Page:The poetical works of Leigh Hunt, containing many pieces now first collected 1849.djvu/138

$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$But the best of it was, the god's wit so embrac'd
The whole room with its kindness and exquisite taste,
Every guest seem'd to feel his arm round her own waist.

And well might seem palpable all which he said!
For as Pallas leap'd arm'd out of Jupiter's head,
So gods, when they please, utter things, and not words!
'Tis a fact!—solid visions!—clouds, armies, trees, herds:—
You see them—nay, feel them. Thus, talks he of roses?
They come, thick and globy, caressing your noses.
Of music? 'tis heard: of a sword? you may grasp it:
Of love, and the bosom you long for? you clasp it.^[1]

Conceive then the joy, when in toasting the women
Whom wit hath made deathless, we saw them all swim in!
Each crossing the end of the room!—What a sight!—
The guests thrust their chairs back at first, in a fright.
I declare I beheld them so plainly, it took
All the self-command in me (so sweet was her look)
Not to jump from the gallery, and kiss Mrs. Brooke.^[2]

1. See a curious speculation in Tucker's "Light of Nature Pursued," in which a guess is made at the mode of speech in a future state.
2. Frances Brooke, authoress of "Rosina," "Emily Montague," &c. &c., "as remarkable," says Gorton's Biographical Dictionary, "for the suavity and gentleness of her manners, as for her literary talents." She had the candour, in a dispute with Garrick, to confess publicly that she was in the wrong.