With “Tu mi chamas’s” from Portingale,1175
To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail.1176
XLVI
In Babylon’s bravuras—as the Home—
Heart-Ballads of Green Erin or Grey Highlands,
That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam
O’er far Atlantic continents or islands,
The calentures1177 of music which o’ercome
All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands,
No more to be beheld but in such visions—
Was Adeline well versed, as compositions.
XLVII
She also had a twilight tinge of “Blue,”
Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote,
Made epigrams occasionally too
Upon her friends, as everybody ought.
But still from that sublimer azure hue,1178
So much the present dye, she was remote;
Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet,
And what was worse, was not ashamed to show it.
XLVIII
Aurora—since we are touching upon taste,
Which now-a-days is the thermometer
By whose degrees all characters are classed—
Was more Shakespearian, if I do not err.
The worlds beyond this World’s perplexing waste
Had more of her existence, for in her
There was a depth of feeling to embrace
Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Space.
XLIX
Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace,
The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind,
If she had any, was upon her face,
And that was of a fascinating kind.
A little turn for mischief you might trace
Also thereon—but that’s not much; we find
Few females without some such gentle leaven,
For fear we should suppose us quite in Heaven.
L
I have not heard she was at all poetic,
Though once she was seen reading the Bath Guide,1179
And Hayley’s Triumphs,1180 which she deemed pathetic,
Because she said her temper had been tried
So much, the bard had really been prophetic
Of what she had gone through with—since a bride.
But of all verse, what most ensured her praise
Were sonnets to herself, or bouts rimés.
LI
’Twere difficult to say what was the object
Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay
To bear on what appeared to her the subject
Of Juan’s nervous feelings on that day.
Perhaps she merely had the simple project
To laugh him out of his supposed dismay;
Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it,
Though why I cannot say—at least this minute.
LII
But so far the immediate effect
Was to restore him to his self-propriety,
A thing quite necessary to the elect,
Who wish to take the tone of their society:
In which you cannot be too circumspect,
Whether the mode be persiflage or piety,
But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy,
On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy.1181
LIII
And therefore Juan now began to rally
His spirits, and without more explanation
To jest upon such themes in many a sally.
Her Grace, too, also seized the same occasion,
With various similar remarks to tally,
But wished for a still more detailed narration
Of this same mystic friar’s curious doings,
About the present family’s deaths and wooings.
LIV
Of these few could say more than has been said;
They passed as such things do, for superstition
With some, while others, who had more in dread
The theme, half credited the strange tradition;
And much was talked on all sides on that head:
But Juan, when cross-questioned on the vision,
Which some supposed (though he had not avowed it)
Had stirred him, answered in a way to cloud it.
LV
And then, the mid-day having worn to one,
The company prepared to separate;
Some to their several pastimes, or to none,
Some wondering ’twas so early, some so late.
There was a goodly match too, to be run
Between some greyhounds on my Lord’s estate,
And a young race-horse of old pedigree,
Matched for the spring, whom several went to see.
LVI
There was a picture-dealer who had brought
A special Titian, warranted original,
So precious that it was not to be bought,
Though Princes the possessor were besieging all—
The King himself had cheapened it, but thought
The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all
His subjects by his gracious acceptation)—
Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.
LVII
But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur—
The friend of Artists, if not Arts—the owner,
With motives the most classical and pure,
So that he would have been the very donor,
Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer,
So much he deemed his patronage an honour,
Had brought the capo d’opera, not for sale,
But for his judgment—never known to fail.
LVIII
There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic
Bricklayer of Babel, called an architect,1182
Brought to survey these grey walls which, though so thick,
Might have from Time acquired some slight defect;
Who, after rummaging the Abbey through thick
And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect
New buildings of correctest conformation,
And throw down old—which he called restoration.1183
LIX
The cost would be a trifle—an “old song,”
Set to some thousands (’tis the usual burden
Of that same tune, when people hum it long)—
The price would speedily repay its worth in
An edifice no less sublime than strong,
By which Lord Henry’s good taste would go forth in
Its glory, through all ages shining sunny,
For Gothic daring shown in English money.1184
LX
There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage
Lord Henry wished to raise for a new purchase;
Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage,1185
And one on tithes, which sure as Discord’s torches,
Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage,
“Untying” squires “to fight against the churches;”1186
There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman,
For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman.
LXI
There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,
Ready for gaol, their place of convalescence;
There was a country girl in a close cap
And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since—
Since—since—in youth, I had the sad mishap—
But luckily I have paid few parish fees since):1187
That
