Miscellaneous Poems.

THE BLUES.

A LITERARY ECLOGUE.

"Nimium ne crede colori."-Virgil.

O trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue,
Though your hair were as red as your stockings are blue.

ECLOGUE FIRST.

London.-Before the Door of a Lecture Room.
Enter TRACY, meeting INKEL.
Ink. You're too late.

Tra. Ink.

Is it over?

Nor will be this hour. But the benches are cramm'd like a garden in flower, With the pride of our belles. who have made it the fashion;

So instead of "beaux arts," we may say "la belle pas-
sion;"

For learning, which lately has taken the lead in
The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading.
Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my
patience

With studying to study your new publications.
There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords
and Co.

(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)
All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps,
Aud on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse.
Ink. Let us join them.

Tra.

What, won't you return to the lecture' Ink. Why, the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre.

Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd

Tra. How can you know that till you hear him?
Ink.
I heard
Quite enough; and to tell you the truth, my retreat
Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.
Tra. I have had no great loss then?
Ink.

Loss!-such a palaver!
I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
To the torrent of trash which around him he pours,
Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour,
That-come-do not make me speak ill of one's

neighbour.

Tra. I make you!
Ink.

Yes, you! I said nothing until
You compell'd me, by speaking the truth—
Tra.

Is that your deduction?
Ink.

To speak ill?

When speaking of Scamp, ill,
I certainly follow, not set an example.
The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany.
Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool
makes many.

But we two will be wise.

And think you that I

Excuse me; I meant no offence

To the Nine; though the number who make some pre- A fair lady—

tence

To their favours is such-but the subject to drop,
I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop,
(Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy
On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces,
As one finds every author in one of those places,)
Where I just had been skimming a charming critique,
So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek!
Where your friend-you know who-had just got such
a threshing,

Ink.

Tra.
Ink.
The heiress?

The devil! why, man!
Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can.
You wed with Miss Lilac! 't would be your perdition:
She's a poet, a chymist, a mathematician.
Tra. I say she's an angel.
Ink.

Say rather an angle. That is, as the phrase goes, extremely "refreshing." If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. What a beautiful word!

I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.
Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together?
Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance
Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with
science.

Not left him a tatter-She's so learned in all things, and fond of concern

Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Herself in all matters connected with learning. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this; for friendship, you

Our poor friend!-but I thought it would terminate so.
Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it.
You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket? But there's five hundred people can tell you you'

Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.
Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue?
Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you-something
of both.

The girl's a fine girl.

Ink.
And you feel nothing loth
To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet
Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I de-
mand

Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.

Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout? Ink. I've a card, and shall go; but at present, as

on the pen.

Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and then?

Ink. To what purpose?

Tra.

You know, my dear friend, that in prose (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits,) My talent is decent, as far as it goes;

But in rhyme-
Ink.

You're a terrible stick, to be sure.
Tra. I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure
For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two;
And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few?
Ink. In your name?
Tra.
In my name. I will copy them out,
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.
Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?
Tra.
Why,
Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme
What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?
Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Muse.
Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she 's one of the
"Blues."

Ink. As sublime !-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say. Stick to prose-As sublime!!-but I wish you good day.

Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm
wrong:

I own it; but prithee, compose me the song.
Ink. As sublime!!
Tra.
I but used the expression in haste.
Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damn'd
bad taste.

And an interval grants from his lecturing fits,
I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation:
'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise.
And I own, for my own part, that 't is not unpleasant
Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.
Tra. That "metal's attractive."

But for God's sake let's go, or the bore will be here.
Come, come; nay, I'm off.

Tra.

[Exit INKEL You are right, and I'll follow; 'Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit Apollo." And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes, Tra. I own it-I know it - acknowledge it what Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes, Can I say to you more?

Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them?
Ink.

Why that

To be sure makes a difference.
Tra.
I know what is what;
And you, who 're a man of the gay world, no less
Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess
That I never could mean by a word to offend
A genius like you, and moreover my friend.

An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE.—
A Table prepared.

SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE, solus.
WAS there ever a man who was married so sorry?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd;

Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know what My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void, is due

To a man of-but come-let us shake hands.

Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd:
The twelve, do I say?-of the whole twenty-four,
Is there one which I dare call my own any more?
What with driving, and visiting, dancing and dining.
What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and
shining,

In science and art, I'll be curst if I know
Myself from my wife; for although we are two.
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be
done

Had its full share of praise. In a style that proclaims us eternally one.

Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat: Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUE-There his works will appearMOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY, MISS MAZARINE, and others, with SCAMP the Lecturer, &c. &c.

Lady Bluem. You're a fugitive writer, I think, sir,
of rhymes?

Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes.
On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight,
Or on Mouthy, his friend, without taking to flight.

Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but time
and posterity

Will right these great men, and this age's severity
Become its reproach.

Ink.
So I'm not of the party to take the infection.

I've no sort of objection,

Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will take?

Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue

To take-what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place;-but the subject 's a bore.
Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming.
Ink.

Scamp! don't you feel sore?

They have merit, I own;

What say you to this?
Scamp.
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown.

Both. I thank you; not any more, sir, till I dine. Ink. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphrey to day?

Tra. I should think with Duke Humphrey was more in your way.

Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look
To the knight, as a landlord, much more than the
Duke.

The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is,
And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases.
But 't is now nearly five, and I must to the Park.
Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 't is
dark.

He must mind whom he quotes

Out of "Elegant Extracts."
Lady Blueb.

Well, now we break up;
But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup.
Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we'll all meet
again,

Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures? For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne!
Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my
Tra. And the sweet lobster salad!
Both.

strictures.

I honour that meal; Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond ques tion:

Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness :-the joy For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely-feel. of my heart

This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
Oh, my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathize!-I
Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,

I feel so elastic-" so buoyant !—so buoyant !"*
Ink. Tracy! open the window.

Tra
I wish her much joy on 't.
Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not
This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot
Upon earth. Give it way; 't is an impulse which lifts
Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts;
For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his moun-

tain.

"Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's true foun

tain:

Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: 'tis the gas
Of the soul: 't is the seizing of shades as they pass,
And making them substance: 't is something divine:
Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine?
Fact from life, with the words.

It is well;
{Erit HERMAN
Man. (alone.)
There is a calm upon me-
Inexplicable stillness! which till now
Did not belong to what I knew of life.
If that I did not know philosophy
To be of all our vanities the motliest,
The merest word that ever fool'd the ear
From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem
The golden secret, the sought "Kalon" found
And seated in any soul. It will not last.

But it is well to have known it, though but once:
It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense,
And I within my tablets would note down
That there is such a feeling. Who is there?
Re-enter HERMAN.

Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves
To greet your presence.

Enter the ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE.

Abbot.
Peace be with Count Manfred!
Man. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls;
Thy presence honours them, and blesses those

Who dwell within them.

Abbot.

Would it were so, Count; But I would fain confer with thee alone.

guest?

Man. Herman retire. What would my reverend
[Exit HERMAN.
Abbot. Thus, without prelude;-Age and zeal, my
office,

And good intent, must plead my privilege;
Our near, though not acquainted, neighbourhood
May also be my herald. Rumours strange,

And of unholy nature, are abroad,
And busy with thy name-a noble name
For centuries; may he who bears it now
Transmit it unimpair'd!

Man.

Proceed, I listen.

Abbot. "Tis said thou holdest converse with the
things

Which are forbidden to the search of man;
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes,
The many evil and unheavenly spirits

Which walk the valley of the shade of death,
Thou communest. I know that with mankind,
Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely
Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude
Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy.

On the raven stone,

And his black wing flits

O'er the milk-white bone;

To and fro, as the night winds blow,
The carcass of the assassin swings;
And there alone, on the raven-stone,†
The raven flaps his dusky wings.

The fetters creak-and his ebon beak

Croaks to the close of the hollow sound;
And this is the tune by the light of the moon
To which the witches dance their round,
Merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily,

Merrily, merrily, speeds the ball:

The dead in their shrouds, and the demons in clouds,
Flock to the witches' carnival.

Abbot. I fear thee not-hence-hence

Avaunt thee, evil one!-help, ho! without there!
Man. Convey this man to the Shreckhorn-to its
peak-

To its extremest peak-watch with him there
From now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know
He ne'er again will be so near to heaven.
But harm him not; and, when the morrow breaks,
Set him down safe in his cell-away with him!
Ash. Had I not better bring his brethren too,

Man. And what are they who do avouch these Convent and all, to bear him company?

things?

Man. No, this will serve for the present. Take him

up.

Ash. Come, friar! now an exorcism or two,
And we shall fly the lighter.

ASHTAROTH disappears with the ABBOT, singing as
follows:

A prodigal son and a maid undone,

And a widow re-wedded within the year; And a worldly monk and a pregnant nun, Are things which every day appear. MANFRED alone.

Man. Why would this fool break in on me, and
force

My art to pranks fantastical?-no matter,
It was not of my seeking. My heart sickens
And weighs a fix'd foreboding on my soul;
But it is calm-calm as a sullen sea
After the hurricane: the winds are still,
But the cold waves swell high and heavily,

There is the stake on earth, and beyond earth eter. And there is danger in them. Such a rest

+ "Raven-stone, (Rabenstein,) a translation of the German word for It will be perceived that, as far as this, the original matter of the the gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent, and tsade of Third Act has been retained. stone."