Aurora- since we are touching upon taste, Which now-a-days is the thermometer By whose degrees all characters are class'd-Was more Shakspearian, if I do not err.
The worlds beyond this world's perplexing waste Had more of her existence, for in her There was a depth of feeling to embrace Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Space.
Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace, The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind, If she had any, was upon her face, And that was of a fascinating kind.
A little turn for mischief you might trace Also thereon,- but that 's not much; we find Few females without some such gentle leaven, For fear we should suppose us quite in heaven.
I have not heard she was at all poetic, Though once she was seen reading the 'Bath Guide,'
And 'Hayley's Triumphs,' which she deem'd pathetic, Because she said her temper had been tried So much, the bard had really been prophetic Of what she had gone through with- since a bride.
But of all verse, what most ensured her praise Were sonnets to herself, or 'bouts rimes.'
'T were difficult to say what was the object Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay To bear on what appear'd to her the subject Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day.
Perhaps she merely had the simple project To laugh him out of his supposed dismay;
Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it, Though why I cannot say- at least this minute.
But so far the immediate effect Was to restore him to his self-propriety, A thing quite necessary to the elect, Who wish to take the tone of their society:
In which you cannot be too circumspect, Whether the mode be persiflage or piety, But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy, On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy.
And therefore Juan now began to rally His spirits, and without more explanation To jest upon such themes in many a sally.
Her Grace, too, also seized the same occasion, With various similar remarks to tally, But wish'd for a still more detail'd narration Of this same mystic friar's curious doings, About the present family's deaths and wooings.
Of these few could say more than has been said;
They pass'd as such things do, for superstition With some, while others, who had more in dread The theme, half credited the strange tradition;
And much was talk'd on all sides on that head:
But Juan, when cross-question'd on the vision, Which some supposed (though he had not avow'd it)
Had stirr'd him, answer'd in a way to cloud it.
And then, the mid-day having worn to one, The company prepared to separate;
Some to their several pastimes, or to none, Some wondering 't was so early, some so late.
There was a goodly match too, to be run Between some greyhounds on my lord's estate, And a young race-horse of old pedigree Match'd for the spring, whom several went to see.
There was a picture-dealer who had brought A special Titian, warranted original, So precious that it was not to be bought, Though princes the possessor were besieging all.
The king himself had cheapen'd it, but thought The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all His subjects by his gracious acceptation)
Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.
But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,-The friend of artists, if not arts,- the owner, With motives the most classical and pure, So that he would have been the very donor, Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer, So much he deem'd his patronage an honour, Had brought the capo d'opera, not for sale, But for his judgment- never known to fail.
There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic Bricklayer of Babel, call'd an architect, Brought to survey these grey walls, which though so thick, Might have from time acquired some slight defect;
Who after rummaging the Abbey through thick And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect New buildings of correctest conformation, And throw down old- which he call'd restoration.
The cost would be a trifle- an 'old song,'
Set to some thousands ('t is the usual burden Of that same tune, when people hum it long)-The price would speedily repay its worth in An edifice no less sublime than strong, By which Lord Henry's good taste would go forth in Its glory, through all ages shining sunny, For Gothic daring shown in English money.
There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage Lord Henry wish'd to raise for a new purchase;
Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage, And one on tithes, which sure are Discord's torches, Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage, 'Untying' squires 'to fight against the churches;'
There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman, For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman.
There were two poachers caught in a steel trap, Ready for gaol, their place of convalescence;
There was a country girl in a close cap And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since-Since- since- in youth, I had the sad mishap-But luckily I have paid few parish fees since):
That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigour, Presents the problem of a double figure.
A reel within a bottle is a mystery, One can't tell how it e'er got in or out;
Therefore the present piece of natural history I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt;
And merely state, though not for the consistory, Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout The constable, beneath a warrant's banner, Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor.
Now justices of peace must judge all pieces Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game And morals of the country from caprices Of those who have not a license for the same;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases, Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:
Preserving partridges and pretty wenches Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.
The present culprit was extremely pale, Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red By nature, as in higher dames less hale 'T is white, at least when they just rise from bed.
Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail, Poor soul! for she was country born and bred, And knew no better in her immorality Than to wax white- for blushes are for quality.
