The Triumphs Of Temper : Canto Ii. Poem by William Hayley

Ye radiant nymphs! whose opening eyes convey
Warmth to the world, and lustre to the day!
Think what o'ershadowing clouds may cross your brain,
Before those lovely lids shall close again;
What funds of patience twelve long hours may ask,
When cold Discretion claims her daily task!
Ah! think betimes! and, while your morning care
Sheds foreign odours o'er your fragrant hair,
Tinge your light spirit with that mental sweet,
Which may not be exhal'd by passion's heat;
For, to the warning vision fondly true,
Now the quick fair one to her toilet flew:
With keen delight her ravish'd eye survey'd
The mystic ribband on her mirror laid:
Bright shone the azure as Aurora's car,
And every spangle seem'd a living star.
With sportive grace the smiling damsel press'd
The guardian cincture to her snowy breast,
More lovely far than Juno, when she strove
To look most lovely in the eyes of Jove;
And willing Venus lent her every power,
That sheds enchantment o'er the amorous hour:
For spells more potent on this band were thrown,
Than Venus boasted in her beauteous zone.
Her dazzling cestus could alone inspire
The sudden impulse of short-lived desire:
These finer threads with lasting charms are fraught,
Here lies the tender, but unchanging thought,
Silence that wins, where eloquence is vain,
And tones that harmonize the maddening brain,
Soft sighs that anger cannot hear and live,
And smiles that tell how truly they forgive;
And lively grace, whose gay diffusive light
Puts the black phantoms of the brain to flight,
Whose cheering powers through every period last,
And make the present happy as the past.

Such secret charms this richer zone possess'd,
Whose flowers now sparkling on Serena's breast,
Give, though unseen those swelling orbs they bind,
Smiles to her face, and beauty to her mind:
For now, observant of the sprite's behest,
The nymph conceals them by her upper vest;
Safe lies the spell no mortal may descry,
Nor keen Penelope's all-piercing eye;
Who constant, as the steps of morn advance,
Surveys the household with a searching glance,
And entering now, with all her usual care,
Reviews the chamber of the youthful fair.
Beneath the pillow, not completely hid,
The novel lay - she saw - she seized - she chid:
With rage and glee her glaring eyeballs flash,
'Ah! wicked age!' she cries, 'ah! filthy trash!
From the first page my just abhorrence springs;
For modern anecdotes are monstrous things:
Yet will I see what dangerous poisons lurk,
To taint thy youth in this licentious work.'
She said: and rudely from the chamber rush'd,
Her pallid cheek with expectation flush'd,
With ardent hope her eager spirit shook,
Vain hope! to banquet on a luscious book.
So if a priest of the Arabian sect
In Turkish hands forbidden wine detect,
The sacred Mussulman, with pious din,
Arraigns the culprit, and proclaims the sin,
Curses with holy zeal th' inflaming juice,
But cursing takes it for his secret use.
The gay Serena, with unruffled mind,
The pleasing novel, thus unread, resign'd.
The vision on her soul such virtue left,
She only smiled at the provoking theft;
The teasing incident she deem'd a jest,
Nor felt the zone grow tighter on her breast.

Now in full charms descends the finish'd fair,
For now the morning banquet claims her care;
Already at the board, with viands piled,
Her sire impatient sits, and chides his tardy child.
On his imperial lips rude hunger reigns,
And keener politics usurp his brains:
But when her love-inspiring voice he hears,
When the soft magic of her smile appears,
In that glad moment he at once forgets
His empty stomach, and the nation's debts:
He bends to nature's more divine control,
And only feels the father in his soul.
Quick to his hand behold her now present
The Indian liquor, of celestial scent!
Not with more grace the nectar'd cup is given
By rose-lipp'd Hebe to the lord of heaven.
While her fair hands a fresh libation pour,
Fashion's loud thunder shakes the sounding door,
The light Serene to the window springs
On curiosity's amusive wings:
Her quick eyes sparkle with surprise, to see
The glories of a golden vis-a-vis:
Its glittering tablet gleam'd with mimic pearl,
And the rich coronet announced an earl.
The good old knight grew somewhat proud to hear
Of this new visit from the early peer:
Serena recollects the vision's truth,
And flattering hopes it is the promised youth;
Penelope from her high chamber peeps:
There her unfinish'd charms she coyly keeps;
With sage reserve her modesty abhorr'd
To show her morning face before a lord.

The peer alights; the well-ranged vassals bawl
His sounding title through the spacious hall,
Till in the deep saloon's extremest bound
Th' ear-tickling words, 'Lord Filigree' resound.
As when great Hector setting war apart,
Advanced to parley, with his spear athwart,
The Greeks beheld him with a still delight,
And silent reverence stopp'd the rising fight;
With such respect, but unchastised by fear,
Sir Gilbert and the nymph first met the peer:
And, while his morning compliments commence,
The slighted breakfast stands in cold suspense.
But far unlike to Hector's ruder grace,
His modern stature, and his modish face;
Nor less he differs from those barons old,
Whose arms are blazon'd on his car of gold;
Whose prostrate castle guarded once the lands,
Where, spruce in motley pride, his villa stands,
By taste erected in her trimmest mode,
Her mushroom structure, and her quaint abode.

As the neat daisy to the sun's broad flower,
As the French boudoir, to the Gothic tower,
Such is the peer, whom fashion much admires,
Compared in person to his ancient sires:
Their coarse, loud language, and their coarser laugh,
His finer form, more elegantly slim,
Displays the fashionable length of limb;
With foreign shrugs his country he regards,
And her lean tongue with foreign words he lards;
While Gallic graces, who correct his style,
Forbid his mirth to pass beyond a smile.
As the nice workman in the wooden trade
Hides his coarse ground, with nicer woods o'erlaid,
Thus our young lord, with fashion's phrase refined,
Fineer'd the mean interior of his mind:
And hence, in courtesy's mild lustre seen,
His spirit shone as graceful as his mien:
The artless fair on fashion's kind report,
Thought him the mirror of a matchless court:
Much she his dress, his language much observes,
Whose finer accents prove his feeling nerves.
Her fancy now the destined lover spies,
But her free heart abjures the quick surmise;
No speech of his, in purpose, or in tone,
Announced of a mind congenial to her own:
Yet as he spoke, at every flattering word
The vision's promise to her thought recurr'd.
Far more parental pride contrives to blind
The good Sir Gilbert's more experienced mind,
Who fondly saw, and at the prospect smiled,
A future countess in his favourite child.
But what new flutterings shook Serena's breast,
What hopes and fears the modest nymph oppress'd,
When with a simpering smile, and soft regard,
The peer display'd a mirth-expressive card,
Where the gay Graces, in a sportive band,
Show the sweet art of Cipriani's hand:
Where, in their train, his airy Cupids throng,
And laughing, drag a comic mask along!
'We,' cries my lord, with self-sufficient joy,
Twirling, with lordly airs, the graceful toy,
'We, who possess true science, we, who give
The world a lesson in the art to live,
We for the fair a splendid fete design,
And pay our homage thus at Beauty's shrine.'
He spoke! and speaking, to the blushing maid,
With modish ease, th' inviting card convey'd,
Where mirth announced her mask-devoted hour
In characters intwined with many a flower:
The blushing maid, with eyes of quick desire,
View'd it, and felt her little soul on fire;
For of all scenes she had not yet survey'd,
Her heart most panted for a masquerade:
But her gay hopes increasing terrors drown,
In mute suspense to read his thought she tries,
And strongly pleads with her prevailing eyes;
Her eyes, for doubt enchain'd her modest tongue,
While on his sovereign word her pleasure hung.
With such a tender and persuasive air
Of soft endearment, and of anxious care,
Thetis attended from th' almighty sire
His fateful answer to her fond desire.
The good old knight, like the Olympian god,
Bless'd the fair suppliant with a gracious nod;
Her lively spirit the kind signal took,
And her glad heart in every fibre shook.
The party settled, it imports not how,
The peer politely made his parting bow;
The nymph, with eyes that sparkled joyous fire,
Kiss'd the round cheek of her complying sire,
Then swiftly flew, and summon'd to her aid
Th' important counsel of her favourite maid,
To vent her joy, and as the moments press,
To fix that first of points, a fancy dress!

Quick as the poet's eyes o'er nature fly,
Piercing the deep, or traversing the sky,
With such light speed her fond ideas glance
O'er play and poem, story, and romance,
While all the characters she e'er has read
Flash on her brain, and fill her busy head.

Now in Diana's form she hopes to meet
A fond Endymion sighing at her feet;
Now her proud thought terrestrial pomp assumes,
And Dian's crescent yields to Indian plumes:
Now, in the habit of the Grecian isles,
She hears some Osman suing for her smiles,
And sees his soul that blaze of dress outshine,
Whose wealth impoverish'd a diamond mine;
Now simpler charms her quick attention draw,
The rose-crown'd bonnet, and the hat of straw,
A village maid she seems in neat attire,
A faithful shepherd now her sole desire.
Thus, as new figures in her fancy throng,
'She's every thing by starts, and nothing long;'
But, in the space of one revolving hour,
Flies through all states of poverty and power,
All forms, on whom her veering mind can pitch,
Sultana, gipsy, goddess, nymph, and witch.
At length, her soul with Shakspeare's magic fraught,
The wand of Ariel fix'd her roving thought;
Ariel's light graces all her heart possess,
And Jenny's ordered to prepare the dress.
It seems already bought, with fond applause;
An azure tissue, and a silver gauze;
Too soon, alas! that garb of heavenly hue
Shines with illusive lustre in her view.
Ah, blind to fate! how oft the youthful belle
Feels her gay heart at sight of tissue swell!
And thinks the fashionable silk must prove
To thee, sweet maid, whose pleasure-darting eyes
Joy in this favourite vest, an hour shall rise,
When thou shalt hate the silk so fondly sought,
And wish thy silver-spotted gauze unbought;
For busy Spleen thy trial now prepares;
Darkly she forms her unsuspected snares,
And, keen to raise her pleasure-killing storm,
Assumes Penelope's congenial form.
In that prim shape, which all the Graces shun,
See the sour fiend to good Sir Gilbert run!
Where, deeply pondering the public debt,
Silent he muses o'er a new gazette!
Entering, she view'd, with eyes of envious spite,
The card, that spoke the mask-devoted night:
Eager she darted on the graceful toy,
And, fiercely pointing to each naked boy,
'Canst thou,' she cried, in a discordant scream,
That roused the politician from his dream,
While with her voice the echoing chamber rings,
'Say, canst thou suffer these flagitious things?
Are these devices to thy daughter brought,
That wake such gross impurity of thought?
In vain are all the prudent words I preach,
The modest maxims that I strive to teach;
By foolish fondness of your sense beguiled,
You still indulge and spoil the flippant child;
For me, whate'er I say is deem'd absurd;
She scorns my sage advice: - but mark my word,
If to this ball you let the hoyden run,
Your power is ended, and the girl undone.'

The patriot knight by interruptions vex'd,
In his political pursuits perplex'd,
While he with wrath th' intruding mischief eyed,
Stern to the false Penelope replied:
'Go, teasing prude! cease in my ears to vent
Thy envious pride, and peevish discontent!
To me of prudence canst thou vainly boast?
Of all my household thou hast plagued me most:
The joys thou blamest are thy dear delight,
By day the visit, and the ball by night!
And, though too old a lover to trepan,
Thy midnight dream, thy morning thought is - man!
Wert thou less closely to my blood allied,
Thou shouldst, to cure thee of thy canting pride,
Be sent to sigh alone o'er purling brooks,
Scold village maids, and croak to croaking rooks.'

He spoke, indignant: the sly fiend withdrew,
Nor inly grieved; for well her force she knew.
As Indian females, in a jealous hour,
Of secret poison try the sublest power,
Which sure, though slow, corrodes th' unconscious prey,
And ends its triumph on a distant day:
Thus the departing fury left behind
Her venom, latent in Sir Gilbert's mind.
The hidden mischief though no eye observes,
He feels it fretting on his alter'd nerves;
But the kind habit of his healthy soul
Still struggled hard against its base control.
Now Spleen's dark vapours, in his bosom hid,
Prompt him the promised pleasure to forbid;
Now Love's soft pleadings that dire thought destroy,
And save the blossom of his daughter's joy;
Her envious aunt now serves him for a jest,
And gay good humour reassumes his breast.

While Spleen's dark power now sinks and now revives,
At length the day, th' important day arrives,
Which in his breast must end the close debate,
And fix the colour of Serena's fate.

Now comes the hour, when the convivial knight
Waits to begin the dinner's cheerful rite:
His fond heart ever with a father's pride,
Joys to behold his darling at his side;
But most the absense of her smile he feels
In the gay season of his social meals:
Hence while for her the rich repast attends,
His hasty summons to the nymph he sends:
The happy nymph superior cares induce
To risk his anger by a rash excuse;
She craves his pardon; but for time distress'd,
She still is busy on her magic vest;
To range her diamonds in a sparkling zone,
She begs to snatch her scanty meal alone.

The knight in sullen state begins to dine:
Spleen, like a harpy, flutters o'er his wine:
Invisible she poisons every dish,
Tinging with gall his mutton, fowl, and fish.
The more he eats, the more perverse he grows;
For as his hunger sunk, his choler rose.
The cloth removed, he cries with vapour sick,
'The pears are mellow, and the port is thick;'
Though nicer fruit Pomona never knew,
And his rich wine surpass'd the ruby's hue!

A thousand times his dizzy brain revolves
A stern command: now doubts and now resolves
To bid the nymph descend, and disarray'd,
Quit her dear project of the masquerade:
As oft kind nature to his heart recurr'd,
And love parental stopp'd the cruel word.

Meantime, unconscious of the brooding storm,
The nymph exults in her improving form:
Gay is her smile, as those the Queen of Love
Darts on the Graces in her court above,
While they contrive, with love-inspiring cares,
New modes of beauty for the robe she wears.
The glance of triumph on the mirror cast,
Now the light wand our finish'd Ariel arms;
Glad Jenny glories in her lady's charms;
And gives full utterance, as she smoothes her vest,
To the sweet bodings of Serena's breast.

Oh! lovely bias of the female soul!
Which trembling points to pleasure's distant pole;
Which, with fond trust, on flattering hope relies,
O'erleaps all perils that in prospect rise,
And, springing to the goal, anticipates the prize!
Such was Serena's fear-discarding state;
Her eye beheld not the dark frowns of fate:
She only saw, the combat all forgot,
The triumph promised as her glorious lot.

Now, eager to display her light attire,
The sprightly damsel seeks her sullen sire;
His gloomy brow with sportive air she kiss'd;
Ah! how could Spleen that magic lip resist;
That voice, whose melting music might assuage
The scorpion Anger's self-tormenting rage?
For ne'er did nature to a sire's embrace
Present a filial form of softer grace;
Or fancy view a shape of lovelier kind
In the bright mirror of her Shakspeare's mind.

The sulky fiend, in spite of all her art,
Had now been banish'd from the father's heart,
But that, resolved her utmost force to try,
She summon'd to her aid her old ally
The fiery demon, temper-troubling gout,
Who sinks the lively, and appals the stout;
Who now, assisting Spleen's malignant aim,
Shoots in quick throbbing through Sir Gilbert's frame.
Thus sorely pester'd by a double foe,
Galling his giddy brain, and burning toe,
The testy knight, with stern and sullen air,
Denounced his humour to the shuddering fair:
'Go change your dress! give up this vain delight!
I will not hear of masquerades to-night:
I must recall m word, too fondly meant,
So change your dress, and sit with me content.'

As the proud dame, whose avaricious glee
Built on golden castles in the rich South Sea,
Gazed on her broker, when he told her first
Her wealth was vanish'd, and the bubble burst,
So gazed the nymph, hearing her sire destroy
Her airy palace of ideal-joy.
First her fond thoughts to flattering doubt incline,
And deem the harsh command no fix'd design,
But the quick sally of a peevish word,
That love revokes the moment it is heart:
Or haply mirth, in mimic wrath express'd,
A feign'd forbiddance utter'd but in jest:
To this short hope her sinking spirit clung,
To see his softening eyes refute his tongue.
Ah, fruitless hope! for there she cannot find
The well-known signals of the friendly mind.
Stern Contradiction, with the frown of fate,
On his dark visage reign'd in sullen state;
Felt in each feature, in each accent shown,
Lower'd in his look, and thunder'd in his tone.
Hence the warm bosom of the lively fair
Now shivers with the chill of blank despair:
Now disappointment's thick'ning shadows roll
A cloud of horror o'er the darken'd soul:
And fancy, in a sick delirium toss'd,
Gives double value to each pleasure lost.
The blasted joys she labours to forget
Rush on her mind, and waken keen regret:
Her cheek turns pale - the tear prepares to start,
And palpitation heaves her swelling heart.
But here, Sophrosyne! thy guardian aid
Saves from her potent foe the sinking maid.
Her bosom, into strong emotions thrown,
Now feels the pressure of thy friendly zone.
Swift thy kind cautions to her soul recur,
More quick to cancel faults than prone to err.
As the rough swell of the insurgent tides
By the mild impulse of the moon subsides,
So, by her mystic monitor repress'd,
The flood of passion leaves her lighten'd breast,
From her clear brain each cloudly vapour flies,
And joy's bright ray rekindles in her eyes.
Reviving gayety full lustre spread
O'er all her features, and with smiles she said,
'Let others drive to pleasure's distant dome!
Be mine the dearer joy to please at home!'
Scarce had she spoke, when she with sportive ease
Press'd her piano-forte's fav'rite keys.
O'er softest notes her rapid fingers ran,
Sweet prelude to the air, she thus began;

Sophrosyne! thou guard unseen!
Whose delicate control
Can turn the discord of chagrin
To harmony of soul!
Above the lyre, the lute above,
Be mine thy melting tone,
Which makes the peace of all we love
The basis of our own!

So sung the nymph, not uninspired: the sprite
Invoked so fondly in the mystic rite,
With richest music swell'd her warbling throat,
And gave new sweetness to her sweetest note,
As when the seraph Uriel first begun
His carol to the new created sun,
The sacred echo shook the vast profound,
And chaos perish'd at the potent sound:
So at the magic of Serena's strain,
Spleen vanish'd from her sire's chaotic brain;
Whose fibres, lighten'd of that load, rejoice
In the dear accents of her dulcet voice;
Much he inclines his mandate to recall,
And send the fair one to the promised ball:
But stubborn pride forbids him to revoke
The solemn sentence, which ill humour spoke.
Still conscious of her power, the nymph prolongs
The soft enchantment of her soothing songs;
Which his fond mind in firm attention keep,
To his fix'd hour of supper and of sleep:
This now arrived, the knight, retiring, shed
A double blessing on his darling's head;
And with unusual exultation press'd
His lovely child to her parental breast.

Thus while to rest the happy sire withdrew,
The nymph, more happy, to her chamber flew;
And, Jenny now dismiss'd, the grateful fair
Breathes to her guardian sprite this tender prayer
'Thou kind preserver! whose attentive zeal
Gives me in this contended hour to feel
That dearest pleasure of a soul refined,
The triumph of the self-corrected mind;
If happy in the strength, thy smiles impart,
I own thy favour in no thankless heart,
Still let me view thy form, so justly dear!
Still, in kind vision, to these eyes appear!
Thy friendly dictates teach me to fulfil
And let thy aid avert each future ill?'

While fond devotion taught her thus to speak,
The soft down sinks beneath her lovely cheek,
And settling on her lips, that sweetly close,
Silence, enamour'd, lulls her to repose.