Part 4 (1/2)

Behold me dwindling in my nook, Edged at her left,--and not a look!

A sort of rushlight of a life, Put out by that great orb--my wife!

Scarce is the morning gray--before Postman and porter crowd the door; No premier has so dear a levee-- She finds the mail-bag half its trade; My G.o.d--the parcels are so heavy!

And not a parcel carriage-paid!

But then--the truth must be confessed-- They're all so charmingly addressed: Whate'er they cost, they well requite her-- ”To Madame Blank, the famous writer!”

Poor thing, she sleeps so soft! and yet 'Twere worth my life to spare her slumber; ”Madame--from Jena--the Gazette-- The Berlin Journal--the last number!”

Sudden she wakes; those eyes of blue (Sweet eyes!) fall straight--on the Review!

I by her side--all undetected, While those cursed columns are inspected; Loud squall the children overhead, Still she reads on, till all is read: At last she lays that darling by, And asks--”What makes the baby cry?”

Already now the toilet's care Claims from her couch the restless fair; The toilet's care!--the gla.s.s has won Just half a glance, and all is done!

A snappish--pettish word or so Warns the poor maid 'tis time to go:-- Not at her toilet wait the Graces Uncombed Erynnys takes their places; So great a mind expands its scope Far from the mean details of--soap!

Now roll the coach-wheels to the muster-- Now round my muse her votaries cl.u.s.ter; Spruce Abbe Millefleurs--Baron Herman-- The English Lord, who don't know German,-- But all uncommonly well read From matchless A to deathless Z!

Sneaks in the corner, shy and small, A thing which men the husband call!

While every fop with flattery fires her, Swears with what pa.s.sion he admires her.-- ”'Pa.s.sion!' 'admire!' and still you're dumb?”

Lord bless your soul, the worst's to come:--

I'm forced to bow, as I'm a sinner,-- And hope--the rogue will stay to dinner!

But oh, at dinner!--there's the sting; I see my cellar on the wing!

You know if Burgundy is dear?-- Mine once emerged three times a year;-- And now to wash these learned throttles, In dozens disappear the bottles; They well must drink who well do eat (I've sunk a capital on meat).

Her immortality, I fear, a Death-blow will prove to my Madeira; It has given, alas! a mortal shock To that old friend--my Steinberg hock! [13]

If Faust had really any hand In printing, I can understand The fate which legends more than hint;-- The devil take all hands that print!

And what my thanks for all?--a pout-- Sour looks--deep sighs; but what about?

About! O, that I well divine-- That such a pearl should fall to swine-- That such a literary ruby Should grace the finger of a b.o.o.by!

Spring comes;--behold, sweet mead and lea Nature's green splendor tapestries o'er; Fresh blooms the flower, and buds the tree; Larks sing--the woodland wakes once more.

The woodland wakes--but not for her!

From Nature's self the charm has flown; No more the Spring of earth can stir The fond remembrance of our own!

The sweetest bird upon the bough Has not one note of music now; And, oh! how dull the grove's soft shade, Where once--(as lovers then)--we strayed!

The nightingales have got no learning-- Dull creatures--how can they inspire her?

The lilies are so undiscerning, They never say--”how they admire her!”

In all this jubilee of being, Some subject for a point she's seeing-- Some epigram--(to be impartial, Well turned)--there may be worse in Martial!

But, hark! the G.o.ddess stoops to reason:-- ”The country now is quite in season, I'll go!”--”What! to our country seat?”

”No!--Travelling will be such a treat; Pyrmont's extremely full, I hear; But Carlsbad's quite the rage this year!”

Oh yes, she loves the rural Graces; Nature is gay--in watering-places!

Those pleasant spas--our reigning pa.s.sion-- Where learned Dons meet folks of fas.h.i.+on; Where--each with each ill.u.s.trious soul Familiar as in Charon's boat, All sorts of fame sit cheek-by-jowl, Pearls in that string--the table d'hote!

Where dames whom man has injured--fly, To heal their wounds or to efface, them; While others, with the waters, try A course of flirting,--just to brace them!

Well, there (O man, how light thy woes Compared with mine--thou need'st must see!) My wife, undaunted, greatly goes-- And leaves the orphans (seven!!!) to me!