Redeeming worlds to be by bigots shaken, How was thy toil rewarded? We might fill Volumes with similar sad illustrations, But leave them to the conscience of the nations.
I perch upon an humbler promontory, Amidst life's infinite variety:
With no great care for what is nicknamed glory, But speculating as I cast mine eye On what may suit or may not suit my story, And never straining hard to versify, I rattle on exactly as I 'd talk With any body in a ride or walk.
I don't know that there may be much ability Shown in this sort of desultory rhyme;
But there 's a conversational facility, Which may round off an hour upon a time.
Of this I 'm sure at least, there 's no servility In mine irregularity of chime, Which rings what 's uppermost of new or hoary, Just as I feel the 'Improvvisatore.'
'Omnia vult belle Matho dicere- dic aliquando Et bene, dic neutrum, dic aliquando male.'
The first is rather more than mortal can do;
The second may be sadly done or gaily;
The third is still more difficult to stand to;
The fourth we hear, and see, and say too, daily.
The whole together is what I could wish To serve in this conundrum of a dish.
A modest hope- but modesty 's my forte, And pride my feeble:- let us ramble on.
I meant to make this poem very short, But now I can't tell where it may not run.
No doubt, if I had wish' to pay my court To critics, or to hail the setting sun Of tyranny of all kinds, my concision Were more;- but I was born for opposition.
But then 't is mostly on the weaker side;
So that I verily believe if they Who now are basking in their full-blown pride Were shaken down, and 'dogs had had their day,'
Though at the first I might perchance deride Their tumble, I should turn the other way, And wax an ultra-royalist in loyalty, Because I hate even democratic royalty.
I think I should have made a decent spouse, If I had never proved the soft condition;
I think I should have made monastic vows, But for my own peculiar superstition:
'Gainst rhyme I never should have knock'd my brows, Nor broken my own head, nor that of Priscian, Nor worn the motley mantle of a poet, If some one had not told me to forego it.
But 'laissez aller'- knights and dames I sing, Such as the times may furnish. 'T is a flight Which seems at first to need no lofty wing, Plumed by Longinus or the Stagyrite:
The difficultly lies in colouring (Keeping the due proportions still in sight)
With nature manners which are artificial, And rend'ring general that which is especial.
The difference is, that in the days of old Men made the manners; manners now make men-Pinn'd like a flock, and fleeced too in their fold, At least nine, and a ninth beside of ten.
Now this at all events must render cold Your writers, who must either draw again Days better drawn before, or else assume The present, with their common-place costume.
We 'll do our best to make the best on 't:- March!
March, my Muse! If you cannot fly, yet flutter;
And when you may not be sublime, be arch, Or starch, as are the edicts statesmen utter.
We surely may find something worth research:
Columbus found a new world in a cutter, Or brigantine, or pink, of no great tonnage, While yet America was in her non-age.
When Adeline, in all her growing sense Of Juan's merits and his situation, Felt on the whole an interest intense,-Partly perhaps because a fresh sensation, Or that he had an air of innocence, Which is for innocence a sad temptation,-As women hate half measures, on the whole, She 'gan to ponder how to save his soul.
She had a good opinion of advice, Like all who give and eke receive it gratis, For which small thanks are still the market price, Even where the article at highest rate is:
She thought upon the subject twice or thrice, And morally decided, the best state is For morals, marriage; and this question carried, She seriously advised him to get married.
Juan replied, with all becoming deference, He had a predilection for that tie;
But that, at present, with immediate reference To his own circumstances, there might lie Some difficulties, as in his own preference, Or that of her to whom he might apply:
That still he 'd wed with such or such a lady, If that they were not married all already.
Next to the making matches for herself, And daughters, brothers, sisters, kith or kin, Arranging them like books on the same shelf, There 's nothing women love to dabble in More (like a stock-holder in growing pelf)
Than match-making in general: 't is no sin Certes, but a preventative, and therefore That is, no doubt, the only reason wherefore.
But never yet (except of course a miss Unwed, or mistress never to be wed, Or wed already, who object to this)
Was there chaste dame who had not in her head Some drama of the marriage unities, Observed as strictly both at board and bed As those of Aristotle, though sometimes They turn out melodrames or pantomimes.
They generally have some only son, Some heir to a large property, some friend Of an old family, some gay Sir john, Or grave Lord George, with whom perhaps might end A line, and leave posterity undone, Unless a marriage was applied to mend The prospect and their morals: and besides, They have at hand a blooming glut of brides.
From these they will be careful to select, For this an heiress, and for that a beauty;
For one a songstress who hath no defect, For t' other one who promises much duty;
For this a lady no one can reject, Whose sole accomplishments were quite a booty;
A second for her excellent connections;
A third, because there can be no objections.
When Rapp the Harmonist embargo'd marriage In his harmonious settlement (which flourishes Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage, Because it breeds no more mouths than it nourishes, Without those sad expenses which disparage What Nature naturally most encourages)-Why call'd he 'Harmony' a state sans wedlock?
Now here I 've got the preacher at a dead lock.
Because he either meant to sneer at harmony Or marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly.
