Part 16 (1/2)

The G.o.ddess with a discontented air Seems to reject him, though she grants his prayer.

A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds, Like that where once Ulysses held the winds; There she collects the force of female lungs, Sighs, sobs, and pa.s.sions, and the war of tongues.

A vial next she fills with fainting fears, Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.

The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.

Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found, Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound.

Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent, And all the Furies issued at the vent.

Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire.

”O wretched maid!” she spread her hands, and cried, (While Hampton's echoes, ”Wretched maid!” replied) ”Was it for this you took such constant care The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare?

For this your locks in paper durance bound, For this with torturing irons wreathed around?

For this with fillets strained your tender head, And bravely bore the double loads of lead?

G.o.ds! shall the ravisher display your hair, While the fops envy, and the ladies stare!

Honour forbid! at whose unrivalled shrine Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our s.e.x resign.

Methinks already I your tears survey, Already hear the horrid things they say, Already see you a degraded toast, And all your honour in a whisper lost!

How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?

'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!

And shall this prize, the inestimable prize, Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes, And heightened by the diamond's circling rays, On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?

Sooner shall gra.s.s in Hyde Park Circus grow, And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow; Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!”

She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, And bids her beau demand the precious hairs: (Sir Plume of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, He first the snuff-box opened, then the case, And thus broke out--”My Lord, why what the devil?

Zounds! d.a.m.n the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil!

Plague on't! 'tis past a jest--nay prithee, pox!

Give her the hair”--he spoke, and rapped his box.

”It grieves me much” (replied the Peer again) ”Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain.

But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, (Which never more shall join its parted hair; Which never more its honours shall renew, Clipped from the lovely head where late it grew) That while my nostrils draw the vital air, This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear.”

He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread The long-contended honours of her head.

But Umbriel, hateful gnome! forbears not so; He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow.

Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, Her eyes half-languis.h.i.+ng, half-drowned in tears; On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head, Which, with a sigh, she raised; and thus she said:

”For ever cursed be this detested day, Which s.n.a.t.c.hed my best, my favourite curl away!

Happy! ah, ten times happy had I been, If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen!

Yet am not I the first mistaken maid, By love of courts to numerous ills betrayed.

Oh had I rather unadmired remained In some lone isle, or distant Northern land, Where the gilt chariot never marks the way, Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste Bohea; There kept my charms concealed from mortal eye, Like roses that in deserts bloom and die!

What moved my mind with youthful lords to roam?

Oh had I stayed, and said my prayers at home!

'Twas this, the morning omens seemed to tell, Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell; The tottering china shook without a wind, Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind!

A sylph, too, warned me of the threats of fate, In mystic visions, now believed too late!

See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!

My hands shall rend what even thy rapine spares: These in two sable ringlets taught to break, Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck; The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone, And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands, And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands.

Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!”

CANTO V.

She said: the pitying audience melt in tears.

But Fate and Jove had stopped the Baron's ears.