WHEN Newton saw an apple fall, he found In that slight startle from his contemplation-'T is said (for I 'll not answer above ground For any sage's creed or calculation)-A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round In a most natural whirl, called 'gravitation;'
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple, Since Adam, with a fall or with an apple.
Man fell with apples, and with apples rose, If this be true; for we must deem the mode In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road, A thing to counterbalance human woes:
For ever since immortal man hath glow'd With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.
And wherefore this exordium?- Why, just now, In taking up this paltry sheet of paper, My bosom underwent a glorious glow, And my internal spirit cut a caper:
And though so much inferior, as I know, To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour, Discover stars and sail in the wind's eye, I wish to do as much by poesy.
In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for The stars, I own my telescope is dim:
But at least I have shunn'd the common shore, And leaving land far out of sight, would skim The ocean of eternity: the roar Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim, But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.
We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush;
And far be it from my Muses to presume (For I have more than one Muse at a push)
To follow him beyond the drawing-room:
It is enough that Fortune found him flush Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those things Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.
But soon they grow again and leave their nest.
'Oh!' saith the Psalmist, 'that I had a dove's Pinions to flee away, and be at rest!'
And who that recollects young years and loves,-Though hoary now, and with a withering breast, And palsied fancy, which no longer roves Beyond its dimm'd eye's sphere,- but would much rather Sigh like his son, than cough like his grandfather?
But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink, Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow, So narrow as to shame their wintry brink, Which threatens inundations deep and yellow!
Such difference doth a few months make. You 'd think Grief a rich field which never would lie fallow;
No more it doth, its ploughs but change their boys, Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys.
But coughs will come when sighs depart- and now And then before sighs cease; for oft the one Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun Of life reach'd ten o'clock: and while a glow, Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done, O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure for clay, Thousands blaze, love, hope, die,- how happy they!
But Juan was not meant to die so soon.
We left him in the focus of such glory As may be won by favour of the moon Or ladies' fancies- rather transitory Perhaps; but who would scorn the month of June, Because December, with his breath so hoary, Must come? Much rather should he court the ray, To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.
Besides, he had some qualities which fix Middle-aged ladies even more than young:
The former know what 's what; while new-fledged chicks Know little more of love than what is sung In rhymes, or dreamt (for fancy will play tricks)
In visions of those skies from whence Love sprung.
Some reckon women by their suns or years, I rather think the moon should date the dears.
And why? because she 's changeable and chaste.
I know no other reason, whatsoe'er Suspicious people, who find fault in haste, May choose to tax me with; which is not fair, Nor flattering to 'their temper or their taste,'
As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air:
However, I forgive him, and I trust He will forgive himself;- if not, I must.
Old enemies who have become new friends Should so continue- 't is a point of honour;
And I know nothing which could make amends For a return to hatred: I would shun her Like garlic, howsoever she extends Her hundred arms and legs, and fain outrun her.
Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foes-Converted foes should scorn to join with those.
This were the worst desertion:- renegadoes, Even shuffling Southey, that incarnate lie, Would scarcely join again the 'reformadoes,'
Whom he forsook to fill the laureate's sty:
And honest men from Iceland to Barbadoes, Whether in Caledon or Italy, Should not veer round with every breath, nor seize To pain, the moment when you cease to please.
The lawyer and the critic but behold The baser sides of literature and life, And nought remains unseen, but much untold, By those who scour those double vales of strife.
While common men grow ignorantly old, The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife, Dissecting the whole inside of a question, And with it all the process of digestion.
A legal broom 's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that 's the reason he himself 's so dirty;
The endless soot bestows a tint far deeper Than can be hid by altering his shirt; he Retains the sable stains of the dark creeper, At least some twenty-nine do out of thirty, In all their habits;- not so you, I own;
As Caesar wore his robe you wear your gown.
And all our little feuds, at least all mine, Dear Jefferson, once my most redoubted foe (As far as rhyme and criticism combine To make such puppets of us things below), Are over: Here 's a health to 'Auld Lang Syne!'
I do not know you, and may never know Your face- but you have acted on the whole Most nobly, and I own it from my soul.
And when I use the phrase of 'Auld Lang Syne!'
'T is not address'd to you- the more 's the pity For me, for I would rather take my wine With you, than aught (save Scott) in your proud city.
