The Triumphs of Temper (11th ed.)/Canto 6

by William Hayley

CANTO VI.

 

BLEST be the heart of sympathetic mould,
Whatever form that gentle heart infold,
Whose generous fibres with fond terror shake,
When keen affliction threatens to o'ertake
Young artless Beauty, as alarm'd she strays
Thro' the strange windings of this mortal maze!
To such, Serena, be thy story known,
Whose bosom best can make thy lot their own,
And, kindly sharing in thy trials past,
Attend with sweet anxiety the last.
The hour approaches, the tremendous hour,
In whose dark moments deeper perils lower;
Still so inwrapt in Pleasure's gay disguise,
They lurk invisible to Caution's eyes;
And, unsuspected by the fair-one, wait
To cancel or confirm her blissful fate.
 Her lively mind with bright ideas stor'd,
She takes her station at the breakfast-board:
Still her rapt soul the heavenly vision fills,
And sweeter graces in her smile instils;
New hopes of triumph glide thro' every nerve,
And arm her glowing heart with firm reserve;
Conscious the final trying chance impends,
To bear its force her every power she bends;
In her quick thought ambitious to presage
How Spleen^s dark agents may exert their rage,
She ponders on what perils may befall,
And fondly deems her mind a match for all.
Ah, lovely nymph! this dangerous pride forego;
Pride may betray—security's thy foe.
 While fancied prudence thus, a foreign guest,
Sits doubly cherish'd in Serena's breast,
Behold a billet her attention steal,
No common arms compose its ample seal;
Th' unfolding paper breathes a roseate scent,
Sweet harbinger of joy, its kind intent.
Of courteous Filligree it bears the name,
Clear symptom of the peer's increasing flame!
The gracious earl, lamenting pleasure lost,
And fair Serena in her wishes crost,
Has plann'd, in honour of the lovely maid,
A fancied ball, a private masquerade,
And supplicates her fire, with warm esteem,
To smile indulgent on the festive scheme.
All arts he uses to insure the grant,
Nor leaves unask'd the eager maiden aunt.
Quick at the sound Serena's glowing heart
Throbs with gay hopes; but soon those hopes depart:
Reflection, in her soul a faithful guard,
The opening avenues of pleasure barr'd:
She deem'd the plan of this delightful show,
But the new ambush of her secret foe;
The bliss too bright to realize, she guess'd,
And chas'd th' idea from her guarded breast.
While these discreet resolves her thought employ,
Tranquil she triumphs o'er her smother'd joy.
Not so the knight—to his parental eyes,
In dazzling pomp delusive visions rise:
That coronet, the object of his vow,
He sees suspended o'er his daughter's brow;
Eager he burns to snap the pendent thread,
And fix the glory on his darling's head.
Far wiser aims the ancient maiden caught,
No empty gew-gaw flutters in her thought;
But, while more keenly she applauds the plan,
Her hope is solid and substantial man;
Not for her infant niece, whose baby frame
She holds unfit for Hymen's holy flame;
But for her riper self, whose strength may bear
The heaviest burden of connubial care.
 Tho' different phantoms dance before their sight,
Niece, aunt, and father, in one wish unite,
To join the banquet is their common choice,
The business past with no dissenting voice;
And the warm fire in whom ambition burn'd,
A note of grateful courtesy return'd:
His billet seal'd, the glad good-humour'd knight
Launch'd forth, like Nestor, on his youthful might;
"Oh could I now, in spite of age, retain
That active vigour, and that sprightly vein,
Which led me once the lively laugh to raise
Among the merrier wits of former days,
When rival beauties would around me throng,
And gay ridottos listen to my song!
Such were I now, as on the festive night,
When Ch———h's charms amaz'd the public sight;
When the kind fair-one, in a veil so thin
That the clear gauze was but a lighter skin,
Mask'd like a virgin just prepar'd to die,
Gave her plump beauties to each greedy eye!
On that fam'd night (for then with frolic fire
Youth fill'd my heart, and humour strung my lyre),
Pleas'd in the sun-shine of her smile to bask,
I danc'd around her in a devil's mask;
And idly chanted an infernal ode,
In praise of all this female tempter show'd.
The jocund crowd, who throng'd with me to gaze,
Extoll'd my unpremeditated lays,
And Sport, who still of this old revel brags,
^[1]Styl'd her the first of maids, and me of wags.
Then a light devil, now, reduc'd to limp,
I am but fit to play the hag-born imp;
Still, not to cross the frolic of this ball,
Still as the tortoise Caliban I'll crawl,
And if with gout my burning ankles flinch,
I'll call it Prospero's tormenting pinch;
Still in this shape I'll shew them what I am;
And Pen, shall go as Sycorax my dam."
 So spoke the knight; and spoke with so much weight,
The listening females saw his word was fate;
For ne'er did Jove with so resolv'd a brow
To smiling Love his joyous scheme avow,
When he concerted, for his special mirth,
A masquerading on the stage of earth,
And of the swan's soft plume, or bull's rough hair,
Order'd the fancy-dress he chose to wear.
From whence let sapient antiquarians show
The ancient use of masquerades below.
Serena smil'd to see this joyous fire
Infuse new youth in her determin'd sire;
But mute Penelope, with half a sigh,
"With one auspicious and one dropping eye,"
Heard the firm knight his fixt resolve impart,
Tickling at once and torturing her heart.
The ball she relish'd, but abhorr'd the task
To hide her beauties in a beldam's mask:
Miranda's name would better suit her plan,
A simple maiden, not afraid of man;
But us'd, alas! her brother's law to feel,
She knows that law admits not of repeal.
Trusting her charms will any garb enrich,
She deigns to take the habit of a witch.
Never did sorceress in the shades of night
Try to illuminate a filthy sprite
With fonder efforts, or with worse success,
Than Pen. now labour'd, in this wayward dress,
To give the sprightly show of living truth
To the poor ghost of her departed youth.
As witches o'er their magic cauldron bend,
Anxious to see their menial imps ascend;
So in her glass the ancient maiden pries,
And dreams new graces in her person rise.
No such delights, whole dear delusions please,
The mild Serena in her mirror sees;
She, at whose toilet beauty's latent queen
Attends, enchanted with her filial mien,
And o'er her favourite's unconscious face
Breathes her own roseate glow and vivid grace.
She hastes her glittering garments to adjust,
With all the modest charms of sweet distrust,
Doubting that beauty, which she doubts alone,
Which dazzles every eye except her own.
The native diffidence which sway'd her mind,
Nows feels new terrors with its own combin'd;
The robes of Ariel to the nymph recall
Those disappointments that may yet befall;
As her fair hands the gauze or tissue touch,
They fondly warn her not to hope too much.
She feels the friendly counsel they impart,
And caution reigns protector of her heart.
 The fateful evening comes—the coach attends,
And first the gouty Caliban ascends;
Then, in Deformity's well-suited pride,
Sour Sycorax is station'd by his side;
And last, with sportive smiles, divinely sweet,
Light Ariel perches on the vacant seat.
Fancy now paints the scene of pleasure near,
Yet fluttering gaiety is check'd by fear.
Her wish to view the festive sight runs high;
But the fond nymph remembers with a sigh,
From Hope's keen hand the cup of Joy may slip,
And fall untasted, tho' it reach the lip.
As the fine artist, whose nice toils aspire
To fame eternal by encaustic fire;
If he, with grief, has seen the faithless heat
Mar the rich labour it should make complete,
When next his hands, with trembling care, confide
To the fierce element his pencil's pride,
Watches unceasing the pernicious flame,
Terror and hope contending in his frame,
While his fair work the dangerous fire sustains,
Feels it in all his sympathetic veins,
And at each trivial sound that chance may cause,
Hears the gem crack, and sees its cruel flaws:
With such solicitude the panting maid
Past the long street, of every noise afraid.
Now, while around her rival flambeaus flare,
And the coach rattles thro' the crowded square,
She fears some dire mischance mud yet befall,
Some demon snatch her from the promis'd ball;
And dreams no trial more severe than this,
So bright she figures the new scene of bliss:
Yet, horrid as it seems, her heart is bent
To bear e'en this, and bear it with content.
 But, whirl'd at length within the porter's gate,
She thinks what perils at the ball may wait;
And, as she now alights, the fluttering fair
Invokes her guardian to protect her there,
Till thoughts of danger, thoughts of caution, fly
Before the magic blaze that meets her eye.
Th' advancing nymph, at every step she takes,
Pants with amazement, doubtful if she wakes;
Far as her eyes the glittering scene command,
'Tis all enchantment, all a fairy land;
No vestiges of modern pomp appear,
No modern melody salutes her ear:
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$With Moorish notes the echoing mansion rings,
And its transmuted form to fancy brings
The rich ^[2]Alhambra of the Moorish kings.
The peer, who keenly thirsts for fashion's praise,
To gild his revel with no common rays,
Summon'd his modish architect, whose skill
Can all the wishes of caprice fulfil.
His genius, equal to the wildest task,
Gave to the house itself a Gothic mask.
The chaplain, that no guest might feel neglect,
As a magician of the Arab sect,
Wav'd a presiding wand throughout the ball,
And well provided for the wants of all.
 The peer himself, his prowess to evince,
Shines in the semblance of a Moorish prince;
And round the brilliant mimic hero wait
All pomp and circumstance of Moorish state:
Thro' all his splendid dome no eye could find
Aught unembellish'd, save the master's mind,
There, tho' represt by courtesy's control,
Lurks the low mover of the little soul,
Mean Vanity; whose slave can never prove
The heart-refining flame of genuine love.
While her cold joys his abject mind amuse,
His thoughts are busied on connubial views.
His house complete, its decorations plac'd
By the sure hand of fashionable Taste,
He only wants, to crown his modish life,
That last and finest moveable—a wife.
She too must prove, to fix his coy desire,
Such as the eye of fashion will admire.
His ball is but a jury, to decide
Upon the merit of his fancied bride.
If sweet Serena, on this signal night,
Shines the first idol of the public sight;
If Gallantry's fixt eyes pronounce her fair,
By the sure sign of one unceasing stare;
And if, prophetic of her nobler doom,
Each rival beauty shudders at her bloom;
The dye is cast—he weds—the point is clear;
She cannot slight the vows of such a peer.
Thus argued in his mind the festive earl,
And, lest he lightly choose an awkward girl,
Wisely conven'd, on this important case,
Each fashionable judge of female grace.
Here beaux esprits in various figures lurk,
Of Jew and Gentile, Bramin, Tartar, Turk;
But of the manly masks, a youthful bard
Seem'd most to challenge beauty's soft regard:
Adorn'd with native elegance, he wore
In simplest form, the minstrel dress of yore:
They call him Edwin, who around him throng,
Edwin, immortaliz'd in Beattie's song;
And, sooth to say, within a comely frame
He bore a heart that answer'd to the name;
For this neat habit deck'd a generous youth,
Of gentlest manners, and sincerest truth.
Tho' on his birth propitious Fortune smil'd,
No proud parental folly spoil'd the child;
And Genius, more beneficently kind,
Blest with superior wealth his manly mind.
Of years he barely counted twenty-one;
But, like a brilliant morn, his opening life begun.
Fain would the Muse on this her votary dwell,
And fully paint the youth she loves so well;
His figure's charms, the music of his tongue,
What nymphs his lays allur'd, what lays he sung;
But higher cares her rambling song control;
Serena's perils summon all her soul;
For Spleen, ambitious to exert her force,
Conscious this trial is her last resource,
Most keenly bent on her pernicious task,
Has shifted round the ball from mask to mask,
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Watching the moment, with infernal care,
To form with deepest art her final snare,
And manacle the mind of the unguarded fair.
 It comes, the moment that must fix her lot,
By her, ah, thoughtless maid! by her forgot;
Tho' the light Hours, e'en in their frolic ring,
Trembling perceive the fearful chance they bring,
And, shuddering at the nymph's terrific state,
Seem anxious to suspend her doubtful fate.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$ Now social ease the place of sport supplied,
The hot oppressive mask was thrown aside,
And beauty shone reveal'd in all her blushing pride.
Superior still in features as in form,
With admiration fluh'd, with pleasure warm,
The gay Serena every eye allur'd;
The hearts her figure won her face secur'd:
A tender sweetness still the nymph maintain'd,
And Modesty o'er all her graces reign'd.
Well might her soul to brilliant hopes incline,
A thousand youths had call'd her charms divine;
A thousand friends had whisper'd in her ear,
That fate had mark'd her for the festive peer.
Her youthful fancy, tho' by pomp amus'd,
Wish'd not those offers which her heart refus'd:
That tender heart, by no vain pride possest,
With indecisive trembling shook her breast,
Like a young bird, that, fluttering in the air,
Wishes to build her nest, yet knows not where.
 The busy earl, his puny love to raise,
Hunted the circling whisper of her praise;
Heard Envy own her lovely charms, tho' loth,
Heard Taste attest them with a modish oath;

London, Publish'd Sept^r. 1^st. 1787, by T. Cadell, Strand.

And, nuptial projects thickening in his mind,
Now his fair partner in the dance rejoin'd.
As now the sprightly music paus'd, my lord
Eager resolv'd to touch a foster chord;
Secure of all repulse, he vainly meant
Half to display, half hide his fond intent,
And, in dissembled passion's flowery tropes,
To sport at leisure with the virgin's hopes:
For this he fram'd a motley speech, replete
With amorous compliment and vain conceit.
The labour'd nothing with complacent pride
He spoke; but to his speech no nymph replied:
For in the moment, the lost fair devotes
Her willing ear to more attractive notes.
The minstrel happen'd near the nymph to walk,
Rapt with a bosom-friend in secret talk,
And, at the instant when the earl began
Half to unfold his matrimonial plan,
Edwin, in whispers, from the crowd retir'd,
Chanc'd to repeat the sonnet she inspir'd:
The sounds, tho' faint, her recollection caught,
Drew her quick eye, and fixt her wondering thought.
Lost in this sweet surprise, she could not hear
A single accent of the amorous peer.
Spleen saw the moment that she sought to gain,
And perch'd triumphant on the noble's brain.
With jealous envy stung, and baffled pride,
"Contemptuous girl!" with sudden rage, he cried,
"If here to happier youths thy views incline,
I want not fairer nymphs who challenge mine.
Thy breast in vain with penitence may burn;
But, once neglected, I no more return."
Thus loudly speaking, with distemper'd heat,
Rudely he turn'd, with rancorous scorn replete.
Serena, startled at th' injurious sound,
Survey'd th' insulting peer, who sternly frown'd;
Shame and resentment thro' her bosom rush,
Swell every vein, and raise the burning blush.
Love, new-born love, but in its birth conceal'd,
Nor to the nymph herfelf as yet reveal'd,
And just disdain, and anger's honest flame,
With complicated power convulse her frame;
Contending passions every thought confound,
And in tumultuous doubt her soul is drown'd.
Now treacherous pride, who tempts her tongue to trip,
Forms to a keen reply her quivering lip:
Insidious Spleen now hovers o'er the fair,
Deems her half lock'd within her hateful snare;
In her new slave preparing to rejoice,
To taint her spirit, and untune her voice.
Hapless Serena! what can save thee now?
The fiend's dark signet stamps thy clouded brow,
In thy swoln eye I see the darting drop;
This fatal shower, ætherial guardian! stop:
Haste to thy votary, haste her soul sustain,
Nor let the trials she has past be vain
Ah me! while yet I speak, with shuddering dread
I hear the magic girdle's bursting thread.
This horrid omen, ye kind powers! avert:
Nor thou, bright zone! thy brighter charge desert.
Ah, fruitless prayer! her panting breast behold!
See! the gauze shakes in many a ruffled fold!
Forc'd from their station by her heaving heart,
From the strain'd girdle thrice three spangles start:
Thro' her disorder'd dress a pass they've found,
And fallen, see, they glitter on the ground!—
O blessed chance! with life-recalling light
The glittering monitors attract her sight!
Like stars emerging from the darken'd pole,
They sparkle safety to her harass'd soul.
See! from her brow the clouds of trouble fly,
Vexation's tear is vanish'd from her eye!
Her rosy cheeks with Joy's new radiance burn,
Like nature smiling at the sun's return;
The nymph, no more with mental darkness blind,
Shines the sweet ruler of her rescu'd mind.
Hence, hateful Spleen! thy fancied prize resign,
Renounce for ever what shall ne'er be thine;
For, conscious of her airy guardian's aid,
She feels new spirit thro' her heart convey'd,
And, inly blessing this victorious hour,
Her soul exults in its recover'd power.
In such mild terms she hails th' insulting peer,
As Spleen, if mortal, must expire to hear;
But, driven for ever from the lovely girl,
The foul fiend riots in the captive earl.
He answers not; but, with a sullen air,
On happier Edwin, who approach'd the fair,
Darts such a glance of rage and envious hate,
As Satan cast on Eden's blissful state,
When on our parents first he fixt his sight,
And undelighted gaz'd on all delight;
So doom'd to look, and doom'd such pangs to feel,
Scornful he turn'd on his elastic heel.

 "O lovely mildness! O angelic maid!
Deserving homage, tho' to scorn betray'd;
Rise still, sweet spirit, rise these wrongs above,
Turn from injurious pride to faithful love;
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Tho' on my brow no coronet may shine,
Wealth I can offer at thy beauty's shrine,
And, worthier thee, a heart that worships thine."
Thus, with new-kindled love's aspiring flame,
Spoke the fond youth conceal'd by Edwin's name,
The gallant Falkland, rich in native worth,
By fortune blest, and not of abject birth.
Warmly he spoke, with that indignant heat
With which the generous heart ne'er fails to beat,
When worth insulted wakens virtuous ire.
And injur'd beauty sets the soul on fire.
Quick to his voice the startled virgin turn'd,
With wonder, hope, and joy, her bosom burn'd;
With sweet confusion, flurried and amaz'd,
On his attractive form she wildly gaz'd.
Full on her thought the friendly visions rush'd;
Blushing she view'd him, view'd him still and blush'd;
And, soft affection quickening at the sight,
Perchance had swoon'd with fulness of delight,
But that her father's voice, with quick control,
Recall'd the functions of her fainting soul.
When on the distant seat, where, fondly fixt,
He view'd the nymph as in the dance she mixt,
He indistinctly heard, with wounded ear,
The spleenful outrage of the angry peer;
Swift at th' imperfect sound, with choler wild,
He sprung to succour his insulted child;
But ere his fury into language broke,
Love calm'd the storm that arrogance awoke.
The sudden burst of Falkland's tender flame,
His winning manners, his distinguish'd name,
His liberal soul, by Fortune's smile carest,
All join'd to harmonize the father's breast.
His fiery thoughts subside in glad surprise,
And to the generous youth he warmly cries:
"Ingenuous Falkland! by thy frankness won,
My willing heart would own thee for my son;
But on thy hopes Serena must decide:—
Haste we together from this house of pride."
 So spoke the sire; for, to her votary kind,
Sophrosyne inspir'd his soften'd mind.
Speaking, he smil'd, to see that on his word
The lover hung, and blest the sounds he heard;
That his embarrass'd child his sentence caught
With each tumultuous sign of tender thought;
Whose blushes, springing from the heart, declare
The dawn of fondness in the modest fair.
Th' enchanted youth with ecstasy convey'd
Forth from the troubled feast the trembling maid.
 As the keen sailor, whom his daring soul
Has drawn, too vent'rous, near the freezing pole;
Who, having slighted Caution's tame advice,
Seems wedg'd within impervious worlds of ice:
If, from each chilling form of peril free,
At length he reach the unincumber'd sea,
With joy superior to his transient pain,
Rushes, exulting, o'er th' expansive main:
Such strong delight Serena's bosom shar'd,
When sweet reflection to her heart declar'd,
That all the trials of her fate were past,
And Love's decisive plaudits seal'd the last.
Her airy guard prepares the softest down,
From Peace's wing, to line the nuptial crown:
Her smiles accelerate the bridal morn,
And clear her votary's path from every thorn.
On the quick match the Prude's keen censures fall,
Blind to the heavenly power who guided all:
But mild Serena scorn'd the prudish play,
To wound warm love with frivolous delay;
Nature's chaste child, not Affectation's slave,
The heart she meant to give, she frankly gave.
Thro' her glad sire no gouty humours run,
Jocund he glories in his destin'd son.
Penelope herself, no longer seen
In the sour semblance of tormenting Spleen,
Buys for her niece the robes of nuptial state,
Nor scolds the mercer once thro' all the long debate.
For quick dispatch, the honest man of law
Toils half the night the legal ties to draw.
At length th' enraptur'd youth, all forms complete,
Bears his sweet bride to his paternal seat:
On a fair lawn the cheerful mansion stood,
And high behind it rose a circling wood.
As the blest lord of this extensive reign
Led his dear partner thro' her new domain,
With fond surprise, Serena soon descried
A temple rais'd to her ætherial guide.
Its ornaments she view'd with tender awe,
Their fashion such as she in vision saw;
For the kind youth, her grateful smile to gain,
Had, from her clear description, deck'd the fane.
Joyful he cried to his angelic wife,
"Be this kind power the worship of our life!"
He spoke; and led her to the inmost shrine;
Here, linked in rosy bands, two votaries shine;
The pencil had imparted life to each,
With energy that seem'd beyond its reach.
First stood Connubial Love, a manly youth,
Whose bright eye spoke the ardent vows of truth;
Friendship, sweet smiling, fill'd the second place,
In all the softer charms of virgin grace,
Their meeting arms a mystic tablet raise,
Deck'd with these lines, the moral of my lays:—
"Virtue's an ingot of Peruvian gold,
Sense the bright ore Potosi's mines unfold;
But Temper's image must their use create,
And give these precious metals sterling weight."

 

 

London: printed by R. Noble,
in the Old Bailey.

1. Βεκν Διι, Νεςορε τ᾽ ατδςων.
   See Nestor's speech in the 11th Iliad.
2. See the views of this palace in Swinburne's Travels.