LXXXIII.

His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes ;
But both were thrown away amongst the fens;
For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks.
No longer ready ears and short-hand pens
Imbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax:

The poor priest was reduced to common sense,
Or to coarse efforts very loud and long,
To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng.
LXXXIV.

There is a difference, says the song, "between
A beggar and a queen," or was (of late
The latter worse used of the two we've seen-
But we'll say nothing of affairs of state);
A difference "'twixt a bishop and a dean,"

A difference between crockery ware and plate, As between English beef and Spartan brothAnd yet great heroes have been bred by both. LXXXV.

But of all nature's discrepancies, none

Upon the whole is greater than the difference Beheld between the country and the town,

Of which the latter merits every preference From those who have few resources of their own, And only think, or act, or feel, with reference, To some small plan of interest or ambitionBoth which are limited to no condition.

LXXXVI.

But" en avant!" The light loves languish o'er
Long banquets and too many guests, although

A slight repast makes people love much more,
Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know,
Even from our grammar upwards, friends of yore
With vivifying Venus, who doth owe

To these the invention of champagne and truffles:
Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles.
LXXXVII.

Dully pass'd o'er the dinner of the day;

And Juan took his place, he knew not where, Confused, in the confusion, and distrait,

And sitting as if nail'd upon his chair:
Though knives and forks clang'd round as in a fray,
He seem'd unconscious of all passing there,
Till some one, with a groan, exprest a wish
(Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish.
LXXXVIII.

On which, at the third asking of the banns,
He started; and perceiving smiles around
Broadening to grins, he colour'd more than once,
And hastily-as nothing can confound

A wise man more than laughter from a dunce-
Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound,
And with such hurry, that, ere he could curb it,
He had paid his neighbour's prayer with half a
LXXXIX.

This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd,

[turbot.

The supplicator being an amateur; But others, who were left with scarce a third, Were angry-as they well might, to be sure. They wonder'd how a young man so absurd

Lord Henry at his table should endure, And this, and his not knowing how much oats Had fall'n last market, cost his host three votes.

XC.

They little knew, or might have sympathised,'
That he the night before had seen a ghost,
A prologue which but slightly harmonised
With the substantial company engross'd
By matter, and so much materialised,

That one scarce knew at what to marvel most Of two things-how (the question rather odd is) Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies. XCI.

But what confused him more than smile or stare, From all the 'squires and 'squiresses around, Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air, Especially as he had been renown'd

For some vivacity among the fair,

Even in the country circle's narrow bound(For little things upon my lord's estate Were good small talk for others still less great)—

XCII.

Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his,
And something like a smile upon her cheek.
Now this he really rather took amiss;
In those who rarely smile, their smile bespeaks
A strong external motive; and in this

Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique,
Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles
Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.
XCIII.

"T was a mere quiet smile of contemplation,
Indicative of some surprise and pity;
And Juan grew carnation with vexation,
Which was not very wise, and still less witty,
Since he had gain'd at least her observation,
A most important out work of the city-
As Juan should have known, had not his senses
By last night's ghost been driven from their de-
[fences.

XCIV.

But what was bad, she did not blush in turn,
Nor seem embarrass'd-quite the contrary;
Her aspect was as usual, still-not stern-
And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye,
Yet grew a little pale-with what? concern?
I know not; but her colour ne'er was high-
Though sometimes faintly flush'd-and always
As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere. [clear,

XCV.

But Adeline was occupied by fame
This day; and watching, witching, condescend-
To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game, Ling
And dignity with courtesy so blending,
As all must blend whose part it is to aim
(Especially as the sixth year is ending)
At their lord's, son's, or similar connexion's
Safe conduct through the rocks of reelections.
XCVI.

Though this was most expedient on the whole,
And usual-Juan, when he cast a glance
On Adeline while playing her grand rôle,
Which she went through as though it were a
Betraying only now and then her soul

By a look scarce perceptibly askance
(Of weariness or scorn), began to feel
Some doubt how much of Adeline was real;

[dance,

XCVII.

So well she acted all and every part

By turns-with that vivacious versatility, Which many people take for want of heart.

They err-'t is merely what is call'd mobility, A thing of temperament and not of art,

Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false-though true; for surely they're sincerest

Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest.

XCVIII.

This makes your actors, artists, and romancers, Heroes sometimes, though seldom-sages never: But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers, Little that's great, but much of what is clever; Most orators, but very few financiers,

Though all Exchequer chancellors endeavour, Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours, And grow quite figurative with their figures.

XCIX.

The poets of arithmetic are they

Who, though they prove not two and two to be Five, as they might do in a modest way,

Have plainly made it out that four are three, Judging by what they take, and what they pay. The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea, That most unliquidating liquid, leaves The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives.

C.

While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces,

The fair Fitz-Fulke seem'd very much at ease; Though too well bred to quiz men to their faces, Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize The ridicules of people in all places

That honey of your fashionable bees→→→
And store it up for mischievous enjoyment;
And this at present was her kind employment.
CI.

However, the day closed, as days must close;
The evening also waned-and coffee came.
Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose,
And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame,
Retired: with most unfashionable bows

Their docile esquires also did the same,
Delighted with their dinner and their host,
But with the Lady Adeline the most.

CIV.

True, she said little-'t was the rest that broke
Forth into universal epigram;

But then 't was to the purpose what she spoke:
Like Addison's "faint praise," so wont to damn,
Her own but served to set off every joke,

As music chimes in with a melodrame.
How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!
I ask but this of mine, to-not defend.

CV.

There were but two exceptions to this keen Skirmish of wits o'er the departed; one Aurora, with her pure and placid mien;

And Juan, too, in general behind none In gay remark on what he had heard or seen, Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone: In vain he heard the others rail or rally, He would not join them in a single sally.

CVI.

"T is true he saw Aurora look as though

She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook Its motive for that charity we owe

But seldom pay the absent, nor would look Farther; it might or it might not be so.

But Juan, sitting silent in his nook,
Observing little in his reverie,

Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see.
CVII

The ghost at least had done him this much good,
In making him as silent as a ghost,

If in the circumstances which ensued

He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most; And certainly Aurora had renew'd

In him some feelings he had lately lost,
Or harden'd; feelings which, perhaps ideal,
Are so divine, that I must deem them real :-
CVIII.

The love of higher things and better days;

The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance
Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways;
The moments when we gather from a glance
More joy than from all future pride or praise,
Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance
The heart in an existence of its own,
Of which another's bosom is the zone.
CIX.

Who would not sigh Aι αι ταν Κυθέρειαν
That hath a memory, or that had a heart?
Alas! her star must fade like that of Dian:
Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart.
Anacreon only had the soul to tie an

Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart Of Eros: but though thou hast play'd us many

tricks,

Still we respect thee, "Alma Venus Genetrix!"

CX.

And full of sentiments, sublime as billows
Heaving between this world and worlds beyond,
Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows
Arrived, retired to his; but to despond
Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows
Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond
Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,
And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.

It open'd with a most infernal creak,

Like that of hell. "Lasciate ogni speranza
Voi ch' entrate!" The hinge seem'd to speak,
Dreadful as Dante's rhima, or this stanza;
Or-but all words upon such themes are weak:
A single shade 's sufficient to entrance a
Hero-for what is substance to a spirit?
Or how is 't matter trembles to come near it?
CXVII.

The door flew wide, not swiftly,-but, as fly
The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight-
And then swung back; nor close-but stood awry,
Half letting in long shadows on the light,

Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high,
For he had two, both tolerably bright,
And in the doorway, darkening darkness, stood
The sable Friar in his solemn hood.

CXVIII.

Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken
The night before; but being sick of shaking,
He first inclined to think he had been mistaken;
And then to be ashamed of such mistaking;
His own internal ghost began to awaken
Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking-
Hinting that soul and body on the whole
Were odds against a disembodied soul.

CXIX.

And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce, And he arose, advanced-the shade retreated; But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,

Follow'd, his veins no longer cold, but heated,
Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce,
At whatsoever risk of being defeated:
The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until
He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still.
CXX.

Juan put forth one arm-Eternal powers!
It touch'd no soul, nor body, but the wall,
On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers,
Chequer'd with all the tracery of the hall;
He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers
When he can't tell what 't is that doth appal.
How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity [tity!
Should cause more fear than a whole host's iden-
CXXI.

But still the shade remain'd: the blue eyes glared,
And rather variably for stony death;
Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared,
The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath:
A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd;
A red lip, with two rows of pearls beneath,
Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud
The moon peep'd, just escaped from a grey cloud.
CXXII.

And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust
His other arm forth-Wonder upon wonder!
It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust,
Which beat as if there was a warm heart under.
He found, as people on most trials must,

That he had made at first a silly blunder,
And that in his confusion he had caught
Only the wall, instead of what he sought.

CXXIII.

The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweet soul
As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood:
A dimpled chin, a neck of ivory, stole
Forth into something much like flesh and blood;
Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl,

And they reveal'd-alas! that e'er they should!
In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk,
The phantom of her frolic Grace-Fitz-Fulke!

HOURS OF IDLENESS.

Page 2, col. 1.

"ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY."] The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than, perhaps any other in the collection; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of fourteen), and his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration.

Page 3, col. 2.

"On Marston."] The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.

Page 3, col. 2.

"With Rupert, 'gainst traitors contending." Son of the Elector Palatine, and nephew to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles 11.

Page 8, col. 1.

TO THE DUKE OF DORSET.] In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the above lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from Harrow. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country: however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a re-perusal, I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision.

Page 10, col. 2.

"I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone."] Mossop, a contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of Zanga.

Page 11, col. 1.

"Would twinkle dimly through their sphere."]
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return."
SHAKSPEARE.

Page 11, col. 1. "Woman, thy vows are traced in sand."] The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb. Page 12, col. 1.

"And hurtling o'er thy lovely head."] This word is used by Gray in his poem to the Fatal Sisters:"Iron-sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darken'd air." Page 12, col. 2.

"In law an infant, and in years a boy."] In law every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty-one.

Page 13, col. 2.

"To form the place of assignation."] In the above little piece the author has been accused by some candid readers of introducing the name of a lady from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time this was written; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in "the tomb of all the Capulets," has been converted, with a trifling alteration of her name, into an English damsel walking in a garden of their own creation, during the month of December, in a village where the author never passed a winter. Such has been the candour of some ingenious critics. He would advise these liberal commentators on taste and arbiters of decorum to read Shakspeare.

Page 13, col. 2.

"But curse my fate for ever after."] Having heard that a very severe and indelicate censure has been passed on the above poem, I beg leave to reply in a quotation from an admired work, Carr's Stranger in France:"-

As we were contemplating a painting on a large scale, in which, among other figures, is the uncovered whole Jength of a warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of desperation, after having attentively surveyed it through her glass, observed to her party, that there was a great deal of indecorum in that picture. Madame S. shrewdly whispered in my ear that the indecorum was in the remark.""

Page 13, col. 2.

"OSCAR OF ALVA."] The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of "Jeronyme and Lorenzo," in the first volume of Schiller's" Armenian, or the GhostScer." It also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of " Macbeth."

Page 18, col. 1.

"Creusa's style but wanting to the dame."] The mo ther of Iulus, lost on the night when Troy was taken. Page 20, col. 1.

"Ah! hapless dame! no sire bewails."] Meden, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The chorus, from which this is taken, here addresses Medea; though a considerable liberty is taken with the original, by expanding the idea, as also in some other parts of the translation.