BYRON'S W ORES.
484
XL VI.
But, oh! that I should ever pen so sad a line!
Fir’d with an abstract love of virtue, she,
-My Dian of the Ephesians , Lady Adeline,
Began to think the Duchess’ conduct free:Regretting much that she had chosen so had aline,
And waxing chiller in her courtesy,
Look'd grave and pale to see her friend’s fragility,For which most friends reserve their sensibility.XLVTI.
There’s nought in this bad world like sympathy:
’T is so becoming to the soul and face;
Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,
And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace."Without a friend, what were humanity,
To hunt our errors up with a good grace ?Consoling us with—“ Would you had thoughttwice!
Ah! if you had but follow’d my advice!”
XLVIII.
OJob! you had two friends: one’s quite enough,Especially when we are ill at ease:
They are but bad pilots when the weather’s rough ;
Doctors less famous for their cures than fees.
Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,
As they will do. like leaves at the first breeze:When your affairs come round, one way ort’other,
Do to the coffee-house, and take another,*
XLIX.
But this is not my maxim: had it been,
Some heart-aches had been spar’d me: yet I carenot—
I would not be a tortoise in his screenOf stubborn shell, which waves and weatherwear not.
*T is better; on the whole, to have felt and seenThat which humanity may bear, or bear not:
‘T will teach discernment to the sensitive,
And not to pour their ocean in a sieve.
L.
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, “ I told you so,”
Utter’d by friends, those prophets of the past,Who, ’stead of saying what you now should do,Own they foresaw that you would fall at last;And solace your slight lapse ’gainst “bonos mores*With a strong memorandum of old stories.
LI,
The Lady Adeline's serene severity
Was not confin’d to feeling for her friend,_Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity,Unless her habits should begin to mend;
But Juan also shar’d in her austerity,
But mix’d with pity, pure as e’er was penn’d:
His inexperience mov'd her gentle ruth,
And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth.
Ltl.
These forty days’ advantage of her years.—
And hers were those which can face calculation.Boldly roferring to the list of peers,
And noble births, nor dread the enumeration—Gave her a right to have maternal fearsFor a young gentleman’s fit education;
Though she was far from that leap-year, whoseleap,
In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap.
LIII.
This may be fix’d at somewhere before thirty—Say seven-and-twenty; for I never knewThe strictest in chronology and virtueAdvance beyond, while they could pass for new.0 Time! why dost not pause? Thy scythe scdirty
With rust, should surely cease to hack and hewReset it: shave more smoothly, also slower,
If but to keop thy credit as a mower.
LTV.
But Adeline was far from that ripe age,
Whose ripeness is but bitter, at the best.
’T was rather her experience made her sage;
For she had seen the world, and stood its test,
As I have said in—I forget what page:
My muse despises reference, as you have guess'd,By this time;—but strike six from seven-and-twenty,
And you will find her sum of years in plenty.
LV.
At sixteen she came out; presented, vaunted,
She put all coronets into commotion:
At seventeen, too, the world was still enchantedWith the new Venus of their brilliant ocean:
At eighteen, though below her feet still pantedA hecatomb of suitors with devotion,
She had consented to create againThat Adam, call’d “ The happiest of men.”
lvi.
Since then she had sparkled through three glowingwinters,
Admir’d, ador’d; but a»so so correct,
That she had puzzled all the acutest hinters,Without the apparel of being circumspect;
They could not even glean the slightest splintersFrom off the marble, which had no defect.
She had also snatch’d a moment, since her mar-riage.
To bear a son and heir—and one miscarriage.
LVII.
Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her,Those little glitterers of the London night:
But none of these possess’d a sting to wound her—*She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb’s flight.Perhaps she wish’d an aspirant profounder:
But, whatsoe'er she wish’d, she acted right:
And whethor coldness, pride, or virtue, dignifyA woman, so she’s good, what’s does it signify?
* In Swift’s or Horace Walpole ’s letters I think it is mentioned that somebody, regretting the loss ofa friend, was answered by an universal Pylades: 41 When I lose one, I go to the St. James’s Coffee house. and take another.”
I recollect having heard an anecdote of the same kind. Sir W D. was a great gamester. Coming iuone day to the club of which he was a member, he was observed to look melancholy. “ Wbat is tb4matter. Sir William?” cried Ha#e, of facetiouB memory. “Ah!” replied Sir W., “ I have just lost poorI^ady D>” “ i What at—Quinze or Hazard t" was the consolatory reioinder of the querist