Selected Poems (110 page)

Humming like flies around the newest blaze,

The bluest of bluebottles you e’er saw,

Teasing with blame, excruciating with praise,

590

Gorging the little fame he gets all raw,

Translating tongues he knows not even by letter,

And sweating plays so middling, bad were better.

LXXV

One hates an author that’s
all author
, fellows

In foolscap uniforms turn’d up with ink,

595

So very anxious, clever, fine, and jealous,

One don’t know what to say to them, or think,

Unless to puff them with a pair of bellows;

Of coxcombry’s worst coxcombs e’en the pink

Are preferable to these shreds of paper,

600

These unquench’d snuffings of the midnight taper.

LXXVI

Of these same we see several, and of others,

Men of the world, who know the world like men,

Scott, Rogers, Moore, and all the better brothers,

Who think of something else besides the pen;

605

But for the children of the ‘mighty mother’s,’

The would-be wits and can’t-be gentlemen,

I leave them to their daily ‘tea is ready’,’

Smug coterie, and literary lady.

LXXVII

The poor dear Mussulwomen whom I mention

610

Have none of these instructive pleasant people,

And
one
would seem to them a new invention,

Unknown as bells within a Turkish steeple;

I think ’twould almost be worth while to pension

(Though best-sown projects very often reap ill)

615

A missionary author, just to preach

Our Christian usage of the parts of speech.

LXXVIII

No chemistry for them unfolds her gasses,

No metaphysics are let loose in lectures,

No circulating library amasses

620

Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures

Upon the living manners, as they pass us;

No exhibition glares with annual pictures;

They stare not on the stars from out their attics,

Nor deal (thank God for that!) in mathematics.

LXXIX

625

Why I thank God for that is no great matter,

I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose,

And as, perhaps, they would not highly flatter,

I’ll keep them for my life (to come) in prose;

I fear I have a little turn for satire,

630

And yet methinks the older that one grows

Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughte

Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after.

LXXX

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!

Ye happy mixtures of more happy days!

635

In these sad centuries of sin and slaughter,

Abominable Man no more allays

His thirst with such pure beverage. No matter,

I love you both, and both shall have my praise:

Oh, for old Saturn’s reign of sugar-candy! –

640

Meantime I drink to your return in brandy.

LXXXI

Our Laura’s Turk still kept his eyes upon her,

Less in the Mussulman than Christian way,

Which seems to say, ‘Madam, I do you honour,

And while I please to stare, you’ll please to stay:’

645

Could staring win a woman, this had won her,

But Laura could not thus be led astray;

She had stood fire too long and well, to boggle

Even at this stranger’s most outlandish ogle.

LXXXII

The morning now was on the point of breaking,

650

A turn of time at which I would advise

Ladies who have been dancing, or partaking

In any other kind of exercise,

To make their preparations for forsaking

The ball-room ere the sun begins to rise,

655

Because when once the lamps and candles fail,

His blushes make them look a little pale.

LXXXIII

I’ve seen some balls and revels in my time,

And stay’d them over for some silly reason,

And then I look’d (I hope it was no crime)

660

To see what lady best stood out the season;

And though I’ve seen some thousands in their prime,

Lovely and pleasing, and who still may please on,

I never saw but one (the stars withdrawn),

Whose bloom could after dancing dare the dawn.

LXXXIV

665

The name of this Aurora I’ll not mention,

Although I might, for she was nought to me

More than that patent work of God’s invention,

A charming woman, whom we like to see;

But writing names would merit reprehension,

670

Yet if you like to find out this fair
she
,

At the next London or Parisian ball

You still may mark her cheek, out-blooming all.

LXXXV

Laura, who knew it would not do at all

To meet the daylight after seven hours sitting

675

Among three thousand people at a ball,

To make her curtsy thought it right and fitting;

The Count was at her elbow with her shawl,

And they the room were on the point of quitting,

When lo! those cursed gondoliers had got

680

Just in the very place where they
should not
.

LXXXVI

In this they’re like our coachmen, and the cause

Is much the same – the crowd, and pulling, hauling,

With blasphemies enough to break their jaws,

They make a never intermitting bawling.

685

At home, our Bow-street gemmen keep the laws,

And here a sentry stands within your calling;

But for all that, there is a deal of swearing,

And nauseous words past mentioning or bearing.

LXXXVII

The Count and Laura found their boat at last,

690

And homeward floated o’er the silent tide,

Discussing all the dances gone and past;

The dancers and their dresses, too, beside;

Some little scandals eke: but all aghast

(As to their palace stairs the rowers glide)

695

Sate Laura by the side of her Adorer,

When lo! the Mussulman was there before her.

LXXXVIII

‘Sir,’ said the Count, with brow exceeding grave,

‘Your unexpected presence here will make

It necessary for myself to crave

700

Its import? But perhaps ’tis a mistake;

I hope it is so; and at once to wave

All compliment, I hope so for
your
sake;

You understand my meaning, or you
shall
.’

‘Sir,’ (quoth the Turk) “tis no mistake at all.

LXXXIX

705

‘That lady is
my wife!
’ Much wonder paints

The lady’s changing cheek, as well it might;

But where an Englishwoman sometimes faints,

Italian females don’t do so outright;

They only call a little on their saints,

710

And then come to themselves, almost or quite;

Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and sprinkling faces,

And cutting stays, as usual in such cases.

XC

She said, – what could she say? Why, not a word:

But the Count courteously invited in

715

The stranger, much appeased by what he heard:

‘Such things, perhaps, we’d best discuss within,’

Said he; ‘don’t let us make ourselves absurd

In public, by a scene, nor raise a din,

For then the chief and only satisfaction

720

Will be much quizzing on the whole transaction.’

XCI

They enter’d, and for coffee call’d – it came,

A beverage for Turks and Christians both,

Although the way they make it’s not the same.

Now Laura, much recover’d, or less loth

725

To speak, cries ‘Beppo! what’s your pagan name?

Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth!

And how came you to keep away so long?

Are you not sensible ’twas very wrong?

XCII

And are you
really, truly
, now a Turk?

730

With any other women did you wive?

Is’t true they use their fingers for a fork?