The portion of this world which I at present
Have taken up to fill the following sermon,
Is one of which there's no description recent:
The reason why, is easy to determine :
Although it seems both prominent and pleasant,
There is a sameness in its gems and ermine,
A dull and family likeness through all ages,
Of no great promise for poetic pages.
XVI.

With much to excite, there's little to exalt;
Nothing that speaks to all men and all times;
A sort of varnish over every fault;

A kind of common-place, even in their crimes;

(1) "But why then publish?-Granville, the polite, And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write." Pope.-L. E.

(2) "I have a notion that gamblers are as happy as many people, being always excited. Women, wine, fame,

Factitious passions, wit without much salt,

A want of that true nature which sublimes Whate'er it shows with truth; a smooth monotony Of character, in those at least who have got any. XVII.

Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade,

They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill; But then the roll-call draws them back afraid,

And they must be or seem what they were: still Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade;

But when of the first sight you have had your fill, It palls-at least it did so upon me, This paradise of pleasure and ennui.

XVIII.

When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming, Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, something more; With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming;

Seen beauties brought to market by the score, Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming; There's little left but to be bored or bore. Witness those "ci-devant jeunes hommes" who stem The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them.

XIX.

"Tis said indeed a general complaint

That no one has succeeded in describing The monde, exactly as they ought to paint:

Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribing The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint, To furnish matter for their moral gibing; And that their books have but one style in common--My lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman.

XX.

But this can't well be true, just now; for writers
Are grown of the beau monde a part potential:
I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters,
Especially when young, for that's essential.
Why do their sketches fail them as inditers

Of what they deem themselves most consequential, The real portrait of the highest tribe? 'Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe.

XXI.

"Haud ignara loquor;" these are nugæ, “quarum
Pars parva fui,” but still art and part.
Now I could much more easily sketch a harem,
A battle, wreck, or history of the heart,
Than these things; and besides, I wish to spare 'em,
For reasons which I choose to keep apart.
"Vetabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgarit"—(3)
Which means, that vulgar people must not share it.

XXII.

And therefore what I throw off is ideal

Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of freemasons; Which bears the same relation to the real,

As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's.

the table,-even ambition, sate now and then; but every turn of the card and cast of the dice keeps the gamester alive besides, one can game ten times longer than one can do any thing else." Lord Byron: Detached Thoughts. -P. E.

(3) Hor. Carm. 1. iii. od. 2.-L. E.

CANTO XIV.

XXXV.

Such were his trophies-not of spear and shield,
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes;
Yet I must own,—although in this I yield

To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes,—
He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,

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?" (1) XXXVI.

He also had a quality uncommon

To early risers after a long chase,

Who wake in winter ere 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;

Or, like a flying Hour before Aurora,

In Guido's famous fresco, (4) 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 dolour Of bards and prosers, words are void of colour. XLI.

No marvel then he was a favourite:

A full-grown Cupid, very much admired;

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. Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke! "T will 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;
The misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd;
Some hoped things might not turn out as they fear'd;
Some would not deem such women could be found;
Some ne'er believed one half of what they heard;
Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd profound;
And several pitied, with sincere regret,
Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

XLV.

But, what is odd, none ever named the duke,
Who, one might think, was something in the affair:
True, he was absent, and 'twas rumour'd, took

But small concern about the when, or where,

Or what his consort did: if he could brook

Her gaieties, 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, ob! that I should ever pen so sad a line!
Fired with an abstract love of virtue, she,
My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline,

Began to think the duchess' conduct free;
Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line,
And, waxing chiller in her courtesy,
Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility,
For which most friends reserve their sensibility.

XLVII.

There's nought in this bad world like sympathy: 'Tis so becoming to the soul and face,

Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,

And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace.

(3) A Spanish dance noted for its liveliness.-L. E. (4) "Guido's most celebrated work in the palaces of Rome is his fresco of the Aurora, in the Palazzo Rospigliosi." Bryant.-L. E.

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. (1)

LX.

With the kind view of saving an éclat,
Both to the duchess and diplomatist,
The Lady Adeline, as soon's she saw
That Juan was unlikely to resist-
For foreigners don't know that a faux pas
In England ranks quite on a different list
From those of other lands unblest with juries,
Whose verdict for such sin a certain cure is;-)
LXI.

The Lady Adeline resolved to take

Such measures as she thought might best impede The farther progress of this sad mistake.

She thought with some simplicity indeed; But innocence is bold even at the stake,

And simple in the world, and doth not need Nor use those palisades by dames erected, Whose virtue lies in never being detected.

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 clients' clan
Of Doctor's 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.

LXIII.

Her Grace, too, pass'd for being an intrigante,
And somewhat méchante in her amorous sphere;
One of those pretty precious plagues, which haunt
A lover with caprices soft and dear,
That like to make a quarrel, when they can't
Find one,
each day of the delightful year;
Bewitching, torturing, as they freeze or glow,
And-what is worst of all-won't let you go:

LXIV.

The sort of things to turn a young man's head,
Or make a Werter of him in the end.
No wonder then a purer soul should dread
This sort of chaste liaison for a friend;
It were much better to be wed or dead,

Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend. Tis best to pause, and think, ere you rush on, If that a "bonne fortune" be really "bonne."

LXV.

And first, in the o'erflowing of the heart,
Which really knew or thought it knew no guile,
She call'd her husband now and then apart,
And bade him counsel Juan. With a smile
Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art
To wean Don Juan from the siren's wile;

(1) The famous Chancellor Oxenstiern said to his son, on the latter expressing his surprise upon the great effects arising from petty causes in the presumed mystery of polities: "You see by this, my son, with how little wisdom the kingdoms of the world are governed."-[The true story is :

And answer'd, like a statesman or a prophet,
In such guise that she could make nothing of it.

LXVI.

Firstly, he said, "he never interfered

In any body's business but the king's:"
Next, that "he never judged from what appear'd,
Without strong reason, of those sorts of things:"
Thirdly, that "Juan had more brain than beard,
And was not to be held in leading-strings;"
And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice,
"That good but rarely came from good advice."
LXVII.

And, therefore, doubtless to approve the truth
Of the last axiom, he advised his spouse
To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth-
At least as far as bienséance allows:
That time would temper Juan's faults of youth;
That young men rarely made monastic vows;
That opposition only more attaches-

But here a messenger brought in despatches:

LXVIII.

And, being of the council called "the Privy,”
Lord Henry walk'd into his cabinet,
To furnish matter for some future Livy

To tell how he reduced the nation's debt; And if their full contents I do not give ye,

It is because I do not know them yet; But I shall add them in a brief appendix, To come between mine epic and its index.

LXIX.

But ere he went, he added a slight hint,
Another gentle common-place or two,
Such as are coin'd in conversation's mint,

And pass, for want of better, though not new: Then broke his packet, to see what was in't, And having casually glanced it through, Retired; and, as he went out, calmly kiss'd her, Less like a young wife than an aged sister.

LXX.

He was a cold, good, honourable man,
Proud of his birth, and proud of every thing;
A goodly spirit for a state divan,

A figure fit to walk before a king;

Tall, stately, form'd to lead the courtly van

On birth-days, glorious with a star and string; The very model of a chamberlain

And such I mean to make him when I reign.

LXXI.

But there was something wanting on the whole-
I don't know what, and therefore cannot tell-
Which pretty women-the sweet souls!-call soul.
Certes it was not body; he was well
Proportion'd, as a poplar or a pole,

A handsome man, that human miracle;
And in each circumstance of love or war
Had still preserved his perpendicular.

-young Oxenstiern, on being told he was to proceed on some diplomatic mission, expressed his doubts of his own fitness for such an office. The old Chancellor, laughing, answered," Nescis, mi fili, quantulà scientià gubernatur mundus."-L. E.]