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XXIII.

An honest gentleman at his return

May not have the good fortune of Ulysses; Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn,

Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses; The odds are that he finds a handsome urn

To his memory. -and two or three young misses Born to some friend, who holds his wife and riches,And that his Argus (1) bites him by-the breeches.

(1) ["Thus near the gates, conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew;

He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head.
He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet,
In vain he strove, to crawl and kiss his feet;
Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes
Salute his master, and confess his joys.
Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul;
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole,
Stole unperceived; he turns his head, and dry'd
The drop humane; then thus impassion'd cry'd:

'What noble beast in this abandon'd state
Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate?
His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise?
If, as he seems, he was in better days,

Some care his age deserves: Or was he prized
For worthless beauty! therefore now despised?
Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state,
And always cherish'd by their friends, the great.'

'Not Argus so, (Eumæus thus rejoin'd,)
He served a master of a nobler kind,
Who never, never shall behold him more!
Long, long since perish'd on a distant shore!'

This said, the honest herdsman strode before:
The musing monarch pauses at the door.
The dog, whom fate had granted to behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years had roll'd,
Takes a last look, and having seen him, dies;
So closed for ever faithful Argus' eyes!"

POPE, Odyssey, b. xvii.]

-

XXIV.

If single, probably his plighted fair

Has in his absence wedded some rich miser; But all the better, for the happy pair

May quarrel, and the lady growing wiser,
He may resume his amatory care

As cavalier servente, or despise her;
And that his sorrow may not be a dumb one,
Write odes on the Inconstancy of Woman.

XXV.

And oh ye gentlemen who have already
Some chaste liaison of the kind-I mean
An honest friendship with a married lady-
The only thing of this sort ever seen
To last -of all connections the most steady,

And the true Hymen, (the first's but a screen)— Yet for all that keep not too long away,

I've known the absent wrong'd four times a day.(')

XXVI.

Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had

Much less experience of dry land than ocean, On seeing his own chimney-smoke, felt glad; But not knowing metaphysics, had no notion Of the true reason of his not being sad,

Or that of any other strong emotion;

He loved his child, and would have wept the loss of her, But knew the cause no more than a philosopher.

(1) [MS." Yet for all that don't stay away too long,
A sofa, like a bed, may come by wrong."]

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XXVII.

He saw his white walls shining in the sun,
His garden trees all shadowy and green;
He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run,

The distant dog-bark; and perceived between
The umbrage of the wood so cool and dun

The moving figures, and the sparkling sheen Of arms (in the East all arm)—and various dyes Of colour'd garbs, as bright as butterflies.

XXVIII.

And as the spot where they appear he nears,
Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling,
He hears-alas! no music of the spheres,

But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling!
A melody which made him doubt his ears,
The cause being past his guessing or unriddling;

A pipe, too, and a drum, and shortly after,

A most unoriental roar of laughter.

XXIX.

And still more nearly to the place advancing,
Descending rather quickly the declivity,

Through the waved branches, o'er the greensward 'Midst other indications of festivity,

Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing

[glancing,

Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance (1) so martial, To which the Levantines are very partial.

(1) [This dance is still performed by young men armed cap-à-pie, who execute, to the sound of instruments, all the proper movements of attack and defence. - CLARKE.]

XXX.

And further on a group of Grecian girls, (1)
The first and tallest her white kerchief waving,
Were strung together like a row of pearls,

Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each too having Down her white neck long floating auburn curls— (The least of which would set ten poets raving); (2) Their leader —and bounded to her song, sang

With choral step and voice, the virgin throng.

XXXI.

And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays,
Small social parties just begun to dine;

Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze,
And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine,
And sherbet cooling in the porous vase;

Above them their dessert grew on its vine,
The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er,
Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow store.

XXXII.

A band of children, round a snow-white ram,
There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers;
While peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb,
The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers

(1) [" Their manner of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung to have danced on the banks of Eurotas. The great lady still leads the dance, and is followed by a troop of young girls, who imitate her steps, and if she sings, make up the chorus. The tunes are extremely gay and lively, yet with something in them wonderfully soft. The steps are varied according to the pleasure of her that leads the dance, but always in exact time, and infinitely more agreeable than any of our dances."-LADY M. W. MONTAGU.]

(2) [MS."That would have set Tom Moore, though married, raving."]

His sober head, majestically tame,

Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers His brow, as if in act to butt, and then

Yielding to their small hands, draws back again. (1)

XXXIII.

Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses,
Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks,
Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses,
The gesture which enchants, the eye that speaks,
The innocence which happy childhood blesses,
Made quite a picture of these little Greeks;
So that the philosophical beholder

Sigh'd, for their sakes- -that they should e'er grow

older.

XXXIV.

Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales
To a sedate grey circle of old smokers
Of secret treasures found in hidden vales,
Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers,
Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails,
Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers,
Of magic ladies who, by one sole act,

Transform'd their lords to beasts (but that's a fact).

XXXV.

Here was no lack of innocent diversion

For the imagination or the senses,

Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian, All pretty pastimes in which no offence is;

(1) [This verse reads like the description of some antique basso-relievo. -HILL.]

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