Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways! A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. LXVI. When Paphos fell by Time-accursed Time! The Queen who conquers all must yield to theeThe Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime ; And Venus, constant to her native sea, To nought else constant, hither deign'd to flee, And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white; Though not to one dome circumscribeth she Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. LXVII. From morn till night, from night till startled Morn Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. LXVIII. The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest : Hark! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar? LXIX. The seventh day this; the jubilee of man. London! right well thou knowest the day of prayer : Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artizan, And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: Thy coach of Hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl; To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow, make repair; Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. LXX. Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair, Others along the safer turnpike fly; Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, And many to the steep of Highgate hic. Ask ye, Boeotian shades! the reason why? 'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. LXXI. All have their fooleries-not alike are thine, Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea! Thy saint adorers count the rosary : Much is the VIRGIN teased to shrive them free (Well do I ween the only virgin there) From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be; Then to the crowded circus forth they fare: Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion share. LXXII. The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd, Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, Ne vacant space for lated wight is found: Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery. LXXIII. Hush'd is the din of tongues-on gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance, Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, And lowly bending to the lists advance; Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance : If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. LXXIV. In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, Stands in the centre, eager to invade The lord of lowing herds; but not before The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed : His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more Can man achieve without the friendly steedAlas! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. LXXV. Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls, The den expands, and Expectation mute Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe: Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit His first attack, wide waving to and fro His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. |