Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, _305
And other such lady-like luxuries,--
Feasting on which we will philosophize!
Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, _305
And other such lady-like luxuries,--
Feasting on which we will philosophize!
Shelley
_230
He is a pearl within an oyster shell.
One of the richest of the deep;--and there
Is English Peacock, with his mountain Fair,
Turned into a Flamingo;--that shy bird
That gleams i' the Indian air--have you not heard _235
When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo,
His best friends hear no more of him? --but you
Will see him, and will like him too, I hope,
With the milk-white Snowdonian Antelope
Matched with this cameleopard--his fine wit _240
Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it;
A strain too learned for a shallow age,
Too wise for selfish bigots; let his page,
Which charms the chosen spirits of the time,
Fold itself up for the serener clime _245
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation. --Wit and sense,
Virtue and human knowledge; all that might
Make this dull world a business of delight,
Are all combined in Horace Smith. --And these. _250
With some exceptions, which I need not tease
Your patience by descanting on,--are all
You and I know in London.
I recall
My thoughts, and bid you look upon the night.
As water does a sponge, so the moonlight _255
Fills the void, hollow, universal air--
What see you? --unpavilioned Heaven is fair,
Whether the moon, into her chamber gone,
Leaves midnight to the golden stars, or wan
Climbs with diminished beams the azure steep; _260
Or whether clouds sail o'er the inverse deep,
Piloted by the many-wandering blast,
And the rare stars rush through them dim and fast:--
All this is beautiful in every land. --
But what see you beside? --a shabby stand _265
Of Hackney coaches--a brick house or wall
Fencing some lonely court, white with the scrawl
Of our unhappy politics;--or worse--
A wretched woman reeling by, whose curse
Mixed with the watchman's, partner of her trade, _270
You must accept in place of serenade--
Or yellow-haired Pollonia murmuring
To Henry, some unutterable thing.
I see a chaos of green leaves and fruit
Built round dark caverns, even to the root _275
Of the living stems that feed them--in whose bowers
There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers;
Beyond, the surface of the unsickled corn
Trembles not in the slumbering air, and borne
In circles quaint, and ever-changing dance, _280
Like winged stars the fire-flies flash and glance,
Pale in the open moonshine, but each one
Under the dark trees seems a little sun,
A meteor tamed; a fixed star gone astray
From the silver regions of the milky way;-- _285
Afar the Contadino's song is heard,
Rude, but made sweet by distance--and a bird
Which cannot be the Nightingale, and yet
I know none else that sings so sweet as it
At this late hour;--and then all is still-- _290
Now--Italy or London, which you will!
Next winter you must pass with me; I'll have
My house by that time turned into a grave
Of dead despondence and low-thoughted care,
And all the dreams which our tormentors are; _295
Oh! that Hunt, Hogg, Peacock, and Smith were there,
With everything belonging to them fair! --
We will have books, Spanish, Italian, Greek;
And ask one week to make another week
As like his father, as I'm unlike mine, _300
Which is not his fault, as you may divine.
Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, _305
And other such lady-like luxuries,--
Feasting on which we will philosophize!
And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's wood,
To thaw the six weeks' winter in our blood.
And then we'll talk;--what shall we talk about? _310
Oh! there are themes enough for many a bout
Of thought-entangled descant;--as to nerves--
With cones and parallelograms and curves
I've sworn to strangle them if once they dare
To bother me--when you are with me there. _315
And they shall never more sip laudanum,
From Helicon or Himeros (1);--well, come,
And in despite of God and of the devil,
We'll make our friendly philosophic revel
Outlast the leafless time; till buds and flowers _320
Warn the obscure inevitable hours,
Sweet meeting by sad parting to renew;--
'To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. '
NOTES:
_13 must Bos. manuscript; most edition 1824.
_27 philanthropic Bos. manuscript; philosophic edition 1824.
_29 so 1839, 2nd edition; They owed. . . edition 1824.
_36 Which fishers Bos. manuscript; Which fishes edition 1824;
With fishes editions 1839.
He is a pearl within an oyster shell.
One of the richest of the deep;--and there
Is English Peacock, with his mountain Fair,
Turned into a Flamingo;--that shy bird
That gleams i' the Indian air--have you not heard _235
When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo,
His best friends hear no more of him? --but you
Will see him, and will like him too, I hope,
With the milk-white Snowdonian Antelope
Matched with this cameleopard--his fine wit _240
Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it;
A strain too learned for a shallow age,
Too wise for selfish bigots; let his page,
Which charms the chosen spirits of the time,
Fold itself up for the serener clime _245
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation. --Wit and sense,
Virtue and human knowledge; all that might
Make this dull world a business of delight,
Are all combined in Horace Smith. --And these. _250
With some exceptions, which I need not tease
Your patience by descanting on,--are all
You and I know in London.
I recall
My thoughts, and bid you look upon the night.
As water does a sponge, so the moonlight _255
Fills the void, hollow, universal air--
What see you? --unpavilioned Heaven is fair,
Whether the moon, into her chamber gone,
Leaves midnight to the golden stars, or wan
Climbs with diminished beams the azure steep; _260
Or whether clouds sail o'er the inverse deep,
Piloted by the many-wandering blast,
And the rare stars rush through them dim and fast:--
All this is beautiful in every land. --
But what see you beside? --a shabby stand _265
Of Hackney coaches--a brick house or wall
Fencing some lonely court, white with the scrawl
Of our unhappy politics;--or worse--
A wretched woman reeling by, whose curse
Mixed with the watchman's, partner of her trade, _270
You must accept in place of serenade--
Or yellow-haired Pollonia murmuring
To Henry, some unutterable thing.
I see a chaos of green leaves and fruit
Built round dark caverns, even to the root _275
Of the living stems that feed them--in whose bowers
There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers;
Beyond, the surface of the unsickled corn
Trembles not in the slumbering air, and borne
In circles quaint, and ever-changing dance, _280
Like winged stars the fire-flies flash and glance,
Pale in the open moonshine, but each one
Under the dark trees seems a little sun,
A meteor tamed; a fixed star gone astray
From the silver regions of the milky way;-- _285
Afar the Contadino's song is heard,
Rude, but made sweet by distance--and a bird
Which cannot be the Nightingale, and yet
I know none else that sings so sweet as it
At this late hour;--and then all is still-- _290
Now--Italy or London, which you will!
Next winter you must pass with me; I'll have
My house by that time turned into a grave
Of dead despondence and low-thoughted care,
And all the dreams which our tormentors are; _295
Oh! that Hunt, Hogg, Peacock, and Smith were there,
With everything belonging to them fair! --
We will have books, Spanish, Italian, Greek;
And ask one week to make another week
As like his father, as I'm unlike mine, _300
Which is not his fault, as you may divine.
Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, _305
And other such lady-like luxuries,--
Feasting on which we will philosophize!
And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's wood,
To thaw the six weeks' winter in our blood.
And then we'll talk;--what shall we talk about? _310
Oh! there are themes enough for many a bout
Of thought-entangled descant;--as to nerves--
With cones and parallelograms and curves
I've sworn to strangle them if once they dare
To bother me--when you are with me there. _315
And they shall never more sip laudanum,
From Helicon or Himeros (1);--well, come,
And in despite of God and of the devil,
We'll make our friendly philosophic revel
Outlast the leafless time; till buds and flowers _320
Warn the obscure inevitable hours,
Sweet meeting by sad parting to renew;--
'To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. '
NOTES:
_13 must Bos. manuscript; most edition 1824.
_27 philanthropic Bos. manuscript; philosophic edition 1824.
_29 so 1839, 2nd edition; They owed. . . edition 1824.
_36 Which fishers Bos. manuscript; Which fishes edition 1824;
With fishes editions 1839.
