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Or turn, with keen delight, the curious page, Where hardy Pasquin[18] braves the Pontiff's rage.
But D----n's strains should tell the sad reverse, When Business calls, invet'rate foe to verse!
Tell how "the Demon claps his iron hands,"
"Waves his lank locks, and scours along the lands."
Through wintry blasts, or summer's fire I go, To scenes of danger, and to sights of woe.
Ev'n when to Margate ev'ry c.o.c.kney roves, And brainsick-poets long for shelt'ring groves, Whose lofty shades exclude the noontide glow, While Zephyrs breathe, and waters trill below,[19]
Me rigid Fate averts, by tasks like these, From heav'nly musings, and from letter'd ease.
Such wholesome checks the better Genius sends, From dire rehearsals to protect our friends: Else when the social rites our joys renew, The stuff'd Portfolio would alarm your view, Whence volleying rhimes your patience would o'er-come, And, spite of kindness, drive you early home.
So when the traveller's hasty footsteps glide Near smoking lava on Vesuvio's side, Hoa.r.s.e-mutt'ring thunders from the depths proceed, And spouting fires incite his eager speed.
Appall'd he flies, while rattling show'rs invade, Invoking ev'ry Saint for instant aid: Breathless, amaz'd, he seeks the distant sh.o.r.e, And vows to tempt the dang'rous gulph no more.
[2] _Sages_, Count Hamilton, in the 'Quatre Facardins,' and Mr. M.
Lewis, in his 'Tales of Romance.'
[3] See the 'Opulentia Sordida,' in his 'Colloquies,' where he complains feelingly of the spare Venetian diet.
[4] It may be said that Quintilian recommends margins; but it is with a view to their being occasionally occupied: Debet vacare etiam locus, in quo notentur quae scribentibus solent extra ordinem, id est ex aliis quam qui sunt in manibus loci, occurrere. Irrumpunt enim optimi nonnunquam Sensus, quos neque inserere oportet, neque differre tutum est. 'Inst.i.t.' lib. x. c. 3.
He was therefore no _Margin-man_, in the modern sense.
[5] _Fletcher._ A translator of Martial. A very bad Poet, but _exceedingly scarce_.
[6] Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.
s.h.i.+RLEY.
Perhaps s.h.i.+rley had in view this pa.s.sage of Persius,--
Nunc non e tumulo, fortunataque favilla Nascentur Violae?
'Sat.' i. l. 37.
[7] 'Faerie Queene.'
[8] Aristophanes.
[9] See his exquisite hymn to the Nightingale in his =Ornithes=.
[10] Gray.
[11] The fire of London.
[12] Cloud-compelling Jove.--Pope's 'Iliad.'
[13] ... gaudent praenomine molles Auriculae.
JUVENAL.
[14] _The gallant Veres and one-eyed Ogle._ Three fine heads, for the sake of which, the beautiful and interesting 'Commentaries' of Sir Francis Veres have been mutilated by the Collectors of English portraits.
[15] Generally known by the name of James Nicius Erythraeus. The allusion is to his 'Pinacotheca.'
[16] 'Les Serees de Gillaume Bouchet,' a book of uncommon rarity. I possess a handsome copy by the kindness of Colonel Stanley.
[17] 'Les Regrets,' by Joachim du Bellay, contain a most amusing and instructive account of Rome in the sixteenth century.
[18] 'Pasquillorum Tomi duo.'
[19] Errare per lucos, aemaenae, Quos et aquae subeunt et aurae.
HORAT.
TRIOLET TO HER HUSBAND.
F. FERTIAULT. _Rendered into English by A. Lang in the 'Library.' 1881._
Books rule thy mind, so let it be!
Thy heart is mine, and mine alone.
What more can I require of thee?
Books rule thy mind, so let it be!
Contented when thy bliss I see, I wish a world of books thine own.
Books rule thy mind, so let it be!
Thy heart is mine, and mine alone.
A NOOK AND A BOOK.
WILLIAM FREELAND. _From 'A Birth Song and other Poems.' 1882._
Give me a nook and a book, And let the proud world spin round; Let it scramble by hook or by crook For wealth or a name with a sound.
You are welcome to amble your ways, Aspirers to place or to glory; May big bells jangle your praise, And golden pens blazon your story!
For me, let me dwell in my nook, Here by the curve of this brook, That croons to the tune of my book, Whose melody wafts me forever On the waves of an unseen river.
Give me a book and a nook Far away from the glitter and strife; Give me a staff and a crook, The calm and the sweetness of life; Let me pause--let me brood as I list, On the marvels of heaven's own spinning-- Sunlight and moonlight and mist, Glorious without slaying or sinning.
Vain world, let me reign in my nook, King of this kingdom, my book, A region by fas.h.i.+on forsook; Pa.s.s on, ye lean gamblers for glory, Nor mar the sweet tune of my story!
THE SULTAN OF MY BOOKS.
There is many a true word spoken in doggerel.--_Czech Folk-Song._
EDMUND GOSSE. _Written for the present collection._
