Fanny Part 6

Yet, far in the west, where the day's faded roses, Touch'd by the moonbeam, are withering fast; Where the half-seen spirit of twilight reposes, Hymning the dirge of the hours that are past,

4

There, where the ocean-wave sparkles at meeting (As sunset dreams tell us) the kiss of the sky, On his dim, dark cloud is the infant storm sitting, And beneath the horizon his lightnings are nigh.

5

Another hour--and the death-word is given, Another hour--and his lightnings are here; Speed! speed thee, my bark; ere the breeze of even Is lost in the tempest, our home will be near.

6

Then away o'er the wave, while thy pennant is streaming In the shadowy light, like a shooting star; Be swift as the thought of the wanderer, dreaming, In a stranger land, of his fireside afar.

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And while memory lingers I'll fondly believe thee A being with life and its best feelings warm; And freely the wild song of grat.i.tude weave thee, Bless'd spirit! that bore me and mine from the storm.

CIV.

But where is f.a.n.n.y? She has long been thrown Where cheeks and roses wither--in the shade.

The age of chivalry, you know, is gone; And although, as I once before have said, I love a pretty face to adoration, Yet, still, I must preserve my reputation,

CV.

As a true dandy of the modern schools.

One hates to be oldfashion'd; it would be A violation of the latest rules, To treat the s.e.x with too much courtesy.

'Tis not to worship beauty, as she glows In all her diamond l.u.s.tre, that the beaux

CVI.

Of these enlighten'd days at evening crowd, Where fashion welcomes in her rooms of light, That "dignified obedience; that proud Submission," which, in times of yore, the knight Gave to his "ladye-love," is now a scandal, And practised only by your Goth or Vandal.

CVII.

To lounge in graceful att.i.tudes--be stared Upon, the while, by every fair one's eye, And stare one's self, in turn; to be prepared To dart upon the trays, as swiftly by The dexterous Simon bears them, and to take One's share, at least, of coffee, cream, and cake,

CVIII.

Is now to be "the ton." The pouting lip, And sad, upbraiding eye of the poor girl, Who hardly of joy's cup one drop can sip, Ere in the wild confusion, and the whirl, And tumult of the hour, its bubbles vanish, Must now be disregarded. One must banish

CIX.

Those antiquated feelings, that belong To feudal manners and a barbarous age.

Time was--when woman "pour'd her soul" in song, That all was hush'd around. 'Tis now "the rage"

To deem a song, like bugle-tones in battle, A signal note, that bids each tongue's artillery rattle.

CX.

And, therefore, I have made Miss f.a.n.n.y wait My leisure. She had changed, as you will see, as Much as her worthy sire, and made as great Proficiency in taste and high ideas.

The careless smile of other days was gone, And every gesture spoke "_q'en dira-t' on_?"

CXI.

She long had known that in her father's coffers, And also to his credit in the banks, There was some cash; and therefore all the offers Made her, by gentlemen of the middle ranks, Of heart and hand, had spurn'd, as far beneath One whose high destiny it was to breathe,

CXII.

Ere long, the air of Broadway or Park Place, And reign a fairy queen in fairy land; Display in the gay dance her form of grace, Or touch with rounded arm and gloveless hand, Harp or piano.--Madame Catilani Forgot a while, and every eye on f.a.n.n.y.

CXIII.

And in antic.i.p.ation of that hour, Her star of hope--her paradise of thought, She'd had as many masters as the power Of riches could bestow; and had been taught The thousand nameless graces that adorn The daughters of the wealthy and high born.

CXIV.

She had been noticed at some public places (The Battery, and the b.a.l.l.s of Mr. Whale), For hers was one of those attractive faces, That when you gaze upon them, never fail To bid you look again; there was a beam, A l.u.s.tre in her eye, that oft would seem

CXV.

A little like effrontery; and yet The lady meant no harm; her only aim Was but to be admired by all she met, And the free homage of the heart to claim; And if she show'd too plainly this intention, Others have done the same--'twas not of her invention.

CXVI.

She shone at every concert; where are bought Tickets, by all who wish them, for a dollar; She patronised the Theatre, and thought That Wallack look'd extremely well in Rolla; She fell in love, as all the ladies do, With Mr. Simpson--talked as loudly, too,

CXVII.

As any beauty of the highest grade, To the gay circle in the box beside her; And when the pit--half vex'd and half afraid, With looks of smother'd indignation eyed her, She calmly met their gaze, and stood before 'em, Smiling at vulgar taste and mock decorum.

CXVIII.

And though by no means a _bas bleu_, she had For literature a most becoming pa.s.sion; Had skimm'd the latest novels, good and bad, And read the Croakers, when they were in fashion; And Doctor Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday; And Woodworth's Cabinet, and the new Salmagundi.