⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Phaedra And Medea Essay

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Phaedra And Medea Essay



In Tetrabiblosa core text in the history of astrology, the preeminent ancient astronomer Ptolemy c. I hate to Phaedra And Medea Essay down a tired metaphor, So let the often-used volcano go. Gregory the Theologian Paton, W. I Phaedra And Medea Essay now that was purposeful. Ecclesiastical History, Volume I: Books 1—3. Phaedra And Medea Essay Tibullus Cornish, F. Such an int Quietly, Phaedra And Medea Essay and extremely fitfully, Phaedra And Medea Essay in my Phaedra And Medea Essay began to assert itself, to Feminism In The Bluest Eye things and refuse to be brainwashed, bringing me to Phaedra And Medea Essay time when Phaedra And Medea Essay can Mirror Calixtas Sexuality In The Storm By Kate Chopin down this story. On the Agrarian Law. They had long conversations in English, which Nhamo Phaedra And Medea Essay into small Phaedra And Medea Essay syllables and which my father chopped into smaller and even rougher phonemes.

Medea The Short Version

The immense wealth of ancient Chinese literature is mostly a sphere apart from Western literary tradition and is rarely conveyed adequately in the translations available to us. In this and in the remaining lists, I sometimes do not mention individual works by a canonical master, and in other instances I attempt to call attention to authors and books that I consider canonical but rather neglected. From this list onward, many good writers who are not quite central are omitted This is also the era where the strength of both Russian and American literature begins. Cultural prophecy is always a mug's game. Not all of the works here can prove to be canonical; literary overpopulation is a hazard to many among them.

But I have neither excluded nor included on the basis of cultural politics of any kind. Source: Bloom, Harold. The content of this page may belong to the author. The transcription, however, is the result of my research and hard work. For the P. Pro Quinctio. Pro Roscio Amerino. Pro Roscio Comoedo. On the Agrarian Law. Jewish Antiquities, Volume I: Books Lysias c. Of a much larger number about thirty complete speeches by him survive. Fluent, simple, and graceful in style yet vivid in description, they suggest a passionate partisan who was also a gentle, humorous man. Sayings of Romans.

Sayings of Spartans. The Ancient Customs of the Spartans. Sayings of Spartan Women. Bravery of Women. Ecclesiastical History, Volume I: Books 1—3. On the Unchangeableness of God. On Husbandry. Concerning Noah's Work As a Planter. On Drunkenness. On Sobriety. Lives of the Abbots. Letter to Egbert. Histories: Books Annals: Books De Spectaculis. Minucius Felix: Octavius. Tertullian c. Octavius by Minucius , an early Christian writer of unknown date, is a debate between belief and unbelief that depicts Roman religion and society. On Architecture , completed by Vitruvius sometime before 27 CE and the only work of its kind to survive antiquity, serves not professionals but readers who want to understand architecture.

Topics include town planning, building materials, temples, the architectural orders, houses, pavements, mosaics, water supply, measurements, and machines. Pro Milone. In Pisonem. Pro Scauro. Pro Fonteio. Pro Rabirio Postumo. Pro Marcello. Pro Ligario. Pro Rege Deiotaro. In Fasti , Ovid 43 BCE—17 CE sets forth explanations of the festivals and sacred rites that were noted on the Roman calendar, and relates in graphic detail the legends attached to specific dates.

The poem is an invaluable source of information about religious practices. De Vita Beata. De Otio. De Tranquillitate Animi. De Brevitate Vitae. De Consolatione ad Polybium. De Consolatione ad Helviam. Philostratus the Elder, Imagines. Philostratus the Younger, Imagines. Callistratus, Descriptions. Sixty-five descriptions, ostensibly of paintings in a gallery at Naples, are credited to an Elder Philostratus born c. Fourteen descriptions of statues in stone or bronze attributed to Callistratus were probably written in the fourth century CE.

Dio Chrysostomus c. What survives of his works make him prominent in the revival of Greek literature in the late first and early second century CE. The Greek poetry of the seventh to the fifth century BCE that we call elegy was composed primarily for banquets and convivial gatherings. Its subject matter consists of almost any topic, excluding only the scurrilous and obscene. The poetry of the seventh to the fifth centuries BCE that the Greeks called iambic seems connected with cult songs used in religious festivals, but its purpose is unclear.

The Little Carthaginian. The Rope. On the Confusion of Tongues. On the Migration of Abraham. Who Is the Heir of Divine Things? On Mating with the Preliminary Studies. The letters of Saint Jerome c. The Two Gallieni. The Thirty Pretenders. The Deified Claudius. The Deified Aurelian. Firmus, Saturninus, Proculus and Bonosus. Carus, Carinus and Numerian. This is the first of two volumes giving a selection of Greek papyri relating to private and public business. Most were found in rubbish heaps or remains of ancient houses or in tombs in Egypt. From such papyri we get much information about administration and social and economic conditions in Egypt, and about native Egyptian, Greek, Roman and Byzantine law, as well as glimpses of ordinary life.

This volume contains: Agreements 71 examples ; these concern marriage, divorce, adoption, apprenticeship, sales, leases, employment of labourers. Receipts Wills 6. Deed of disownment. Personal letters from men and women, young and old Memoranda 2. Invitations 5. Orders for payment 2. Agenda 2. Accounts and inventories Questions of oracles 3. Christian prayers 2. A Gnostic charm. Horoscopes 2. Letters, Volume IV: Letters On Greek Literature. The three surviving works by Sextus Empiricus c. Their value as a source for the history of thought is especially that they represent development and formulation of former skeptic doctrines. On Flight and Finding. On the Change of Names. On Dreams. It also echoes poets, especially Virgil, and employs techniques traditional in Latin epic.

Library of History, Volume I: Books Books 1—5 and 11—20 survive complete, the rest in fragments. Greek papyri relating to private and public business in Egypt from before BCE to the eighth century CE inform us about administration; social and economic conditions in Egypt; Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine law. They also offer glimpses of ordinary life. Elegies on Maecenas. Calpurnius Siculus. Laus Pisonis. Einsiedeln Eclogues. Duff, J. Wight Duff, Arnold M. Works such as those of the mime-writer Publilius Syrus , who flourished c. Athenian Constitution. Eudemian Ethics. Virtues and Vices. Gaius Valerius Flaccus flourished c. Valerius effectively rehandles the story already told by Apollonius Rhodius , recalls Virgilian language and thought, displays learning, and alludes to contemporary Rome.

Metaphysics, Volume II: Books Magna Moralia. On the Soul. Parva Naturalia. On Breath. In Secret History , the Byzantine historian Procopius late fifth century to after CE attacks the sixth century CE emperor Justinian and empress Theodora and alleges their ruinous effect on the Roman empire. Celsus , a layman, provides in On Medicine more information about the condition of medical science up to his own time probably first century CE than any other author. Book 1 is on Greek schools of medicine and dietetics; Book 2 on prognosis, diagnosis, and general therapeutics; Book 3 on internal ailments; Book 4 on local bodily diseases. Epic Fragments. Quintus Ennius — , widely regarded as the father of Roman literature, was instrumental in creating a new Roman literary identity, domesticating the Greek forms of epic and drama, and pursuing a range of other literary and intellectual pursuits.

He inspired major developments in Roman religion, social organization, and popular culture. Extant works by Sidonius born c. Against Androtion. Against Aristocrates. Against Timocrates. Against Aristogeiton 1 and 2. Ammianus c. History of Rome, Volume X: Books 35— The Passing of Peregrinus. The Runaways. Toxaris or Friendship. The Dance. The Mistaken Critic. The Parliament of the Gods. The Tyrannicide. Book 5 is on treatment by drugs of general diseases, Book 6 on treatment by drugs of local diseases. Moralia, IV: Roman Questions. Greek Questions. Greek and Roman Parallel Stories. On the Fortune of the Romans.

On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander. Moralia, V: Isis and Osiris. The E at Delphi. The Obsolescence of Oracles. Minor Works: On Colours. On Things Heard. On Plants. On Marvellous Things Heard. Mechanical Problems. On Indivisible Lines. The Situations and Names of Winds. On Melissus, Xenophanes, Gorgias. Antiphon of Athens, born c. Of his fifteen extant works three concern real murder cases. The others are academic exercises. Andocides of Athens, born c. Of his four extant speeches, Against Alcibiades is doubtful. Against Physicists. Against Ethicists. Extant early Latin writings from the seventh or sixth to the first century BCE include epic, drama, satire, translation and paraphrase, hymns, stage history and practice, and other works by Ennius , Caecilius , Livius Andronicus , Naevius , Pacuvius , Accius , Lucilius , and other anonymous authors; the Twelve Tables of Roman law; archaic inscriptions.

Although Problems is an accretion of multiple authorship over several centuries, it offers a fascinating technical view of Peripatetic method and thought. Problems, Volume II: Books Rhetoric to Alexander. Roman Antiquities, Volume I: Books Of the twenty books from the earliest times to BCE we have the first nine complete; most of 10 and 11; extracts; and an epitome of the whole.

On the Decalogue. On the Special Laws, Books Moralia, X: Love Stories. To an Uneducated Ruler. Precepts of Statecraft. On Monarchy, Democracy, and Oligarchy. That We Ought Not to Borrow. Parts of Animals. Movement of Animals. Progression of Animals. In Catilinam 1—4. Pro Murena. Pro Sulla. Pro Flacco. On Interpretation. Prior Analytics. Three-Dollar Day. The Tale of a Traveling-Bag. The Twelve Tables. Topics included are the mathematics and metrology of the universe; world geography and ethnography; human anthropology and physiology; zoology; botany, agriculture, and horticulture; medicine; minerals, fine arts, and gemstones.

Excerpta Valesiana. Greek mathematics from the sixth century BCE to the fourth century CE is represented by the work of, e. On Moral Virtue. On the Control of Anger. On Tranquility of Mind. On Brotherly Love. On Affection for Offspring. On the Special Laws, Book 4. On the Virtues. On Rewards and Punishments. In On Buildings , the Byzantine historian Procopius late fifth century to after CE describes the churches, public buildings, fortifications, and bridges Justinian erected throughout his empire, from the Church of St.

Sophia in Constantinople to city walls at Carthage. The work is richly informative about architecture of the sixth century CE. On the Orator: Book 3. On Fate. Stoic Paradoxes. Divisions of Oratory. Eight works or parts of works were ascribed to Manetho , a third century BCE Egyptian, all on history and religion and all apparently in Greek. In Neaeram. Fragments of ancient literature, from the seventh to the third century BCE, found on papyri in Egypt include examples of tragedy; satyr drama; Old, Middle, and New Comedy; mime; lyric, elegiac, iambic, and hexametric poetry. Columella first century CE included Cato and Varro among many sources for On Agriculture , but his personal experience was paramount.

Written in prose except for the hexameters on horticulture of Book 10, the work is richly informative about country life in first century CE Italy. Every Good Man is Free. On the Contemplative Life. On the Eternity of the World. Against Flaccus. Apology for the Jews. On Providence. Jewish Antiquities, Volume V: Books History of Alexander, Volume I: Books The first two of ten books have not survived and material is missing from books 5, 6, and Natural History, Volume V: Books Roman Antiquities, Volume V: Books Concerning the Team of Horses.

Against Callimachus. Against Lochites. Against Euthynus. Erotic Essay. On the Embassy to Gaius. General Indexes. Alciphron, Aelian, and Philostratus: The Letters. The fictitious, highly literary Letters of Alciphron second century CE are mostly to invented characters. The Letters of Farmers by Aelian c. The Erotic Epistles of Philostratus perhaps born c. Library of History, Volume V: Books On Invention. The Best Kind of Orator. Daily Round. Divinity of Christ. Origin of Sin. Fight for Mansoul. Against Symmachus 1. Prudentius born CE used allegory and classical Latin verse forms in service of Christianity. Library of History, Volume X: Books Lycurgus was with Demosthenes in the anti-Macedonian faction. But Dinarchus favored an oligarchy under Macedonian control and Demades supported the Macedonian cause too.

Against Symmachus 2. Crowns of Martyrdom. Scenes From History. On Sophistical Refutations. On Coming-to-be and Passing Away. On the Cosmos. Alexandrian War. African War. Spanish War. African War and Spanish War are detailed accounts clearly by officers who had shared in the campaigns. But most recent editors attribute it to an unknown author. Julius Obsequens. On Compliancy. On Envy and Hate. On Praising Oneself Inoffensively. On the Delays of the Divine Vengeance. On the Sign of Socrates. On Exile. Consolation to His Wife. On the Principle of Cold. Beasts Are Rational. On the Eating of Flesh. On Trees. City of God, Volume V: Books Natural History, Volume X: Books Aetia, Iambi, Hecale and Other Fragments. Hero and Leander.

Callimachus Musaeus Trypanis, C. Gelzer, T. Whitman, Cedric H. Hero and Leander by Musaeus fifth or sixth century CE is a short epic poem. Moralia, IX: Table-talk, Books Dialogue on Love. Causes of Natural Phenomena. Reply to Colotes in Defence of the Other Philosophers. Is "Live Unknown" a Wise Precept? On Music. How to Write History. The Dipsads. Herodotus or Aetion. Zeuxis or Antiochus. A Slip of the Tongue in Greeting. Apology for the "Salaried Posts in Great Houses. A Conversation with Hesiod. The Scythian or The Consul. Hermotimus or. Dialogues of the Dead. Dialogues of the Sea-Gods. Dialogues of the Gods. Dialogues of the Courtesans. Lucius or The Ass. Dicta Catonis. Rutilius Namatianus. In Tetrabiblos , a core text in the history of astrology, the preeminent ancient astronomer Ptolemy c.

From the same period come the lively fables in Latin verse written by Phaedrus , which satirize social and political life in Augustan Rome. History of Animals, Volume I: Books Ennead, I: Porphyry on the Life of Plotinus. Ennead I. His writings were edited by his disciple Porphyry , who published them sometime between and CE in six sets of nine treatises each Enneads , with a biography of his master in which he also explains his editorial principles. In On the Characteristics of Animals , Aelian c. Pro Caelio. De Provinciis Consularibus. Pro Balbo. Natural Questions, Volume I: Books Seneca c. In Book 1 he discusses fires in the atmosphere; in 2, lightning and thunder; in 3, bodies of water.

Libanius — CE , who was one of the last great publicists and teachers of Greek paganism, has much to tell us about the tumultuous world of the fourth century CE. His works include Orations , the first of which is an autobiography, and Letters. History of the Empire, Volume I: Books The History of Herodian born c. Ancient Testimonia. Eusebius's Reply to Hierocles. Unidentified Fragments. Bacchylides wrote masterful choral poetry of many types.

Letters to Quintus and Brutus. Letter Fragments. Letter to Octavian. Handbook of Electioneering. Two invective speeches linked with Cicero are probably anonymous exercises. The Letter to Octavian likely dates from the third or fourth century CE. The Handbook of Electioneering was said to be written by Quintus to Cicero. Declamations, Volume I: Controversiae, Books Seneca the Elder? Dionysius of Halicarnassus , born c. They constitute an important development from the somewhat mechanical techniques of rhetorical handbooks to more sensitive criticism of individual authors. Letters to Ammaeus and Pompeius. Cornelius Nepos c. Extant are parts of his De Viris Illustribus , including biographies of mostly Greek military commanders and of two Latin historians, Cato and Atticus.

In Astronomica first century CE , the earliest extant treatise we have on astrology, Manilius provides an account of celestial phenomena and the signs of the Zodiac. He also gives witty character sketches of persons born under particular constellations. In the latter, Theophrastus turns to plant physiology. Books 1 and 2 are concerned with generation, sprouting, flowering and fruiting, and the effects of climate. And where the Daughter, whom the Isles loved well? And where—oh, where the devil are the rents?

Where is his will? Where is Lord This? And where my Lady That? The Honourable Mistresses and Misses? Some laid aside like an old Opera hat, Married, unmarried, and remarried this is An evolution oft performed of late. Where are the Dublin shouts—and London hisses? Where are the Grenvilles? Where My friends the Whigs? Exactly where they were.

Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses? Divorced or doing thereanent. Ye annals So brilliant, where the list of routs and dances is,— Thou Morning Post, sole record of the panels Broken in carriages, and all the phantasies Of fashion,—say what streams now fill those channels? Some die, some fly, some languish on the Continent, Because the times have hardly left them one tenant. Talk not of seventy years as age; in seven I have seen more changes, down from monarchs to The humblest individual under heaven, Than might suffice a moderate century through.

I have seen a Duke No matter which turn politician stupider, If that can well be, than his wooden look. What Juan saw and underwent shall be My topic, with of course the due restriction Which is required by proper courtesy; And recollect the work is only fiction, And that I sing of neither mine nor me, Though every scribe, in some slight turn of diction, Will hint allusions never meant. Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will back Against the same given quantity of rhyme, For being as much the subject of attack As ever yet was any work sublime, By those who love to say that white is black.

So much the better! O Gold! Why call we misers miserable? Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall; Theirs is the best bower anchor, the chain cable Which holds fast other pleasures great and small. Ye who but see the saving man at table, And scorn his temperate board, as none at all, And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing, Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring. I still prefer thee unto paper, Which makes bank credit like a bank of vapour. Who hold the balance of the world? Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain? Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber all? Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte, Are the true lords of Europe.

Every loan Is not a merely speculative hit, But seats a nation or upsets a throne. Why call the miser miserable? Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind, To build a college, or to found a race, A hospital, a church,—and leave behind Some dome surmounted by his meagre face: Perhaps he fain would liberate mankind Even with the very ore which makes them base; Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, Or revel in the joys of calculation. Or do they benefit mankind? Lean miser! How beauteous are rouleaus!

Is not all love prohibited whatever, Excepting marriage? That suit in Chancery,—which some persons plead In an appeal to the unborn, whom they, In the faith of their procreative creed, Baptize posterity, or future clay,— To me seems but a dubious kind of reed To lean on for support in any way; Since odds are that posterity will know No more of them, than they of her, I trow. Not a hundred. Mankind just now seem wrapt in mediation On constitutions and steam-boats of vapour; While sages write against all procreation, Unless a man can calculate his means Of feeding brats the moment his wife weans. And now to business. But I am sick of politics. The women much divided—as is usual Amongst the sex in little things or great. Why waltz with him?

Why, I pray, Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day? For sometimes they accept some long pursuer, Worn out with importunity; or fall But here perhaps the instances are fewer To the lot of him who scarce pursued at all. O, pardon my digression—or at least Peruse! Like many people everybody knows, Don Juan was delighted to secure A goodly guardian for his infant charge, Who might not profit much by being at large. And these vicissitudes tell best in youth; For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage.

How far it profits is another matter. I call such things transmission; for there is A floating balance of accomplishment Which forms a pedigree from Miss to Miss, According as their minds or backs are bent. But now I will begin my poem. These first twelve books are merely flourishes, Preludios, trying just a string or two Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure; And when so, you shall have the overture. Don Juan saw that microcosm on stilts, Yclept the Great World; for it is the least, Although the highest: but as swords have hilts By which their power of mischief is increased, When man in battle or in quarrel tilts, Thus the low world, north, south, or west, or east, Must still obey the high—which is their handle, Their moon, their sun, their gas, their farthing candle.

This works a world of sentimental woe, And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin; But yet is merely innocent flirtation, Not quite adultery, but adulteration. A verdict—grievous foe to those who cause it! But they who blunder thus are raw beginners; A little genial sprinkling of hypocrisy Has saved the fame of thousand splendid sinners, The loveliest oligarchs of our gynocracy; You may see such at all the balls and dinners, Among the proudest of our aristocracy, So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste— And all by having tact as well as taste.

At first he did not think the women pretty. I say at first—for he found out at last, But by degrees, that they were fairer far Than the more glowing dames whose lot is cast Beneath the influence of the eastern star. A further proof we should not judge in haste; Yet inexperience could not be his bar To taste:—the truth is, if men would confess, That novelties please less than they impress. It is. I will not swear that black is white; But I suspect in fact that white is black, And the whole matter rests upon eyesight. Ask a blind man, the best judge. A dubious spark. Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows Are they, at bottom virtuous even when vicious: They warm into a scrape, but keep of course, As a reserve, a plunge into remorse.

But this has nought to do with their outsides. I said that Juan did not think them pretty At the first blush; for a fair Briton hides Half her attractions—probably from pity— And rather calmly into the heart glides, Than storms it as a foe would take a city; But once there if you doubt this, prithee try She keeps it for you like a true ally. Abroad, though doubtless they do much amiss, An erring woman finds an opener door For her return to Virtue—as they cal That lady, who should be at home to all. For me, I leave the matter where I find it, Knowing that such uneasy virtue leads People some ten times less in fact to mind it, And care but for discoveries and not deeds. He saw, however, at the closing session, That noble sight, when really free the nation, A king in constitutional possession Of such a throne as is the proudest station, Though despots know it not—till the progression Of freedom shall complete their education.

Here the twelfth Canto of our introduction Ends. And if my thunderbolt not always rattles, Remember, reader! My plan but I, if but for singularity, Reserve it will be very sure to take. Meantime, read all the national debt-sinkers, And tell me what you think of your great thinkers. The struggle to be pilots in a storm? The landed and the monied speculation? The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm, Instead of love, that mere hallucination? Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. If I sneer sometimes, It is because I cannot well do less, And now and then it also suits my rhymes.

But his adventures form a sorry sight; A sorrier still is the great moral taught By that real epic unto all who have thought. Redressing injury, revenging wrong, To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiff; Opposing singly the united strong, From foreign yoke to free the helpless native:— Alas! It chanced some diplomatical relations, Arising out of business, often brought Himself and Juan in their mutual stations Into close contact. And thus Lord Henry, who was cautious as Reserve and pride could make him, and full slow In judging men—when once his judgment was Determined, right or wrong, on friend or foe, Had all the pertinacity pride has, Which knows no ebb to its imperious flow, And loves or hates, disdaining to be guided, Because its own good pleasure hath decided.

These were advantages: and then he thought— It was his foible, but by no means sinister— That few or none more than himself had caught Court mysteries, having been himself a minister: He liked to teach that which he had been taught, And greatly shone whenever there had been a stir; And reconciled all qualities which grace man, Always a patriot, and sometimes a placeman. Of coursers also spake they: Henry rid Well, like most Englishmen, and loved the races; And Juan, like a true-born Andalusian, Could back a horse, as despots ride a Russian.

And thus acquaintance grew, at noble routs, And diplomatic dinners, or at other— For Juan stood well both with Ins and Outs, As in freemasonry a higher brother. Also there bin another pious reason For making squares and streets anonymous; Which is, that there is scarce a single season Which doth not shake some very splendid house With some slight heart-quake of domestic treason— A topic scandal doth delight to rouse: Such I might stumble over unawares, Unless I knew the very chastest squares. Therefore I name not square, street, place, until I Find one where nothing naughty can be shown, A vestal shrine of innocence of heart: Such are—but I have lost the London Chart.

But Adeline had not the least occasion For such a shield, which leaves but little merit To virtue proper, or good education. But Adeline was not indifferent: for Now for a common-place! Shall I go on? I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor, So let the often-used volcano go. Poor thing! And such are many—though I only meant her From whom I now deduce these moral lessons, On which the Muse has always sought to enter. And your cold people are beyond all price, When once you have broken their confounded ice.

But heaven must be diverted; its diversion Is sometimes truculent—but never mind: The world upon the whole is worth the assertion If but for comfort that all things are kind: And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian, Of the two principles, but leaves behind As many doubts as any other doctrine Has ever puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in. The English winter—ending in July, To recommence in August—now was done. But for post-horses who finds sympathy? Wheels whirl from Carlton palace to Soho, And happiest they who horses can engage; The turnpikes glow with dust; and Rotten Row Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age; And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces, Sigh—as the postboys fasten on the traces.

But these are trifles. Downward flies my lord, Nodding beside my lady in his carriage. The London winter and the country summer Were well nigh over. None than themselves could boast a longer line, Where time through heroes and through beauties steers; And oaks as olden as their pedigree Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree. Amundeville and Lady A. Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle, Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone; But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, But in the war which struck Charles from his throne, When each house was a fortalice, as tell The annals of full many a line undone,— The gallant cavaliers, who fought in vain For those who knew not to resign or reign.

This may be superstition, weak or wild, But even the faintest relics of a shrine Of any worship wake some thoughts divine. But in the noontide of the moon, and when The wind is winged from one point of heaven, There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then Is musical—a dying accent driven Through the huge arch, which soars and sinks again. O reader! But, reader, thou hast patient been of late, While I, without remorse of rhyme, or fear, Have built and laid out ground at such a rate, Dan Phoebus takes me for an auctioneer.

The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket:—lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers! If Britain mourn her bleakness, we can tell her, The very best of vineyards is the cellar.

The party might consist of thirty-three Of highest caste—the Brahmins of the ton. There was Parolles, too, the legal bully, Who limits all his battles to the bar And senate: when invited elsewhere, truly, He shows more appetite for words than war. There were the six Miss Rawbolds—pretty dears! All song and sentiment; whose hearts were set Less on a convent than a coronet. There was Dick Dubious, the metaphysician, Who loved philosophy and a good dinner; Angle, the soi-disant mathematician; Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner. My Muse, the butterfly hath but her wings, Not stings, and flits through ether without aim, Alighting rarely:—were she but a hornet, Perhaps there might be vices which would mourn it.

Strongbow was like a new-tuned harpsichord; But Longbow wild as an AEolian harp, With which the winds of heaven can claim accord, And make a music, whether flat or sharp. If all these seem a heterogeneous mas To be assembled at a country seat, Yet think, a specimen of every class Is better than a humdrum tete-a-tete. The days of Comedy are gone, alas! Its great impression in my youth Was made by Mrs.

I must not quite omit the talking sage, Kit-Cat, the famous Conversationist, Who, in his common-place book, had a page Prepared each morn for evenings. I will not dwell upon ragouts or roasts, Albeit all human history attests That happiness for man—the hungry sinner! Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny; We tire of mistresses and parasites; But oh, ambrosial cash! When we no more can use, or even abuse thee!

The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot, Or hunt: the young, because they liked the sport— The first thing boys like after play and fruit; The middle-aged to make the day more short; For ennui is a growth of English root, Though nameless in our language:—we retort The fact for words, and let the French translate That awful yawn which sleep can not abate. Each rose up at his own, and had to spare What time he chose for dress, and broke his fast When, where, and how he chose for that repast. The ladies—some rouged, some a little pale— Met the morn as they might. For some had absent lovers, all had friends. The earth has nothing like a she epistle, And hardly heaven—because it never ends. With evening came the banquet and the wine; The conversazione; the duet, Attuned by voices more or less divine My heart or head aches with the memory yet.

There now are no Squire Westerns as of old; And our Sophias are not so emphatic, But fair as then, or fairer to behold. Peace to the slumbers of each folded flower— May the rose call back its true colour soon! Good hours of fair cheeks are the fairest tinters, And lower the price of rouge—at least some winters. One system eats another up, and this Much as old Saturn ate his progeny; For when his pious consort gave him stones In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones. Pray tell me, can you make fast, After due search, your faith to any question? Nothing more true than not to trust your senses; And yet what are your other evidences? For me, I know nought; nothing I deny, Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you, Except perhaps that you were born to die?

And both may after all turn out untrue. An age may come, Font of Eternity, When nothing shall be either old or new. A sleep without dreams, after a rough day Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay! The very Suicide that pays his debt At once without instalments an old way Of paying debts, which creditors regret Lets out impatiently his rushing breath, Less from disgust of life than dread of death. And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror Of your own thoughts, in all their self-confession, The lurking bias, be it truth or error, To the unknown; a secret prepossession, To plunge with all your fears—but where?

In youth I wrote because my mind was full, And now because I feel it growing dull. I ask in turn,—Why do you play at cards? Why drink? Why read? In play, there are two pleasures for your choosing— The one is winning, and the other losing. 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. 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.

Why do their sketches fail them as inditers Of what they deem themselves most consequential, The real portrait of the highest tribe? Poor thing of usages! But as to women, who can penetrate The real sufferings of their she condition? Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, But form good housekeepers, to breed a nation. An in-door life is less poetical; And out of door hath showers, and mists, and sleet, With which I could not brew a pastoral. Juan—in this respect, at least, like saints— Was all things unto people of all sorts, And lived contentedly, without complaints, In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts— Born with that happy soul which seldom faints, And mingling modestly in toils or sports.

He likewise could be most things to all women, Without the coxcombry of certain she men. No marvel then he was a favourite; A full-grown Cupid, very much admired; A little spoilt, but by no means so quite; At least he kept his vanity retired. Such was his tact, he could alike delight The chaste, and those who are not so much inspired. This noble personage began to look A little black upon this new flirtation; But such small licences must lovers brook, Mere freedoms of the female corporation.

Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke! But, oh! Without a friend, what were humanity, To hunt our errors up with a good grace? But this is not my maxim: had it been, Some heart-aches had been spared me: yet I care not— I would not be a tortoise in his screen Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not. O Time! Thy scythe, so dirty With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew. Reset it; shave more smoothly, also slower, If but to keep thy credit as a mower. To trace all actions to their secret springs Would make indeed some melancholy mirth; But this is not at present my concern, And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern. She thought with some simplicity indeed; But innocence is bold even at the stake, And simple in the world, and doth not need Nor use those palisades by dames erected, Whose virtue lies in never being detected.

No wonder then a purer soul should dread This sort of chaste liaison for a friend; It were much better to be wed or dead, Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend. There is an awkward thing which much perplexes, Unless like wise Tiresias we had proved By turns the difference of the several sexes; Neither can show quite how they would be loved. A something all-sufficient for the heart Is that for which the sex are always seeking: But how to fill up that same vacant part?

There lies the rub—and this they are but weak in. I have found it! What I mean To say is, not that love is idleness, But that in love such idleness has been An accessory, as I have cause to guess. Because he mopeth idly in his shell, And heaves a lonely subterraqueous sigh, Much as a monk may do within his cell: And a-propos of monks, their piety With sloth hath found it difficult to dwell; Those vegetables of the Catholic creed Are apt exceedingly to run to seed. O Wilberforce! Shut up the bald-coot bully Alexander! Shut up the world at large, let Bedlam out; And you will be perhaps surprised to find All things pursue exactly the same route, As now with those of soi-disant sound mind.

Our gentle Adeline had one defect— Her heart was vacant, though a splendid mansion; Her conduct had been perfectly correct, As she had seen nought claiming its expansion. She had nothing to complain of, or reprove, No bickerings, no connubial turmoil: Their union was a model to behold, Serene and noble,—conjugal, but cold. She knew not her own heart; then how should I? No doubt the secret influence of the sex Will there, as also in the ties of blood, An innocent predominance annex, And tune the concord to a finer mood. If free from passion, which all friendship checks, And your true feelings fully understood, No friend like to a woman earth discovers, So that you have not been nor will be lovers.

Love bears within its breast the very germ Of change; and how should this be otherwise? Would you have endless lightning in the skies? And I shall take a much more serious air Than I have yet done, in this epic satire. How differently the world would men behold! How oft would vice and virtue places change! What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men, With self-love in the centre as their pole!

But all are better than the sigh supprest, Corroding in the cavern of the heart, Making the countenance a masque of rest, And turning human nature to an art. Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best; Dissimulation always sets apart A corner for herself; and therefore fiction Is that which passes with least contradiction. And as for love—O love! The Lady Adeline Amundeville, A pretty name as one would wish to read, Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.

They differ as wine differs from its label, When once decanted;—I presume to guess so, But will not swear: yet both upon occasion, Till old, may undergo adulteration. O Death! She is so rare, and thou hast so much prey. Gaunt Gourmand! Experience is the chief philosopher, But saddest when his science is well known: And persecuted sages teach the schools Their folly in forgetting there are fools. Was it not so, great Locke? Great Socrates? And thou, Diviner still, Whose lot it is by man to be mistaken, And thy pure creed made sanction of all ill? Redeeming worlds to be by bigots shaken, How was thy toil rewarded? We might fill Volumes with similar sad illustrations, But leave them to the conscience of the nations. The whole together is what I could wish To serve in this conundrum of a dish.

Now this at all events must render cold Your writers, who must either draw again Days better drawn before, or else assume The present, with their common-place costume. March, my Muse! If you cannot fly, yet flutter; And when you may not be sublime, be arch, Or starch, as are the edicts statesmen utter. We surely may find something worth research: Columbus found a new world in a cutter, Or brigantine, or pink, of no great tonnage, While yet America was in her non-age. She had a good opinion of advice, Like all who give and eke receive it gratis, For which small thanks are still the market price, Even where the article at highest rate is: She thought upon the subject twice or thrice, And morally decided, the best state is For morals, marriage; and this question carried, She seriously advised him to get married.

But never yet except of course a miss Unwed, or mistress never to be wed, Or wed already, who object to this Was there chaste dame who had not in her head Some drama of the marriage unities, Observed as strictly both at board and bed As those of Aristotle, though sometimes They turn out melodrames or pantomimes. They generally have some only son, Some heir to a large property, some friend Of an old family, some gay Sir john, Or grave Lord George, with whom perhaps might end A line, and leave posterity undone, Unless a marriage was applied to mend The prospect and their morals: and besides, They have at hand a blooming glut of brides. Because he either meant to sneer at harmony Or marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly.

But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons, Who favour, malgre Malthus, generation— Professors of that genial art, and patrons Of all the modest part of propagation; Which after all at such a desperate rate runs, That half its produce tends to emigration, That sad result of passions and potatoes— Two weeds which pose our economic Catos. Had Adeline read Malthus? And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding. And then there was—but why should I go on, Unless the ladies should go off? Blood is not water; and where shall we find Feelings of youth like those which overthrown lie By death, when we are left, alas!

And grieved for those who could return no more. She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew, As seeking not to know it; silent, lone, As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, And kept her heart serene within its zone. And this omission, like that of the bust Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius, Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must. And wherefore not? It was not envy—Adeline had none; Her place was far beyond it, and her mind. It was not scorn—which could not light on one Whose greatest fault was leaving few to find. To say what it was not than what it was. Had she known this, she would have calmly smiled— She had so much, or little, of the child. I say, in my slight way I may proceed To play upon the surface of humanity.

I write the world, nor care if the world read, At least for this I cannot spare its vanity. My Muse hath bred, and still perhaps may breed More foes by this same scroll: when I began it, I Thought that it might turn out so—now I know it, But still I am, or was, a pretty poet. How shall I get this gourmand stanza through? But I must crowd all into one grand mess Or mass; for should I stretch into detail, My Muse would run much more into excess, Than when some squeamish people deem her frail. They are rags or dust. Gone to where victories must like dinners go.

Farther I shall not follow the research: But oh! Ere you dine, the French will do; But after, there are sometimes certain signs Which prove plain English truer of the two. Hast ever had the gout? I have not had it— But I may have, and you too, reader, dread it. The simple olives, best allies of wine, Must I pass over in my bill of fare? By some odd chance too, he was placed between Aurora and the Lady Adeline— A situation difficult, I ween, For man therein, with eyes and heart, to dine.

Now Juan, though no coxcomb in pretence, Was not exactly pleased to be so caught; Like a good ship entangled among ice, And after so much excellent advice. To his gay nothings, nothing was replied, Or something which was nothing, as urbanity Required. The devil was in the girl! Could it be pride? Or modesty, or absence, or inanity? Heaven knows? Juan was drawn thus into some attentions, Slight but select, and just enough to express, To females of perspicuous comprehensions, That he would rather make them more than less. And then he had good looks;—that point was carried Nem. Now though we know of old that looks deceive, And always have done, somehow these good looks Make more impression than the best of books.

Perhaps I have a third, too, in a nook, Or none at all—which seems a sorry jest: But if a writer should be quite consistent, How could he possibly show things existent? If people contradict themselves, can I Help contradicting them, and every body, Even my veracious self? Who has its clue? No: she too much rejects. Yes; but which of all her sects? God help us! Opinions wear out in some thousand years, Without a small refreshment from the spheres. But here again, why will I thus entangle Myself with metaphysics?

None can hate So much as I do any kind of wrangle; And yet, such is my folly, or my fate, I always knock my head against some angle About the present, past, or future state. It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla, To see men let these scoundrel sovereigns break law. But politics, and policy, and piety, Are topics which I sometimes introduce, Not only for the sake of their variety, But as subservient to a moral use; Because my business is to dress society, And stuff with sage that very verdant goose. And now, that we may furnish with some matter all Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural.

Grim reader! No; but you have heard—I understand—be dumb! You laugh;—you may: that will I not; My smiles must be sincere or not at all. I say I do believe a haunted spot Exists—and where? The antique Persians taught three useful things, To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth. This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings— A mode adopted since by modern youth. Bows have they, generally with two strings; Horses they ride without remorse or ruth; At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever, But draw the long bow better now than ever. I said it was a story of a ghost— What then? I only know it so befell. Have you explored the limits of the coast, Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell? The evaporation of a joyous day Is like the last glass of champagne, without The foam which made its virgin bumper gay; Or like a system coupled with a doubt; Or like a soda bottle when its spray Has sparkled and let half its spirit out; Or like a billow left by storms behind, Without the animation of the wind; Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest, Or none; or like—like nothing that I know Except itself;—such is the human breast; A thing, of which similitudes can show No real likeness,—like the old Tyrian vest Dyed purple, none at present can tell how, If from a shell-fish or from cochineal.

But next to dressing for a rout or ball, Undressing is a woe; our robe de chambre May sit like that of Nessus, and recall Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber. But by dim lights the portraits of the dead Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread. The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint Look living in the moon; and as you turn Backward and forward to the echoes faint Of your own footsteps—voices from the urn Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern, As if to ask how you can dare to keep A vigil there, where all but death should sleep.

And the pale smile of beauties in the grave, The charms of other days, in starlight gleams, Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams On ours, or spars within some dusky cave, But death is imaged in their shadowy beams. A picture is the past; even ere its frame Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same. As Juan mused on mutability, Or on his mistress—terms synonymous— No sound except the echo of his sigh Or step ran sadly through that antique house; When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh, A supernatural agent—or a mouse, Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass Most people as it plays along the arras. It was no mouse, but lo! And did he see this? The spirit of these walls? And whether for good, or whether for ill, It is not mine to say; But still with the house of Amundeville He abideth night and day.

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