CXII. But on one luckless morn, as it befell, She went to see a tournament, wherein The brave Sir Lanval bore himself so well, And look'd so handsome when he chanced to win, That, over head and ears, in love she fell, And vow'd 'twould be a burning shame and sin, If such a noble Knight should waste his worth On any daughter of the sons of Earth. CXIII. And from that day Sir Lanval's wealth declined, As soon as wealth deserts you, girls despise : CXIV. So by these means the Fairy strove to stem The ladies' hearts from him, and his from them, At least it fully answer'd with the Queen; But with poor Blanch it had a bad effect,She loved him better for the world's neglect. CXV. And so she broke her heart, for which I'm sorry, Perhaps it pleased the Fairy's wayward mood CXVI. Therefore she hung a spell around his heart, At night, and in her charms his senses steep; CXVII. And thus she train'd him for her paramour- In her hands than in those of Mr. Day *; But married persons of inferior fortunes, Because they liked long sleeves instead of short ones. 'Twas summer-the enchanted forest lay, In the still silence of meridian day, Save when, at times, a low and fitful tune With his shrill chirp, or, with a deep-fetched note, CXIX. There were some children, playing in the shade, A handsome Knight, upon a steed sore-spent The Knight was young, but pale—the steed a bay. Author of Sandford and Merton.-See an edifying account of his method of breaking a brace of wives, in Mr. Edgeworth's autobiography. CXX. His eyes were sunk and dim-his head was bare; His arms hung idly at his saddle-bow; There was a pensive sadness in his air, Which told that he had made fast friends with woe: And yet a gentle patience linger'd there, Softening his haggard eyes-his pace was slow ; Listlessly on his way he seem'd to wend, He knew not whither-without aim or end. CXXI. The little children look'd upon his face With awe, and turn'd not to their sports again When he had past; his melancholy grace. Sunk on their spirits with such tender pain : The Knight soon reach'd the forest's loneliest place, Dismounted, and took off his charger's rein; Then, throwing his worn frame beneath a tree, CXXII. 'Twas poor Sir Lanval, who had lately bidden His poverty-and so to spare his pride, CXXIII. While thus he lay, dejected and forlorn, To such a doom of abject penury, Behold two damsels, brighter than the morn, Came tow'rd him through the green-wood suddenly, Array'd in garments of transparent splendour, Which dimm'd their beauties to a gleam more tender. VOL. II. PART I. L CXXIV. Of an immortal loveliness were they, And yet seem'd mortal women-I've not time To speak minutely of their dress to-day, But you may find it in the ancient rhyme ; In terms no less exact than they're sublime. Dear Mrs. L., don't dub my rhymes "immoral" Mention of ladies not completely dress'd CXXVI. Pray have you ever seen the Medicean Venus ?-or, when you meet the Italian's tray, Costume, the airy forms of Sylph and Fay? CXXVII. There lives a lady, I've been told, at Florence, CXXVIII. This statue, upon holidays and high days, May be correct, but seems absurd to me; If e'er to painting Vice, in hues less hideous, If e'er I pamper lust with strains insidious, CXXX. I wish the moral world (which I respect) Would learn to know its real friends and foes; And not, from sheer stupidity, reject Virtue's true champions, to pay court to those Prim doctors of the Pharisaic sect, * Whose favour does more mischief than their blows; Who make poor Truth an object of such terror, CXXXI. Caricaturing Sin is not the way To make her less seductive:-paint her fairly; And as for Virtue-let her mien be gay In general-grave sometimes austere but rarely; Be not too harsh, and I'll be bound to say That virtuous minds will not be found more sparely About you-where none's meant, don't seek offence, Knowing that freedom still is innocence. * See and hear the Melodies of Tom the Little. |