XXXV. Such were his trophies ;-not of spear and shield, Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes, And what not, though he rode beyond all price, Ask'd, next day, "if men ever hunted twice?" XXXVI. He also had a quality uncommon To early risers after a long chase, Who wake in winter ere the the cock can summon December's drowsy day to his dull race, A quality agreeable to woman, When her soft liquid words run on apace, Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner,He did not fall asleep just after dinner. XXXVII. But, light and airy, stood on the alert, XXXVIII. And then he danced;-all foreigners excel A thing in footing indispensable: He danced without theatrical pretence, Not like a ballet-master in the van Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman. XXXIX. Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bound, Which might defy a crochet-critic's rigor. XL. Or, like a flying hour before Aurora, In Guido's famous fresco, which alone Is worth a tour to Rome, although no more a Remnant were there of the old world's sole throne. The "tout ensemble" of his movements wore a Grace of the soft ideal, seldom shown, And ne'er to be described; for, to the dolor Of bards and prosers, words are void of color. XLI. No marvel then he was a favorite; A full-grown Cupid, very much admired; The chaste, and those who are not so much inspir'd. The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke, who loved "tracasserie," Began to treat him with some small "agacerie." XLII. She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde, XLIII. This noble personage began to look A little black upon this new flirtation; But such small licenses must lovers brook, Mere freedoms of the female corporation. Wo to the man who ventures a rebuke. "Twill but precipitate a situation Extremely disagreeable, but common To calculators, when they count on woman. XLIV. The circle smiled, then whisper'd, and then sneer'd XLV. But, what is odd, none ever named the duke, But small concern, about the when, or where. Her gayeties, none had a right to stare: Theirs was that best of unions, past all doubt, Which never meets, and therefore can't fall out XLVI. But, oh that I should ever pen so sad a line! Began to think the Duchess' conduct free; XLVII. There's nought in this bad world like sympathy: To hunt our errors up with a good grace? Consoling us with-"Would you had thought twice Ah! if you had but follow'd my advice!" XLVIII. Oh, Job! you had two friends: one's quite enough As they will do like leaves at the first breeze When your affairs come round, one way or t'other Go to the coffee-house, and take another? XLIX. But this is not my maxim: had it been, [not: Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear "Tis better on the whole to have felt and seen That which humanity may bear, or bear not: "Twill teach discernment to the sensitive, And not to pour their ocean in a sieve. L. Of all the horrid, hideous notes of wo, Sadder than owl-songs, or the midnight blast, Is that portentious phrase, "I told you so," Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do, Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, And solace your slight lapse 'gainst "bonos mores." With a long memorandum of old stories. LI. The Lady Adeline's serene severity Was not confined to feeling for her friend, Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity, Unless her habits should begin to mend. but Juan also shared in her austerity, But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd: His inexperience moved her gentle ruth, And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth. LII. These forty days' advantage of her years- And noble births, nor dread the enumerationGave her a right to have maternal fears For a young gentleman's fit education, Though she was far from that leap-year, whose leap In female dates, strikes time all of a heap. LIII. This may be fix'd somewhere before thirty- Advance beyond, while they could pass for new. LIV. But Adeline was far from that ripe age, My Muse despises reference, as you have guess'd By this time: but strike six from seven-and-twenty, And you will find her sum of years in plenty. LV. LVI. Since then she had sparkled through three glowing LVII. Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her, But, whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right; LVIII. I hate a motive like a lingering bottle, Which with the landlord makes too long a stand, Leaving all claretless the unmoisten'd throttle, Especially with politics on hand; I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle, Who whirl the dust as Simooms whirl the sand; I hate it, as I hate an argument, A laureate's ode, or servile peer's "content." LIX. 'Tis sad to hack into the roots of things, They are so much intertwisted with the earth, So that the branch a goodly verdure flings, I reck not if an acorn gave it birth. To trace all actions to their secret springs Would make indeed some melancholy mirth: But this is not at present my concern, And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern.3 LX. With the kind view of saving an eclât, LXI. The Lady Adeline resolved to take She thought with some simplicity indeed; LXII. It was not that she fear'd the very worst: His grace was an enduring, married man, And was not likely all at once to burst Into a scene, and swell the client's clan Of Doctors' Commons; but she dreaded first The magic of her grace's talisman, And next a quarrel (as he seem'd to fret) With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. |