The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 114

IX.

The World is all before me[707]--or behind; For I have seen a portion of that same, And quite enough for me to keep in mind;-- Of pa.s.sions, too, I have proved enough to blame, To the great pleasure of our friends, Mankind, Who like to mix some slight alloy with fame; For I was rather famous in my time, Until I fairly knocked it up with rhyme.

X.

I have brought this world about my ears, and eke The other; that's to say, the Clergy--who Upon my head have bid their thunders break In pious libels by no means a few.

And yet I can't help scribbling once a week, Tiring old readers, nor discovering new.

In Youth I wrote because my mind was full, And _now_ because I feel it growing dull.

XI.

But "why then publish?"[708]--There are no rewards Of fame or profit when the World grows weary.

I ask in turn,--Why do you play at cards?

Why drink? Why read?--To make some hour less dreary.

It occupies me to turn back regards On what I've seen or pondered, sad or cheery; And what I write I cast upon the stream, To swim or sink--I have had at least my dream.

XII.

I think that were I _certain_ of success, I hardly could compose another line: So long I've battled either more or less, That no defeat can drive me from the Nine.

This feeling 't is not easy to express, And yet 't is not affected, I opine.

In play, there are two pleasures for your choosing-- The one is winning, and the other losing.

XIII.

Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction: She gathers a repertory of facts, Of course with some reserve and slight restriction, But mostly sings of human things and acts-- And that's one cause she meets with contradiction; For too much truth, at first sight, ne'er attracts; And were her object only what's called Glory, With more ease too she'd tell a different story.

XIV.

Love--War--a tempest--surely there's variety; Also a seasoning slight of lucubration; A bird's-eye view, too, of that wild, Society; A slight glance thrown on men of every station.

If you have nought else, here's at least satiety, Both in performance and in preparation; And though these lines should only line portmanteaus, Trade will be all the better for these Cantos.

XV.

The portion of this World which I at present Have taken up to fill the following sermon, Is one of which there's no description recent: The reason why is easy to determine: Although it seems both prominent and pleasant, There is a sameness in its gems and ermine, A dull and family likeness through all ages, Of no great promise for poetic pages.

XVI.

With much to excite, there's little to exalt; Nothing that speaks to all men and all times; A sort of varnish over every fault; A kind of common-place, even in their crimes; Fact.i.tious pa.s.sions--Wit without much salt-- A want of that true nature which sublimes Whate'er it shows with Truth; a smooth monotony Of character, in those at least who have got any.

XVII.

Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade, They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill; But then the roll-call draws them back afraid, And they must be or seem what they _were_: still Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade: But when of the first sight you have had your fill, It palls--at least it did so upon me, This paradise of Pleasure and _Ennui_.

XVIII.

When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming, Dressed, voted, shone, and, may be, something more-- With dandies dined--heard senators declaiming-- Seen beauties brought to market by the score, Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming-- There's little left but to be bored or bore.

Witness those _ci-devant jeunes hommes_ who stem The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them.

XIX.

'T is said--indeed a general complaint-- That no one has succeeded in describing The _monde_, exactly as they ought to paint: Some say, that authors only s.n.a.t.c.h, by bribing The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint, To furnish matter for their moral gibing; And that their books have but one style in common-- My Lady's prattle, filtered through her woman.

XX.

But this can't well be true, just now; for writers Are grown of the _beau monde_ a part potential: I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters, Especially when young, for that's essential.

Why do their sketches fail them as inditers Of what they deem themselves most consequential, The _real_ portrait of the highest tribe?

'T is that--in fact--there's little to describe.

XXI.

_"Haud ignara loquor;"_[709] these are _Nugae_, "_quarum Pars_ parva _fui_," but still art and part.

Now I could much more easily sketch a harem, A battle, wreck, or history of the heart, Than these things; and besides, I wish to spare 'em, For reasons which I choose to keep apart.

_"Vetabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgarit"_--[710]

Which means, that vulgar people must not share it.

XXII.

And therefore what I throw off is ideal-- Lowered, leavened, like a history of Freemasons, Which bears the same relation to the real, As Captain Parry's Voyage may do to Jason's.

The grand _Arcanum_'s not for men to see all; My music has some mystic diapasons; And there is much which could not be appreciated In any manner by the uninitiated.

XXIII.

Alas! worlds fall--and Woman, since she felled The World (as, since that history, less polite Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held), Has not yet given up the practice quite.

Poor Thing of Usages! coerced, compelled, Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right, Condemned to child-bed, as men for their sins Have shaving too entailed upon their chins,--

XXIV.

A daily plague, which in the aggregate May average on the whole with parturition.-- But as to women--who can penetrate The real sufferings of their she condition?

Man's very sympathy with their estate Has much of selfishness, and more suspicion.

Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, But form good housekeepers--to breed a nation.

XXV.

All this were very well, and can't be better; But even this is difficult, Heaven knows, So many troubles from her birth beset her, Such small distinction between friends and foes; The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter, That--but ask any woman if she'd choose (Take her at thirty, that is) to have been Female or male? a schoolboy or a Queen?

XXVI.

"Petticoat Influence" is a great reproach, Which even those who obey would fain be thought To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach; But since beneath it upon earth we are brought, By various joltings of Life's hackney coach, I for one venerate a petticoat-- A garment of a mystical sublimity, No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity.[mv]

XXVII.

Much I respect, and much I have adored, In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil, Which holds a treasure, like a miser's h.o.a.rd, And more attracts by all it doth conceal-- A golden scabbard on a Damasque sword, A loving letter with a mystic seal, A cure for grief--for what can ever rankle Before a petticoat and peeping ankle?

XXVIII.

And when upon a silent, sullen day, With a Sirocco, for example, blowing, When even the sea looks dim with all its spray, And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing, And the sky shows that very ancient gray, The sober, sad ant.i.thesis to glowing,-- 'T is pleasant, if _then_ anything is pleasant, To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant.

XXIX.