But, light and airy, stood on the alert,
And shone in the best part of dialogue,
By humouring always what they might assert,
And listening to the topics most in vogue;
Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert;
And smiling but in secret-cunning rogue!
He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;
In short, there never was a better hearer.
XXXVIII.

And then he danced;-ail foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of Pantoinime-he danced, I say, right well,
With emphasis, and also with good sense-
A thing in footing indispensable:

He danced without theatrical pretence,

Not like a ballet-master in the van

Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.

XXXIX.

Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bound,
And elegance was sprinkled o'er his figure;
Like swift Camilla, he scarce skimm'd the ground,
And rather held in than put forth his vigour,
And then he had an ear for music's sound,

Which might defy a crochet-critic's rigour.
Such classic pas-sans flaws-set off our hero,
He glanced like a personified bolero;

XL.

O, like a flying hour before Aurora,

In Guido's famous fresco, 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;
A little spoil'd, but by no means so quite;
At least he kept his vanity retired.
Such was his tact, he could alike delight

The chaste, and those who are not so much inspired. The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke, who loved "tracasserie," Began to treat him with some small "agacerie."

XLII.

She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde,
Desirable, distinguish'd, celebrated
For several winters in the grand, grand monde.
I'd rather not say what might be related
Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground;
Besides there might be falsehood in what's stated
Her late performance had been a dead set
At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

XLIII.

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. Wo 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.

LXIX.

But ere he went, he added a slight hint,
Another gentle commonplace 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 birthdays, 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 do n'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.

LXXII.

Still there was something wanting, as I've said—
That undefinable "je ne sais quoi,"
Which, for what I know, may of yore have led
To Homer's Iliad, since it drew to Troy
The Greek Eve, Helen, from the Spartan's bed;
Though on the whole, no doubt, the Dardan boy
Was much inferior to King Menelaus;-
But thus it is some women will betray us.

LXXIII.

There is an awkward thing which much perplexes,
Unless like wise Tiresias we had proved
By turns the difference of the several sexes:
Neither can show quite how they would be loved.
The sensual for a short time but connects us―
The sentimental boasts to be unmoved;
But both together form a kind of centaur,
Upon whose back 't is better not to venture.
LXXIV.

A something all-sufficient for the heart

Is that for which the sex are always seeking; But how to fill up that same vacant part

There lies the rub-and this they are but weak in. Frail mariners afloat without a chart,

LXXVII.

"Beatus ille procul!” from “negotiis,” Saith Horace; the great little poet's wrong; His other maxim, “ Noscitur a socus,”

Is much more to the purpose of his song; Though even that were sometimes too ferocious, Unless good company he kept too long; But, in his teeth, whate'er their state or station, Thrice happy they who have an occupation!

LXXVIII.

Adam exchanged his paradise for ploughing;
Eve made up millinery with fig-leaves-
The earliest knowledge from the tree so knowing,
As far as I know, that the church receives:
And since that time, it need not cost much showing.
That many of the ills o'er which inan grieves,
And still more women, spring from not employing
Some hours to make the remnant worth enjoying.

LXXIX.

And hence high life is oft a dreary void,

A rack of pleasures, where we must invent A something wherewithal to be annoy'd. Bards may sing what they please about content; | Contented, when translated, means but cloy'd; And hence arise the woes of sentiment, Blue devils, and blue-stockings, and romances Reduced to practice, and perform'd like dances. LXXX.

I do declare, upon an affidavit,

Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen; Nor, if unto the world I ever gave it,

Would some believe that such a tale had been: But such intent I never had, nor have it;

Some truths are better kept behind a screen, Especially when they would look like lies; I therefore deal in generalities.

LXXXI.

"An oyster may be cross'd in love,”—and why?
Because he mopeth idly in his shell,
And heaves a lonely subterraqueous sigh,
Much as a monk may do within his cell :
And à propos of monks, their piety

With sloth hath found it difficult to dwell;
Those vegetables of the Catholic creed
Are apt exceedingly to run to seed.

LXXXII.

Oh, Wilberforce! thou man of black renown,
Whose merit none enough can sing or say,
Thou hast struck one immense colossus down,
Thou moral Washington of Africa!
But there's another little thing, I own,

Which you should perpetrate some summer's day,

LXXV.

There is a flower call'd "love in idleness,"

For which see Shakspeare's ever-blooming garden ;I will not make his great description less, And beg his British godship's humble pardon,

If, in my extremity of rhyme's distress,

I touch a single leaf where he is warden;
But though the flower is different, with the French
Or Swiss Rousseau, cry, "voilà la pervenche!"

LXXVI.

Eureka! I have found it! What I mean
To say is, not that love is idleness,
But that in love such idleness has been

An accessory, as I have cause to guess.
Hard labour 's an indifferent go-between;

Your men of business are not apt to express Much passion, since the merchant-ship, the Argo, Convey'd Medea as her supercargo.

You have freed the blacks-now pray shut up the whites

LXXXIII.

Shut up the bald-coot bully Alexander;
Ship off the holy three to Senegal;
Teach them that sauce for goose is sauce for gander,"
And ask them how they like to be in thrall.
Shut up each high heroic salamander,

Who eats fire gratis, (since the pay's but sma" ;)
Shut up-no, not the king, but the pavilion,
Or else 't will cost us all another million.

LXXXIV.

Shut up the world at large; let Bedlam out,
And you will be perhaps surprised to find
All things pursue exactly the same route,
As now with those of soi-disant sound mind.
This I could prove beyond a single doubt,

Were there a jot of sense among mankind; But till that point d'appui is found, alas! Like Archimedes, I leave earth as 't was.