A case which to the juries we may leave,
Since with digressions we too long have tarried.
Now though we know of old that looks deceive,
And always have done—somehow these good looks
Make more impression than the best of books.
LXXXV
Aurora, who looked more on books than faces,
Was very young, although so very sage,
Admiring more Minerva than the Graces,
Especially upon a printed page.
But Virtue’s self, with all her tightest laces,
Has not the natural stays of strict old age;
And Socrates, that model of all duty,
Owned to a penchant, though discreet, for beauty.
LXXXVI
And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic,
But innocently so, as Socrates;
And really, if the Sage sublime and Attic
At seventy years had fantasies like these,
Which Plato in his dialogues dramatic
Has shown, I know not why they should displease
In virgins—always in a modest way,
Observe—for that with me’s a sine quâ.1149
LXXXVII
Also observe, that, like the great Lord Coke
(See Littleton), whene’er I have expressed
Opinions two, which at first sight may look
Twin opposites, the second is the best.
Perhaps I have a third too, in a nook,
Or none at all—which seems a sorry jest:
But if a writer should be quite consistent,
How could he possibly show things existent?
LXXXVIII
If people contradict themselves, can I
Help contradicting them, and everybody,
Even my veracious self?—But that’s a lie:
I never did so, never will—how should I?
He who doubts all things nothing can deny:
Truth’s fountains may be clear—her streams are muddy,
And cut through such canals of contradiction,
That she must often navigate o’er fiction.
LXXXIX
Apologue, Fable, Poesy, and Parable,
Are false, but may be rendered also true,
By those who sow them in a land that’s arable:
’Tis wonderful what Fable will not do!
’Tis said it makes Reality more bearable:
But what’s Reality? Who has its clue?
Philosophy? No; she too much rejects.
Religion? Yes; but which of all her sects?
XC
Some millions must be wrong, that’s pretty clear;
Perhaps it may turn out that all were right.
God help us! Since we have need on our career
To keep our holy beacons always bright,
’Tis time that some new prophet should appear,
Or old indulge man with a second sight.
Opinions wear out in some thousand years,
Without a small refreshment from the spheres.
XCI
But here again, why will I thus entangle
Myself with Metaphysics? None can hate
So much as I do any kind of wrangle;
And yet, such is my folly, or my fate,
I always knock my head against some angle
About the present, past, or future state:
Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian,
For I was bred a moderate Presbyterian.
XCII
But though I am a temperate theologian,
And also meek as a metaphysician,
Impartial between Tyrian and Trojan,
As Eldon1150 on a lunatic commission—
In politics my duty is to show John
Bull something of the lower world’s condition.
It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla,1151
To see men let these scoundrel Sovereigns break law.
XCIII
But Politics, and Policy, and Piety,
Are topics which I sometimes introduce,
Not only for the sake of their variety,
But as subservient to a moral use;
Because my business is to dress society,
And stuff with sage that very verdant goose.
And now, that we may furnish with some matter all
Tastes, we are going to try the Supernatural.
XCIV
And now I will give up all argument;
And positively, henceforth, no temptation
Shall “fool me to the top up of my bent:”—1152
Yes, I’ll begin a thorough reformation.
Indeed, I never knew what people meant
By deeming that my Muse’s conversation
Was dangerous;—I think she is as harmless
As some who labour more and yet may charm less.
XCV
Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost?
No; but you have heard—I understand—be dumb!
And don’t regret the time you may have lost,
For you have got that pleasure still to come:
And do not think I mean to sneer at most
Of these things, or by ridicule benumb
That source of the Sublime and the Mysterious:—
For certain reasons my belief is serious.
XCVI
Serious? You laugh;—you may: that will I not;
My smiles must be sincere or not at all.
I say I do believe a haunted spot
Exists—and where? That shall I not recall,
Because I’d rather it should be forgot,
“Shadows the soul of Richard”1153 may appal.
In short, upon that subject I’ve some qualms very
Like those of the philosopher of Malmsbury.1154
XCVII
The night—(I sing by night—sometimes an owl,
And now and then a nightingale)—is dim,
And the loud shriek of sage Minerva’s fowl
Rattles around me her discordant hymn:
Old portraits from old walls upon me scowl—
I wish to Heaven they would not look so grim;
The dying embers dwindle in the grate—
I think too that I have sat up too late:
XCVIII
And therefore, though ’tis by no means my way
To rhyme at noon—when I have other things
To think of, if I ever think—I say
I feel some chilly midnight shudderings,
And prudently postpone, until mid-day,
Treating a topic which, alas! but brings
Shadows;—but you must be in my condition,
Before you learn to call this superstition.
XCIX
Between two worlds Life hovers like a star,
’Twixt Night and Morn, upon the horizon’s verge.
How little do we know that which we are!
How less what we may be!1155 The eternal surge
Of Time and Tide rolls on and bears afar
Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge,
Lashed from the foam of ages; while the graves
Of Empires heave but like some passing waves.1156
Canto XVI1157
I
The antique Persians taught three useful things,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth,1158
This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings—
A mode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings;
Horses
