Or, roughly treading on the "Courtier's | I say, will these great relics, when they
see'em, With clownish heel, your popular circulation Look like the monsters of a new Museum? Feeds you by printing half the realm's
Oh, ye great Authors!-"A propos des bottes "
I have forgotten what I meant to say,
As sometimes have been greaterSages' lots ;-
Twas something calculated to allay
All wrath in barracks,, palaces, or cots:
Certes it would have been but thrown away,
And that's one comfort for my lost advice,
Although no doubt it was beyond all price.
But I am apt to grow too metaphysical:
"The time is out of joint,"--and so am I;
I quite forget this poem's merely quizzical,
And deviate into matters rather dry.
I ne'er decide what I shall say, and this
I call
Much too poetical. Men should know why
They write, and for what end; but, note
or text,
I never know the word which will come next.
So on I ramble, now and then narrating, Now pondering:-it is time we should
But let it go:-it will one day be found
With other relics of "a former world,”.
When this world shall be former, under-I left Don Juan with his horses baiting-
Thrown topsy-turvy, twisted, crisp'd, and
Baked, fried, or burnt, turn'd inside-out, or drown'd,
Like all the worlds before, which have
been hurl'd
First out of and then back again to Chaos,
The superstratum which will overlay us.
Now we'll get o'er the ground at a great rate.
1 shall not be particular in stating
His journey, we've so many tours of late:
Suppose him then at Petersburgh; suppose
That pleasant capital of painted snows;
Suppose him in a handsome uniform ;
A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume,
Waving, like sails new shiver'd in a storm,
Over a cock'd hat, in a crowded room,
And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn
Gorme,
Of yellow cassimere we may presume, White stockings drawn, uncurdled as new milk,
O'er limbs whose symmetry set off the silk :
Suppose him sword by side, and hat in hand,
Made up by youth, fame, and an army-tailor, That great enchanter, at whose rod's command
Beauty springs forth, and Nature's self turns paler,
Seeing how Art can make her work more grand,
(When she don't pin men's limbs in like a jailor)—
Behold him placed as if upon a pillar! He Seems Love turn'd a lieutenant of artillery!
His bandage slipp'd down into a cravat; | His wings subdued to epaulettes; "his quiver Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at His sides as a small sword, but sharp as
His bow converted into a cock'd hat;
But still so like,that Psyche were more clever
Than some wives (who make blunders no
less stupid)
If she had not mistaken him for Cupid.
The courtiers stared, the ladies whisper'd, | Which hovers oft about some married beauties,
The Empress smiled; the reigning favourite Called "Cavalier Servente?"-a Pygmalion Whose statues warm (I fear, alas! too true
I quite forget which of them was in hand
Just then, as they are rather numerous found,
Who took by turns that difficult command
Since first her Majesty was singly crown'd:
But they were mostly nervous six-foot
fellows,
All fit to make a Patagonian jealous.
Juan was none of these, but slight and slim,
Blushing and beardless; and yet ne'ertheless
There was a something in his turn of limb,
And still more in his eye, which seem'd to
That though he look'd one of the Seraphim,
There lurk'd a Man beneath theSpirit's dress.
Besides, the Empress sometimes liked a boy,
And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.
No wonder then that Yermoloff,or Momonoff,
Or Scherbatoff, or any other off
Or on, might dread her Majesty had not
room enough
Within her bosom (which was not too tough)
For a new flame; a thought to cast of gloom
enough
Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough,
Of him who, in the language of his station,
Then held that "high official situation."
Oh, gentle ladies! should you seek to know
The import of this diplomatic phrase,
Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess show
His parts of speech; and, in the strange
displays
Of that odd string of words, all in a row,
Which none divine, and every one obeys,
Perhaps you may pick out some queer no-
meaning,
Of that weak wordy harvest the sole
gleaning.
I think I can explain myself without
That sad inexplicable beast of prey-
That sphinx, whose words would ever be
a doubt,
Beneath his art. The dame, press'd to disclose them,
Said -"Lady, I beseech you to suppose them."
And thus I supplicate your supposition,
And mildest, matron-like interpretation
Of the imperial favourite's condition.
Twas a high place, the highest in the nation
In fact, if not in rank; and the suspicion
Of any one's attaining to his station,
No doubt gave pain, where each new pair
of shoulders,
If rather broad, made stocks rise and their
holders.
Juan, I said, was a most beauteous boy,
And had retain'd his boyish look beyond
The usual hirsute seasons which destroy,
With beards and whiskers and the like, the
fond
Parisian aspect which upset old Troy
And founded Doctor's Commons:-I have
The history of divorces, which, though chequer'd,
Calls Ilion's the first damages on record.
And Catherine, who loved all things (save
her lord,
Who was gone to his place) and pass'd for
much,
Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorr'd)
Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch
Of sentiment; and he she most adored
Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such
A lover as had cost her many a tear,
And yet but made a middling grenadier.
Oh, thou "teterrima causa" of all "belli!"Thon gate of life and death!-thou nondescript! Whence is our exit and our entrance,-well I May pause in pondering how all souls are dipt
Did not his deeds unriddle them each day—In thy perennial fountain:-how man fell, I
That monstrous Hieroglyphic-that long Know not, since Knowledge saw her branch-
es stript
Of her first fruit; but how he falls and rises
Since, Thou hast settled beyond all surmises.
Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh!
And here I must an anecdote relate,
But luckily of no great length or weight.
An English lady ask'd of an Italian,
What were the actual and official duties
Of the strange thing, some women set a
value on,
Some call thee "the worse cause of war,"
but I
Maintain thou art the best: for, after all,
From thee we come, to thee we go; and why
To get at thee not batter down a wall,
Or waste a world? Since no one can deny | Her Majesty, who liked to gaze on youth Thou dost replenish worlds both great and Almost as much as on a new despatch, Glanced mildly, all the world was on the watch.
With, or without thee, all things at a stand
Are, or would be, thou sea of life's dry land!
Into a Russian couplet, rather dull,
The whole gazette of thousands whom he
Her third was feminine enough to annul
The shadder which runs naturally through
Our veins, when things call'd Sovereigns
think it best
To kill, and Generals turn it into jest.
Oh, Catherine! (for of all interjections
To thee both oh! and ah! belong of right
In love and war) how odd are the connexions
Of human thoughts, which jostle in their
flight!
Just now your's were cut out in different
sections:
First, Ismail's capture caught your fancy
quite;
Next, of new knights, the fresh and glorious
hatch;
The two first feelings ran their course
complete,
And lighted first her eye and then her mouth: And, thirdly, he who brought you the
The whole court look'd immediately most
Shakespeare talks of "the herald Mercury
New lighted on a Heaven-kissing hill;"
The third sort, to be noted in our chronicle | Because she put a favourite to death,
As flourishing in every Christian land,
ks, when chaste matrons to their other ties
Add what may be call'd Marriage in
disguise.
Her vile, ambiguous method of flirtation,
And stinginess, disgrace her sex and station.
|