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["It may be worth noting, that it was in correcting
“With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped in ticular passage in Beaumont and Fletcher, John did
a copy of verses, written obviously with a feeling which as he was bid, but did not succeed in discovering the lines. “ Hang it, Johnnie, cried Scott, * I believe I atoned, in Morton's opinion, for the roughness of the I can make a motto sooner than you will find one.' poetry, and the conceits with which it abounded, acHe did so accordingly; and from that hour, when- cording to the taste of the period:"ever memory failed to suggest an appropriate epi
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, graph, he had recourse to the inexhaustible mines of
As in that well-remember'd night, • old play' or old ballad, to which we owe some of
When first thy mystic braid was wove, the most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his
And first my Agnes whisper'd love. pen”—Life, vol. v., p. 145.]
Since then how often hast thou press'd
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin which peopled hell,
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion !
O, if such clime thou canst endure,
Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,
What conquest o’er each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought! The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath
I had not wander'd wild and wide, Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring;
With such an angel for my guide; And, in the April dew, or beam of May,
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me,
If she had lived, and lived to love me.
Not then this world's wild joys had been
My sole delight the headlong race,
And frantic hurry of the chase;
To start, pursue, and bring to bay,
Then–from the carcass turn away!
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed!
Yes, God and man might now approve me,
From Old Mortality.
(1.)-MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG. AND what though winter will pinch severe
Through locks of grey and a cloak that 's old,
(3.)-EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY
“Gentle reader, I did request of mine honest friend Peter Proudfoot, travelling merchant, known to many of this land for his faithful and just dealings, as well in muslins and cambrics as in small wares, to procurv
me, on his next peregrinations to that vicinage, a copy of the Epitaphion alluded to. And, according to his report, which I see no ground to discredit, it runneth thus:”
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detall
We Britons have the fear of shame before us, And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be de
Here lyes ane saint to prelates surly,
II. In the far eastern clime, no great while since, Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, Whose eyes, as oft as they perform’d their round, Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground; Whose cars received the same unvaried phrase, “ Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys !” All have their tastes—this may the fancy strike Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like; For me, I love the honest heart and warm Of Monarch who can amble round his farm, Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, In chimney corner seek domestic joysI love a prince will bid the bottle pass, Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass ; In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay, Keep up the jest, and mingle in the laySuch Monarchs best our free-born humours suit, But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute.
(1.)-CHAP. v. Arouse thee, youth it is no common call, God's Church is leaguer'd-haste to man the wall; Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on high, Signals of honour'd death or victory.
(2.)-CHAP. xiv. My hounds may a' rin masterless,
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, My lord may grip my vassal lands, For there again maun I never be!
(3.)-CHAP. XXXIV, Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
III. This Solimaun, Serendib bad in sway— And where's Serendib? may some critic say.Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, Scare not my Pegasus before I start! If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap, The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map, Famed mariner! whose merciless narrations Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience, Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter. He deign'd to tell them over to a portera The last edition see, by Long. and Co., Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the Row.
The Search after Happiness ;'
OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN.
IV. Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction, This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses, To raise the spirits and reform the juices, -Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours,) The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter, Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitterOr if some Mollah had hag-rid bis dreams With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, I wot not---but the Sultaun never laugh’d, Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy That scorn'd all remedy-profane or holy;
I. Ou for a glance of that gay Muse's eye, That lighten’d on Bandello's laughing tale, And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly, When Giam Battista bade her vision bail !_3
i First published in "The Sale Room, No. V.," February 1, 1817.
9 The hint of the following tale is taken from La Camiscia Magica, a novel of Giam Battista Casti.
3 See the Arabian Nights' Entertainments.
In his long list of melancholes, mad,
Double assessment, forage, and free quarters · Or mazed, or dumb, bath Burton none so bad.' And fearing these as China-men the Tartars,
Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers,
Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers.
And then in solemn accent spoke their doom, Imaum and Mollah there of every station, “ His majesty is very far from well."
Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. Then each to work with his specific fell:
Their votes were various-some advised a Mosque The Hakim Ibrahim instanter brought
With fitting revenues should be erected, His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut,
With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, While Roompot, a practitioner more wily,
To recreate a band of priests selected; Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily.”
Others opined that through the realms a dole More and yet more in deep array appear,
Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit And some the front assail, and some the rear; The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul. Their remedies to reinforce and vary,
But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary;
More closely touch'd the point:-" Thy studious Till the tired Monarch, though of words grown chary, mood,” Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labour, Quoth he, “O Prince ! hath thicken'd all thy blood, Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre.
And dulld thy brain with labour beyond measure ; There lack’d, I promise you, no longer speeches Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasure, To rid the palace of those learned leeches.
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure;
From all the cares of state, my Liege, enlarge thee, VI.
And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy."
And so the patient (as is not uncommon
Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders
Resolved to take advice of an old woman; Such have the Persians at this very day,
His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai ;_3 And still was called so by each subject duteous. I'm not prepared to show in this slight song Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest, That to Serendib the same forms belong
Or only made believe, I cannot sayE'en let the learn'd go search, and tell me if I'm But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest, wrong.
By dint of magic amulet or lay;
And, when all other skill in vain was shown,
She deemd it fitting time to use her own.
X. “ The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath
“ Sympathia magica hath wonders done,” Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death; (Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son,) Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle,
“ It works upon the fibres and the pores,
The ill, my son, or travel for the cure.
Bid every current of your veins rejoice, (Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's.” Look'd ruefully in one another's faces,
Such was the counsel from his mother came;From this oration auguring much disquiet, I know not if she had some under-game,
3 See Sir John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia.
1 See Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
2 For these hard words see D'Herbelot, or the learned editor the Recipes of Avicenna.
As Doctors nave, who bid their patients roam Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd him, And live abroad, when sure to die at home;
Only the glory of his house had fail'd him; Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, Besides, some tumours on his noddle biding, Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen-Mother; Gave indication of a recent hiding. 5 But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it,) Our Prince, though Sultauns of such things are heedThat such was her advice-the Sultaun took it.
Thought it a thing indelicate and needless
To ask, if at that moment he was happy.
Loud voice mustered up, for “ Vive le Roi !" The old Rais I was the first who questioned, Then whisper'd, “ Ave you any news of Nappy ?" “ Whither?”
The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross question, They paused—“ Arabia,” thought the pensive Prince, “ Pray, can you tell me aught of one John Bull, “ Was call'd The Happy many ages since
That dwells somewhere beyond your herring-pool ?" For Mokha, Rais.”-And they came safely thither. The query seem'd of difficult digestion, But not in Araby, with all her balm,
The party sbrugg'd, and grinn’d, and took his snuft, Not where Judea weeps beneath her palm,
And found his whole good-breeding scarce enough.
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers,
Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause,
“ Jean Bool l-I vas not know him—Yes, I vas “ Enough of turbans," said the weary King,
I vas remember dat, von year or two, “ These doli ins of ours are not the thing;
I saw him at von place call’d Vaterloo
Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment battu,
So Solimaun took leave, and cross'd the strait
And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo.
And authors vouch, 'twas still this Worthy's way, And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel. 4 “ Never to grumble till he came to pay; If happiness you seek, to tell you truly,
And then he always thinks, his temper's such, We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli; The work too little, and the pay too much." 6 A tramontane, a heretic,--the buck,
Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty, Poffaredio ! still has all the luck;
That when his mortal foe was on the floor, By land or ocean never strikes his flag
And past the power to harm his quiet more, And then-a perfect walking money-bag."
Poor John had wellnigh wept for Bonaparte ! Off set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode, Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd,But first took France--it lay upon the road.
“ And who are you,” John answer'd, “and bed-dp”
“ Happy? my tenants breaking on my hand ; Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely throttle, Unstock'd my pastures, and untill'd my land;
And hollo'd.“ Ma'am that is not what I ail. Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths
Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen !"The sole consumers of my good broadcloths— “ Happy?” said Peg; “ What for d'ye want to Happy ?-Why, cursed war and racking tax
ken? Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs." Besides, just think upon this by-gane year, “ In that case, signior, I may take my leave;
Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh.”— I came to ask a favour-but I grieve"
“ What say you to the present ?"_" Meal's sae « Favour ?” said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard,
dear, “ It's my belief you come to break the yard !
To mak’their brose my bairns have scarce aneugh."But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner, “ The devil take the shirt,” said Solimaun, Take that to buy yourself a shirt and dinner." “ I think my quest will end as it began.With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head;
Farewell, ma'am; nay, no ceremony, I beg”. But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said,
“ Ye'll no be for the linen then ?" said Peg. “ Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline; A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine.
The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells,
The cousin of John Bull, as story tells.
Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, When the blithe bagpipe blew-but, soberer now, Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogg'd unduly, She doucely span her flax and milk'd her cow. Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. And whereas erst she was a needy slattern,
Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow,
A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow;
His garment was a top-coat, and an old one,
But still for fun or frolic, and all that,
In the round world was not the match of Pat.
The Sultaun saw him on a holiday, She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life,
Which is with Paddy still a jolly day: Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour, When mass is ended, and his load of sins Who look'd to the main chance, declined no labour, Confess'd, and Mother Church hath from her Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon,
binds And was d-d close in making of a bargain.
Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit,
Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit !
To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free,
And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. And with decorum curtsy'd sister Peg;
“ By Mahomet,” said Sultaun Solimaun, (She loved a book, and knew a thing or two,
“ That ragged fellow is our very man!
But, will he nill he, let me have his shirt.”-
But the odds that foild Hercules foil'd Paddy Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park
Whack; Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark? They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripp'd himIf ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinnin',
Alack ! I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen."
Up-bubboo! Paddy had not & shirt to his
And the King, disappointed, with sorrow and Then up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle shame, In search of goods her customer to nail,
Went back to Serendib as sad as he came.