from Canto XIII

41

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.

42

The English winter—ending in July,
    To recommence in August—now was done.
‘Tis the postillion’s Paradise: wheels fly;
     On roads, East, South, North, West, there is a run.
But for post horses who finds sympathy?
     Man’s pity’s for himself, or for his son,
Always premising that said son at college
Has not contracted much more debt than knowledge.

43

The London winter’s ended in July—
     Sometimes a little later. I don’t err
In this: whatever other blunders lie
     Upon my shoulders, here I must aver
My Muse a glass of Weatherology;
     For Parliament is our Barometer:
Let Radicals its other acts attack,
Its sessions form our only almanack.

44

When its quicksilver’s down at zero,—lo!
    Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage!
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.

45

They and their bills, “Arcadians both,” are left
    To the Greek Kalends of another session.
Alas! to them of ready cash bereft,
     What hope remains? Of hope the full possession,
Or generous draft, conceded as a gift,
     At a long date—till they can get a fresh one,—
Hawked about at a discount, small or large;—
Also the solace of an overcharge.

46

But these are trifles. Downward flies my Lord
     Nodding beside my Lady in his carriage.
Away! away! “Fresh horses!” are the word,
     And changed as quickly as hearts after marriage;
The obsequious landlord hath the change restored;
    The postboys have no reason to disparage
Their fee; but ere the watered wheels may hiss hence,
The ostler pleads for a small reminiscence.

47

‘Tis granted; and the valet mounts the dickey—
     That gentleman of lords and gentlemen;
Also my lady’s gentlewoman, tricky,
     Tricked out, but modest more than poet’s pen
Can paint, “Cosi Viaggino i Ricchi”!
    (Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then,
If but to show I’ve travell’d; and what’s travel,
Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?)

48

The London winter and the country summer
     Were well nigh over. ‘Tis perhaps a pity,
When Nature wears the gown that doth become her,
     To lose those best months in a sweaty city,
And wait until the nightingale grows dumber,
     Listening debates not very wise or witty,
Ere Patriots their true country can remember;—
But there’s no shooting (save grouse) till September.

49

I’ve done with my tirade. The world was gone;
     The twice two thousand, for whom earth was made,
Were vanished to be what they call alone,—
     That is, with thirty servants for parade,
As many guests or more; before whom groan
     As many covers, duly, daily laid.
Let none accuse Old England’s hospitality—
Its quantity is but condensed to quality.

50

Lord Henry and the Lady Adeline
    Departed, like the rest of their compeers,
The peerage, to a mansion very fine;
     The Gothic Babel of a thousand years.
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.