ADDRESSED TO HAYDON · Sonnet: Before he went to feed with owls and bats · On Oxford A Parody · Modern Love · Folly’s Song · The Gadfly · Sonnet on Hearing the Bagpipe and · Ben Nevis - a Dialogue · Ode on Indolence · A Party of Lovers
Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man’s fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a “singleness of aim,”
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money mong’ring, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of stedfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy, and Malice to their native sty?
Unnumber’d souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country’s eye.
Before he went to feed with owls and bats
Nebuchadnezzar had an ugly dream,
Worse than an hus’if s when she thinks her cream
Made a naumachia for mice and rats.
So scared, he sent for that ‘Good King of Cats’
Young Daniel, who soon did pluck away the beam
From out his eye, and said he did not deem
The sceptre worth a straw - his cushions old door-mats.
A horrid nightmare similar somewhat
Of late has haunted a most motley crew,
10
Most loggerheads and chapmen - we are told
That any Daniel tho’ he be a sot
Can make the lying lips turn pale of hue
By belching out ‘ye are that head of gold.’
I
The Gothic looks solemn,
The plain Doric column
Supports an old Bishop and Crosier;
The mouldering arch,
Shaded o’er by a larch
Stands next door to Wilson the Hosier.
II
Vicè - that is, by turns, -
O’er pale faces mourns
The black tassell’d trencher and common hat
The Chantry boy sings,
The Steeple-bell rings,
And as for the Chancellor - dominat.
III
There are plenty of trees,
And plenty of ease,
And plenty of fat deer for parsons:
And when it is venison,
Short is the benison, -
Then each on a leg or thigh fastens.
And what is love? It is a doll dress’d up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss’s comb is made a pearl tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warm’d the world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play’d deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I’ll say
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.
When wedding fiddles are a-playing,
Huzza for folly O!
And when maidens go a-maying,
Huzza for folly O!
When a milk-pail is upset,
Huzza for folly O!
And the clothes left in the wet,
Huzza for folly O!
When the barrel’s set abroach,
Huzza for folly O!
When Kate Eyebrow keeps a coach,
Huzza for folly O!
When the pig is over-roasted,
Huzza for folly O!
And the cheese is over-toasted,
Huzza for folly O!
When Sir Snap is with his lawyer,
Huzza for folly O!
And Miss Chip has kiss’d the sawyer,
Huzza for folly O!
…
From a Letter to Tom Keats
I
All gentle folks who owe a grudge
To any living thing
Open your ears and stay your trudge
Whilst I in dudgeon sing.
II
The Gadfly he hath stung me sore -
O may he ne’er sting you!
But we have many a horrid bore
He may sting black and blue.
III
Has any here an old grey Mare
With three legs all her store,
O put it to her Buttocks bare
And straight she’ll run on four.
IV
Has any here a Lawyer suit
Of Seventeen-Forty-Three,
Take Lawyer’s nose and put it to’t
And you the end will see.
V
Is there a Man in Parliament
Dumbfounder’d in his speech,
O let his neighbour make a rent
And put one in his breech.
VI
O Lowther how much better thou
Hadst figur’d t’other day
When to the folks thou mad’st a bow
And hadst no more to say
VII
If lucky Gadfly had but ta’en
His seat…
And put thee to a little pain
To save thee from a worse.
VIII
Better than Southey it had been,
Better than Mr D — ,
Better than Wordsworth too, I ween,
Better than Mr V — ,
IX
Forgive me pray good people all
For deviating so -
In spirit sure I had a call -
And now I on will go.
X
Has any here a daughter fair
Too fond of reading novels,
Too apt to fall in love with care
And charming Mister Lovels,
XI
O O put a Gadfly to that thing
She keeps so white and pert -
I I mean the finger for the ring,
And it will breed a wort.
XII
Has any here a pious spouse
Who seven times a day
Scolds as King David pray’d, to chouse
And have her holy way -
XIII
O O let a Gadfly’s little sting
Persuade her sacred tongue
That noises are a common thing.
But that her bell has rung.
XIV
And as this is the summum bo-
num of all conquering,
I I leave ‘withouten wordes mo’
The Gadfly’s little sting.
Seeing ‘The Stranger’ Played at Inverary
Of late two dainties were before me plac’d
Sweet, holy, pure, sacred and innocent,
From the ninth sphere to me benignly sent
That Gods might know my own particular taste:
First the soft Bagpipe moum’d with zealous haste,
The Stranger next with head on bosom bent
Sigh’d; rueful again the piteous Bagpipe went,
Again the Stranger sighings fresh did waste.
O Bagpipe thou didst steal my heart away -
O Stranger thou my nerves from Pipe didst charm - 10
O Bagpipe thou didst reassert thy sway -
Again thou Stranger gav’st me fresh alarm -
Alas! I could not choose. Ah! my poor heart.
Mum chance art thou with both oblig’d to part.
[Persons: MRS CAMERON and BEN NEVIS]
MRS CAMERON
Upon my life Sir Nevis I am pique’d
That I have so far panted tugg’d and reek’d
To do an honour to your old bald pate
And now am sitting on you just to bate,
Without your paying me one compliment.
Alas ’tis so with all, when our intent
Is plain, and in the eye of all Mankind
We fair ones show a preference, too blind!
You gentle man immediately turn tail -
O let me then my hapless fate bewail!
10
Ungrateful baldpate, have I not disdain’d
The pleasant valleys - have I not, madbrain’d,
Deserted all my pickles and preserves,
My china closet too - with wretched nerves
To boot - say, wretched ingrate, have I not
Left my soft cushion chair and caudle pot?
’Tis true I had no corns - no! thank the fates,
My shoemaker was always Mr Bates.
And if not Mr Bates why I’m not old!
Still dumb, ungrateful Nevis - still so cold!
20
Here the Lady took some more whiskey and was putting even more to
her lips when she dashed it to the ground for the mountain began to
grumble - which continued for a few minutes before he thus began,
BEN NEVIS
What whining bit of tongue and mouth thus dares
Disturb my slumber of a thousand years?
Even so long my sleep has been secure -
And to be so awaked I’ll not endure.
Oh pain - for since the eagle’s earliest scream
I’ve had a damn’d confounded ugly dream,
A nightmare sure. What, Madam, was it you?
It cannot be! My old eyes are not true!
Red-Crag, my spectacles! Now let me see!
Good Heavens, Lady, how the gemini
30
Did you get here? O I shall split my sides!
I shall earthquake —
Sweet Nevis, do not quake, for though I love
You[r] honest countenance all things above,
Truly I should not like to be convey’d
So far into your bosom-gentle maid
Loves not too rough a treatment, gentle Sir —
Pray thee be calm and do not quake nor stir,
No not a stone, or I shall go in fits -
I must - I shall - I meet not such titbits -
40
I meet not such sweet creatures every day -
By my old nightcap, nightcap night and day,
I must have one sweet buss - I must and shall!
Red-Crag! - What, Madam, can you then repent
Of all the toil and vigour you have spent
To see Ben Nevis and to touch his nose?
Red-Crag, I say! O I must have them close!
Red-Crag, there lies beneath my farthest toe
A vein of sulphur - go dear Red-Crag, go -
And rub your flinty back against it - budge!
50
Dear Madam, I must kiss you, faith I must!
I must embrace you with my dearest gust!
Block-head, d’ye hear - Block-head,” I’ll make her feel -
There lies beneath my east leg’s northern heel
A cave of young earth dragons - well, my boy,
Go thither quick and so complete my joy;
Take you a bundle of the largest pines
And when the sun on fiercest phosphor shines
Fire them and ram them in the dragon’s nest,
Then will the dragons fry and fizz their best
60
Until ten thousand now no bigger than
Poor alligators - poor things of one span -
Will each one swell to twice ten times the size
Of northern whale - then for the tender prize -
The moment then - for then will Red-Crag rub
His flinty back - and I shall kiss and snub
And press my dainty morsel to my breast.
Block-head, make haste!
O Muses weep the rest -
The lady fainted and he thought her dead
So pulled the clouds again about his head
70
And went to sleep again - soon she was rous’d
By her affrighted servants - next day hous’d
Safe on the lowly ground she bless’d her fate
That fainting fit was not delayed too late.
I
They toil not, neither do they spin.
One mom before me were three figures seen,
With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
And one behind the other stepp’d serene,
In placid sandals, and in white robes graced;
They pass’d, like figures on a marble urn,
When shifted round to see the other side;
They came again; as when the um once more
Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;
And they were strange to me, as may betide
With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.
II
How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?
How came ye muffled in so hush a mask?
Was it a silent deep-disguised plot
To steal away, and leave without a task
My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;
The blissful cloud of summer-indolence
Benumb’d my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
Pain had no sting, and pleasure’s wreath no flower:
O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
Unhaunted quite of all but - nothingness?
III
A third time pass’d they by, and, passing, tum’d
Each one the face a moment whiles to me;
Then faded, and to follow them I burn’d
And ach’d for wings because I knew the three;
The first was a fair Maid, and Love her name;
The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,
And ever watchful with fatigued eye;
The last, whom I love more, the more of blame
Is heap’d upon her, maiden most unmeek, -
I knew to be my demon’ Poesy.
IV
They faded, and, forsooth! I wanted wings:
O folly! What is love! and where is it?
And for that poor Ambition! it springs
From a man’s little heart’s short fever-fit;
For Poesy! - no, - she has not a joy, -
At least for me, - so sweet as drowsy noons,
And evenings steep’d in honied indolence;
O, for an age so shelter’d from annoy,
That I may never know how change the moons,
Or hear the voice of busy commonsense!
V
And once more came they by; - alas! wherefore?
My sleep had been embroider’d with dim dreams;
My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o’er
With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams:
The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,
Tho’ in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;
The open casement press’d a new-leav’d vine,
Let in the budding warmth and throstle’s lay;
O Shadows! ’twas a time to bid farewell!
Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.
VI
So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise
My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
For I would not be dieted with praise,
A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!
Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more
In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;
Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,
And for the day faint visions there is store;
Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright,
Into the clouds, and never more return!
‘A few Nonsense Verses’ sent in a Letter to George Keats
Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes,
Nibble their toast and cool their tea with sighs ;
Or else forget the purpose of the night,
Forget their tea, forget their appetite.
See, with cross’d arms they sit - Ah! happy crew,
The fire is going out and no one rings
For coals, and therefore no coals Betty brings.
A fly is in the milk-pot. Must he die
Circled by a humane society?
No, no; there, Mr Werter takes his spoon,
10
Inserts it, dips the handle, and lo! soon
The little straggler, sav’d from perils dark,
Across the teaboard draws a long wet mark.
Romeo! Arise, take snuffers by the handle,
There is a large cauliflower in each candle.
A winding sheet - ah, me! I must away
To No. 7, just beyond the circus gay.’
Alas, my friend, your coat sits very well ;
Where may your tailor live? I may not tell.
O O pardon me. I’m absent now and then.
20
Where might my tailor live? I say again
I I cannot tell, let me no more be teased ;
He lives in Wapping, might live where he pleased.