Infantine effusions By Ernest Charles Jones, written by him, between the eighth and tenth years of his age |
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RODRIGUO.
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RODRIGUO.
A Canto.
Imitated from a Celebrated Author.
A youth there liv'd, a true venetian bred,
A comely boy, and he was passing brave,
At least, so rumour, and his parents said;
And he was very good in all, but save,
That he was somewhat strong in head,
And would have his will unto the grave;
And swore, that whether good, or bad, or young, or old
That while he lived—he ever would be bold.
A comely boy, and he was passing brave,
At least, so rumour, and his parents said;
And he was very good in all, but save,
That he was somewhat strong in head,
And would have his will unto the grave;
And swore, that whether good, or bad, or young, or old
That while he lived—he ever would be bold.
But whate'er his thoughts, or precepts, might have been
It is not fit for us, yet, to disclose,
But if they tended more to good, I ween
It must not yet, be said, in verse or prose.
He was a piece of mechanism rarely seen,
One of those unusual human shows—
But yet, withal,—he was a comely boy,
And form'd, old Don Alphonso's only joy.
It is not fit for us, yet, to disclose,
But if they tended more to good, I ween
It must not yet, be said, in verse or prose.
He was a piece of mechanism rarely seen,
One of those unusual human shows—
But yet, withal,—he was a comely boy,
And form'd, old Don Alphonso's only joy.
6
His Mother, was Olympia—a good old Dame,
In age, she reckon'd thirteen lustres,
Though not inserted, in the list of fame,
She often put herself in right good flusters;
But notwithstanding, she had gain'd a name;
Besides, I must insert—she had three sisters,
One named Josina—or else Josephine,
And three such old Dames—never sure were seen.
In age, she reckon'd thirteen lustres,
Though not inserted, in the list of fame,
She often put herself in right good flusters;
But notwithstanding, she had gain'd a name;
Besides, I must insert—she had three sisters,
One named Josina—or else Josephine,
And three such old Dames—never sure were seen.
But if these virgins names I stay upon,
And mention no other particular,
Surely it must be true, I'll ne'er get on
And so I'll e'en change my subject Sir.
Don Rodriguo, was his name, anon
And somewhat oddish in his manner
But now I add, for to gain our ends,
He was too fond of Ladies—and his friends.
And mention no other particular,
Surely it must be true, I'll ne'er get on
And so I'll e'en change my subject Sir.
Don Rodriguo, was his name, anon
And somewhat oddish in his manner
But now I add, for to gain our ends,
He was too fond of Ladies—and his friends.
They say besides, he was a little bold
With a certain beauty in the place,
Which our readers, will now soon be hold,
Besides, he had an interview, face to face:
They rate her worth, ten-thousand crowns in gold
And say—she was call'd Duchess—and your Grace—
This, now our Don Rodriguo much took in,
And, so he thought—to marry—was no sin.
With a certain beauty in the place,
Which our readers, will now soon be hold,
Besides, he had an interview, face to face:
They rate her worth, ten-thousand crowns in gold
And say—she was call'd Duchess—and your Grace—
This, now our Don Rodriguo much took in,
And, so he thought—to marry—was no sin.
7
And too he was much pleas'd with her visage,
And pay'd her some visits—now and then,
And said some things, that were not quite so sage
And did, perhaps—as at times—do all men.
Besides, he was but young—and all his age
Was twenty-two,—and he did reckon
That all the time—he was without a wife—
He spent but single—such a time of life.
And pay'd her some visits—now and then,
And said some things, that were not quite so sage
And did, perhaps—as at times—do all men.
Besides, he was but young—and all his age
Was twenty-two,—and he did reckon
That all the time—he was without a wife—
He spent but single—such a time of life.
But perhaps, my reader, also may enquire
Why thus, he wanted to be made double?
And then too, he wish'd to have an—esquire—
Because, a wife—would give him so much trouble;
And found he'd gone so far—the things were nigh—a
(If he did not mind,)—a squeak and bubble.
Still Don Rodriguo—persisted in a wife,
And swore—he would not singly, pass his life.
Why thus, he wanted to be made double?
And then too, he wish'd to have an—esquire—
Because, a wife—would give him so much trouble;
And found he'd gone so far—the things were nigh—a
(If he did not mind,)—a squeak and bubble.
Still Don Rodriguo—persisted in a wife,
And swore—he would not singly, pass his life.
I ara's castle was an ancient pile
With gothic windows—arch'd sublimely high;
Its aged towers—stood on rocky soil,
And oft had brav'd the tempests breath and sigh;
As strong as far-fam'd Pyramids o'th' nile,
And each large room was painted like the sky.
Yet still let fair I ara—fancy what she may
She, and Rodriguo—where but made of Clay.
With gothic windows—arch'd sublimely high;
Its aged towers—stood on rocky soil,
And oft had brav'd the tempests breath and sigh;
As strong as far-fam'd Pyramids o'th' nile,
And each large room was painted like the sky.
Yet still let fair I ara—fancy what she may
She, and Rodriguo—where but made of Clay.
8
One half was ruin'd, and ev'ry whirl-winds rage
Threaten'd to shake the building to the ground;
A lasting monument, from age to age—
Repeating the big thunders rolling sound;
When Heaven its elemental war did wage,
And heard was echo's voice from all around;
'Twas the remembrance—of full many an age—
Had brav'd the tempests wrath—and battles rage.
Threaten'd to shake the building to the ground;
A lasting monument, from age to age—
Repeating the big thunders rolling sound;
When Heaven its elemental war did wage,
And heard was echo's voice from all around;
'Twas the remembrance—of full many an age—
Had brav'd the tempests wrath—and battles rage.
Don Rodriguo—was a handsome youth,
Besides that, he was not too small,
Nor was he in his speech uncouth—
Nor was he, either, wax'd too tall
But altogether of a comely growth—
As for the Ladies—he—enamour'd all!
And he had nothing that we can burlesque—
Nor aught—that rendereth, most men grotesque;
Besides that, he was not too small,
Nor was he in his speech uncouth—
Nor was he, either, wax'd too tall
But altogether of a comely growth—
As for the Ladies—he—enamour'd all!
And he had nothing that we can burlesque—
Nor aught—that rendereth, most men grotesque;
For the're grotesque enough—God help the race,
And yet I own, that I am of the kind,
And think of setting nature in her place—
Though all we mortals,—are so weak of mind:
Nor in reason's ray can find much grace—
But are as changing—as the waving wind.
The race is most uncouth—and not of those—
As—rara—avis like—and wondrous shows.
And yet I own, that I am of the kind,
And think of setting nature in her place—
Though all we mortals,—are so weak of mind:
Nor in reason's ray can find much grace—
But are as changing—as the waving wind.
The race is most uncouth—and not of those—
As—rara—avis like—and wondrous shows.
9
By this, I mean not women, to enhance.
For they're as bad as these, or worse—I ween;
Though you may find a good one,—perhaps, perchance,
But still if their inmost heart be seen,
You'll find them bad—and from a casual glance
Not much, will the deceiv'd spectator glean;—
For I must say it—and to their disgrace—
That they are—a most deceitful race.
For they're as bad as these, or worse—I ween;
Though you may find a good one,—perhaps, perchance,
But still if their inmost heart be seen,
You'll find them bad—and from a casual glance
Not much, will the deceiv'd spectator glean;—
For I must say it—and to their disgrace—
That they are—a most deceitful race.
My readers may'nt believe—but I can shew'em
And witnesses I've got, as many as they choose—
That a rare Phoenix, is a virtuous woman—
And that they're most coquettes—or sometimes blues
Besides, I could say much more—and I can tell'em
That this discovery is no piece of news.
But to this subject I'll now bid fare-well
And leave in rest—each coquette—and each belle.
And witnesses I've got, as many as they choose—
That a rare Phoenix, is a virtuous woman—
And that they're most coquettes—or sometimes blues
Besides, I could say much more—and I can tell'em
That this discovery is no piece of news.
But to this subject I'll now bid fare-well
And leave in rest—each coquette—and each belle.
But yet, as I am in a merry vein,
This merry subject longer will I harp on,
And perhaps, it may serve me to prolong my strain
Then ergo—it will follow—I must write on;
But still to disclose men's foibles gives me pain
And now I wish the thing I had not done,
But rhymes string on—and if there's reason
You will not say—that I'm committing treason.
This merry subject longer will I harp on,
And perhaps, it may serve me to prolong my strain
Then ergo—it will follow—I must write on;
But still to disclose men's foibles gives me pain
And now I wish the thing I had not done,
But rhymes string on—and if there's reason
You will not say—that I'm committing treason.
10
But, nolens-volens—'twill not quit my brain,
And ad-infinitum—there I sit to write
Pin'd like a fool, unto my chair again
And certes, it must be a goodly sight—
To see me draw out each verse with pain,
And light a candle—for to write at midnight.
But you must excuse an author's haste—
In writing any thing—that just suits his taste.
And ad-infinitum—there I sit to write
Pin'd like a fool, unto my chair again
And certes, it must be a goodly sight—
To see me draw out each verse with pain,
And light a candle—for to write at midnight.
But you must excuse an author's haste—
In writing any thing—that just suits his taste.
But Don Rodriguo—was not quite Compos-mentis,
For it was rumour'd, he was to depart,
And all his thoughts and home affairs now went as
The different feelings that he had at heart;
And Don Rodriguo when he heard it, felt as
Though he'd been transpierc'd—by some sharp dart.
But now, no alternative did remain—
And he was forced to plough the dark blue main.
For it was rumour'd, he was to depart,
And all his thoughts and home affairs now went as
The different feelings that he had at heart;
And Don Rodriguo when he heard it, felt as
Though he'd been transpierc'd—by some sharp dart.
But now, no alternative did remain—
And he was forced to plough the dark blue main.
He therefore instant bade a quick adieu,
To Father, friends—his household and his Mother;
To all who lov'd him—and to all he knew,
For I've before said, that he had no brother.
And yet a heavy sadness o'er him grew,
As he bade farewell unto his aunts, and other
Animals, and acquaintance all around,—
And then prepar'd—to leave his native ground.
To Father, friends—his household and his Mother;
To all who lov'd him—and to all he knew,
For I've before said, that he had no brother.
And yet a heavy sadness o'er him grew,
As he bade farewell unto his aunts, and other
Animals, and acquaintance all around,—
And then prepar'd—to leave his native ground.
11
On sobs and sighs, and many a sad farewell,
And other nonsense, and promises—and stuff
To gain my ends—I will no longer dwell,
But quickly say—that he did give enough,
And did some round and far-fetch'd stories tell—
And made for show-sake—a most glorious puff—
That he'd to vesuvius—and Mount-Etna—
And visit great Mahomet's shrine at Mecca!
And other nonsense, and promises—and stuff
To gain my ends—I will no longer dwell,
But quickly say—that he did give enough,
And did some round and far-fetch'd stories tell—
And made for show-sake—a most glorious puff—
That he'd to vesuvius—and Mount-Etna—
And visit great Mahomet's shrine at Mecca!
He had embark'd with a propitious wind,
And thought upon the stern decrees of fate—
Repenting, left his native shore behind,
And would return—but it was now too late.
While shades of sorrow flash'd a cross his mind,
He weeping left his good Venetian State;
Now Venice, from the waters seem'd to rise—
And her proud Steeples—mingle with the skies!
And thought upon the stern decrees of fate—
Repenting, left his native shore behind,
And would return—but it was now too late.
While shades of sorrow flash'd a cross his mind,
He weeping left his good Venetian State;
Now Venice, from the waters seem'd to rise—
And her proud Steeples—mingle with the skies!
The time was evening—and the mellow die—
Superior shining—glorious to behold—
Of tinted clouds along the western sky,
Streak'd, and embellish'd rich—with gold
Attracted now-the sad Rodriguo's eye,
As soft on zephyr's wings the night clouds roll'd,
Or faded gently, o'er the distant blue
Of waters, ripling—as the vessel flew.
Superior shining—glorious to behold—
Of tinted clouds along the western sky,
Streak'd, and embellish'd rich—with gold
Attracted now-the sad Rodriguo's eye,
As soft on zephyr's wings the night clouds roll'd,
Or faded gently, o'er the distant blue
Of waters, ripling—as the vessel flew.
12
Now gently red'ning on the Ocean's breast,
That heav'd as sigh'd the damp winds of the night,
Whose murmurs lull'd declining Sol to rest
And shut from Venice view—his glorious light,
That hung so smilingly, and blest
With changing tints, sublimely bright
The clear ethereal sky in which it reigns,
And radiant shone o'er rich Italian plains.
That heav'd as sigh'd the damp winds of the night,
Whose murmurs lull'd declining Sol to rest
And shut from Venice view—his glorious light,
That hung so smilingly, and blest
With changing tints, sublimely bright
The clear ethereal sky in which it reigns,
And radiant shone o'er rich Italian plains.
Calm was the shining surface of the deep,
And Oceanus in his coral cave,
Smoth'd the wide Ocean's dimpling cheek,
And with his mighty power—controul'd the wave;
That with its silvery foam did gently break,
Against Italia's land, and murmuring lave
The fertile shores it met—where waving corn
And fields of varied green—the scene adorn.
And Oceanus in his coral cave,
Smoth'd the wide Ocean's dimpling cheek,
And with his mighty power—controul'd the wave;
That with its silvery foam did gently break,
Against Italia's land, and murmuring lave
The fertile shores it met—where waving corn
And fields of varied green—the scene adorn.
But still, a sadness hover'd round his heart,—
(Not as birds hover in a cloudless sky,)
It griev'd him much from all things to depart,
He lov'd, he own'd—and that did claim—a sigh.
And Don Rodriguo, often felt the smart
Of parting friends—as swiftly he did fly,
O'er the rous'd wave—that gladly rippled round
And dash'd against the ship—with murmuring sound.
(Not as birds hover in a cloudless sky,)
It griev'd him much from all things to depart,
He lov'd, he own'd—and that did claim—a sigh.
And Don Rodriguo, often felt the smart
Of parting friends—as swiftly he did fly,
O'er the rous'd wave—that gladly rippled round
And dash'd against the ship—with murmuring sound.
13
As menacing the night-her shadows spread,
And silence reign'd throughout the vaulted sky,
And dark the night-clouds flew o'er Rodrig's head,
And whispering zephyrs softly wav'd on high;
And Ocean heav'd above her salty bed—
Whose ripling mingled with the night-winds sigh.
Rodriguo, sadly view'd the parting day—
And in my next—I'll give his farewell lay.
And silence reign'd throughout the vaulted sky,
And dark the night-clouds flew o'er Rodrig's head,
And whispering zephyrs softly wav'd on high;
And Ocean heav'd above her salty bed—
Whose ripling mingled with the night-winds sigh.
Rodriguo, sadly view'd the parting day—
And in my next—I'll give his farewell lay.
But now, I must beg the Ladies to forgive me
For having given them that little lash;
Besides I own, I have spoke a little free,
And that I have not made them cut a dash;
For few are fam'd in the page of history,
Which must the frail sex too—somewhat abash:
And 'tis very odd—that a Boy of ten—
Should think to lash—Philosophers—and Men.
For having given them that little lash;
Besides I own, I have spoke a little free,
And that I have not made them cut a dash;
For few are fam'd in the page of history,
Which must the frail sex too—somewhat abash:
And 'tis very odd—that a Boy of ten—
Should think to lash—Philosophers—and Men.
But now, of my little Pegasus I'll stop the wing,
Nor more of Maidens—Men—or Women-sing;
But if my Pegasus should please my readers ear—
I'll amble on—and finish his career;—
I'll make Rodriguo fly through every land
Invoke my muse—and take my pen in hand.
Nor more of Maidens—Men—or Women-sing;
But if my Pegasus should please my readers ear—
I'll amble on—and finish his career;—
I'll make Rodriguo fly through every land
Invoke my muse—and take my pen in hand.
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