Part 6 (2/2)

Whom the kind doctor charged, with shaking head, At early hour to quit the beaux for bed; She has, contemning fear, gone down the dance, Till she perceived the rosy morn advance; Then has she wonder'd, fainting o'er her tea, Her drops and julep should so useless be: Ah! sure her joys must ravish every sense, Who buys a portion at such vast expense.

Among those joys, 'tis one at eve to sail On the broad River with a favourite gale; When no rough waves upon the bosom ride, But the keel cuts, nor rises on the tide; Safe from the stream the nearer gunwale stands, Where playful children trail their idle hands: Or strive to catch long gra.s.sy leaves that float On either side of the impeded boat; What time the moon arising shows the mud, A s.h.i.+ning border to the silver flood: When, by her dubious light, the meanest views, Chalk, stones, and stakes, obtain the richest hues; And when the cattle, as they gazing stand, Seem n.o.bler objects than when view'd from land: Then anchor'd vessels in the way appear, And sea-boys greet them as they pa.s.s--”What cheer?”

The sleeping sh.e.l.l-ducks at the sound arise, And utter loud their unharmonious cries; Fluttering they move their weedy beds among, Or instant diving, hide their plumeless young.

Along the wall, returning from the town, The weary rustic homeward wanders down: Who stops and gazes at such joyous crew, And feels his envy rising at the view; He the light speech and laugh indignant hears, And feels more press'd by want, more vex'd by fears.

Ah! go in peace, good fellow, to thine home, Nor fancy these escape the general doom: Gay as they seem, be sure with them are hearts With sorrow tried; there's sadness in their parts: If thou couldst see them when they think alone, Mirth, music, friends, and these amus.e.m.e.nts gone; Couldst thou discover every secret ill That pains their spirit, or resists their will; Couldst thou behold forsaken Love's distress, Or Envy's pang at glory and success, Or Beauty, conscious of the spoils of Time, Or Guilt alarm'd when Memory shows the crime; All that gives sorrow, terror, grief, and gloom; Content would cheer thee trudging to thine home.

There are, 'tis true, who lay their cares aside, And bid some hours in calm enjoyment glide; Perchance some fair one to the sober night Adds (by the sweetness of her song) delight; And as the music on the water floats, Some bolder sh.o.r.e returns the soften'd notes; Then, youth, beware, for all around conspire To banish caution and to wake desire; The day's amus.e.m.e.nt, feasting, beauty, wine, These accents sweet and this soft hour combine, When most unguarded, then to win that heart of thine: But see, they land! the fond enchantment flies, And in its place life's common views arise.

Sometimes a Party, row'd from town will land On a small islet form'd of sh.e.l.ly sand, Left by the water when the tides are low, But which the floods in their return o'erflow: There will they anchor, pleased awhile to view The watery waste, a prospect wild and new; The now receding billows give them s.p.a.ce, On either side the growing sh.o.r.es to pace; And then returning, they contract the scene, Till small and smaller grows the walk between; As sea to sea approaches, sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.es, Till the next ebb the sandy isle restores.

Then what alarm! what danger and dismay, If all their trust, their boat, should drift away; And once it happen'd--Gay the friends advanced, They walk'd, they ran, they play'd, they sang, they danced; The urns were boiling, and the cups went round, And not a grave or thoughtful face was found; On the bright sand they trod with nimble feet, Dry sh.e.l.ly sand that made the summer-seat; The wondering mews flew fluttering o'er the head, And waves ran softly up their s.h.i.+ning bed.

Some form'd a party from the rest to stray, Pleased to collect the trifles in their way; These to behold they call their friends around, No friends can hear, or hear another sound; Alarm'd, they hasten, yet perceive not why, But catch the fear that quickens as they fly.

For lo! a lady sage, who paced the sand With her fair children, one in either hand, Intent on home, had turn'd, and saw the boat Slipp'd from her moorings, and now far afloat; She gazed, she trembled, and though faint her call, It seem'd, like thunder, to confound them all.

Their sailor-guides, the boatman and his mate, Had drank, and slept regardless of their state: ”Awake!” they cried aloud; ”Alarm the sh.o.r.e!

Shout all, or never shall we reach it more!”

Alas! no shout the distant land can reach, Nor eye behold them from the foggy beach: Again they join in one loud powerful cry, Then cease, and eager listen for reply; None came--the rising wind blew sadly by: They shout once more, and then they turn aside, To see how quickly flow'd the coming tide; Between each cry they find the waters steal On their strange prison, and new horrors feel; Foot after foot on the contracted ground The billows fall, and dreadful is the sound; Less and yet less the sinking isle became, And there was wailing, weeping, wrath, and blame.

Had one been there, with spirit strong and high, Who could observe, as he prepared to die, He might have seen of hearts the varying kind, And traced the movement of each different mind: He might have seen, that not the gentle maid Was more than stern and haughty man afraid; Such, calmly grieving, will their fears suppress, And silent prayers to Mercy's throne address; While fiercer minds, impatient, angry, loud, Force their vain grief on the reluctant crowd: The party's patron, sorely sighing, cried, ”Why would you urge me? I at first denied.”

Fiercely they answer'd, ”Why will you complain, Who saw no danger, or was warn'd in vain?”

A few essay'd the troubled soul to calm, But dread prevail'd, and anguish and alarm.

Now rose the water through the lessening sand, And they seem'd sinking while they yet could stand.

The sun went down, they look'd from side to side, Nor aught except the gathering sea descried; Dark and more dark, more wet, more cold it grew, And the most lively bade to hope adieu: Children by love then lifted from the seas, Felt not the waters at the parent's knees, But wept aloud; the wind increased the sound, And the cold billows as they broke around.

”Once more, yet once again, with all our strength, Cry to the land--we may be heard at length.”

Vain hope if yet unseen! but hark! an oar, That sound of bliss! comes das.h.i.+ng to their sh.o.r.e; Still, still the water rises; ”Haste!” they cry, ”Oh! hurry, seamen; in delay we die;”

(Seamen were these, who in their s.h.i.+p perceived The drifted boat, and thus her crew relieved.) And now the keel just cuts the cover'd sand, Now to the gunwale stretches every hand: With trembling pleasure all confused embark, And kiss the tackling of their welcome ark; While the most giddy, as they reach the sh.o.r.e, Think of their danger, and their G.o.d adore.

LETTER X.

Non iter lances mensasque nitentes, c.u.m stupet insanis acies fulgoribus, et c.u.m Acclinis falsis animus meliora recusat: Verum hic impransi mec.u.m disquirite.

HORACE, Satires.

O prodiga rerum Luxuries, nunquam parvo contenta paratu, Est quaesitorum terra pelagoque ciborum Ambitiosa fames, et lautae gloria mensae.

LUCAN, Pharsalia.

CLUBS AND SOCIAL MEETINGS.

Desire of Country Gentlemen for Town a.s.sociations--Book Clubs--Too much of literary Character expected from them--Literary Conversation prevented; by Feasting, by Cards--Good, notwithstanding, results-- Card Club with Eagerness resorted to--Players--Umpires at the Whist Table--Petulances of Temper there discovered--Free and Easy Club; not perfectly easy or free--Freedom, how interrupted--The superior Member--Termination of the Evening--Drinking and Smoking Clubs--The Midnight Conversation of the delaying Members--Society of the poorer Inhabitants; its Use; gives Pride and Consequence to the humble Character--Pleasant Habitations of the frugal Poor--Sailor returning to his Family--Freemasons' Club--The Mystery--What its Origin--Its professed Advantages--Griggs and Gregorians--A kind of Masons-- Reflections on these various Societies.

YOU say you envy in your calm retreat Our social Meetings;--'tis with joy we meet.

In these our parties you are pleased to find Good sense and wit, with intercourse of mind; Composed of men who read, reflect, and write, Who, when they meet, must yield and share delight.

To you our Book-club has peculiar charm, For which you sicken in your quiet farm; Here you suppose us at our leisure placed, Enjoying freedom, and displaying taste: With wisdom cheerful, temperately gay, Pleased to enjoy, and willing to display.

If thus your envy gives your ease its gloom, Give wings to fancy, and among us come.

We're now a.s.sembled; you may soon attend - I'll introduce you--”Gentlemen, my friend.”

”Now are you happy? you have pa.s.s'd a night In gay discourse, and rational delight.”

”Alas! not so: for how can mortals think, Or thoughts exchange, if thus they eat and drink?

No! I confess when we had fairly dined, That was no time for intercourse of mind; There was each dish prepared with skill t'invite, And to detain the struggling appet.i.te; On such occasions minds with one consent Are to the comforts of the body lent; There was no pause--the wine went quickly round, Till struggling Fancy was by Bacchus bound; Wine is to wit as water thrown on fire, By duly sprinkling both are raised the higher; Thus largely dealt, the vivid blaze they choke, And all the genial flame goes off in smoke.”

”But when no more your boards these loads contain, When wine no more o'erwhelms the labouring brain, But serves, a gentle stimulus; we know How wit must sparkle, and how fancy flow.”

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