But whether reverend Rapp learn'd this in Germany Or no, 't is said his sect is rich and godly, Pious and pure, beyond what I can term any Of ours, although they propagate more broadly.
My objection 's to his title, not his ritual, Although I wonder how it grew habitual.
But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons, Who favour, malgre Malthus, generation-Professors of that genial art, and patrons Of all the modest part of propagation;
Which after all at such a desperate rate runs, That half its produce tends to emigration, That sad result of passions and potatoes-Two weeds which pose our economic Catos.
Had Adeline read Malthus? I can't tell;
I wish she had: his book 's the eleventh commandment, Which says, 'Thou shalt not marry,' unless well:
This he (as far as I can understand) meant.
'T is not my purpose on his views to dwell Nor canvass what so 'eminent a hand' meant;
But certes it conducts to lives ascetic, Or turning marriage into arithmetic.
But Adeline, who probably presumed That Juan had enough of maintenance, Or separate maintenance, in case 't was doom'd-As on the whole it is an even chance That bridegrooms, after they are fairly groom'd, May retrograde a little in the dance Of marriage (which might form a painter's fame, Like Holbein's 'Dance of Death'- but 't is the same);-But Adeline determined Juan's wedding In her own mind, and that 's enough for woman:
But then, with whom? There was the sage Miss Reading, Miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and Miss Knowman.
And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding.
She deem'd his merits something more than common:
All these were unobjectionable matches, And might go on, if well wound up, like watches.
There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer's sea, That usual paragon, an only daughter, Who seem'd the cream of equanimity Till skimm'd- and then there was some milk and water, With a slight shade of blue too, it might be, Beneath the surface; but what did it matter?
Love 's riotous, but marriage should have quiet, And being consumptive, live on a milk diet.
And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring, A dashing demoiselle of good estate, Whose heart was fix'd upon a star or blue string;
But whether English dukes grew rare of late, Or that she had not harp'd upon the true string, By which such sirens can attract our great, She took up with some foreign younger brother, A Russ or Turk- the one 's as good as t' other.
And then there was- but why should I go on, Unless the ladies should go off?- there was Indeed a certain fair and fairy one, Of the best class, and better than her class,-Aurora Raby, a young star who shone O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass, A lovely being, scarcely form'd or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded;
Rich, noble, but an orphan; left an only Child to the care of guardians good and kind;
But still her aspect had an air so lonely!
Blood is not water; and where shall we find Feelings of youth like those which overthrown lie By death, when we are left, alas! behind, To feel, in friendless palaces, a home Is wanting, and our best ties in the tomb?
Early in years, and yet more infantine In figure, she had something of sublime In eyes which sadly shone, as seraphs' shine.
All youth- but with an aspect beyond time;
Radiant and grave- as pitying man's decline;
Mournful- but mournful of another's crime, She look'd as if she sat by Eden's door.
And grieved for those who could return no more.
She was a Catholic, too, sincere, austere, As far as her own gentle heart allow'd, And deem'd that fallen worship far more dear Perhaps because 't was fallen: her sires were proud Of deeds and days when they had fill'd the ear Of nations, and had never bent or bow'd To novel power; and as she was the last, She held their old faith and old feelings fast.
She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew, As seeking not to know it; silent, lone, As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, And kept her heart serene within its zone.
There was awe in the homage which she drew;
Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throne Apart from the surrounding world, and strong In its own strength- most strange in one so young!
Now it so happen'd, in the catalogue Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted, Although her birth and wealth had given her vogue Beyond the charmers we have already cited;
Her beauty also seem'd to form no clog Against her being mention'd as well fitted, By many virtues, to be worth the trouble Of single gentlemen who would be double.
And this omission, like that of the bust Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius, Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must.
This he express'd half smiling and half serious;
When Adeline replied with some disgust, And with an air, to say the least, imperious, She marvell'd 'what he saw in such a baby As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby?'
Juan rejoin'd- 'She was a Catholic, And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion;
Since he was sure his mother would fall sick, And the Pope thunder excommunication, If-' But here Adeline, who seem'd to pique Herself extremely on the inoculation Of others with her own opinions, stated-As usual- the same reason which she late did.
And wherefore not? A reasonable reason, If good, is none the worse for repetition;
If bad, the best way 's certainly to tease on, And amplify: you lose much by concision, Whereas insisting in or out of season Convinces all men, even a politician;
Or- what is just the same- it wearies out.
So the end 's gain'd, what signifies the route?
Why Adeline had this slight prejudice-For prejudice it was- against a creature As pure as sanctity itself from vice, With all the added charm of form and feature, For me appears a question far too nice, Since Adeline was liberal by nature;
But nature 's nature, and has more caprices Than I have time, or will, to take to pieces.
Perhaps she did not like the quiet way With which Aurora on those baubles look'd, Which charm most people in their earlier day:
