire,
Swept by a bard with heavenly fire,
Though ceased the loudly swelling strain,
Yet sweet vibrations long remain.
Full soon I found the lovely pair
Had sprung beneath a mother's care,
Hard by a neighboring streamlet's side,
At once its ornament and pride.
The beauteous parent's tender heart
Had well fulfill'd its pious part;
And like the holy man of old,
As we're by sacred writings told,
Who, when he from his pupil sped,
Pour'd two-fold blessings on his head,—
So this fond mother had imprest
Her early virtues in each breast,
And as she found her stock enlarge,
Had stampt new graces on her charge
Had sprung beneath a mother's care,
Hard by a neighboring streamlet's side,
At once its ornament and pride.
The beauteous parent's tender heart
Had well fulfill'd its pious part;
And like the holy man of old,
As we're by sacred writings told,
236
Pour'd two-fold blessings on his head,—
So this fond mother had imprest
Her early virtues in each breast,
And as she found her stock enlarge,
Had stampt new graces on her charge
The fair resign'd the calm retreat,
Where first their souls in concert beat.
And flew on expectation's wing,
To sip the joys of life's gay spring;
To sport in fashion's splendid maze,
Where friendship fades, and love decays
So two sweet wild flowers, near the side
Of some fair river's silver tide,
Pure as the gentle stream that laves
The green banks with its lucid waves,
Bloom beauteous in their native ground
Diffusing heavenly fragrance round,
But should a venturous hand transfer
These blossoms to the gay parterre,
Where, spite of artificial aid,
The fairest plants of nature fade,
Though they may shine supreme awhile
Mid pale ones of the stranger soil,
The tender beauties soon decay,
And their sweet fragrance dies away.
Where first their souls in concert beat.
And flew on expectation's wing,
To sip the joys of life's gay spring;
To sport in fashion's splendid maze,
Where friendship fades, and love decays
So two sweet wild flowers, near the side
Of some fair river's silver tide,
Pure as the gentle stream that laves
The green banks with its lucid waves,
Bloom beauteous in their native ground
Diffusing heavenly fragrance round,
But should a venturous hand transfer
These blossoms to the gay parterre,
Where, spite of artificial aid,
The fairest plants of nature fade,
Though they may shine supreme awhile
Mid pale ones of the stranger soil,
The tender beauties soon decay,
And their sweet fragrance dies away.
Blest spirits! who enthroned in air,
Watch o'er the virtues of the fair,
And with angelic ken survey,
Their windings through life's checquer'd way
Who hover round them as they glide
Down fashion's smooth deceitful tide,
And guard them o'er that stormy deep
Where dissipation's tempest sweep:
Oh, make this inexperienced pair
The objects of your tenderest care.
Preserve them from the languid eye,
The faded cheek, the long drawn sigh;
And let it be your constant aim
To keep the fair ones still the same:
Two sister hearts, unsullied, bright
As the first beam of lucid light,
That sparkled from the youthful sun,
When first his jocund race begun.
So when these hearts shall burst their shrine,
To wing their flight to realms divine,
They may to radient mansions rise
Pure as when first they lest the skies.
Watch o'er the virtues of the fair,
And with angelic ken survey,
Their windings through life's checquer'd way
237
Down fashion's smooth deceitful tide,
And guard them o'er that stormy deep
Where dissipation's tempest sweep:
Oh, make this inexperienced pair
The objects of your tenderest care.
Preserve them from the languid eye,
The faded cheek, the long drawn sigh;
And let it be your constant aim
To keep the fair ones still the same:
Two sister hearts, unsullied, bright
As the first beam of lucid light,
That sparkled from the youthful sun,
When first his jocund race begun.
So when these hearts shall burst their shrine,
To wing their flight to realms divine,
They may to radient mansions rise
Pure as when first they lest the skies.
| [Poems by Paulding in] Salmagundi ; or, the whim-whams and opinions of Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. and others . | |