The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 96

Who shoes the glorious animal with stilts, A modern Ancient Pistol--"by these hilts!"[588]

LVIII.

Still he excels that artificial hard Labourer in the same vineyard, though the vine Yields him but vinegar for his reward.-- That neutralised dull Dorus of the Nine; That swarthy Sporus, neither man nor bard; That ox of verse, who _ploughs_ for every line:-- Cambyses' roaring Romans beat at least The howling Hebrews of Cybele's priest.--[589]

LIX.

Then there's my gentle Euphues,--who, they say,[la]

Sets up for being a sort of _moral me_;[590]

He'll find it rather difficult some day To turn out both, or either, it may be.

Some persons think that Coleridge hath the sway; And Wordsworth has supporters, two or three; And that deep-mouthed Boeotian "Savage Landor"[591]

Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's gander.

LX.

John Keats, who was killed off by one critique, Just as he really promised something great, If not intelligible, without Greek Contrived to talk about the G.o.ds of late, Much as they might have been supposed to speak.[592]

Poor fellow! His was an untoward fate; 'T is strange the mind, that very fiery particle,[lb][593]

Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.

LXI.

The list grows long of live and dead pretenders To that which none will gain--or none will know The conqueror at least; who, ere Time renders His last award, will have the long gra.s.s grow Above his burnt-out brain, and sapless cinders.

If I might augur, I should rate but low Their chances;--they're too numerous, like the thirty[594]

Mock tyrants, when Rome's annals waxed but dirty.

LXII.

This is the literary _lower_ empire, Where the praetorian bands take up the matter;-- A "dreadful trade," like his who "gathers samphire,"[595]

The insolent soldiery to soothe and flatter, With the same feelings as you'd coax a vampire.

Now, were I once at home, and in good satire, I'd try conclusions with those Janizaries, And show them _what_ an intellectual war is.

LXIII.

I think I know a trick or two, would turn Their flanks;--but it is hardly worth my while, With such small gear to give myself concern: Indeed I've not the necessary bile; My natural temper's really aught but stern, And even my Muse's worst reproof's a smile; And then she drops a brief and modern curtsy, And glides away, a.s.sured she never hurts ye.

LXIV.

My Juan, whom I left in deadly peril Amongst live poets and _blue_ ladies, pa.s.sed With some small profit through that field so sterile, Being tired in time--and, neither least nor last, Left it before he had been treated very ill; And henceforth found himself more gaily cla.s.sed Amongst the higher spirits of the day, The Sun's true son, no vapour, but a ray.

LXV.

His morns he pa.s.sed in business--which dissected, Was, like all business, a laborious nothing That leads to la.s.situde, the most infected And Centaur Nessus garb of mortal clothing,[596]

And on our sofas makes us lie dejected, And talk in tender horrors of our loathing All kinds of toil, save for our country's good-- Which grows no better, though 't is time it should.

LXVI.

His afternoons he pa.s.sed in visits, luncheons, Lounging and boxing; and the twilight hour In riding round those vegetable puncheons Called "Parks," where there is neither fruit nor flower Enough to gratify a bee's slight munchings; But after all it is the only "bower"[597]

(In Moore's phrase) where the fas.h.i.+onable fair Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air.

LXVII.

Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the world!

Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, then roar Through street and square fast flas.h.i.+ng chariots hurled Like harnessed meteors; then along the floor Chalk mimics painting; then festoons are twirled; Then roll the brazen thunders of the door, Which opens to the thousand happy few An earthly Paradise of _Or Molu_.

LXVIII.

There stands the n.o.ble hostess, nor shall sink With the three-thousandth curtsy; there the waltz, The only dance which teaches girls to think,[598]

Makes one in love even with its very faults.

Saloon, room, hall, o'erflow beyond their brink, And long the latest of arrivals halts, 'Midst royal dukes and dames condemned to climb, And gain an inch of staircase at a time.

LXIX.

Thrice happy he who, after a survey Of the good company, can win a corner, A door that's _in_ or boudoir _out_ of the way, Where he may fix himself like small "Jack Horner,"

And let the Babel round run as it may, And look on as a mourner, or a scorner, Or an approver, or a mere spectator, Yawning a little as the night grows later.

LXX.

But this won't do, save by and by; and he Who, like Don Juan, takes an active share, Must steer with care through all that glittering sea Of gems and plumes and pearls and silks, to where He deems it is his proper place to be; Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air, Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skill, Where Science marshals forth her own quadrille.

LXXI.

Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views Upon an heiress or his neighbour's bride, Let him take care that that which he pursues Is not at once too palpably descried: Full many an eager gentleman oft rues His haste; Impatience is a blundering guide Amongst a people famous for reflection, Who like to play the fool with circ.u.mspection.

LXXII.

But, if you can contrive, get next at supper; Or, if forestalled, get opposite and ogle:-- Oh, ye ambrosial moments! always upper In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle,[599]

Which sits for ever upon Memory's crupper, The ghost of vanished pleasures once in vogue! Ill Can tender souls relate the rise and fall Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball.

LXXIII.

But these precautionary hints can touch Only the common run, who must pursue, And watch and ward; whose plans a word too much Or little overturns; and not the few Or many (for the number's sometimes such) Whom a good mien, especially if new, Or fame--or name--for Wit, War, Sense, or Nonsense, Permits whate'er they please,--or _did_ not long since.

LXXIV.

Our Hero--as a hero--young and handsome, n.o.ble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger, Like other slaves of course must pay his ransom, Before he can escape from so much danger As will environ a conspicuous man. Some Talk about poetry, and "rack and manger,"

And ugliness, disease, as toil and trouble;-- I wish they knew the life of a young n.o.ble.

LXXV.

They are young, but know not Youth--it is antic.i.p.ated; Handsome but wasted, rich without a sou;[lc]

Their vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated; Their cash comes _from_, their wealth goes _to_ a Jew; Both senates see their nightly votes partic.i.p.ated Between the Tyrant's and the Tribunes' crew; And having voted, dined, drunk, gamed, and wh.o.r.ed, The family vault receives another Lord.

LXXVI.

"Where is the World?" cries Young, at _eighty_[600]--"Where The World in which a man was born?" Alas!

Where is the world of _eight_ years past? _'T was there_-- I look for it--'t is gone, a globe of gla.s.s!

Cracked, s.h.i.+vered, vanished, scarcely gazed on, ere[ld]

A silent change dissolves the glittering ma.s.s.

Statesmen, Chiefs, Orators, Queens, Patriots, Kings, And Dandies--all are gone on the Wind's wings.