The Dance of Life A Poem, by the author of "Doctor Syntax;%" [i.e. William Combe] Illustrated with coloured engravings, by Thomas Rowlandson |
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| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | CHAPTER VIII. THE CONCLUSION. |
 | CHAPTER VIII. THE CONCLUSION. The Dance of Life |  |
268
CHAPTER VIII. THE CONCLUSION.
THE Letter read, Sir Henry seem'd
In doubt, if he awoke or dream'd.
He ceas'd not to patrol the floor
Between the window and the door
And conn'd the paper ten times o'er.
The day past on, but it was night,
E'er this high fever of delight,
Calm'd by reflection 'gan to cease,
And left him to an hour of peace.
In doubt, if he awoke or dream'd.
He ceas'd not to patrol the floor
Between the window and the door
And conn'd the paper ten times o'er.
The day past on, but it was night,
E'er this high fever of delight,
Calm'd by reflection 'gan to cease,
And left him to an hour of peace.
It must be thought a waste of time,
To tell in my plain, simple rhyme,
The varying progress of those cares
In winding up the Knight's affairs,
Which pious worth and faithful love
With rigid honour sought to prove.
A tedious month indeed was past,
But all was settled right at last.
To tell in my plain, simple rhyme,
The varying progress of those cares
In winding up the Knight's affairs,
269
With rigid honour sought to prove.
A tedious month indeed was past,
But all was settled right at last.
At length, once more Sir Henry smil'd
In Wealth and Virtue undefil'd;
And, with a long farewell to Town,
To Graceful Hall he hasten'd down.
—The country round in best array
Made it a joyous holiday,
To meet Sir Henry on his way.
The maids were crown'd with many a flower
To decorate the welcome hour;
And as the swains, their zeal to show,
Each wav'd aloft a verdant bough,
It seem'd when they approach'd to greet him,
As if a wood mov'd on to meet him.
The May-poles were with garlands hung,
The bells in every village rung,
And joy was heard from every tongue.
—At the Hall-door, sage Gravely stood
In solemn, but enraptur'd mood;
And, though, from joy, he scarce could speak,
His welcome warm burst forth in Greek.
While, on the lawns the croud rejoice
The woods throw back th'exulting voice,
And song and dance, and mirth delay
The pleasures of the festal day.
In Wealth and Virtue undefil'd;
And, with a long farewell to Town,
To Graceful Hall he hasten'd down.
—The country round in best array
Made it a joyous holiday,
To meet Sir Henry on his way.
The maids were crown'd with many a flower
To decorate the welcome hour;
And as the swains, their zeal to show,
Each wav'd aloft a verdant bough,
It seem'd when they approach'd to greet him,
As if a wood mov'd on to meet him.
The May-poles were with garlands hung,
The bells in every village rung,
And joy was heard from every tongue.
270
In solemn, but enraptur'd mood;
And, though, from joy, he scarce could speak,
His welcome warm burst forth in Greek.
While, on the lawns the croud rejoice
The woods throw back th'exulting voice,
And song and dance, and mirth delay
The pleasures of the festal day.
Sir Henry now prepar'd the feasts
To welcome as his honour'd guests
Each neighbour of an high degree,
With splendid hospitality.
—Now first the Mansion opens wide
Its portals in Palladian pride;
Now first the Banquets grace the Hall,
And wealth and beauty hear the call,
Of festive pleasure, to the bowers
Where reason consecrates the hours.
Among the rest Amanda came,
A Soldier's child: The Father's fame
Had been enroll'd for glorious deed
With those who for their country bleed;
And, after many a battle fought,
His native woods in honour sought.
She had been Cælia's friend; they lov'd
Like sisters as their fondness prov'd;
And in her voice, her air, her mien,
Cælia, by partial eyes, was seen:
And when she touch'd the trembling string,
And when Sir Henry heard her sing,
As he gaz'd on the charming Fair,
He thought he saw his Cælia there.
Now, after friendly visits paid,
He thus address'd th'accomplish'd maid.
“Amanda, to my words attend:—
“I've lost my Love, and you your friend:
“Strive your lost friend in me to view,
“And Love shall be restor'd in you:
“Nor will your warm regard deny
“What pious Fancy may supply.
“If to our Cælia it is given,
“From her Angelic state in Heaven,
“To view the scenes of former love,
“O will she not our vows approve?
“And, as a Guardian Angel, bless
“Our earthly course of happiness!
“As her estates to me descend,
“O let me claim her faithful Friend:
“That Legacy I should prefer
“To all I shall receive from her.”
Their mutual loss they fondly griev'd
And then each others vows receiv'd.
To welcome as his honour'd guests
Each neighbour of an high degree,
With splendid hospitality.
—Now first the Mansion opens wide
Its portals in Palladian pride;
Now first the Banquets grace the Hall,
And wealth and beauty hear the call,
Of festive pleasure, to the bowers
Where reason consecrates the hours.
Among the rest Amanda came,
A Soldier's child: The Father's fame
271
With those who for their country bleed;
And, after many a battle fought,
His native woods in honour sought.
She had been Cælia's friend; they lov'd
Like sisters as their fondness prov'd;
And in her voice, her air, her mien,
Cælia, by partial eyes, was seen:
And when she touch'd the trembling string,
And when Sir Henry heard her sing,
As he gaz'd on the charming Fair,
He thought he saw his Cælia there.
Now, after friendly visits paid,
He thus address'd th'accomplish'd maid.
“Amanda, to my words attend:—
“I've lost my Love, and you your friend:
“Strive your lost friend in me to view,
“And Love shall be restor'd in you:
“Nor will your warm regard deny
“What pious Fancy may supply.
“If to our Cælia it is given,
“From her Angelic state in Heaven,
272
“O will she not our vows approve?
“And, as a Guardian Angel, bless
“Our earthly course of happiness!
“As her estates to me descend,
“O let me claim her faithful Friend:
“That Legacy I should prefer
“To all I shall receive from her.”
Their mutual loss they fondly griev'd
And then each others vows receiv'd.
When the intended rites were known,
One sentiment, and that alone
Throughout the country wide prevail'd,
For All the happy omens hail'd:
An Hymen form'd by passion pure,
Whose pleasures promis'd to endure,
As Virtue would the union bless
With prospect fair of happiness.
—Again the country round looks gay
To grace Sir Henry's wedding-day.
The Knight went not in cap-a-pié,
Or any form of chivalry;
But did, in better shape appear,
With twenty thousand pounds a year.
—In coach-and-six He's seen to come
To fetch his lov'd Amanda home.
The General, in due order, waits
To meet him at his Mansion gates;
And, with a kind of martial pride,
Conducts him to th'expecting bride:
The blushing Bride now yields her hand:
In smiling Hymen's holy band:
The surplic'd Gravely joins the pair,
And as his eyes direct the prayer,
The tears were seen to glisten there.
—Old Faithful who, for many a day,
Had not put on his best array,
With curious look and anxious mien,
Comes forward to behold the scene.
“By Heaven,” he cried, “she's such another,
“As was my dear Sir Henry's Mother:
“So that this Marriage will be crown'd
“With blessings to the country round.”
—The fatted ox was roasted whole,
Replenish'd was the cheering bowl,
And labour cast its cares away,
To share the pleasures of the day.
The num'rous feast, the dance and song
Did the delightful hours prolong;
Till the bright Queen of Evening shone,
In splendour from her azure throne;
When, with a heart-warm wish from all,
The Bride was borne to Graceful Hall.
One sentiment, and that alone
Throughout the country wide prevail'd,
For All the happy omens hail'd:
An Hymen form'd by passion pure,
Whose pleasures promis'd to endure,
As Virtue would the union bless
With prospect fair of happiness.
—Again the country round looks gay
To grace Sir Henry's wedding-day.
273
Or any form of chivalry;
But did, in better shape appear,
With twenty thousand pounds a year.
—In coach-and-six He's seen to come
To fetch his lov'd Amanda home.
The General, in due order, waits
To meet him at his Mansion gates;
And, with a kind of martial pride,
Conducts him to th'expecting bride:
The blushing Bride now yields her hand:
In smiling Hymen's holy band:
The surplic'd Gravely joins the pair,
And as his eyes direct the prayer,
The tears were seen to glisten there.
—Old Faithful who, for many a day,
Had not put on his best array,
With curious look and anxious mien,
Comes forward to behold the scene.
“By Heaven,” he cried, “she's such another,
“As was my dear Sir Henry's Mother:
274
“With blessings to the country round.”
—The fatted ox was roasted whole,
Replenish'd was the cheering bowl,
And labour cast its cares away,
To share the pleasures of the day.
The num'rous feast, the dance and song
Did the delightful hours prolong;
Till the bright Queen of Evening shone,
In splendour from her azure throne;
When, with a heart-warm wish from all,
The Bride was borne to Graceful Hall.
Hail, wedded Love, mysterious flame!
Or by whatever varying name,
We may describe the sacred band
That Hymen's solemn rites command!
Hail, chaste and pure connubial Love!
The happiest state that man can prove,
In ev'ry scene and changeful way
Of passing Life's uncertain day!
—Live we in joy,—an heighten'd measure
Is found in sharing mutual pleasure:
Does dreary care our haunts invade,
And o'er our sun-shine cast a shade,
When fond and faithful hearts combine,
The beams again are seen to shine.
No way is tedious, rough or long,
If Love beguiles it with a song.
Thrice happy they in pure delights
Whom Love, with mutual bonds unites,
Unbroken by complaints or strife,
To the declining hours of Life.
Or by whatever varying name,
We may describe the sacred band
That Hymen's solemn rites command!
Hail, chaste and pure connubial Love!
The happiest state that man can prove,
In ev'ry scene and changeful way
Of passing Life's uncertain day!
275
Is found in sharing mutual pleasure:
Does dreary care our haunts invade,
And o'er our sun-shine cast a shade,
When fond and faithful hearts combine,
The beams again are seen to shine.
No way is tedious, rough or long,
If Love beguiles it with a song.
Thrice happy they in pure delights
Whom Love, with mutual bonds unites,
Unbroken by complaints or strife,
To the declining hours of Life.
Such were the pair whom Hymen led
To the congenial, fruitful bed:
Alike in temper, and in thought,
Alike with all those feelings fraught,
That give to duty every grace,
That call a smile on every face;
Whose reason does their time employ,
Whose fond endearments never cloy;
And only in one strife are lost
Of who shall love and please the most.
—'Tis not to tell how, day by day,
They pass their well-spent life away,
They, like their Sires before, are found
The blessing of the country round.
New forests rise, and to the glade
He gives an unexpected shade;
Calls water from the distant rill,
The marshy, rushy, vale to fill.
But ever by his side she's seen
On dusky hill or summit green;
Or where the arch or temple rise
To meet the trav'ler's wondering eyes,
While Venus' form, or Flora fair
Tells that Arcadia prospers there.
Whether in study, hall or bower,
Time claims the grave or lively hour;
Whether in bright or cloudy weather,
The pair were always seen together.
—As years waft on, the little elves,
The happy pictures of themselves,
Encrease the groupe, and form the train
On the shorn lawn or labour'd plain,
And share what rural pastimes yield
By streamlet side or flow'ry field;
Or in gay barge, with dashing oar
The Lake's wide boundaries they explore,
And eager drag the finny brood
From the recesses of the flood.
—For now no more, with echoing horn
Or clam'rous hound to wake the morn,
The Knight his sylvan course would take
Through thicket green or leafy brake;
All Dian's pomp was laid aside
When her chaste rival Cælia died:
But tasteful sport, and high-ton'd glee
Cheer his proud hospitality.
His studious hours he oft relieves
In list'ning to the heart that grieves:
Oft he will quit an ancient sage
To counsel youth or comfort age:
Nor e'er does he create a gloom
But in his solemn Justice Room;
Where, with a look inspiring awe
He lays down Magisterial law.
Whene'er a charge is strong and clear,
He never fails to be severe;
But from a whisper in his ear,
Of her sweet voice, who ne'er doth say,
“I pray you now,”—and fear a Nay!
To the congenial, fruitful bed:
Alike in temper, and in thought,
Alike with all those feelings fraught,
That give to duty every grace,
That call a smile on every face;
Whose reason does their time employ,
Whose fond endearments never cloy;
276
Of who shall love and please the most.
—'Tis not to tell how, day by day,
They pass their well-spent life away,
They, like their Sires before, are found
The blessing of the country round.
New forests rise, and to the glade
He gives an unexpected shade;
Calls water from the distant rill,
The marshy, rushy, vale to fill.
But ever by his side she's seen
On dusky hill or summit green;
Or where the arch or temple rise
To meet the trav'ler's wondering eyes,
While Venus' form, or Flora fair
Tells that Arcadia prospers there.
Whether in study, hall or bower,
Time claims the grave or lively hour;
Whether in bright or cloudy weather,
The pair were always seen together.
—As years waft on, the little elves,
The happy pictures of themselves,
277
On the shorn lawn or labour'd plain,
And share what rural pastimes yield
By streamlet side or flow'ry field;
Or in gay barge, with dashing oar
The Lake's wide boundaries they explore,
And eager drag the finny brood
From the recesses of the flood.
—For now no more, with echoing horn
Or clam'rous hound to wake the morn,
The Knight his sylvan course would take
Through thicket green or leafy brake;
All Dian's pomp was laid aside
When her chaste rival Cælia died:
But tasteful sport, and high-ton'd glee
Cheer his proud hospitality.
His studious hours he oft relieves
In list'ning to the heart that grieves:
Oft he will quit an ancient sage
To counsel youth or comfort age:
Nor e'er does he create a gloom
But in his solemn Justice Room;
278
He lays down Magisterial law.
Whene'er a charge is strong and clear,
He never fails to be severe;
But from a whisper in his ear,
Of her sweet voice, who ne'er doth say,
“I pray you now,”—and fear a Nay!
Poor Joseph Toms, to state a brawl
So seldom known at Graceful Hall,
To please his wife had set a snare;
The pregnant Dame long'd for a hare.
The hare was caught, a lawless act,
And Joe was taken in the fact.
The blust'ring Keeper told his tale,
The Constable well-prim'd with ale,
Proudly assum'd official grace,
With scowling eye and angry face:
While the poor Culprit ne'er denied
The luckless deed he could not hide.
His guilt seem'd fully to appear,
Sir Henry frown'd—the Law was clear:
When, what will not affection do,
The kneeling Wife began to sue.
So seldom known at Graceful Hall,
To please his wife had set a snare;
The pregnant Dame long'd for a hare.
The hare was caught, a lawless act,
And Joe was taken in the fact.
The blust'ring Keeper told his tale,
The Constable well-prim'd with ale,
Proudly assum'd official grace,
With scowling eye and angry face:
While the poor Culprit ne'er denied
The luckless deed he could not hide.
His guilt seem'd fully to appear,
Sir Henry frown'd—the Law was clear:
279
The kneeling Wife began to sue.
“The hares, I beg your Honour's pardon,
“But they oft come to our small garden,
“And then I'm ready, Sir, to own,
“We with a stick have knock'd them down:
“They eat our greens from top to stem,
“And we have made a meal on them.
“He never sat a snare before,
“Nor shall he ever do it more.
“So look, good Sir, to my condition,
“And grant, in pity, my petition.
“We're not your Tenants, if we were,
“We should your gen'ral bounties share,
“Nor ever want to steal a hare.
“This Boy, now kneeling on the floor,
“And I have five fine children more,
“Would not be ragged and neglected
“But by your kindness be protected.”
My Lady whisper'd—“set him free:
“Nor doom seven souls to misery:
“Chain not a man who sets a snare,
“Because his wife long'd for a hare,
“Or to afford a welcome treat
“To those who seldom look on meat.”
“—I'll leave it all, my Love, to you:”
Sir Henry mutter'd, and withdrew.
“—Go, give,” she said, “that trembl'ing sinner,
“Nay, give them all a hearty dinner;
“And let them a full basket take,
“For their poor little childrens sake.
“And now, good woman, if I find
“Your general conduct to my mind,
“You will my kind protection share,
“Nor ever steal another hare.”
“But they oft come to our small garden,
“And then I'm ready, Sir, to own,
“We with a stick have knock'd them down:
“They eat our greens from top to stem,
“And we have made a meal on them.
“He never sat a snare before,
“Nor shall he ever do it more.
“So look, good Sir, to my condition,
“And grant, in pity, my petition.
“We're not your Tenants, if we were,
“We should your gen'ral bounties share,
“Nor ever want to steal a hare.
“This Boy, now kneeling on the floor,
“And I have five fine children more,
“Would not be ragged and neglected
“But by your kindness be protected.”
My Lady whisper'd—“set him free:
“Nor doom seven souls to misery:
280
“Because his wife long'd for a hare,
“Or to afford a welcome treat
“To those who seldom look on meat.”
“—I'll leave it all, my Love, to you:”
Sir Henry mutter'd, and withdrew.
“—Go, give,” she said, “that trembl'ing sinner,
“Nay, give them all a hearty dinner;
“And let them a full basket take,
“For their poor little childrens sake.
“And now, good woman, if I find
“Your general conduct to my mind,
“You will my kind protection share,
“Nor ever steal another hare.”
But, it was rare, indeed, to see
A scene of vicious tendency
Within Sir Henry's wide domain:
'Twas there as in a golden reign,
Due order ev'ry where prevail'd,
And sacred duties seldom fail'd.
Example, in the highest place,
Call'd forth respect from ev'ry face,
And did the virtuous wish impart
For smiling praise, in ev'ry heart:
Nay who by evil dare offend
The kind and universal friend.
—It was a rule Sir Henry made,
And which he rigidly obey'd,
To keep Religion as the ground
On which all happiness is found.
Not what the warm fanatic proves,
Whose zeal with ardent fancy moves;
Not where desponding thoughts molest
The native joy of Virtue's breast;
But as a power that bids us shun
What Conscience says should not be done;
And ever to keep in our view,
What Conscience says we ought to do:
That gives us patience how to bear
A Life, at best, so full of care;
Controuls the passions when they rise,
And heals our frail infirmities;
Keeps duty in its active course,
Gives to the mind its proper force;
And, in whatever state we move,
Or high or low, ne'er fails to prove,
A sure resource when ills annoy;
An Holy Spring of real Joy,
That cheers our hope when Life must die,
And points to Immortality.
—These principles were understood,
As diff'rent classes are endued
With thought and means to comprehend
Their general tendency and end.
'Twas but to know the right from wrong,
Instructed by inspir'd tongue,
And thus to pass their useful days
In duteous acts and grateful praise.
—Hence noise and brawls were seldom heard,
Nor vice, nor idleness appear'd.
—On Sundays there was never seen
A straggler on the village green;
To public worship all repair,
Assur'd to meet Sir Henry there:
The first and best example he
Of unaffected piety.
A scene of vicious tendency
Within Sir Henry's wide domain:
'Twas there as in a golden reign,
Due order ev'ry where prevail'd,
And sacred duties seldom fail'd.
281
Call'd forth respect from ev'ry face,
And did the virtuous wish impart
For smiling praise, in ev'ry heart:
Nay who by evil dare offend
The kind and universal friend.
—It was a rule Sir Henry made,
And which he rigidly obey'd,
To keep Religion as the ground
On which all happiness is found.
Not what the warm fanatic proves,
Whose zeal with ardent fancy moves;
Not where desponding thoughts molest
The native joy of Virtue's breast;
But as a power that bids us shun
What Conscience says should not be done;
And ever to keep in our view,
What Conscience says we ought to do:
That gives us patience how to bear
A Life, at best, so full of care;
Controuls the passions when they rise,
And heals our frail infirmities;
282
Gives to the mind its proper force;
And, in whatever state we move,
Or high or low, ne'er fails to prove,
A sure resource when ills annoy;
An Holy Spring of real Joy,
That cheers our hope when Life must die,
And points to Immortality.
—These principles were understood,
As diff'rent classes are endued
With thought and means to comprehend
Their general tendency and end.
'Twas but to know the right from wrong,
Instructed by inspir'd tongue,
And thus to pass their useful days
In duteous acts and grateful praise.
—Hence noise and brawls were seldom heard,
Nor vice, nor idleness appear'd.
—On Sundays there was never seen
A straggler on the village green;
To public worship all repair,
Assur'd to meet Sir Henry there:
283
Of unaffected piety.
Thus terminates our various measure,
Mysterious course of pain and pleasure.
—Here then we close the mingled scene
That fill'd up all the space between
The boyish days and manhood's prime,
To sober years matur'd by time.
We've seen the Sun, with early ray,
Give promise of the fairest day:
—We've seen the rival passions rise
Whose flaming flash deforms the skies:
—We've seen the world's delusive art
Suspend the virtues of the heart,
And Reason yield its guiding reins
To the tide rushing through the veins
In flow tumultuous, when the hour
Of pleasure rul'd with lawless power.
Distress, with all its horror, came,
Disgrace now threaten'd ancient name,
While it appear'd that thus o'erthrown,
Fortune and Honour all were gone;
But a new scene the shades disclose,
And light amidst the darkness rose:
For sacred Virtue well impress'd
And printed in the early breast,
'Midst ev'ry ill and toil and pain,
Did, still a slumb'ring power retain;
At length did from its prison break,
And to returning vigour wake.
Thus Virtue claims Heaven's fond regard,
And, after trial, finds reward:
Honour and Love, and Wealth combine
To make the days unclouded shine.
Here Life delights, here nought is seen
But active peace and joy serene;
The whole of Duty understood
And luxury of doing good.
—Here we behold a num'rous race,
Whose daughters share the mother's grace,
Whose sons, the father's anxious care,
Promise, as yet, those fruits to bear,
Which minds, from frail example free,
May bring to fair maturity.
Here Virtue then may view with pride
The picture of her Fire Side;
And to that all benignant power
Who rules the year, the day, the hour,
We leave them, in the allotment given,
To pass through what remains of Life,—to Heaven.
Mysterious course of pain and pleasure.
—Here then we close the mingled scene
That fill'd up all the space between
The boyish days and manhood's prime,
To sober years matur'd by time.
We've seen the Sun, with early ray,
Give promise of the fairest day:
—We've seen the rival passions rise
Whose flaming flash deforms the skies:
—We've seen the world's delusive art
Suspend the virtues of the heart,
And Reason yield its guiding reins
To the tide rushing through the veins
In flow tumultuous, when the hour
Of pleasure rul'd with lawless power.
Distress, with all its horror, came,
Disgrace now threaten'd ancient name,
284
Fortune and Honour all were gone;
But a new scene the shades disclose,
And light amidst the darkness rose:
For sacred Virtue well impress'd
And printed in the early breast,
'Midst ev'ry ill and toil and pain,
Did, still a slumb'ring power retain;
At length did from its prison break,
And to returning vigour wake.
Thus Virtue claims Heaven's fond regard,
And, after trial, finds reward:
Honour and Love, and Wealth combine
To make the days unclouded shine.
Here Life delights, here nought is seen
But active peace and joy serene;
The whole of Duty understood
And luxury of doing good.
—Here we behold a num'rous race,
Whose daughters share the mother's grace,
Whose sons, the father's anxious care,
Promise, as yet, those fruits to bear,
285
May bring to fair maturity.
Here Virtue then may view with pride
The picture of her Fire Side;
And to that all benignant power
Who rules the year, the day, the hour,
We leave them, in the allotment given,
To pass through what remains of Life,—to Heaven.
| CHAPTER VIII. THE CONCLUSION. The Dance of Life | |