My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline, Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility, XLVII. There's nought in this bad world like sympathy: 'Tis so becoming to the soul and face; Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh, And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace. Without a friend, what were humanity, To hunt our errors up with a good grace? Consoling us with- Would you had thought twice! Ah! if you had but follow'd my advice!' XLVIII. Oh, Job! you had two friends: one's quite enough, They are but bad pilots when the weather's rough; XLIX. But this is not my maxim: had it been, Some heart-aches had been spared me: yet I care not I would not be a tortoise in his screen Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not, 'Tis better, on the whole, to have felt and seen That which humanity may bear, or bear not : 'Twill teach discernment to the sensitive, And not to pour their ocean in a sieve. L. Of all the horrid, hideous notes of wee, Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do, Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, And solace your slight lapse 'gainst bonos mores, With a long memorandum of old stories. LI. The Lady Adeline's serene severity Was not confined to feeling for her friend, Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity, Unless her habits should begin to mend ; But Juan also shared in her austerity, But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd: * In Swift's or Horace Walpole's letters, I think it is mentioned that somebody, regretting the loss of a friend, was answered by an universal Pylades: When I lose one, I go to the St. James's Coffeehouse, and take another." I recollect having heard an anecdote of the same kind. Sir W. D. was a great gamester. Coming in one day to the club of which he was a member, he was observed to look melancholy. What is the matter, Sir William? cried Hare, of facetious memory. Ah,' replied Sir W., I have just lost poor Lady D. Lost! What al-Quinze or Hazard? was the consolatory rejoinder of the querist. His inexperience moved her gentle ruth, And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth. LII. These forty days' advantage of her years- And noble births, nor dread the enumeration— Gave her a right to have maternal fears For a young gentleman's fit education; Though she was far from that leap-year, whose leap In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap LIII. This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirty- Advance beyond, while they could pass for new. Oh Time! why dost not pause? Thy scythe, so dirty With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew. Reset it: shave more smoothly, also slower, If but to keep thy credit as a mower. LIV. But Adeline was far from that ripe age, My Muse despises reference, as you've guess'd By this time;-but strike six from seven-andtwenty, And you will find her sum of years in plenty. LV. At sixteen she came out, presented, vaunted; LVI. Since then she had sparkled through three glow. ing winters, Admired, adored; but also so correct. That she had puzzled all the acutest hinters, Without the apparel of being circumspect. They could not even glean the slightest splinters From off the marble, which had no defect. She had also snatch'd a moment, since her marriage, To bear a son and heir-and one iniscarriage. LVII. Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her, Those little glitterers of the London night: But none of these possess'd a sting to wound herShe was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight. Perhaps she wish'd an aspirant profounder; But whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right: And whether coldness, pride, or virtue, dignify A woman, so she's good, what does it signify? LVIII. I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle, Which with the landlord makes too long a stand, Leaving all claretless the unmoisten'd throttle, Especially with politics on hand: I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle, Who whirl the dust, as simooms whirl the sand: hate it, as I hate an argument, A laureate's ode, or servile peer's 'content.' 'Tis sad to hack into the roots of things, LX. With the kind view of saving an éclat, That Juan was unlikely to resist (For foreigners don't know that a faux pas The Lady Adeline resolved to take Such measures as she thought might best impede The further progress of this sad mistake. She thought with some simplicity indeed; But innocence is bold even at the stake, And simple in the world, and doth not need, It was not that she fear'd the very worst: Into a scene, and swell the clients' clan LXIII. Her Grace, too, pass'd for being an intrigante, LXIV. The sort of thing to turn a young man's head, Or make a Werter of him in the end. The famous Chancellor Oxenstiern said to his son, on the latter expressing his surprise upon the great effects arising from petty causes in the presumed mystery of politics: You see by this, my son, with how little wisdom the kingdoms of the world are governed. No wonder then a purer soul should dread Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend. 'Tis best to pause, and think, ere you rush on, If that a bonne fortune be really bonne. LXV. And first, in the o'erflowing of her heart, LXVI. Firstly, he said, 'he never interfered In anybody's business but the king's.' Next, that he never judged from what appear'd, Without strong reason, of those sort of things;' Thirdly, that 'Juan had more brain than beard, And was not to be held in leading strings ;' And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice, That good but rarely came from good advice.' LXVII. And therefore, doubtless to approve the truth And being of the council called 'the Privy,' To tell how he reduced the nation's debt; But ere he went, he added a slight hint, 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, 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 wholeI don't know what, and therefore cannot tell There is a flower called 'Love in Idieness, I touch a single leaf where he is warden;→→ Eureka! I have found it! What I mean To say is, not that love is idleness, But that in love such idleness has beer. 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 supercago, LXXVII. 'Beatus ille procul l' from 'negotiis.' Saith Horace; the great little poet's wrong; His other maxim, 'Noscitur à sociis' Is much more to the purpose of his song; Though even that were sometimes too ferocious, Unless good company be 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 earhest knowledge from the tree so knowing, 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. LXXXV. Our gentle Adeline had one defect Her heart was vacant, though a splendid mansion, Her conduct had been perfectly correct, As she had seen nought claiming its expansion. A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd, Because 'tis frailer, doubtless, than a staunch one: She loved her lord, or thought so; but that love The stone of Sisyphus, if once we move Our feelings 'gainst the nature of the soil. LXXXVII. There was no great disparity of years, Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd, The river from the lake all bluely dash'd Now, when she once had ta'en an interest Intense intentions are a dangerous matter: LXXXIX. But when it was, she had that lurking demon Whene'er their triumph pales, or star is tamed: XC. Had Buonaparte won at Waterloo, It had been firmness; now 'tis pertinacity: Must the event decide between the two? I leave it to your people of sagacity To draw the line between the false and true, If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacity: My business is with Lady Adeline, Who in her way, too, was a heroine. XCI. She knew not her own heart: then how should I? (I will not say it was a false or true one) In him, because she thought he was in dangerHer husband's friend, her own, young, and a stranger. XCII. She was, or thought she was, his friend-and this Ladies who ve studied friendship but in France Or Germany, where people purely kiss. To thus much Adeline would not advance; But of such friendship as man's may to man be, She was as capable as woman can be. XCII. No doubt the secret influence of the sex And tune the concord to a finer mood. XCIV. Love bears within its breast the very germ Of change; and how should this be otherwise That violent things more quickly find a term, Is shown through nature's whole analogies; And how should the most fierce of all be firm? Would you have endless lightning in the skies? Methinks Love's very title says enough: How should the tender passion e'er be tough? XCV. Alas! by all experience, seldom yet (I merely quote what I have heard from many) Had lovers not some reason to regret The passion which made Solomon a zany. I've also seen some female friends ('tis odd, But true-as, if expedient, I could prove) That faithful were through thick and thin, abroad, At home, far more than ever yet was loveWho did not quit me when Oppression trod Upon me; whom no scandal could remove; Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles, Despite the snake Society's loud rattles. XCVII. Whether Don Juan and chaste Adeline At present I am glad of a pretence XCVIII. Whether they rode, or walk'd, or studied Spanish, A pleasure before which all others vanish. Or serious, are the topics I must banish To the next canto; where perhaps I shail Say something to the purpose, and display Considerable talent in my way. |