Part 7 (2/2)

That is to say--the rich and the well-bred, The arbiters of fas.h.i.+on and gentility, In different grades of splendour, from the head Down to the very toe of our n.o.bility: Ladies, remarkable for handsome eyes Or handsome fortunes--learned men, and wise:

CXXIX.

Statesmen, and officers of the militia-- In short, the ”first society”--a phrase, Which you may understand as best may fit you Besides the blackest fiddlers of those days, Placed like their sire, Timotheus, on high, With horsehair fiddle-bows and teeth of ivory.

Cx.x.x.

The carpets were roll'd up the day before, And, with a breath, two rooms became but one, Like man and wife--and, on the polish'd floor, Chalk in the artists' plastic hand had done All that chalk could do--in young Eden's bowers They seemed to tread, and their feet press'd on flowers.

Cx.x.xI.

And when the thousand lights of spermaceti Stream'd like a shower of sunbeams--and free tresses Wild as the heads that waved them--and a pretty Collection of the latest Paris dresses Wander'd about the rooms like things divine, It was, as I was told, extremely fine.

Cx.x.xII.

The love of fun, fine faces, and good eating, Brought many who were tired of self and home; And some were there in the high hope of meeting The lady of their bosom's love--and some To study that deep science, how to please, And manners in high life, and high-soul'd courtesies.

Cx.x.xIII.

And he, the hero of the night, was there, In breeches of light drab, and coat of blue.

Taste was conspicuous in his powder'd hair, And in his frequent _jeux de mots_, that drew Peals of applauses from the listeners round, Who were delighted--as in duty bound.

Cx.x.xIV.

'Twas f.a.n.n.y's father--f.a.n.n.y near him stood, Her power, resistless--and her wish, command; And Hope's young promises were all made good; ”She reign'd a fairy queen in fairy land;”

Her dream of infancy a dream no more, And then how beautiful the dress she wore!

Cx.x.xV.

Ambition with the sire had kept her word.

He had the rose, no matter for its thorn, And he seem'd happy as a summer bird, Careering on wet wing to meet the morn.

Some said there was a cloud upon his brow; It might be--but we'll not discuss that now.

Cx.x.xVI.

I left him making rhymes while crossing o'er The broad and perilous wave of the North River.

He bade adieu, when safely on the sh.o.r.e, To poetry--and, as he thought, for ever.

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