ej& 'kf&. ■ ^ ■■ ■ El PETERSBURG 1 i -v.. J ^ ^^jfc*jjB ; Q (B- PERKINS LIBRARY Duke University Kare Doolcs /I Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://archive.org/details/danceoflifepoemOOcomb . ... ,:.iiud.Dccruai7.aJj(-ACKMMMNs JfEPCSfTORY ' ofARTS.Ma.Strand?. ¥ jpomm. ^fe ®-« r i ■"> v ■" yf /'.i/i/Cfli' err ///////> '/ r//rr /nn/'/f ///rr//r '/'^/.•r^n^, yy/irr'/fi /tiirfii /r/,J i't/H'1/.j , .)///f ■»/>• ?/f7//i fr/.if/*i //if*/t<\> tfie&Tn , nu&iv&ues ca n^rrc C&4V&& 7. JTor,~4ns. Poet. TuiliskaiScc'i^ai7,atRACKESmmfs JieFOSUOKrqfjBTS,l/SakSoaniii>. THE ©ante of £tfe, A POEM, BY THE AUTHOR OF " DOCTOR SYNTAX ; n ILLUSTRATED WITH COJLOTJREB ENGHRAVINGS, BY THOMAS ROWLANDSON. Respicere exemplar vitas morumque Jubebo Doctum Imitatorem, et veras hinc durere voces. Interdum speciosa locis, morataque recte Fabula nullius veneris, sine pondere et arte, Valdius oblectat populum, meliusqae moratum, Quam versus inopes rerum, nugceque canorce. Hor. Ars. Poet. JUjriOon ; PUBLISHED BY R. ACKERMANN, Repository of Arts, 101, Strand. 1817. ' i ■ C 7.19 k L ADVERTISEMENT. THE eight Monthly Numbers, to which this Work was limited, being com- pleated, it is presented to the Public in an accumulated Volume. Though an ac- quaintance has taken place between the Artist and the Writer, the same principle has in a great degree, if not altogether, predominated in the originality of the De- signs and attendant Illustrations of them, as produced the " Tour of Doctor Syntax" and the " Dance of Death."— I have continued the same measure which is not only best suited to the mediocrity of my Talent for Versification, but to the familiar a ii ADVERTISEMENT. Style of that ^Narrative, which I hope it may be found to enliven.— It will not, I trust, be saying too much, if I presume that it runs more smoothly from the Tongue, than Prose, where it may be thought worth the reading, and more readily attaches to the memory, if any parts should be thought worth remembering. — But I do not mean to stray into an Apology, which would be an affected, if not an impertinent return for the large portion of Public Favour, which this, and the preceding Works of a similar Character have been so fortunate as to receive. THE AUTHOR. (PriDted by J. Diggens, St. Ann's Lane, London.) INDEX to the PLATES. Plate Page 1. The Dance of Life begins with all its Charms In the fond dandling of the Nurse's Arms . . 26 2. The tender Nurse's care is now resign'd To the first grave Instructor of the Mind 8S 3. The stern Preceptor, with his threat'ning Nod, Calls in the wise Correction of the Rod 95 4. Wine makes the Head to ach : but will the Art Of the grave, solemn Lecture reach the Heart? 110 5. To part with thee, my Boy, how great the Pain ! How great the Joy, to see thee once again, ... 150 6. 'Tis hop'd 'midst foreign Scenes some Power he'll find To mend his Manners, and improve his Mind . . 178 7. He pays his lively Court, as 'tis the Ton, To the fat Princess of the Milles Colonnes 180 8. The widow'd Mother hastens forth to meet Her Son, Sir Henry, to his ancient Seat ... . 194 9. The Hounds the flying Stag pursue 5 But Dian does the Hunting rue 212. 10. As the first Step in Folly's wanton waste, He pulls his Mansion down, to shew his Taste 220 11. Of Four-in-hand he gains the vulgar Rage : Wields tiie long Whip, and overturns a Stage . . 224 ii INDEX. Plate Pag« 12. The Mask, that Scene of wanton Folly, May convert Mirth to Melancholy 228 13. By Gamblers link'd in Folly's Noose, Play ill or well, he's sure to lose 230 14. The Victim of the Betting-Post : His Bets, as soon as made, are lost. 231 15. For such a mild, and placid Dear, He pays two Thousand Pounds aYear 236 16. For my own good, and your's, I'm bent, My worthy Friends, tow'rds Parliament 239 17. In his oppress'd and adverse Hour, Virtue assumes its former Power 246 18. The wild Exuberance of Joy May Reason's sober Power destroy 262 19. Sweet is the voice whose Powers can move, And call the vagrant Heart to Love 271 20. Blest Hymen, whose propitious Hour Restores to Virtue all its Power 273 21. Rural Sports are better far Than all his former Pleasures were 277 22. To sooth the Rigour of the Laws Let Beauty plead the Culprit's Cause 278 23. By Piety's due Rites 'tis given To hold communion Ayith Heaven 282 24. Here Virtue views, with smiling Pride, The Blessings of her Fire-side 285 " > The Frontispiece and Title. THE ©ame of %ift. PROLOGUE. LIFE! — How stupendous is the thought! With what mysterious matter fraught ; For, in its sphere, it doth embrace The wonders of the Human Race. From the first hour when Time began, By power divine, to flow for man, We see the History is the same : The thirst of rule, the love of fame ; The sacrifice of ease and health To gain the shining stores of wealth; The laurel wreath by blood obtain 'd, And mighty kingdoms lost and gain'd. 2 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Changes and chances take their course, From good to bad, from bad to worse ; And then revert — such is their mood, From worse to bad, from bad to good. The Hermit's cave, th' imperial throne, Alike their fretful influence own. Virtue and Vice have each their rules, To make men wise, and pamper fools. Thus Man, upon Time's boist'rous main, Is toss'd by joy, or sunk by pain. The Passions, by their strong controul, Or agitate or calm the soul ; And, by their never-failing strife, Display the colouring of Life. The breezy coolness that doth cheat The Summer's noontide of its heat, The lightnings flash, the rolling storm The sky's aethereal Blue deform : The Eastern blight's destroying doom Robs vernal beauty of its bloom ; And driven snow, in silver shower, Enlightens Winter's darksome hour. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 3 Thus, thus will man do right or err, Nor deviate from his character : And while some most submissive yield, To every Imp in Folly's field. Others acquire the blest condition To conquer Love and starve Ambition ; Two passions which require, 'tis true, Something like Wisdom to subdue. 'Tis thus that motley man appears In early life and fading years. Doctrines indeed, may change their name, But then their tenour is the same : Indeed, so wise and sage their rules, One wonders there are any fools ; And then we're call'd to wonder more, When we see Folly at threescore. Are there not those whose care pursues, What, if possess'd, they cannot use ; While such there are, whose silly pride What they could use will throw aside : a 2 4 THE DANCE OF LIFE. But 'tis not right alone to tell Of things that do with Folly dwell ; Which the weak parts of man expose, And where the stream of error flows. Why should we chaunt the languid lay, That Lux'ry sings through Fashion's day? Why should we join the painted train, The croud where sick'ning pleasures reign ; Or, as time rolls its hours along, Be list'ning to the Syren's song? Or seek the couch where pining wealth, On velvet laid, calls out for health Lost 'midst excess, but calls in vain, Nor finds that gold can cure his pain. But these are scenes which, to the eye, Present their vast variety ; And he who paints Life's picture true, Must hold up to the Gazer's view. But still the higher duties move, To trace the philosophic grove, Which Wisdom's sons are known to love : • THE DANCE OF LIFE. 5 Where studious thought delights to plan The happiness of social man ; And,, passion's active flame suppress'd, To plant each virtue in the breast. Nor should we pass the secret cell, Where lonely Science loves to dwell, Pleas'd, from its lamp, to cast the ray That lights the mind's beclouded day. Nor can we fail with awe to bless That certain source of happiness, The altar's form on which we read The good man's hope, the Christian's creed ; Tells the best joys to mortals given, And shews the path that leads to Heaven. Thus we may trace, with thought refin'd, The progress of th' immortal mind ; From the young smile, the speaking eye. The struggling tongue of Infancy, Through childhood's fair, unconscious hour, To the first dawnings of the power, When Reason beams, with genial ray, To bring on intellectual day. 6 THE DANCE. OF LIFE. So youth proceeds, on Nature's plan, To gain the character of man. O then farewell to fairy fields, And many a flower that fancy yields, To climb, through varying pain and ease, Th' ascent of Time by due degrees ; While Virtue dignifies the care That mortal man is doom'd to bear. The patriot's toil, the victor's crown With honour sought, by honour won ; And all the wide extending powers That govern Life's most active hours. At length the Patriarch's hoary age Displays the venerable sage. Who waits, each virtuous course pursued, The recompense of being good. Here it were well — if, in the scene, No uncouth shapes should intervene, But he who paints to nature true, Must take all objects in his view : THE DANCE OF LIFE. The good, the ill, or sense or folly, Light-footed joy, and melancholy, Upon the canvas claim a place For truth, in order due, to trace, Hope's angel form and grim despair, And saints and sinners must be there. Thus will the mental artist scan The changeful state and powers of man Each various being will display Inform'd with Life and Reason's ray; And his weak, feebler force combine With strength and energy divine. He views him groveling, sad and low, The child of misery and woe : Anon he sees him rich and great, Clothed in the plenitude of state. The lights and shades, in contrast due, Relieve each other in the view : Alike the moral painter's part T' obey the rules of studious art ; Thus to attract the mental eye With height'ning variety ; — 8 THE DANCE OF LIFE. And as the pencil truly gives Each form that on the canvas lives. To make his pen adopt the plan, In picturing the mind of man. Oft must he quit the tow'ring aim Of wisdom, and the boast of fame To view the sport where folly plays And courts the flatt'rer's empty praise. The labourer who tills the soil, Whose bread is gain'd by daily toil ; The humble home within the dale, Which no rude storms of Life assail, Present their subjects to the eye, As chance unfolds the scenery. The lofty turrets too must share His contemplation's watchful care, Where the old halls with banners gay, The pride of ancient times display : He too, in modern domes will trace Bright Fashion's more luxuriant grace : While at the costly sumptuous board, Some Dives rules, the pamper'd Lord : THE DANCE OF LIFE. But even there the eye may see The heaven-born form of Charity : E'en in those scenes where lux'ry reigns. The ear attends when man complains. In ev'ry corner of our Isle The kind and healing virtues smile ; And pining penury commands The melting hearts, the op'ning hands : There, if a Lazarus asks for bread, The humble mendicant is fed. Fancy, who with her playful power, Bedecks the scene with many a flower; Smiles on the view so fair and gay, And frolics in the sweets of May ; Will, 'midst its joys, be forc'd to fly From the dark threat'nings of the sky, And leave its fairy work undone When murky clouds obscure the sun. — The Passions too, in their degrees, As they distract, or charm, or please, E 10 THE DANCE OP LIFE. To keen reflection's view arise, In rude or soften'd energies. Firm Friendship's bright unsullied flame That burns and ever is the same; Vengeance, with threat'ning fury arm'd, And Fear, at its own voice alarm'd, And Patience, that so often bears Th' o'erflowing vase of bitter tears ; Courage, that will not be subdued, And the stern force of Fortitude ; Pride, that displays the demi-god Amid the croud that courts its nod ; And all the joys and pangs that move The heart which feels the wounds of Love : Contrition, that is ever found Fixing its pale looks on the ground ; And Faith, that turns her stedfast eyes To happier worlds and brighter skies. Thus through sorrow and through pleasure, Life moves in ev'ry various measure ; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 11 To harmonies unheard, 'tis true, Nor e'er presented to the view Of mortal vision, yet the mind. By sense of higher things refined, Can see the parts which form the whole, In regular confusion roll ; Can well £xplain Time's passing day, Checquer'd with clouds and beaming ray ; Can the aethereal spirit trace That elevates the human race ; The maze of nature dares to scan. And thus, through Life, to picture man. Such is the task to him assign'd, Who paints the features of the mind : Such is the tale so often told, With forms we ev'ry day behold. The transient figures dance along, To sober strain or lively song, In the same measura o'ei' and o'er As our great grandsires did before. b 2 12 THE DANCE OF LIFE. No novelties beneath the sun, The wise man says, are seen or done ; Nor do we aim at ought that's new — Content, if what is told, be true. If but the moral painter's art Should, by its pictures, mend the heart ; Turn the too heedless steps of youth From devious paths in search of truth : Content to wake the careless thought To think the very thing it ought ; To combat Passion's fierce controul, And calm the hurries of the soul ; Vice, with its gorgon terrors crown, On manhood's brow to plant the frown Of stern contempt for Folly's train, With Pride's array, and Fashion's reign : Content, if Virtue's struggling form Disdainful of the adverse storm,j Confirms the heart, yet unsubdued, In the pure love of what is good. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 13 CHAPTER I. INFANCY, THE NURSE'S SOLILOQUY. " Sweet Baby, sweet ! — The joy I prove ■' Is equal to a parent's love : fC For ah, those days I've not forgot, " When it was my envied lot, " . Array'd in all her infant charms, " To dance my Lady in these arms : " But now she is a mother grown, " And calls this bantling dear her own. " In that same cradle, many a day, " I've seen her stretch her arms and play ; " There have I sat, with watchful eye, " And sooth'd her with my lullaby. " With the same voice her pains beguil'd " As I calm thine — thou lovely child ! 14 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " Her prattle, which I us'd to hear, " Was sweetest music to my ear. " — As time fled on, my nurseling grew " Delightful to each gazer's view ; " And like the Summer's fairest flower, " Encreas'd in beauty ev'ry hour ; " While goodness as we all can tell, " Within her bosom seem'd to dwell. " — Though I was humble, and was poor, " She oft came to my cottage door. — " ' I'm come, dear Nurse,' she'd say, ' to know " If you want ought I can bestow : " For, you may trust me, while I live, " You shall want nothing I can give.* " Then she would sit and chat awhile, " And make my little dwelling smile. " I bless'd the day when she was wed ; " I saw her to the altar led, " By the rich Knight, whose power commands " The wide extent of neighb'ring lands, " Who then, his added wealth to crown, " Could call those matchless charms his own. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 15 " A veil half hid the blushing grace " That play'd upon her lovely face : " I thought an angel's form was seen, " As she was led across the Green. " Her flowing train with 'broidery bound, " Of spangled silver swept the ground ; " And, as she mov'd with solemn tread, ' ' The proud plumes wav'd upon her head : " White roses dress'd her bosom bare " With opening leaves, but not so fair. " — The maidens cull'd, at early day, " Each flower, to deck the bridal way, " With which wild nature clothes the fields, " Or the well-cultur'd garden yields : " All clad in white, their sweets they strow, " And onward march'd, a pretty show ; " While the gay morrice-dancers bound " As their feet give the tinkling sound. " My kind, good man — but he is gone, " And his head rests beneath a stone, " Bore a fine streaming flag, which he " Brought home, when he came last from sea. 16 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " And was as proud as when he bore " The well-won prifce from hostile shore. " — Full many a "Squire and Lady fair " Attended on the nuptial pair : " On their fine clothes the sun-beams shone ; " Twas a grand sight to look upon ! " Our village such a noble train " Ne'er saw before., nor will again. " — In the church porch I took my stand, " When the Bride smil'd and gave her hand, " And thus address'd me as she pass'd : " ' Dear Nurse, you've got your wish at last,' " For in my talk, I us'd to say, " I wish'd to see her wedding-day. " O how the village steeple rung : " What pleasure heard from ev'ry tongue ! " The may-pole was with garlands gay, " The shepherd sung his roundelay ; " And many a maid and many a swain " Forgot the labours of the plain. " 'Twas pleasure sure without alloy ; — " One chorus then of gen'ral joy. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 17 " The music play'd, the healths went round, " And nimble feet obey'd the sound ; ' ' But in their joys I did not join " Though they could never equal mine : " With the white knot upon my breast " I sigh'd, though on a day so blest, " Then did I to my cottage go, " And let the stream of pleasure flow : " Never, from sorrow or from care, " (And I, 'tis true, have had my share), ff Did on my cheeks such water fall, " As on that happy Festival. <( For how, alas, my bosom bled " When I beheld a daughter dead : " When my affection could not save ' f The best of husbands from the grave. " But still, I had been taught to know " That Life is mix'd with joy and woe ; " And, in the share that they are given, " We ought to read the Will of Heaven. " I then preferr'd my humble prayer f ' For blessings on the honour'd pair ; c 18 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " And that their bed might plenteous prove ' ' With the rich fruit of virtuous Love. " I knew e'en such a prayer as mine " Might reach the goodness all divine : " Yes — it was heard., I plainly see : , " Yes, lovely Babe — it gave them thee. " Oh, if kind Heaven, my Life would spare, " To make a child of thine my care, " No more I'd ask — but to be laid " Beneath the church-yard yew-tree's shade." Thus, as the Dame let loose the story Of all her past, and present glory : For thus she'd talk, though all alone, And no ear heard her but her own j The Doctor wish'd to see the child — The Babe was brought, the Doctor smil'd • And thus th' obstetric Galen spoke : A sage, grave man, who lov'd a joke. " Twenty fair summers now are o'er, " I think, good Nurse, and somewhat more, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 19 " Since that dear, charming Lady there, " Who graces yonder easy chair, " Was a sweet, lovely child like this : " Come, let me give his cheek a kiss ! " She came to be her parent's joy, " The lot of this fine chubby boy : " Nor need you now, I think be told, " The Knight was then but eight years old, " With rosy cheeks, and looks so gay, " And frolicsome as birds in May ; " Nay, mischief did he love, I trow, " As well as he does virtue now." Nurse. " Remember him ? ah, many a year, " When he was us'd to visit here, " And all the madcap tricks he play'd " With me, and Bet, the chamber-maid ; " His pranks too, with the good old nurse, " On whom the Curate wrote the verse. " Were I his waggeries to tell, " That now within my mem'ry dwell: c 2 20 THE DANG2 OF tIFE. " To reckon up his various sport " A Week, I think, would be too short. " — Once, I shall ne'er forget the day, " He met and stopp'd me on the way " As I was trotting to the fair, " And slily twitch'd the pie-ball'd mare j — " The beast kick'd up, I stumbled over : " What he did not, of did discover " I know not j though it seem'd, he knew " My garters Were of deepest blue : "* But the next day, with cut and caper, " He brought me tea, wrapp'd up in paper; " And when the parcel was unroll'd " It held, I saw, a piece of gold. " — One afternoon he play'd a trick " That made Nurse Jenkins sad and sick : " Something he slipp'd into her cup, " And chuckled as she drank it Up. " Sad and sick, indeed, it made her, " But a King William's crown repaid her. " — Nor shall I e'er forget the brawl " At Lawyer Tenfold 's funeral: THE DANCE OF LIFE. 21 " It happen'd, as I Well remember, ". On a cold fifth day of November, " I'm sure 'twill never be forgot : — " E'en now of Master William's plot " The elder folks will talk and laugh, " As they their evening home-brew'd quaff. " — The day was verging to be dark, " When just as John, the Parish Clerk; " Was well prepar'd to tune a stave " E'er they clos'd up the Lawyer's grave> " Young Mischief slipp'd a kindled rocket, " Or some strange fire-work in his pocket ; " Which, with a bounce un-orthodox, " Blew up poor John's tobacco box " And quickly scatter'd, here and there, " All his Virginia in the air. " Nay, with such force his elbow shook, " That in the grave he dropp'd his book. " The Rector, with quick step departed, " Away the Clerk and mourners darted ; " And all declared the Devil was come " To take the Laicyer Tenfold home. 2% THE DANCE OF LIFE. " The Curate, on the morrow said, " The Prayer-book had preserv'd the dead : " For Holy Writ, wherever found, " Would e'en Old Nick himself astound ; * c And Lawyer Tenfold now would wait, " Till Judgement Day to meet his fate. " —When the Curate told my master, " In his droll way, of this disaster, " Sick as he was, Nurse Jenkins said, " He laugh'd until he shook the bed. " Merry he was till Life was past : " Old Betty nurs'd him to the last ; " And she to me has often said — " What a fine Christian end he made. " He was my Lady's Uncle John, " A stately man to look upon ; '■ Just like my present Master stood — " Like him was always doing good. " The Doctor knows, as well as I, " That when he died— no, not an eye " In all the country round was dry." the dance of life. 23 Lady. " Now, of this Curate and the Nurse, " Whose worth his genius did rehearse, " I have a curious wish to know " All that your memory can bestow." Nurse. " 'Twas Betty Jenkins, and her name " Has long been known to village fame ; " Nor will her humble virtues die " Till all forget her Elegy. " 1 know not scarce a cottage-wall, " Where, or in print, or school-boy's scrawl, " But there it is expos'd to view, " While some have fram'd and glaz'd it too; " And each Fair-day, 'tis always seen " Among the ballads on the Green. " — The Curate, Doctor, well you know, " Is gone where all the good will go. " You lov'd him, for you knew him well; " And what a fate is his to tell ! " E'en though I feel o'erwhelm'd with joy, " In clasping close this lovely Boy, 24 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " I cannot stop the heaving sigh, " When it comes 'cross my memory." DOCTOK. " Madam, — before you saw the light, " The Curate bade the world good night : " He sunk beneath some secret pain " Whose cause he never would explain : " As the Nurse says, I lov'd him well, " And oft entreated him to tell ' ' The cause of his deep-rooted woe, " And why his tears should gush and flow. " For oft, as we together sat " In learned talk, or common chat, " Sorrow its sudden course would take, " And his heart beat as it would break ■ " That heart, as I can truly tell. " Where Goodness* self was known to dwell. " — Whims, sometimes, would disguise his " sense; " But then they never gave offence : " In them he dress'd Benevolence. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 25 " Though Wisdom was his guiding rule " He sometimes seem'd to play the fool: " For such appear'd, to common eyes, " His high-wrought sensibilities. " He ev'ry path of Science trod, " From Nature up to Nature's God : " The truths that in the Gospel shine, " He taught with energy divine. " O, what a mind was his to own ! " What beams of genius in him shone ! " They flash'd, but as the lightnings glare, " Heightened by clouds of gloomy care. « — The old Beech, at the Green Lane's end, " Sadly reminds me of my friend : " There he would sit full many an hour, " And Virgil's classic page devour. " When on the mould'ring bridge I look, " That throws its old arch o'er the brook, " Where, with cross'd arms, he oft would seem " To watch the eddies of the stream ; " Although so many years are past, " Since I beheld him breathe his last, n 26 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " So much he does my mem'ry share, " I almost think I see him there. " — But see, my Lady B is come, " And patients wait my going home : " I leave to Nurse the tale to tell — " She loves to talk, and knows it well. Just then a high-bred, neighb'ring Dame, To make her kind enquiries came : " — My dearest friend, I wish you joy ; " O what a charming, bouncing boy ! " His father's nose, his mother's eyes!" Then came those flippant Demi-Lies Which tonish Dames, for Fashion's sake, Know how so well to give and take. She then, nor wanted a reply, Broke forth \jith due loquacity. " — I wish I could have neighbours' fare, " For you have got a son and heir; " But to my wish the will of Heaven " Has nothing more than daughters given. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 21 " The Girls are well enough, 'tis true, " But I should like a Boy or two. " Besides, my Lord will sometimes pout, " Aye swear, and pace the room about ; " To think that his proud name may fail, " For want, alas, of issue male. " But e'er three moons their course have run " Like you I may have got a son : " For you must see, dear Lady Grace, " That I am in a growing case ; " But hope I shall riot have my call " Till after the Election Ball. " If Nature should be so unkind " To order me to be confin'd, " Just as the Country's running mad, " When ev'iy eye and heart is glad ; " I must be sick, and shall be sad. " — Dear Lady Susan's coming down, " Perhaps you've heard, next week from town: " 'Tis strange, but though so lately married, " All the world says she has miscarried. d 2 28 THE DANCE OP LIFE! " It may indeed, be .said, her marriage " With such a Fool; was a miscarriage. " She'll treat the thing with scorn and scoff; " I have no doubt, she'll laugh it off; " For, whether it be false or true, " 'Tis that, at least, which I should do. " I wonder 'd, with her charms and spirit, " She did not match with equal merit ; " But 'tis not worth one's while to weiffh " The whys and wherefores of the day. " — You must have heard, my friend, of course, " Of Mrs. Quickpace, and her horse : " She loves to ride that fiery Tit, " And always in a snaffle bit : " It is a wild and vixen roan ; " A temper not unlike her own : " Away it ran — but that's not all, — : " She had a. very pretty fall. " 'Tis known she loves to shew her foot " And ankle, in a stylish boot ; " But here I'm told, 'tis very shocking, " The laughing hunters saw her stocking. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 29 " Some officer, a man unknown, " Just quarter'd in the neighb'ring town, " Pick'd up the Lady from the mire; " And now is seen her constant 'Squire : " Nay, it is said, the country over " That he's become her secret Lover. " But 1 hate scandal — I can prove it; " And you, dear Thing, T know don't love it. " But this same caudle is so strong, " It makes more glib my rattling tongue. " — I do fatigue you, I believe, " And therefore my Adieus receive ; " For no replies will you bestow, (f But a faint yes, and languid no." Away she pass'd, with easy grace, And smile sarcastic on her face ; To claim elsewhere, some fresh attention To stories, half her own invention. Lady G . " Now that the curious Dame is gone, " And we, dear Nurse, are left alone, 30 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " In your own way, you will supply " What you know of the History, " Which the good Doctor S began, " Of this extraordinary man!" Nurse. " If, to enjoy the general love, " ' Doth Man's superior virtue prove, " He was, as 'tis indeed confess'd, " Among the very good — the best. " Yes, he was lov'd by old and young, " And his praise flow'd from ev'ry, tongue : fC The old he counseled, and the youth " Were shewn by him, the paths of truth ; " While with the children he would play, " And seem'd as jovial as they : " Oh, when he was in cheerful mood (( The sight of him would do one good. " No pride had he ; if Sue or Pat " Curtsied or bow'd, off went his hat. «■ — Well I remember, at a Feast, " When all the Summer labours ceas'd, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 31 " We were all dancing on the Green. " And he approach'd with smiling mien ; " The pipe play'd, and the tabor's drum " Tun'd forth the joyous Harvest Home ; " Nor did his well-ton'd voice disdain " To mingle with the rural strain. " — Give me a chalk," said he, " I'll scrawl " My thoughts upon the wainscot wall : " And, fast as I can speak, he wrote " The verses which I now shall quote. " ' Dance on and sing, till night is done, " But wait not for the morning sun : " Then hie to rest, and when you rise, " Offer your tribute to the skies : " For thus, with innocence, 'tis given " To sing and dance, and go to Heaven/ " " The Farmer had these verses scor'd " Deep with a knife upon the board ; " Nor would he sell them, were he told, " For ev'ry word, a piece of gold. 32 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " My Lady, when she takes the air, " May call and read the verses there. '" Whene'er He preach'd, the country " round " Crouded to hear the Gospel sound, " Which his voice did with power proclaim " In a Redeeming Saviour's name. " — When to that bed He came to pray, " Where my departing Father lay ; " When he to Heaven his prayer preferr'd, " It was an Angel's voice I heard: " He seem'd a Messenger from Heaven, " To say — Thy sins are all forgiven. " Sometimes, when he stray'd alone, " He look'd like one all woe begone : " I've seen him stretch'd on yonder mead, " Beneath the Bush, as he were dead ; " Flowers he too would cull and throw " Into the brook that ran below ; " And then would pace the streamlet's side, " To watch them on the eddying tide. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 33 " He too was often seen to rove, " As if in sadness, through the grove ; " In the church-yard aloud would read, " As if he did address the dead ; " Stretch forth his arms, then strike his breast, " And cry — ' Perturbed Spirit rest :' " Yet he would, sometimes dance along, " Tuning his motions to a song. " — I've often heard the shepherds say, " Watching their flocks at early day, " That o'er the uplands he would stray, " With wand'ring steps, now here, now there, " Like some one who was craz'd with care : " Or on a point, would stand to view " The distant sea's aethereal blue, " As though he watch'd the gentle sail, " Borne onward by the swelling gale. (f — His cottage — 'twas a perfect treat " To see the place so trim and neat : " Books, all on shelves, were rang'd around, " E'en from the ceiling to the ground, 34 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " And various pictures, in a row, " Hung on the walls, a goodly show. " The Garden boasted every flower " That scents the Spring or Summer hour, - " And all the birds that built a home " Within his hedge, ne'er wish'd to roam : " They liv'd secure, for his command " Forbade the violating hand. " Oft he would sit the whole day long " As if he listen'd to their song : " Nay, when the earth by frost was bound, " Or the snow whiten'd all the ground, " His little Choristers he fed " With scatter'd seeds or crumbs of bread ; " And flocks of Robins would attend " The summons of their generous Friend . " — Nor did the poor-man ling'ring wait ' " The bounties of the cottage gate. " He calm'd the cares of those who griev'd ; " The wants of others he reliev'd ; " And did, on all around, bestow " The happiness he did not know. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 35 " He comfort gave to many a heart " While his own felt the rankling smart " Of angry Fortune's envious dart, " That tortur'd with a pain severe " Which e'en his virtues could not bear. " — In its wise judgements Heaven knows best " Why these are wretched, those are blest ; " Why some are call'd in early day, " Like flowers, in Spring, to pass away, " While others are allow 'd to live, " As long as Life its hours can give. " The learned know these things — but we, " Brought up in low-born privacy, " Can only strive each ill to shun ; " And say to Heaven — f Thy will be done.' " Lady — — . " My dear, good Nurse, you reason well " The art of Life is living well : " In what is just, in what is true, " The leara'd can do no more than you : e 2 36 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " The whole, when rightly understood, " Is to shun ill, and to be good. " — But now proceed, I pray, to show fe What yet remains for me to know," Nurse. " A Gardener and his wife, those two " Did all the Curate had to do : " And, when he died, he left them clear " Full five and twenty pounds a year. " Throughout their service, they ne'er heard " One harsh or discontented word : " They always said, that, through the day, " To them he cheerful seem'd, and gay ; " But sorrow, that tormenting sprite, " Was wont to haunt him through the night; " And oft his pillow did appear " Bedew'd with many a secret tear. " At length, reduc'd to skin and bone, " He was a walking Skeleton ; " And all throughout the village said, " He soon would sleep among the dead. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 37 " One mora, but e'er the dawning light " Had quite dispers'd the gloomy night, " A shriek was on a sudden heard : " The Gardener 'woke, and curs'd the bird, " The screech-owl, whose ill-omen'd note " With fatal augury fill'd its throat : " 'Tis worse, said Margery, I beshrew " It was the griesly cock that crew. — " Again I hear it, my good Dame, ' ' It from my Master's chamber came : " My heart forbodes— and much I fear " That Death himself is busy there. -' Soon did the taper's glimm'ring light " Display the horrors of the night : " The groan had broke his heart in twain ; " For he ne'er op'd his eyes again : " Those eyes, alas, were clos'd by sorrow, " And ne'er beheld another morrow. fr Strange things were said the village through, " Nay, some there were who thought them true. " 1 heard my Grandame say, the bell " Rung from Church tower a dismal knell ; 38 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " Though the old Sexton stoutly swore " No one had pass'd the x Belfry door : " The night was blust'ring, and her ear " Might fancy sounds she did not hear. " Others declar'd a horse was seen " As white as snow upon the Green ; " And to his back that wings were given " To bear the Curate's soul to Heaven. "It was enough for us to know " That he had left a world of woe : " While we may trust his soul is blest " In mansions of eternal rest. " — The village wept throughout the day " That gave him to the worms a prey : " Grief on each eye in streamlets hung, " And told its tale from ev'ry tongue. " Your worthy Doctor, as he stood, " Wip'd from his cheeks the trickling flood ; " The Rector fault'ring, scarce could read " The prayers appointed for the dead ; " And, as he Dust to Dust consign'd, " The dumb peal loiter'd in the wind. THE DANCE OF LIFE. " 39 " Upon the grave sweet flowers were seen " Blending their bright leaves with the green : " I wove a garland fresh and fair, '■' Which bloom'd awhile, then wither'd there." Lady G . " But I suppose, good Nurse, you know " Some hist'ry of this child of woe : " What poignant, rooted cares oppress'd " The deep recesses of his breast ; " And, e'er it reach'd meridian day, " What caus'd his Life to waste away. " He might th' unhappy cause conceal, " But Death would every part reveal." Nurse. " The Rector knew it all, but he " Would ne'er unfold the mystery. '* He lov'd his friend, and many a day, " Nay, many a month had pass'd away " E'er he resum'd the chearful grace " That us'd to deck his ruddy face : 40 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " Yet the fair Legacy he gain'd " Of all the Curate's cot contain'd ; " And many curious things and rare " Were known to have been treasur'd there. " — The country round, it was agreed " That Love perform'd the cruel deed ; " Strange, he in Love a foe should find " Who was the Friend of human kind. " And yet, as I shall now explain, " He surely did not love in vain. " It was about three months, or more, " After the Funeral rites were o'er, " That here a fair young Lady came, " But no one e'er could learn her name : " I saw her in a carriage wait " As it stood by the Church-yard gate. " She quickly for the Sexton sent, " And to the Curate's grave they went. " She wept — and with such deep-fetch'd sighs, " As brought tears into Gabriel's eyes ; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 41 " And he was seldom known to melt " At tales of woe which others felt. " — I took the basket from my head " To see what pass'd among the dead : " I stood beside the Church-yard wall, " And near enough to hear it all. " With doleful look, and sighs profound, " She knelt, and thrice she kiss'd the ground ; " Then, as around the space she trod, " She pluck'd the nettles from the sod. ** There, she exclaim'd, no weeds should grow, " But violets bloom and roses blow : " Such plants as scented blossoms bear " Or fragrant leaves, should flourish there. " Guard the grave well and keep it clean, " And let it be a shaven Green : " Make it, I ask, your faithful care, " For my fond heart is buried there. " There's gold, my honest friend, she said, " With which your pains will be repaid : 42 THE DANCE OF 1IFE. " And oh, may Justice blast the pride, " The fatal cause that Henry died. " Why did I let that crime destroy " The only source of Emma's joy." Now she awhile in silence stood, Till milder tones her words renew'd. " — But let me check my passion's force, " And stop the current in its course : " Nor let a desp'rate tongue o'erflow " With the dire sacrilege of woe : " For, if the dead could converse hold " With beings clad in mortal mould : " Oh, if thy Spirit hover'd near " To breath thy counsels in my ear, " Would not its accents bid me live, " Submit with patience — and forgive ; " Nor mourn thy lot in realms above " Where Angels live, and Angels love ; " But nurse the Hope, when Life is o'er, " To meet — where we shall part no more. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 43 " All that the powers above ordain " I'll bear, nor in a thought complain : " Yes, I'll obey, as if I heard " Thy heavenly Vision's warning word. " Now, for a while, in mournful mood, " She, like a marble statue stood, " And, with one arm uplift in air, " As if she breath 'd a silent prayer : " Then, having from the aged Yew, " Pluck'd a small branch, she slow withdrew : " But e'er the Church-yard gate she pass'd, " Turning, as if to look her last, " She rais'd her veil with solemn grace ;_ " When I beheld her charming face : " It was, to make its beauty known — " It was, as lovely as your own. '.' — The horses which the carriage drew, " Went off so swift as if they flew : " And, indeed, this is all, I know " Of the good Curate's tale of woe. f 2 44 TTHE DANCE OP LIFE. " — Were I to live, I well may say, " Until the Resurrection Day, " Nought from my mem'ry could remove " His hapless Lot, who died for Love." Lady . " 'Tis a sad story, I must own ; " Aud he must have a heart of stone " Who does not kindly sympathize " With pitying thought, or wat'ry eyes. " — And now, unless too hard the task, " If it were not too much to ask, " Rehearse me, if you still have breath, " Nor.has attention thought it long. " At all times, Nurse, thou hast the power " To form an interesting hour. " Thine is a tale that doth impart " A pleasing anguish to the heart ; " And, though it borders on despair, " Awakes a sense of Virtue there, " With feelings, fruit of serious mood, " Which are familiar to the good. " Pity, that has a ready sigh " For ev'ry form of misery ; " On whose fair dimpling cheek we see •* The Holy smile of Charity. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 51 " Kindness, that wishes to relieve " The various pains of those who grieve ; " And, if no other, power is given, " Will breathe a pious prayer to Heaven. " — But now, no more of human woes : " I'll take the Babe while you repose. " Come, then, thou dear enchanting Sprite, " Thou first-born source of new Delight! " 'Tis not mere pleasure that I feel, " 'Tis Rapture which thy smiles reveal. " Though worlds on worlds AYere shower'd " down " With power to call them all my own, " To yield, if such a change could be ,c The right thy Mother has in thee, " I would the proffer'd Barter greet, " As dust I grind beneath my feet. " — O come, with all thy smiling charms, " And let me dance thee in my arms ! " Then thy blue eyes shall close in rest : " Thy pillow is a Mother's breast." g 2 52 . THE DANCE OF LIFE. CHAPTER II. CHILDHOOD. BY Locke, or some such man we're told, That from four months, to four years old, The ticklish season, e'er the Nurse To the grave Tutor's sober course, Her sweet young Master has resign 'd, Is of great import to the mind. 'Tis then to form, on Reason's plan, The Embryo of the future Man ; To give that shape to Infant thought Which, when to full perfection brought, Like the young plant; by cultur'd care, Is seen th' expected fruit to bear. 'Twere well, if at the cradle's side Reason were made the Nurse's guide : THE DANCE OF LIFE. 53 For, as the Infant thoughts expand, The chearful praise, the grave command, Each word, each act, each look should be Arrang'd with certain symmetry ; And thus, in order, disunite Whate'er is wrong, from what is right. Thus would the ductile mind receive The Form that wise Instructions give : For almost e'er the tongue can talk, Or e'er the struggling feet can walk, An eager power is ever shewn To make the wants and wishes known. To check or grant th' imperfect prayer Demands the ever patient care ; To quench, at once, the impetuous flame, That the shrill wailing may proclaim ; With ready soothing to beguile Its little anger to a smile ; To watch each sudden turn of nature, And catch each lively change of feature ; To pleasing objects turn the eye, The ear to sounds of Harmony ; 54 THE DANCE OF LIFE. And every active art employ To keep in flow the stream of Joy;— Such is, as Reason will agree, The Wisdom of the Nursery. 'Twere well if sage, domestic power Would watch the Infant's earliest hour ; And let that constant care be shown Which Duty may be proud to own. Chuse sense as well as healthy state In those who on the Cradle wait ; Nor e'er allow that vulgar curse, The babbling nonsense of a Nurse. Oh never cease the thought to scan, That ev'ry Boy may be a Man! 'Tis known, that oft the Goblin's tale Does to Life's latest hour prevail ; And Doctrines, by the Nurses taught, Are fix'd for ever in the thought : The fair Impression then pursue, Of what is jnst, and what is true ; THE DANCE OP LIFE. 55 Nor think Instruction's hourly boon. In its due shape, can come too soon. The seeds, in earliest Childhood sown As buds, will in the Boy be known : In Youth, as blossoms will appear, And in full Manhood, fruitage bear. The comforts of a future day Will thus Affection's toil repay ; And the glad Parent fondly see The Wisdom of the Nursery. But here such caution was not known, Nor was this wise attention known : Sir William Graceful's little Heir Receiv'd a diff'rent kind of care. He was a lively, blooming; boy, The Fathers pride, the Mother's joy : Th' extreme of fondness did impart Its power to the parental heart : The eye its highest pleasure knew As he in strength and beauty grew ; 56 THE DANCE OF LIFE. No music was so sweet to hear, As when his voice address'd the ear; And ev'ry other sense gave place, When he return'd the fond embrace. He forni'd the morn's awak'ning care, And fill'd the Ev'ning's ardent prayer. Doting upon the cherub grace That play'd around his rosy face; No words e'er bore the chiding tone That might becloud it with a frown ; And each indulgence did appear To grant the wish or check the tear. Thus he became a froward child — Humour'd, and scarce half-taught, and spoil'd. — He look'd so happy, when his Kite Sprung in the air and gain'd its height ; So full of harmony the squall When the Bat drove the flying Ball ; Of graceful motion what a treat When the Rope pass'd beneath his feet; THE DANCE OP 1IFE. 57 What a young Hero did appear When his Drum deafened ev'ry ear ; And no one dare for silence sue When he the tuneless whistle blew. — In short, it was a sin to teaze him, Or to do aught that might displease him ; Nor could Mamma support the look When he was ask'd about his book. — But as 'twas fitting he should know His Primmer, and the Chris-cross Row, To an old Dame he was consign'd As Alma Mater of his mind. Near sixty years were gone and o'er, Since, she an Orphan girl and poor, First pass'd the stately Mansion's door. In ev'ry duty little Sue Did all that she was bid to do. In Kitchen, Laundry, Dairy she Wore the blithe form of Industry : Did through her daily work rejoice, And chirrup with a chearful voice : H 58 THE DANCE OF LIFE. She too could spin, and knit, and sew, And Village Scholarship she knew. —The Pet of Kitchen, Parlour, Hall, Thus little Sue was loved by all ; And many a chuck, beneath the chin, Did the young Maid's affections win : For she possess'd, devoid of art, The feelings of a grateful heart. — Of all the birds she was the guard, And govern'd the whole poultry yard : But she would sigh, when call'd, 'tis said, To pick the chickens she had fed : For many a tale or false or true, Brought up a laugh 'gainst little Sue, — When her young Misses sought the plain To form a sprightly, sportive train, She was call'd forth to join the play, And cheer it with a rustic lay. — She had a weighty charge, I ween, To keep my Lady's lap-dog clean ; For none but her dare comb a lock, Or wash the silky coat of Shock. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 59 — When sorrow, or disease,, or pain Did 'mong the neighb'ring poor complain. The little Almoner was seen Tripping, in haste, across the Green ; To learn what might the history be That ask'd her Lady's charity ; Whose feeling heart ne'er fail'd to grant What ev'ry kind of woe might want; And all agreed that little Sue Wish'd to have nothing else to do. My Lady's pitying Angel she Was nam'd by all the peasantry ; For she had been, at Sorrow's call, A welcome Messenger to all. — At length a comely woman grown She was as Mrs. Susan known, And now became th' attendant maid Of those with whom she oft had play'd. Still treated as an humble friend, She did the Toilette's cares attend. H 2 60 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Susan, in all she had to do, Was pleasing as in Little Sue. —She now learn'd those mysterious arts Which Fashion plies to conquer hearts : She could arrange, in contrast due, Each varying colour to the view ; And had attain 'd the skill to place The Ribbon, with superior grace, To deck the Hat — t' adorn the Bonnet, And fix the waving Plume upon it : The Flounce's flow, its depth, its border, And all the artful, gay disorder Which studious Milliners possess, To scatter Taste o'er female dress. The Gardener, struck with Susan's charms, Had sometime woo'd her to his arms, Nor woo'd in vain, for Cupid's dart Had, also, pierc'd the Maiden's heart ; But still a sense of duty strove Nor strove in vain to guide her Love THE DANCE OF LIFE. 61 For her dear Lady must command, Before she gave her willing hand. Woodbine — such was the Lover's name. Was of high note in Village fame : Each tree that in the garden grows, Each shrub that blooms and flower that blows Were known to him, from humble bell That vies with cowslips in the Dell, To the rare blossoms that perfume The confines of the Drawing Room. To ev'ry plant of foreign hue He could apply the climate due : He could to dreary Winter bring All the gay blooming of the Spring ; And make the vernal banquet share The lux'ries of the Summer year. In Repton's service he had caught Some gleams of what his Master taught ■ Could shape the ground or place the tree With Nature's varying symmetry. Thus aptly skill'd in ev'ry part Of the accomplish 'd Gardener's art, 62 THE DANCE OF LIFE. To him Sir William gave the power Of Park,, of Garden , and of Bower. These virtuous Lovers told, they lov'd ; The wish that follow'd was approv'd. To grace fair Susan's wedding day Sir William gave the Bride away: My Lady kindly grac'd the Ball, And figur'd in the Servants' Hall ; While the young Ladies, all in white, Did honour to the Nuptial rite. — The May-pole was with Garlands hung, The Bells at Morn and Evening rung ; The warmest wishes did betide The Bridegroom and his blooming Bride ; And all was Joy, and all were gay On much-lov'd Susan's Wedding-day : While the grave Rector, who their hands Had join'd in chaste Love's holy bands — Told the young folk, the scene they view'd Was the reward of being good : And bade each youthful Maid pursue The well-trod steps of Little Sue. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 63 Now Mrs. Woodbine, she was seen, Still with kind look, but graver mien, In higher post, advanc'd, to bear Th' important sway of household care. Though with due thought and watchful eye She did her various duties ply, The Household Mistress ne'er forgot What once had been her humble lot; And oft her mem'ry did review The time when she was Little Sue ; Happy that then she was approv'd : But now respected, and belov'd. — Thus Time mov'd on, nor did she know The sense of pain, or throb of woe, But when Death, by his stern decree, Bore off some branch of that old tree, Beneath whose shade, through every stage, Her years roll'd on from youth to age. Or when the Hatchment's dismal form Shone in the Sun, or bore the storm ; As o'er the Mansion's high-wrought door It told some valued Life was o'er. 64 THE DANCE OF LIFE. — So long had she an inmate been, 'Twas the third race that she had seen : Grown old, and now a widow too, She was indulg'd, and left to do Whatever might her humour please, And pass her time in aged ease. — To her instruction was consign'd The little Pupil's op'ning mind; And, seated in her elbow chair, She did that op'ning mind prepare For some grave Tutor's future care. But no harsh words were ever spoke, No threat, but blended with a joke : For Mamma's fondness had forbid That Darling Harry should be chid. So Cakes and Sweetmeats were prepar'd His humour'd progress to reward. — Still, though with this indulgence rear'd Granny he, somehow lov'd and fear'd; For by that fond, familiar name, The Child had always call'd the Dame. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 65 'Tis a hard task,, the Matron said, And then she shook her hoary head ; But I'll the very way pursue, Which I was taught when Little Sue, By the old Dame, Heav'n rest her soul, The Mistress of the Village School. For forty years, on yonder Green, Her straw-roof 'd, decent Cot was seen; The little Grove, and hawthorn Bower, Her Garden gay with fruit and flower, The scene of Spring and Summer hour ; And when the wintry season came, The hearth was bright with cheering flame. There wisdom sat, in smiles array'd, For terror ne'er her power display'd: A chair, that once e'en wealth might own, Was chang'd to humble Learning's throne : A widow's placid form she wore, No marks of age as yet she bore, But still a kind of solemn grace Spread its grave mantle o'er her face: 66 THE DANCE OF LIFE. The relict she of holy man Who soon his earthly circuit ran : He had no more than Parish Cure, And poor himself, he left her poor. With more than village learning fraught, The Widow now the children taught Of those, who every Sabbath heard From the good man the eternal word, Which to his flock he did dispense With Apostolic eloquence. Nor did she dwell on sounds alone- More than mere letter'd words were shown ; And while their structure was explain'd She taught the doctrines they contain'd ; And many a faithful hist'ry told From Holy Book, or volumes old, The fond instruction to unfold. The cushion, on the table plac'd, Which whilom had a pulpit grac'd, Was by the sacred volume press'd, In which the weary look for rest ; THE DANCE OP LIFE. 67 Where, for all ills our minds endure, The page holds forth the promis'd cure ; And tells, in all that mortals share, The good are Heaven's peculiar care; While it unveils to mental eye The joys of Immortality. Whether the Peasant urchin sought Whate'er the cottage learning taught, Or the young Sempstress dar'd to try The path of future Industry, And point the needle doom'd to lead, In its due course, th' obedient thread ; Or when the flax the swift wheel wound, With hurrying haste and whirring sound, The attentive Dame, with cheering smile And kind words, would the toil beguile. Nay, if some blunder should be seen, Or here or there to intervene, No angry chidings would appear, In the young heart, to cause a fear. i 2 68 THE DANCE OF LIFE. No rod was shewn, no lifted hand Gave terror to a stern command : But the remonstrance of a friend, With better caution to attend ; To mark the error, and prepare The mind for an improving care. In all she said, in all she did, What was ordain'd or what forbid, The little List'ners understood The only happy were the good : That whatsoe'er the Mistress taught Was with their future welfare fraught. The sole degree of her regard Was more or less of the reward From Learning's trees — for such the name Which had been given, by the Dame, To those that in her garden grew : The cherry red, the plumb so blue, The various apple and the pear Were duly seen to flourish there ; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 69 And branchy bushes did expand Their fruitage ready to the hand : From every loaded, bending bough Fair Knowledge might be said to flow. There., at the close of Summer day, Learning receiv'd its constant pay ; While Winter shew'd to eager eyes The hoarded pippin for a prize, And the slic'd pudding was decreed For well-done toil the sugar'd meed. Thus in the School-Dame's humble hall Justice dispens'd their claims to all. — When Joy danc'd through the vacant hours, And carroll'd gay bedeck'd with flowers, She would attend their sports to see, And guide the harmless revelry ; While she unbent in wishes kind The warm affections of her mind : — " O may you, when I'm turn'd to clay, " Be happy as you are to day ! " I sigh, — but still, Heaven grant you may I" 70 THE DANCE OF LIFE. She did her daily task prepare With pious words and solemn prayer ; And caus'd each little sprite to join Its hands to ask the power divine, In simple terms, well understood, For blessings that await the good ; — And all those virtues to bestow Which make men good, and keep them so. — Thus she with anxious care impress'd Those feelings in each infant breast Which though, amid the various strife. The Cares and Fooleries of Life, They may, for certain time, give way, When madd'ning error leads astray, Will still a secret influence hold, And bring the lost sheep to the fold. I've ne'er forgot, from Youth to Age, The Lessons of the Matron Sage ; Her deep-sown truths, I still avow ; I felt them then— I feel them now. I felt them when but Little Sue, — And now, grown old, I find them true. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 71 — I know that old John Ravelin says, When in the midst of wicked ways, He oft was check'd, if he but thought Of what his good, old Mistress taught : — If sick with wounds gain'd in the wars. Of which he now can show the scars, He real comfort felt, whene'er He whisper'd forth the Cottage prayer. Brave John, now pension'd and retir'd, When, with his former valour fir'd, He tells of England's fame and glory, Oaths oft are heard to deck the story ; But if, by chance, the spot he sees Where the Cot stood among the trees, The blasphemy's no more preferr'd But sinks into some pious word : He seems to see, as if in air, The Cot, and his old Mistress there. He has far distant regions sought, And many a bloody battle fought; Has sail'd the stormy Ocean o'er, t And travers'd India's sultry shore ; 72 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Yet still he owns, in Life's last stage, Th' instructions of his Boyish Age, When tutor'd by the Matron sage. But the good Dame has long been dead, And all that sacred scene is fled : Gone is the Hawthorn bower and wood, And Corn grows where the Cottage stood. But her example shall survive While Granny Woodbine's doom'd to live; Yes, her example shall inspire My teaching of the Little 'Squire; And, 'spite of all his humour'd tricks, I trust, in Heaven, that I shall fix In his young mind th' unerring rules, Not always taught in higher schools, That certain sense of right and wrong, Which kneaded in a mind so young, With all the Hopes Religion gives, And Fears which thence the heart receives : Hopes that enchant the early view, But while they please, exalt it too ; / THE DANCE OF LIFE. 73 And Fears call'd forth, whene'er we err, Not to affright but to deter, — Such hopes, such fears when once combin'd With the first feelings of the mind; Though by the gales of passion tost, Though, for a time, o'erwhelm'd and lost ; Or laid asleep amid the strife, And opiate Joys of sensual Life ; When Reason doth regain its throne, And the mind dares its follies own ; Or when Misfortune's wak'ning power Compels the sad, reflective hour, Unless, by desp'rate vices chang'd, The mind from Virtue's quite estrang'd, Again returns the Love of Truth Which gave a grace to early Youth ; Again is cherish'd every thought Which the first fond Instructress taught. Thus did old Granny sit and trace The scenes, long past in time and place, k 74 THE DANCE OF LIFE. And fram'd with recollective power Th' instruction for the present hour. 'Twas now the important task began, The embryo of the future man. Kind Nature had, with fond regard, And bounteous hand the work prepar'd ; The soil was rich and promis'd fair A plenteous crop of Fruit to bear. But 'twas of such luxuriant power That the weed sprung beside the flower. The quick conception was at hand Th' expounded word to understand, And the prompt question would apply, With playful act and quicken'd eye, While Granny would, in tones of Joy, Exclaim — " Heaven bless the clever Boy." But if impatience should prevail, She had the pleasant, soothing tale : The Bat, the Ball, the Kite were shewn, But then the Lesson must be done. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 75 " Soon as the well-said task is o'er " The long-tail'd Poney at the door " Shall then appear,, with John to guide " My Henry in his pleasant ride ; " And when the words are put together " His Hat shall have the yellow Feather. " If in your morning's work you shine, " You shall with your old Granny dine : " When you will find her courteous board " With many a Tart and Custard stor'd ; " While Plumb and Peach, and Nect'rine sweet " Will furnish out the tempting treat." Thus Learning went on, hand in hand, With fair rewards and mild command • And the Instructress had the skill When the Boy was dispos'd to ill, To turn and twist him to her will. When he was in a fractious mood, She conquer'd — for his heart was good. If she but said, " Pray, Sir, do right — \ " Or Granny will not sleep to-night : — R 3 76 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " My head aches — I can scarce endure it : " But if you read your Book, you'll cure it." His temper then would cease to riot, And Learning would go on in quiet. —-She seldom put on solemn look But when she op'd the sacred book. Whose holy hist'ries she would tell, And on his mind impress them well. Their pictures she would oft unfold That to his view their story told : Thus he was tutor'd to explain Whate'er their subjects might contain ; And his pleas'd Fancy, through the eye, Subserv'd to early piety :->— For, taught in Reason's simple School, She felt the known Horatian rule That stronger influence will appear From what we see, than what we hear *. From Paradise, and Adam's fall, To the converting hour of Paul, He quickly leam'd to tell them all. * Segnius irritant aminos demissa per aurem, Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus. ■ THE DANCE OF LIFE. 77 And Joseph's Hist'ry 'twas a treat, To hear his tuneful tongue repeat : While, with a kind of Critic power. The print his fingers would explore. And from the graven forms unfold The Story which the volume told. He then would mark the wretched fate That did upon the wicked wait ; And joy would string his eager tongue, When right prevail'd o'er treach'rous wrong : But tears his rosy cheeks bedew'd If foul mishap befell the good, Though smiles return'd when, sorrow past, He found that they were blest at last : While the Dame never fail'd to tell The Happiness of acting well. —Such was the task to her assign'd, And thus she taught his Infant mind. Now full two years were past and gone, And Granny thought her work was done. 78 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Exhausted was her village Lore : — 'Twas time He should know something more, She oft would say — for such a mind So form'd, to Learning so inclin'd, Howe'er instructed and improv'd, From female care should be remov'd ; Should that Instruction now receive Which learned men alone can give. She did her wish no sooner name,, Than Doctor Gravely, known to fame, As an Instructor, skill'd and sage, Came daily from his Vicarage, And undertook the important care To rear this well-born, wealthy Heir. Learned he was in all the knowledge Acquir'd in early years at College : That was his boast, nor aught beside, Did he e'er feel as food for pride. " I'm a poor Vicar, and no more," He would exclaim ; " but still a store THE DANCE OF LIFE. 79 " Of Classic Knowledge, gain'd by toil " That oft consum'd the midnight oil " Is treasur'd up within my brain " Which seldom mitred men obtain : * With the most learned I would try " My strength, nor fear the victory. " Each Classic page, I read with ease, " Homer and Aristophanes : " I am as much," he'd say, " at home, " With every Sage of Greece or Rome, " As in the Psalms, or said or sung, " Translated in my native tongue. " Hence, I protest, I envy not " The purse-proud Loon, the wealthy Sot : " Conscious that to me is given " The true Nobility of Heaven. " Kings may make Lords, but well I scan " They cannot make a learned man. " By Trade, the humblest means, we know, " Do oft into profusion grow. " Now I am, what nor Kings, nor Trade " Have e'er by power or fortune made. 80 THE DANCE OP LIFE. " I scarce can tell how I detest " The man who is with Genius blest : " To whom, O happy lot, is given " The first and noblest boon of Heaven " When he is seen to condescend, " For sordid views, his mind to bend, " To flatter fools, for golden shower, " Or cringe to stately rogues in power. " — Genius, that in every state " Can make the man who has it great; " If it be great to take the lead " In just and honourable deed : " 'Midst all its various cares and strife, " Genius that can enliven Life ; " That, in fair Fortune's bounteous feast, " Gives Joy a more delicious taste ; " That, join'd with goodness, may defy " The world's most stern calamity, " And duly mix'd with that pure ore, " Makes mortal virtue something more. O Genius, all these powers are thine, ef And well I know that thou art mine ! \ THE DANCE OF LIFE. 81 " — Respect should seek the good and wise " Where'er their varying fortune lies; " Whate'er their riches or degree, " How proud soe'er their pedigree, " Or though they should be poor as me." — Thus to himself he oft would talk 'Neath hedge-row elms, in evening walk ; Or when his neighbours did convene At social Club or Bowling-Green; — Nor was a doubting thought preferr'd To what had been so often heard. Long it had been his fate to rule In Market-town a Grammar School, And many a scholar he had rear' d Who in the world with fame appear'd : An humble Vicarage at last Repaid him for his labours past. His manners had but little grace: On his hard-featur'd, wrinkled face, A smile was seldom seen to play, Nor soften'd look that did betray 82 THE DANCE OF LIFE. The milder feelings of the heart ; No kind advance that would impart Of warm regard the fond return, But frowning look, and visage stern; For all about him did imply The form and soul of Pedantry : But still with Learning he combin'd The power that could command the mind ; Could, with such skill instruction give That Dullness' self would e'en receive The clear, elucidated thought By his resistless science taught. He differed much from Granny's rule Which she had learn'd in Village School. When he sat in dogmatic chair, No Bribes his Justice did prepare, But the alarming rod was seen The token of his discipline. The conscious sense of what they knew, The high attainments that they drew THE DANCE OF LIFE. 83 From the pure founts of ancient Lore., The anxious ardour to explore The fields of Knowledge, and to show The flowers that on Parnassus grow ; — This was the pride his Scholars shar'd, And such alone was their reward ; With the fond hope of well-earn'd praise, To brighten Life in future days. Poor Granny was struck dumb with awe, When first the Tutor grim she saw, And heard his clear and nervous sense, Display'd in solemn eloquence, When, in firm tone, He told his plan, To turn her Boy into a Man ; — While frighten'd Harry strove to squeeze His trembling form 'twixt Granny's, knees. — She was alarm'd, for well she knew This surly teaching would not do : But the grave Doctor would not yield ; And seem'd resolv'd to keep the field. l 2 84 the dance of life. Doctor. " You've had your way, and I'll have " mine; " Your cakes I'll turn to discipline ; " For, be assur'd, the Boy I'll make " Learning pursue, for Learning's sake. " Oh, let him sing, and dance, and play ; " " Indulge him, — but when I'm away ; " For if I give the task to-day, " I shall expect it done to-morrow, " Or he and I shall meet in sorrow." Granny. " Don't make him cry — or Lady Grace " Will put on such a rueful face : " 'Twere better she with smiles should meet " you, " And not with solemn chidings greet you ; " For, my good Doctor, much I fear " Things will go wrong, if you're severe. " Begin, at least, with accents mild ; " At first, you may indulge the child : THE DANCE OF LIFE. 85 " It were as well, that's if you please, " To practice rigour by degrees." Doctor. " I mind not Mother's whims, not I, " Though Mother and the Boy should cry : " He's six years old, and ought to know " That all his happiness or woe " Depend, as he will one day find, " Upon the structure of his mind. " I'll not relax — no supple tool " To please Mamma, and play the fool ; " And if my well- weigh 'd mode don't suit her, " E'en let. her find another Tutor. " — I am well paid— a generous heart " Beyond my hopes has done its part; " But, if I never did deny " The Teacher's toilsome Industry, " When meagre Charity alone " Repaid me for my Labour done ; " My present duty has a claim " To my endeavour's highest aim, 86 THE DANCE OF JLIFE. " When this dear, darling child and heir " Of Wealth and Title, is my care. " — If I have ever strove to wrest " Its evils from the poor Boy's breast; fC If I by force have planted good, fC In characters of humble brood ; ff If I have never spar'd the rod " For him whose Father till'd the sod ; " If I have made his sloth to feel fc Whose Mother turn'd the spinning-wheel ; " I must betray sage Learning's trust, " And cease to think of what is just, " If I a sense of Duty smother, " And spoil a child to please its mother ; " Or let him share the Dunce's fate, *' Because he's born to proud estate. " My good, old Lady, it is true, " The plan that I now have in view, " And which I shall, in truth, pursue, " May not at first so pleasing be " As one mixt up with Flattery, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 87 " With sugar'd promises to please, " Or fretful temper to appease. " I shall not teach the humour'd Boy " To play with Learning as a toy : " With me his Book he soon must find " A pastime only for the mind • " And strict obedience must declare " That he is worthy of my care. " Beyond his strength I shall not try, " Nor tempt his half-fledg'd wings to fly : " I first shall study him — and he " Shall then be taught to study me. " Whene'er he trifles, I shall blame, " And strive to wake a sense of shame ; — " Though, when he's good,with praise I'll cheer, " Such as he is not us'd to hear. " But if, when I hold tight the rein, " The wayward Urchin should complain ; " If to Mamma with plaintive cry " He sobs forth my severity; " And Mamma should begin to preach — " Should tell me how I ought to teach, 88 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " All future trouble I shall spare, " And leave him to some other care." Granny, who thought that much good sense Prevail'd in his rough eloquence ; And conscious it would be in vain To reason with him, or complain; Most wisely finish'd the debate, And left the bus'ness to its fate. — For right or wrong, it was agreed, And honour had confirm'd the deed ; My Lady and Sir William, both Had form'd the purpose, nothing loth, That she alone the reins should hold, Till Harry was full ten years old ; And then this hopeful Child and Heir Was to become the Father's care. — Thus Granny had to play a game Between the Doctor and the Dame. She let the Tutor have his way ; She brib'd the Pupil to obey ; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 89 :,And did a cunning' scheme pursue, By which she brib'd the Doctor too : For she found out, with keen discerning, That next to his high pride of Learning ; Next to the feeding of his brain, He did more secretly maintain 'Twas good his appetite to treat With what was nice to drink and eat ; And though no gormandising sinner, He would leave Horace for a dinner. Thus, sitting in her elbow chair, She watch'd, with penetrating care The daily task, and thus deferr'd The angry look, and threat'ning word : For when the Doctor 'gan to frown, And marks of discontent were shown, She instantly would ring the bell And bid th' attending maid, to tell The Footman to bring in the tray, As it was Luncheon time of Day. M 90 THE DANCE OP LIFE. By ready order of the Dame The Soup and the cold Chicken came ; White wine and red and foaming ale Combin'd to furnish the regale ; And thus good-humour was restor'd, As he enjoy'd the welcome board. But while he play'd with knife and fork He did not cease th' instructive work; For as he drank, and as he eat, He taught, as if a Classic treat, The Latin names for every dish, For Fowl/ for Pastry, and for Fish ; Sparta's black Messes he defin'd, And how the Greeks and Romans din'd. The Doctor, who perceiv'd the drift Of this Contrivance, gave a lift To a design that did invite Th' indulgence of his appetite ; For soon as e'er he felt it crave At first he look'd a little grave; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 91 But growing hungry, he grew sour, Which soon advanc'd the Luncheon hour. — Nor was it seldom he was sought To take a Dinner where he taught ; And at Sir William's splendid board, He eat and drank like any Lord ; Where he was rather prone to flatter In classic terms, and pompous chatter. Thus entertain'd his words grew mild ; Nay, He would often praise the child; While Harry, finding calmer days, Strove wisely to deserve the praise ; — And Granny loll'd in easy chair, Without a fear, without a care. At length th' expected time was told, When the young Heir was ten years old; And now, as it had been agreed, A Father's rightful claims succeed, And, freed from his domestic rule The Boy was sent to Public School. m 2 92 THE DANCE OP LIFE. — The Doctor, though with cause to grieve, Approv'd the plan and took his leave ; But while 'twas plain he inward sigh'd, He wore the air of Classic pride. Thus did he close his last address, And thus he did his Pupil bless. " Heaven guide you, and may Learning's ray " Direct you in your destin'd way ! " By my Instruction you're prepar'd " For Classic Honour's best reward. " Whatever, dignity or Fame " Adorn your future Master's name, " Fear not, whate'er that name may be, " To tell him — You've been taught by me." THE DANCE OF LIFE. 93 CHAPTER III. BOYHOOD. 'TIS a nice moment, when a Boy., Who, having been his Mother's joy, And nurs'd in the domestic fold, With hourly care till ten years old ; Who, during Learniug's loose restraint, Could scarce find cause for a complaint; And found each path, in vacant hours, Strew'd by a Mother's hand with flowers ; It must be strange, at such an age, To launch into the world's vast stage ; For such a Public School will prove To him, who ne'er was known to rove, Who ne'er had even wish'd to roam Beyond the dear delights of home, 94 THE DANCE OP LIFE. Where ev'ry want was quick supplied, And scarce a wayward wish denied ; Where all were proud from High to Low, Obsequious to his will to bow. How chang'd the scene which now he proves; In what a different orb he moves ; Where the young passions bad and good, Friendship's warm flame or angry feud First take possession of the mind, And tell how Nature is inclin'd. The rude, rough wit, the manual game, The notions new of pride and shame; The frequent jeer, the daring wrong, Which the weak suffer from the strong; The tyrant stroke that all must feel, And which the tongue dares not reveal ; While patience bears the slavish hour. Borne by the hope of future power ; Which, into higher order cast, Will recompense whate'er is past. a THE DANCE OF LIFE. 95 The Upper Form will ever rule The inferior classes of the School ; And these, with weak complaint obey, Because they know the time, when they Will take their turn to be obey'd With the submission which they paid. But still these scenes are mix'd with pleasure, With lively sports, and laughing leisure ; Which will the active mind prepare For hours of toil and studious care. These, Learning rules in awful pride ; While stern Correction, by its side, With angry mien and threat'ning nod, Grasps in its hand the birchen rod ; Whose menace wakens torturing fears, Whose stroke draws forth the bitter tears. — Hal was not backward to discern, What Masters taught that he must learn ; No favour or affection stood 'Tween what he wish'd, or what he would; 96 THE DANCE OF LIFE. No Granny now was by his side To please his whims,, or soothe his pride ; No summons to a sumptuous dinner, Would bribe to spare the threaten'd Sinner; No mother, with endearing smile, Was there, his sorrows to beguile ; No fretful humour was allow'd, For all with calm submission bow'd : Whate'er was error he must shun, And do whate'er was to be done : No hypocritic, sly pretence, Would there gloss over an offence ; No art the penetrating eye Would rob, of its sagacity, But Justice be dealt forth to all In Education's splendid Hall : There unbought praise proclaims the meed Of studious toil or classic deed ; Nor smarting chastisement is spar'd, The sluggard Culprits due reward. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 97 The verse might here a page employ In pitying this dear, humour'd Boy; And fond affection might create The hardships of his alter'd state, With the sad difference which he found Between his home and classic ground : How oft he cast a wishful look Towards the blest spot which he forsook : How oft, amid his chamber's gloom He sigh'd, and thought of Granny's Room, Where he no kind indulgence wanted, And ev'ry thing he wish'd was granted ; Nay, every harsh o'erbearing word Which his grim Tutor had preferr'd Mem'ry no longer thought austere ; And he would now rejoice to hear. This piteous Tale we might pursue : But for one cause It is not true. Our Harry was no common Boy : — Indeed Dame Nature was not coy 98 THE DANCE OF LIFE. When she employ'd her plastic art, To frame his head, and mould his heart. He had both talents and discerning, And for his age a love of learning ; But then by fits and starts he took it, For steady toil he could not brook it. No one more keenly felt the shame That waits upon a blockhead's name ; But oft, from bold and gamesome spirit, He felt the stroke which blockheads merit : Nor was he less alive to praise Though Fear sometimes conferr'd the Bays : For oft he did his toil pursue, Because the Birch was in his view. It was not pain, but the disgrace That made tears trickle down his face; And he felt trebly ev'ry blow Which stern correction did bestow ; When through pure carelessness he shar'd The wanton Scholar's-sore reward. — But other feelings he possess'd : No terror e'er assail' d his breast, THE DANCE OF 1IFE. 99 When for some novel, daring deed, He was e'en threaten'd to be flea'd. That Learning 1 should allow his merit, And Boys admire his ardent spirit, Was what he studied to combine In one original design. — In all the various feats that claim Renown to gild a School-boy's name, His courage ne'er was known to fail : He sought the stream, he leapld the pale Of neighb'ring Orchards; or where'er The apple or the juicy pear In fair luxuriant plenty, grew And hung all tempting to the view, Nor the deep ditch or lofty wall Alarm'd him, he surmounted all; And, in disdain of rod and rule, Became the Hero of the School. Thus, Time in due succession past, His sixteenth year arriv'd at last, n 2 100 THE DANCE OF LIFE. When free'd from a stern Master's nod And all the threat'nings of the rod He, with good store of Classic knowledge, If that were all, was sent to College ; And Alma Mater smiles to see Our Harry 'mong her progeny Here he was fitted, as at School, To play the Scholar and the Fool ; And he continu'd, nothing loth, To give a vajfcing shew of both. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 101 CHAPTER IV. YOUTH. THUS Life proceeds from scene.to scene, The boyish blush, the youthful mien That a more solid smile employs, To tell the tale of early joys. 'Tis then th' unfinish'd form we scan, That's past a Boy, but not a Man ; And, till matur'd by future growth, Gives a delightful glimpse of both. — O Nature, how thy sov'reign sway Governs our Life's progressive day, And bids each season to fulfil The wishes of thy potent will, While Pate permits thy bounded power To rule Man's sublunary hour. 102 THE DANCE OF LIFE.' Our Harry now is seen to rove A Gentle-Corn, in Maudlin Grove: Now he with solemn care puts on The velvet cap, the tufted gown, The Student's best caparison. The Tutor's Lecture he obeys, And joins the Chapel's vocal praise. Each day's apportion'd hour applies In Learning's hallow'd exercise. Nor ever leaves the College walls To mingle in the jovial brawls Which mirth and idleness delight To push through Evening into Night. In lonely walks by Cherwell's stream, He oft invites the Classic Theme: And, in the noon-tide, sultry heat, Beneath those branches takes his seat, Where, if Tradition speaks the truth, Fam'd Addison, in days of youth, Warm'd by that animating ray Which brighten'd his Meridian day, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 103 CalPd on the Muses to inspire, As his hand struck his early Lyre*. — From Junior Fellows oft he heard The praise they willingly preferr'd ; Nor would they e'er refuse to ply His grateful Hospitality; Where, though rich viands might abound, No Bacchanalian freaks were found. In short, he yet was seen to shine, The votary of Discipline ; The Proctor met with modest eyes, And bow'd to College Dignities. — A Father's councils still appear To vibrate in his filial ear, * Mr. Addison was entered of Queen's College in 1687, when he was about fifteen years of age; and, in 1689, the perusal of some Latin verses written by him on the Inauguration of William III. gained him the patronage of Dr. Lancaster, afterwards Provost of Queen's College, by whose recommendation he was elected a Demy of Magdalen College. Most of his early pieces were written while he resided within its walls ; and the late Dr. West used to point out a tree in the Water- Walks, whose branches o'er- canopied a favourite seat of the young Student : a tradition which local enthusiasm is disposed to encourage. History of Oxford, published by Ackermann, Strand. 104 THE DANCE OF LIFE. And a fond Mother's kind farewell Still did on his remembrance dwelL Old Gravely's warnings did not fail, At certain seasons, to prevail ; Nor thought he Granny's promis'd prayer An offering that he well might spare. But thus, in sober scenes employ'd His frolic spirit felt a void, And sought to beat in livelier measure, Accordant to the song of pleasure ; Nor was it long e'er Fancy's charms His vacant, restless bosom warms T' extend the circle which confin'd In College Rules his active mind. He hears the flippant tongue repeat The vagrant tale, the smart conceit, With envious sympathy admires The sprightly strain that wine inspires ; And, while he feels the social joy, New views of things his thoughts employ. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 105 He soon discovers that the Heir Of twice five thousand pounds a year, Could not, in Reason's eye, be made To follow Learning as a trade; That Education in its plan, To form the future Gentleman, Allows a system less severe, Less shackled, in its pliant sphere, For those whom Pate's decrees ordain To move where rank and Fortune reign. — 'Twas thus he reason'd, thus was taught To give a livelier turn to thought; And, thus betray'd by witless pride, Took well-dress'd Folly for his guide. At length, charm'd by the Syren's song^ He mingled with the jovial throng; The sportive youth, for such there are. Whom Alma Mater's utmost care Cannot restrain or keep in awe, By Statute Rule or College Law \ 106 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Who pass their idle, useless day In festive joys and wanton play, And call a Life of vagrant pleasure The well-bred Student's learned leisure. — Harry had wit as well as spirit, And did those social powers inherit, Which, among youths, gives youth the art To turn the head and cheat the heart ; And each alluring folly dress In the false garb of happiness. Left to himself he would not stray Further from Reason's early way, Than Virtue's self, who ne'er betrays, Would pardon, if she could not prajse : But he too aptly play'd the fool The ready, unsuspecting tool Of those who had the subtle skill To fashion others to their will. Thus Harry soon assum'd the lead In ev'ry Student-errant deed THE DANCE OF LIFE. 107 Wrote Epigrams on Heads of Houses And quizz'd the beauty of their Spouses. Or if his Tutor's nose were long. Made it the burthen of a sons: ; While at the Lectures he receiv'd He look'd most grave, but never griev'd. Yet, though in gamesome gusts of fun He'd hoax a Don, or kick a Dun ; Would in the dark assail a Doctor, And, by hard running, 'scape a Proctor; Engage in Rows, which we must own, Are not to sapping Students known ; Still, it was so ordain'd by Fate, Harry was not a reprobate. In all his freaks, nay, in his wine A courtly grace was seen to shine, Which often sav'd him when he swerv'd From the harsh censure he deserv'd. He never gam'd, nor did he swear; Riot he would, but with an air, o 2 108 THE DANCE OF LIFE. That, somehow, fail'd not to impart Th' excesses of a gen'rous heart. If in a Bacchanalian Freak, He did a Tradesman's windows break ; Content that the good folks were frighted, A two-fold pay the loss requited : He ne'er did mischief, but the morrow Brought the remunerating sorrow. When he was sick, or in foul weather, He'd study for a week together < Would trifle with th' Horatian lyre, And call Apollo, to inspire ; Nay, to deserve his chast'ning aid, He'd change Old Port for Lemonade ; Or ask Thalia for a glee, As he enjoy'd his evening Tea, But, in these solitary hours, When Reason re-assum'd its powers, And the rude, boisterous, flattering crew, Till he got well, had bid adieu, His thoughts were not confin'd to verse : For he could Cicero rehearse ; THE DANCE OP LIFE. 100 And, when it did his fancy please, Would thunder forth Demosthenes ; — And well he could explain the page Of Classic Lore to Tutor sage : But the grave Lectures did not find A resting-place in Harry'?, mind. Frequent they were, but all in vain, Though ever cloth'd in friendly strain. And such as promis'd to impart Their counsels to a feeling heart; And so they might for one short hour, But, in the next they lost their power. These Lectures, no uncommon lot, Were heard — remember'd — and forgot ; And now, at length, we'll give the last—- A specimen of many past. One morning, when in sickly mood, The languid Youth repentance woo'd, The sage, grave man, before him stood. Then took his seat, and thus address'd The anxious feelings of his breast. 110 the dance of life. Tutor. " That idle Youth, whom I have seen " Skulking behind the shelt'ring screen, " Let him come forth, the recreant base, " And shew his sour, unblushing face. " He's one of that mean, blust'ring crew " Who wait upon, and laugh, — at You. " What I've to say he must not hear " With sniveling frown or silent sneer: ** I know him well. — 'Tis my desire * That he should instantly retire. " I seize the moment when the mind *' May to grave thoughts be more inclin'd ; " When langour o'er the body steals " And a pale, sickly face reveals " That o'ercharg'd Nature suffers pain " And the blood lingers through the vein ; ** When, for a while, the spirit's fled, " Which, by intemperate folly fed, " In its gorg'd state yields up its power " And waits the renovating hour. * ff % 3 9 ft THE DANCE OF LIFE. Ill " Lost is the flow of ribbald wit " Nerveless, in humbled guise you sit, " While with dull thought and heavy eye, " " You to some casual page apply, " To ease the mental lethargy. " — 'Tis at this moment I appear, " When duty speaks and you must hear: " 'Tis at this moment I attend " With the grave counsels of a friend : " 'Tis now, while in your present state, " Your mind's compell'd to ruminate " On what you must lamenting see, " The fruits of senseless revelry; " I come with warm but sober zeal " To make you think — to make you feel, "■ And fix, by words, with reason fraught, " The lucid interval of thought; " Which, when this transient evil's past, " May, with its best impressions, last. " When I reluctant look around, " What's in this Chamber to be found : 112 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " What in each corner can I trace, " As in its Owner's pallid face, " But what his feelings must confess, " Symbols of riotous excess, " Of gay and frolic Idleness. " — Those empty flasks, lay scatter'd o'er, " And, with their heap, disgrace the floor,' " There's your disease— there Bacchus lies— " The soul of your festivities ; " While on yon crouded board is seen, ' ' Where Pills and Phials intervene, " Those iEsculapian, labell'd powers " Which may revive your sicken'd hours. " For Gods like these you quit the shrine " Of Phoebus, and the Tuneful Nine : " 'Tis thus you sculk from Learning's ray " To grovel through the sensual day ; " Hence you prefer the Tavern Bill " To the pure Heliconian rill. " — Those sacred Tomes which bear a name " Seen on the brightest roll of Fame, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 113 " Are left to moulder on the shelves, " Huddled together by themselves; " While, fearful that they should be seen, " You veil them with that venal screen. " Your mind has been correctly taught, " And with those seeds of virtue fraught, " Which, though you check them in their " growth, " May still, in wiser hours branch forth, " Throughout your life in vigour bloom^ " And form the splendour of your tomb. " Such is my hope — and this my prayer, " That you henceforward may forbear ** The gawdy dance where folly leads, "■ The snares which foul Intern p'rance spreads"; " And, when you grieve for what is past, " That penitence may be your last. " — Shake off these Hangers-on, who quaff " Your midnight bowls ; and, as they laugh, " Sneer at their Host, th' unconscious tool " Of their ungrateful Ridicule. 114 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " They jointly revel from your purse " That pays for all; — but, what is worse, " They gloss their vices with such art, " So cunningly their thoughts impart, " That though you do not praise their song, " You scarce can think they're doing wrong. " — Such is the error, the deceit, " By which the heart itself doth cheat; " Hence they a sage experience give, " E'en to the times in which we live ; " And frame a Lesson to supply " The Ages of Posterity. " — With these Instructors may be join'd " To strengthen and enrich the mind, " Science, whose powers profound impart, ' c Whate'er of nature and of art " Presents to th' intellectual eye, " In all the vast variety : " While Philosophic Lore combines " The various Labour, and confines " In their due regulated sphere " The essential parts of Character ; " And, as the Mistress of the Soul, " Let mild Religion crown the whole : — THE DANCE OF LIFE. 121 " That power,, which commands the thought " To think the very thing we ought ; " And holds up to our solemn view " What we should shun, and what pursue. " — O let not Sloth depress to earth " Those early blossoms in their birth, " Which to your ripening mind is given, e ' To bloom through time, then rise to heaven ! " Awake your nature and expand " Its powers; with attentive hand " Prune its Luxuriance ; and prepare " Each branch the expected Fruit to bear. " But think not in your jovial hours, " When Riot rules and Reason lours, " That time is actively employ'd : " 'Tis then, I say, that Time's destroy'd, " At least, e'en Truth itself may say, " 'Tis wasted, squander'd, thrown away : " For Folly's vigour and excess " Is nought but active Idleness. 122 THE DANCE OP LIFE. " O let not Alma Mater grieve, " That when her sacred walls you leave, " The presage sad of ill to come " Will follow to your native home. " Let not each reverend Sage rejoice " He hears no more your clam'rous voice, " And that a bad example's fled, " With all its mischief on its head. " — It is from hence, that to the world " Learning's rich standard is unfurl'd, " Which those emblazon'd types displays " That call on Wisdom's eye to gaze. " 'Tis from this favour'd seat she darts ' ' Those beams which light the youthful hearts, " And form, on Truth's propitious plan, " The virtues of the future man. " — Forsake then, these untoward ways, " And once again your virtues raise " To Alma Mater's honour'd praise ; " That, when you are to manhood grown, " She may rejoice her Son to own. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 123 " Fear not the mockery of those, " Who may with sneers your change expose : " Employ the wit and lively vein, " Which oft have gladden'd Polly's train, " To vindicate the better cause " Of Reason and her sober Laws. — " I do not wish you to assume " Looks darken'd by fanatic gloom : " Rebuke their taunts who would beguile, " With gentle words and winning smile ; " And prove, that to be blithe and gay " Youth is not call'd to go astray. " Reform then all your Follies past, " For know, these Counsels are my last : " But, e'er my warnings I conclude, " Let me be clearly understood. " — Were I to rigid Duty just, " I now should yield my solemn trust : " What I've long known, and what I see, " Might ask for that severity. " But still I've seen a generous heart " In all your follies bear a part. Q2 124 THE DANCE OP LIFE. " E'en when our mandates you've assail'd, " No low-bred habits have prevail'd : " Thus, though with much foreboding fear, " My anxious hopes still persevere : — " Nay,, while I view thee in thy chair " And see thee sit and suffer there, " I think Reflection, back'd by pain, . " May bring thee to thyself again. " But, Sir, if these my Counsels fail, " If your wild errors still prevail, " I must, in sorrow and despair, " Return you to a Father's care : " To him my power I shall resign, • " Which, then, shall never more be mine." The sage grave man, with solemn air, As he rose slowly from his chair, Seem'd all around him to review — Then sigh'd — and silently withdrew. Now Harry, languid sought his bed With throbbing heart and aching head ; — THE DANCE OF LIFE. 125 There with his pillow counseled deep, Nor pain, nor thought would let him sleep ; Weigh'd well the warnings he receiv'd, Felt as he ought, and inly griev'd. — Memory, first, with painful power, Seiz'd on the penitential hour, And brought to his reluctant view Those scenes he now was doom'd to rue. Then came Reflection, that prepar'd The mind to make its due award, And, as its pensive eye it cast O'er the wild vision of the past, Brought forward to the grave debate, The picture of his present state. But here he practis'd no deceit, The upbraiding of his thoughts to cheat, Nor strove to baffle Truth's decree By any playful sophistry : Nor did he tempt the prone denial, Fairly to bring himself to trial. — Thus as he lay, in studious trance, He ventur'd, though, with fearful glance. 126 THE DANCE OF LIFE. To view the threat'ning storm that lours O'er hasty time's approaching hours : His sicken'd Fancy thought he heard The keen reproach, the angry word Which stern Affection would proclaim In a kind Father's hallow'd name : He thought he saw a Mother's woe With all the tears he caus'd to flow: He seem'd to see his sad disgrace In ev'ry friend's lamenting face; To the sad change, he look'd with dread From cheering smiles, to shaking head. — Reason now came these thoughts to aid, And, in her Ballance, duly weigh'd The pleasures that from Duly flow, And Virtue only can bestow ;— The well-earn'd honour of the name Which Merit consecrates to Fame ; The Dignity that Knowledge gives ; The noble Pride the mind receives, When, without vain, assum'd pretence, It feels a conscious Excellence; THE DANCE OP LIFE. 127 The Courage (not a nighty flame Which Fashion's Foplings Honour name) That guards the breast which is endu'd With a firm sense of Rectitude : The Promise of ingenuous Youth, Instructed by the voice of Truth, Who, proud of honourable praise, Ne'er in the paths of Error strays ; — Or, if he should, in careless hour, Comply with Folly's vagrant power, Soon he the treach'rous impulse spurns, And to the good he left, returns. — Thus Reason urg'd within his breast Of human Qualities the best, And the strong contrast then exprest. — Folly, with all its idle train Of pleasures sure to end in pain ; — Excess, with all its noisy joys, That Wisdom spurns and Health destroys ; — Spirit, that dares the world defy, Or sneaks beneath Hypocrisy ; 128 THE DANCE OF LIFE. — Rude vulgar Pride, that treats with scorn E'en Virtue's self, if humble born. And shuts th' inhospitable door 'Gainst the loud cravings of the poor ; Yet still the social hour submits To flatt'ring knaves and ribbald wits, And thinks it marks superior taste, To laugh, to riot, and to waste; — Calls Prudence meanness, a spare jade, That Fortune and high birth degrade ; A Hack for toiling Sons of Trade ; — Profusion, which all care disdains, So that unbounded plenty reigns ; While every sensual delight May wait on greedy appetite. — Thus the sick Student travell'd o'er His present ills, and many more ; And thus, with Reason for his guide, He weigh'd the Fate that might betide His way through Life, or short or long, If his first outset should be wrong. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 129 Now, while sleep shunn'd each heavy eye, He utter'd his Soliloquy. " Have I not heard the voice of Truth " Calmly address my thoughtless Youth? " Have I not been by wisdom told, " That Virtue's better far than gold ? " And, while I feel the Fever's heat " In all my throbbing pulses beat, " Need I demand, if wild excess " Is not a foe to happiness, " Which, surely, ne'er regales its guests " With wanton songs and sensual feasts. " Vain, how vain's the power of wealth, " Comfort to give, if void of Health ; " Nor is it Age alone, but Youth, " As I now feel, confirms the Truth : — " Yes, I experience, to my cost, " In losing Health, what I have lost ; " And how my Reason went astray " When I threw such a Gem away. " And where's the gain :— What has repaid " The wanton Sacrifice I've made? 130 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " Ah, whither do my Follies tend ? " Have they secured one real friend ; " Or will Affection e'er apply " Its charm to prodigality? " I cannot now my mind deceive, " As for a moment to believe " That friends are found amid the joys " Of jovial Riot's frantic noise. " Now that so faint and weak I lay " To painful vigilance a prey ; " When the grave Doctor shakes his head, " And the Nurse grumbles round my bed ; tc While nauseous draughts, from hour to hour " I down my burning gullet pour, ' ' Is one of my Associates heard, " With aspect kind or cheering word, " To sooth my pain, or to beguile " Sad thoughts with an endearing smile ? " No friendly rap salutes my door, " Nor shall I hear or see them more, " Till Health may my weak frame " restore, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 131 " And fit me for my former measures " Of jovial feats and frolic pleasures. " But if this weak and sickly hour " Has not robb'd Reason of its power, " If, by my languors unsubdu'd, " I still can purpose what is good, " If I can resolutions make " Which future Folly will not shake, " No more I'll blend with such a throng " As have enchanted me too long " With Circe's cup and Syren song. " May angry Heaven ne'er forgive " My errors past — nor while I live, " Regard me with benignant care, " But leave me to extreme despair; " If, when the turbid ferment o'er, " The Fever's fury burns no more; " When my pale cheek begins to show " Returning Health's enliv'ning glow, " And pure blood, passing from the heart, " May strength to ev'ry limb impart; — n 2 132 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " When Morpheus finds no check from pain, " And He and I are friends again ; " If ever I yield up my soul " To the same Folly's mad controul, " Which has of late my nature chang'd " And from its better course estrang'd : — " Imy most solemn wish avow, " And to the awful sentence bow, " That the fair prospects which display " Their beauties in Life's future way " May form a dismal clouded scene " Without a hope to intervene ; f ' Nor one enlivening ray appear ff The dark and dreary way to cheer. " — No, if my heart was ever true " To any wish it had in view ; " My purpose is not fix'd in vain : — " Harry, shall be himself again ! — " But here suspicious tongues might quote A proverb we all know by rote: THE DANCE OF LIFE. 133 " The Devil when sick, a Monk would be — " But when got well — no Monk was he." Thus Henry sick, his vow preferr'd,, But what is more, he kept his word., When health was to his wish restor'd. No longer now he pass'd the day In saunt'ring chat or lounging play ; No longer did his nights supply The Feast, till Phoebus lights the sky. Again he seeks the Muses' hill, And from Heliconian rill Quaffs the pure beverage that inflames With nobler wish and higher aims : And, while he courts the sacred Muse, Again with Classic Zeal renews, His former friendship with those sages Who stampt renown on former ages. 'Tis now his unremitting pride All wild vagaries to deride : He bends his will to Reason's rein, And Harry is himself again. 134 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Thus by the old and grave approv'd, And by the studious Youth belov'd, At length he bids adieu to College, With honour'd name and store of knowledge, And feels his full reward, when press'd To an applauding Father's breast. The Youth, now verging into Man, Demands a more extended plan : The Student's closet now must yield To the world's wide, luxuriant field, Where all the stores of Learning's page Which time has heap'd through many an age, Form the Material which supplies The Base whereon is seen to rise, By various art and skill refin'd, The higher structure of the mind. Behold with ev'ry page unfurl'd, The cumbrous volume of the world Prepares for the astonish'd eye, Its vast, profuse variety : THE DANCE OF LIFE. 135 A mingled mass of ill and good, Hard to be rightly understood, With all the busy, wayward strife That forms the motley scene of Life. But here the Episode appears, Mix'd up of laughter, and of tears, And with its pleasure and its woe, Most difficult of all to know, The science of the human heart Which Wisdom only can impart; That Wisdom which experience gives, And he has most who longest lives : That Science which when once attain'd The first great end of Life is gain'd, And, when by Reason well employ'd, The real end of Life's enjoy'd. — To baffle the sagacious cheat, To pierce the well-disguis'd deceit, To ken the merit unreveal'd Which cautious modesty conceal'd ; 136 THE DANCE OF LIFE. To search each motive bad or good, With which each human Act's imbued ; The cause of Virtue to defend, To deprecate each vicious end, Nor make a foe, nor lose a friend : Such knowledge is more precious far Than all other treasures are ; And he who travels far and near, Who seeks beneath each hemisphere, If he but find it, is repaid For the long Journey he has made. Our Henry now no more delays To mix with men and see their ways. What he will gain, what he will know In the large round he's doom'd to go Some future tell-tale verse will show. Soon he will join the busy throng, Soon to the croud of Life belong : — There cities raise their lofty towers, And pleasure blooms in fragrant bowers ; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 137 Where, Art its various powers displays. And shapes its course a thousand ways ; And, crown'd with Joys or bent with cares, He'll view the nature which he shares : Where, to be brief, his mind will scan The whole variety of Man : . And, if his mental eyes discern Things as they are, he soon will learn The sacred Law, by Heav'n design'd, — That Man is made for all Mankind. 138 THE DANCE OF LIFE. CHAPTER V. FOREIGN TOUR. NEW scenes of Life the faithful verse Is now preparing to rehearse : The Youthful Bark, our much-lov'd Theme, Must quit its tranquil, native stream, In whose smooth course and gentle flow The oar commands the yielding prow, And soon be launch'd, with sail unfurl'd, On the wide Ocean of the world. Thus with fond hopes, and tender care, The Father now resigns his Heir To distant realms, to learn the ways Of man, as boundless Life displays THE DANCE OF LIFE. 139 The mode^and manners which each clime, Of change of laws or waste of time May offer to Reflection's eye, In every hour's variety. And as the Bee, from all the flowers That scent the garden's fragrant bowers, Extracts their sweets to keep alive The labours of the humming hive; So the young Trav'ler from the stores Of knowledge cull'd on foreign shores, May, with enlarg'd and treasur'd mind, And views, by reason well refin'd, Compleat his Parent's anxious plan And rise into the promis'd Man. Thus in whatever state he moves As Fortune points or duty proves, He may attain Life's high ascent, Its bright and solid ornament : He, of the public weal the friend, May all its dearest rights defend ; With generous ardor persevere In Honour's unrestrain'd career, s 2 140 THE DANCE OF LIFE. While, bless'd with wealth and using power To cheer fair Virtue's drooping hour, May, every noble toil subdued, Be rank'd among the great and good. Or if, by Idve of Science led, With other views his hopes are fed, He courts, afar from public strife, The Majesty of private Life, He then may foster every art That does to social scenes impart Its chaste adornings, and inspire By fost'ring smile, the latent fire Of Genius, whose powers demand The Patron's kind, awak'ning hand To cheer their early,' dubious aim And guide them in the road to fame. He may command the dome to rise, And bid the column mock the skies ; Clothe the rude hill or mountain bare With umbrage gay and forests fair; THE DANCE OP LIFE. 141 Call torrents from their rocky bed And o'er the vale their waters spread; Subdue th' uncultivated plain To wond'ring Ceres' golden reign, And to Pomona's wishes yield The circuit of each verdant field: While the warm comforts of the cot Are the contented peasant's lot ; And, as the flocks in plenty graze, Each Shepherd joins to sing his praise Whose goodness crowns their happy days. With thoughts like these young Henry's, sent To travel through the Continent. Each preparation's wisely weigh'd, ' And every fond attention paid, To give him state and fashion due In figure, purse, and retinue. Nor these alone, with care was sought A Sage with all experience fraught, The youthful Trav'ller to attend As an Instructor, Guide, and Friend : 142 THE DANCE OF LIFE: One who each foreign country knew, And could speak ev'ry language too. Nor was his knowledge thus confin'd : Within the treasury of his mind Ages of yore maintain'd a place, And he could well their hist'ry trace : Nay, every realm they travell'd o'er He could to earliest times explore. But, above all, he had the art To peep into the human heart; And when he look'd was well aware Of what was fabricating there : Besides, this good man had a tongue To please the old, and charm the young : And though his hairs were growing grey, He to the frolic and the gay Could in such guise his thoughts convey, That e'en the thoughtless would attend. And hail him as their welcome friend. — His Father breath'd Helvetian air, His Mother was an English Fair; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 143 And good St. Foix was proud to own The virtues that in both were known. To him, Sir William's anxious care Resign'd his only Son and Heir : When thus He spoke — " My Henry's mind " Is a fine soil, and well refin'd, " By happiest culture, to receive " The best Instruction you can give. " Whate'er he travels to attain " Let him, by slow progression gain : " Check not his spirits in their flow, " (I reason well from what I know) " But turn their course, by playful art, " And keep your eye upon his heart. " O never was the human breast " With a more noble tenant blest, ". Than that whose pulses Life secures " To the young Man who now is your's. " Yet thence my apprehensions rise, " The part that sometimes cheats the wise. 144 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " I have no fears where judgement cool " Presents its grave, unerring rule ; " I tremble not,, though his the age " When the warm passions often rage : " From Honour he will never stray, " Nor turn from Reason's wary way, " Unless some strong, delusive, art " Works on the feelings of his heart. " To guard him from that dangerous hour ' ' You must exert your utmost power. " Watch well that post — his heart restore " Unchang'd,when his long journey's o'er :t " My worthy Friend, — I ask no more."- At length the expected hour is come, When Henry leaves his native home, In other regions far to roam. And now the Chaise is seen to wait In order, at the Mansion-gate: When He, with every filial grace, Receives a Father's fond embrace, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 145 Who thus his parting Son address'd. " My counsel's brief, but 'tis the best : " 'Tis in his words who had the art " To dive into the inmost heart ; " And while Man can his wisdom read, " And while Man doth that wisdom need, " Will give unerring rules to guide ; " Whether on the impetuous tide, " Or the still stream he passes o'er " From Time to the eternal Shore. " 'Tis Shakespeare from whose deathless " P a g e " I borrow the instruction sage, " Which form a Father's grave adieu " To a departing Son like You. . " Nor shall I Shakespeare's thoughts resign " To such imperfect words as mine, " But give them in the Lines I find " Transcrib'd from his immortal mind." " My blessing's with You, And these few precepts in thy memory 146 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd unfledg'd comrade. Be- ware Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gawdy : For the apparel oft proclaims the man. Neither a lender nor a borrower be* For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all, — to thine ownself be true ; And it must follow, as the night the day, THE DANCE OF LIFE. 147 Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewel, my blessing season this in thee." Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. " One word more, my darling Son, " One word more, and I have done. — " Should wayward passion point astray " And tempt from reason's hallow'd way, " Remember this my last decree : " Think on thy Mother :— Think on me." The Reverend Gravely too was there, And thus, with preceptorial air, He bade farewel. — " My honour'd Boy, " Thy Father's boast, thy Mother's Joy, " And I may surely add, the pride " Of him who was your early guide ; " O soon that Classic Land you'll tread " With whose immortal fame I fed t2 148 THE DANCE OF LIFE." " Your infant mind,, and fondly taught " All that its long-fam'd Sages thought. " Soon you will see the yellow wave " Of once-Imperial Tiber lave " Those Banks where coUrtly Horace strung " His Lyre, and wondering Senates rung " With Tully's voice, and Virgil sung. " And, when you lonely wander there, " Feel that you breathe th' enlivening air " Which every listening Muse inspir'd, " And every Patriot's ardor fir'd. " Think then, O think on Antient Rome, " And bring its boasted virtues home. Old Granny, who had never slept Throughout, the night, now sobb'd and wept. " My feeling, which in riv'lets pours," She said, " is different far from yours. " You may all hope to see the day " When his return will make you gay : . / THE DANCE OF LIFE. 149 " Old as I am, the hope were vain " To see the darling Boy again : " My pilgrimage will soon be o'er, " When this old heart will beat no more. " I'm hast'ning fast unto the bourne " From whence I never shall return : ff But e'er I bid a long good night " And thy form fades upon my sight, " O Henry dear, one boon I crave, " That you will visit my green grave, " And pluck the weeds if any grow, " Where your old Granny sleeps below." The last Adieu that Henry heard, Was by a Mother's voice preferr'd. " 'Tis thus," she said, " I ease my heart, " 'Tis for thy welfare that we part; " That I may, in due time, embrace " My Son, endued with every grace, " And worthy of his name and Race. " Let that ambition fire your mind : " Not for yourself— but for mankind 150 THE DANCE OP LIFE. " Know you were born : This a truth, " Which warmly cherish'd in your youth, " May perfect the momentous plan ff To make our Boy a finish'd Man. " And O, may Heaven my prayers receive " Which I pour forth at morn and eve, " That, cloth'd in Virtue's genuine charms, •' It may restore you to my arms." She spoke, and sigh'd, and warmly press'd Her only offspring to her breast. — The big tear stood in Henry's, eye, And check'd the voice that would reply. —One kiss he gave, the scene was o'er, When soon was clos'd the carriage door : And as he took a parting view, As his hand wav'd a fond adieu, Away the nimble horses flew. Silence prevail'd, and many a mile Was swiftly pass'd, without a smile : Nor did a word break on the ear The melancholy thought to cheer. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 151 St. Foix more wisely left the heart, Without controul to.play its part In Henry's bosom, which he knew Beat warmly at the fond adieu. To all his present Life had known, To all that he could call his own. lie sought not to alarm his pride, What he so deeply felt to hide, And those emotions to conceal Which that Affection bade him feel, Without whose glow in every stage, In Youth, in Manhood, and in Age, Life is depriv'd of all its charm That doth the breast with virtue warm, Yields to bright honour every claim, And sinks into an empty name. Affection, whose warmth comprehends Whate'er to Man's best objects tends, By whose fine, animating power, From Reason's dawn to Life's last hour, Each noble thought doth time impart, To soften or inspire the heart. 152 THE DANCE OF LIFE. The parents' fondness, and the glow ' Which in return their children know ; Each gen'rous passion and the flame That the chaste Lover feels, the aim Of Patriot Ardor, and the tie That gives to Friendship Constancy* Attend Affection's wakening call ; The source and fountain of them all. — This impulse, which is far the best That animates the human breast, Though sometimes doom'd to be misled By art deceived, by flattery fed, Was among those, which time could trace Far back, in Henry's virtuous race ; Nor did he, in his earliest age, Belie the ancient Heritage : But each grave feeling, by degrees, Amus'd by what he hears and sees, From day to day foregoes its pain, And his high spirits come again. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 153 Now Dover's Clifts, in misty blue, Are lessening in his lingering view. And now his nimble footsteps dance Among the dancing Sons of Prance. — St. Foix, with cautious zeal began To enter on the arduous plan - To form, and frame a finish'd Man. — No solemn and too curious air Bade the young man a spy beware : No servile, sycophantic sneer Told him a hypocrite was near : But easy manners, frank and free, Mirth that ne'er turns to ribaldry ; Courage that mocks unjust offence, And knowledge without vain pretence; Truth that no folly dare deride, And courts e'en beauty to confide; — Though in each thought and action just, " Though firm and steady to his trust, The failings in another known He treated as they were his own. u 154 THE DANCE OF LIFE. In short, the qualities that blend The wise instructor with the friend, St. Foix, without reserve possess'd : Such were the inmates of his breast; And soon did Henry feel a pride In such example, such a guide. Prom Calais now they travell'd on, A journey so familiar grown To English eyes and English ears, And in such various forms appears That it would be a waste of rhyme, And what is worse, a waste of time, To tell what they've so often told, The towns through which the trav'llersroll'd. Besides, these pages are design'd, With slight exception, are confin'd To trace the travels of the mind, A hasty sketch, as on they mov'd, How intellect may be improv'd : Not by the eye's astonish'd gaze At Alpine heights, or ^Etna's blaze ; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 155 Or where the flood is seen to pour From mountain rock with dashing roar ; But what the mental eye can scan Of varying manners, and of man ; Of changes in the track of time, And Nature's ever-varying clime ; The policy of different states, The jealousies which power creates, The web which artful Statesmen weave, By patriot seeming, to deceive ; The half-form'd treasons that foment The mob to factious discontent ; The bigot rage that reason bends To superstition's aims and ends; The slav'ry which the scepter'd hand Of the proud Despot can command In free-born minds; and e'en controul The strong divinity of soul, Which in its free, unshackled state, Will conquer chance, and mock at fate. v 2 156 THE DANCE OF LIFE. Towards Paris now they steer their way, Never quite grave, and sometimes gay. St Foix did not amuse the time In sporting tales or spouting rhyme, Nor tell the names, a common mode, Of towns they pass'd upon the road. But left such things, scarce worth possessing, To Friseurs, while their hair was dressing. He urg'd his list'ning Pupil's thought To topics with deep interest fraught. The general history he weigh'd Of potent Kings whom France obey'd, In various change and chance of power On to the present dubious hour. Th' infuriate scenes he then explain'd Since head-strong Revolution reign 'd, And Louis' blood the scaffold stain'd. He next, as t'were, with chymic art, Resolv'd into each simple part THE DANCE OP LIFE. - 157 That monstrous mass of eyeless * matter Which Anarchy contriv'd to scatter Throughout devoted Gallia's realm While Atheism rul'd the Helm, And, with the blood of thousands stain'd, The Daemon of Destruction reign'd. — This map of misrule he unroll'd, And then, in due succession told The darings of the Tyrant reign Which Europe's proud, embattled train So long oppos'd and fought in vain. At length he reach'd the Goal of Peace, The Usurper flies, and warrings cease. The Nations now their Sovereigns see Bound by one tie of Policy, To France restore its former crown Which ne'er again will be o'erthrown, While its free people firm and true To rights, which yet they never knew, * Monstrum horrendum, informe ingens, cui Lumen ademptum. 158 THE DANCE OP LIFE, Will wisely use the blessings given : The bounty of relenting Heaven, Thus St. Foix sketch'd an outline true And brought to one historic view, As old recording Time supplies, Its bearings and its policies, That knowledge which unless 'tis shewn And by reflection made our own, All Foreign Travel is mere play That fills up time from day to day, Till Fashion makes the allotted round Which does the post-haste journey bound i And after it has ceas'd to roam Bears nought but gawdy gew-gaws home. While all the memory does supply Is some vain, trifling Diary. - — It tells, perhaps, that people dance With such a lively air in France ; And that the Palais Royal far Excels St. James's Street Bazaar ; THE DANCE OF LIFE. 159 While the Dutch women, in a trice, Can skait a league upon the ice : That Alpine heights are white with snow While the clouds veil the depths below : That our St. Paul's high-rising dome Is not so large as that of Rome ; And when the Pope, in pomp, goes there To bless the folk, and mutter prayer, He does not half the show display Of our Lord Mayor, on Lord Mayor's day : — That the Pantheon, as it stands, The noble work of Grecian hands, Was once a Pagan Pane, the pride Of Jove, and all the gods beside, Who left the Temple in the lurch Now to become a Romish Church. That Strasbourg's famous steeple's higher By some score feet than Salisbury Spire ; That by the side of Naples' Bay A Mountain smokes both night and day, And when it chuses to boil o'er, Doth streams of liquid light'ning pour. 160 THE DANCE OF LIFE. At Venice you your life may pass. And never see a horse or ass : There his long whip no coachman cracks, And boats are us'd instead of hacks; As ev'ry street is a canal Throughout that sea-girt capital. — Many there are who., from the tour Of smiling Europe, gain no more When they retouch the British shore. Who, in the words of Socrates, Could find out nought in stones and trees* : For they alone employ'd their eyes To make them good, and learn'd, and wise, Because we may become all three Without this transit o'er the sea. For Learning surely is not found By posting over foreign ground : We need not for fair Virtue roam In other countries, still at home, * Socrates had never stirred out of Athens; and being frequently asked by his admirers, why he affected this singularity, was used to reply, that Stones and Trees did not edify him. THE DANCE OP LIFE. 161 It may be seen., nor need we toil For wisdom in a foreign soil : That may be gain'd where Newton gain'd it ; Where Bacon, Boyle, and Locke obtain'd it. But while the folly we deride, Let truth display the other side ; And now the thought we shall pursue. As St. Foix did the theme renew. " This is my long digested plan w To form the English Gentleman. — " Not as the witty Stanhope taught, " Who set all solid good at nought, " And sacrific'd the mind, the heart " To outward grace and inward art. " No, I would blend the grace refin'd " With all the virtues of the mind ; " The heart's best feelings would unite " With manners form'd to yie^J delight ; " While Knowledge, Science,TasteshouJd give " The potent, grave, prerogative, x 162 THE DANCE OF LIFE. " With happy guidance to controul " The combin'd impulse of the whole. " An ardent hope holds up to view " This plan of mine compleat in You. " Where does pure Learning take her £j " stand, ** Where does she with such power com- > " mand, " As in Britannia's happy land ? " There Education does not dwell " In cloister'd gloom of monkish cell ; " But in the sunshine world at large " Does her important cares discharge. " Virtue, Religion, Reason bear " The train of this high character, " And teach the passions to obey " The mild, but unrelenting sway: " While knowledge of all ancient time, " Of every race, of every clime, " Flows from the well-expounded page " Of Saint, Philosopher, and Sage. THE DANCE OF LIFE. 163 " With these fair Science comes to share " The free, illuminating care; " And, to the curious mind, makes known " What Art and Nature call their own. " How then must we compleat the plan, " To form the accomplish'd Gentleman? " Due knowledge is already gain'd ; " The Scholar's character attain'd : " Honour and Virtue act their part " In the recesses of the heart : " In every deed they're seen to shine, " The fruit of righteous discipline. " Such qualities are ever found, " Of matchless worth, on British ground : " But do not rank and wealth demand " The polish of a Foreign land, " Where splendid policy prevails, " And the clime breathes more genial gales? " There the mind 'neath despotic sway, " Is forc'd to bend and to obey ; x 2 164 THE DANCE OP LIFE. " And, check'd in its own native powers, " Must trifle through life's fleeting hours, " And seek its joys in Pleasure's bowers : " The Graces there the place supply " Of manners form'd by Liberty. " The sons of Lux'ry born to rove " 'Midst odours, in the myrtle grove, " Will decorate, with soften'd aim, " Whatever act their duties claim ; " Give a bright colour to each thought, " With mirth or graver purpose fraught, ** And with a free, habitual ease " Appear, at least, to wish to please. ** Though qualities of foreign growth, " Yet British honour, British worth " May be improv'd, when they receive