And noble chiefs had noble cheer,
And knights grew strong upon strong beer;
Honor and oxen both were nourish'd,
And chivalry-and pudding flourish'd.
I'd rather see that magic face,
That look of love, that form of grace,
Circled by whalebone, and by ruffs,
Intent on puddings, and on puffs,—
I'd rather view thee thus, than see
"A Fashionable" rise in thee.
If Life is dark, 'tis not for you
(If partial Friendship's voice is true),
To cure its griefs, and drown its cares,
By leaping gates, and murdering hares,
Nor to confine that feeling soul,
To winning lovers-or the vole.
If these and such pursuits are thine,
Julia! thou art no friend of mine!
I love plain dress-I eat plain joints,
I cannot play ten guinea points,
I make no study of a pin,
And hate a female whipper-in.
"For she in shape and beauty did excel
All other idols that the heathen do adore."
"And all about her altar scatter'd lay
Great sorts of lovers piteously complaining."
A look as blithe, a step as light
As fabled nymph, or fairy sprite;
A voice, whose every word and tone
Might make a thousand hearts its own;
A brow of fervor, and a mien
Bright with the hopes of gay fifteen;
These, loved and lost one! these were thine, When first I bow'd at Beauty's shrine;
But I have torn my wavering soul
From woman's proud and weak control;
The fane where I so often knelt,
The flame my heart so truly felt,
Are visions of another time,
Themes for my laughter,—and my rhyme.
She saw, and conquered; in her eye There was a careless cruelty,
That shone destruction, while it seem'd
Unconscious of the fire it beam'd.
And oh!. that negligence of dress,
That wild, infantine playfulness,
That archness of the trifling brow,
That could command-we know not how,
Were links of gold that held me then,
In bonds I may not bear again;
For dearer to an honest heart
Is childhood's mirth than woman's art.
Already many an aged dame,
Skilful in scandalizing fame,
Foresaw the reign of Laura's face,
Her sway, her folly, and disgrace.
Minding the beauty of the day
More than her partner, or her play :—
"Laura a beauty? flippant chit!
I vow I hate her forward wit!"
("I lead a club!”)—“ why, Ma'am, between us,
Her mother thinks her quite a Venus;
But every parent loves, you know,
To make a pigeon of her crow."
"Some folks are apt to look too high-
She has a dukedom in her eye."
"The girl is straight," ("we call the ace,")
"But that's the merit of her stays."
“I'm sure, I loathe malicious hints—
But-only look, how Laura squints."
"Yet Miss, forsooth,-(" who play'd the ten ?") Is quite perfection with the men;
The flattering fools-they make me sick,”
("Well-four by honors, and the trick.”)
While thus the crones hold high debate
On Laura's charms and Laura's fate;
A few short years have rolled along,
And-first in pleasure's idle throng-
Laura, in ripened beauty proud,
Smiles haughty on the flattering crowd;
Her sex's envy-fashion's boast—
An heiress-and a reigning toast.
The circling waltz, and gay quadrille,
Are in, or out, at Laura's will;
The tragic bard, and comic wit,
Heed not the critic in the pit,
If Laura's undisputed sway
Ordains full houses to the play;
And fair ones of a humbler fate,
That envy, while they imitate,
From Laura's whisper strive to guess
The changes of inconstant dress.
Where'er her step in beauty moves,
Around her fly a thousand loves;
A thousand graces go before,
While striplings wonder and adore:
And some are wounded by a sigh,
Some by the lustre of her eye;
And these her studied smiles ensnare,
And those the ringlets of her hair.
The first his fluttering heart to lose, Was Captain Piercy of the Blues;
He squeezed her hand, he gazed, and swore He never was in love before;
He entertained his charmer's ear
With tales of wonder, and of fear;
Talked much and long of siege and fight,
Marches by day, alarms by night;
And Laura listened to the story,
Whether it spoke of love or glory;
For many an anecdote had he
Of combat, and of gallantry;
Of long blockades, and sharp attacks,
Of bullets, and of bivouacs;
Of towns o'ercome, and ladies, too—
Of billet-and of billet-doux;
Of nunneries and escalades
And damsels, and Damascus blades.
Alas! too soon the Captain found
How swiftly Fortune's wheel goes round;
Laura at last began to doze,
E'en in the midst of Badajoz;
And hurried to a game at loo
From Wellington and Waterloo:
The hero, in heroics left,
Of fortune, and a wife bereft,
|