Classic Poem

Shall I condole, my friend? — Dost rue
With curses deep thy marriage bond?
And why? — Because thy spouse untrue
Has found in other arms more fond
That which in thine was not her share?
Hear others' woes ere thou despond,
And learn thy lighter grief to bear.

Dost grumble that in thy domains
Another shares? — Why, lucky man,
My wife to the whole human race pertains.
Right from the Belt to the Moselle,
To Apennine's abysses fell,
Where fashions their precedence keep;
In every booth she's offered cheap;
In diligences, on the deep,
She must the curious muster pass
Of every pedant, every ass,
And brave the cad's censorious glass;
And, as some petty critic may control,
On flowers trips or treads on burning coal
— Pantheon, or the pillory, her goal.
A Leipzig man — God grant he have his due —
Took her dimensions, offered her for sale
In fragments to the public by retail —
Fragments which I — but, sure, none other — knew.

Thy wife, thanks to the canon, is aware
That 'tis an honour thy good name to bear:
She understands, and her good sense is shown.
(As " Ninon's husband " only I am known)
You say that at the tables, in the pit,
Your entry rouses each malicious wit;
Fortunate man, the world might envy thee
Such luck as that. — Why, brother, as for me —
A whey-cure had the fortune to provide
An honoured place for me at her left side.
On me no kind of interest is spent,
While on my better half all eyes are bent.

The dawn scarce shows its crest,
When the stairs creak 'neath blue and yellow coats,
With unstamped letters, packages and notes,
To " the Illustrious lady " all addressed.
I must arouse her, calmly though she lies: —
" Madam, the papers — Berlin, Jena news! "
At once the lovely sleeper raised her eyes,
And pounced with eager glance on the reviews.
The fair blue eye — never a look for me —
Skims through some stupid puerility —
(Screams in the children's nursery she hears)
Pausing, she asks, how are the little dears?

And now her toilet waits.
But side-looks only at the glass she flings,
And mutters sullen, discontented threats
Which give her terrified attendant wings.
The Graces from her dressing-table fly,
And where fair Cupids should their office ply,
A band of Furies in attendance springs.

Anon the carriage-folk approach,
And lackeys spring from every coach.
The perfumed abbot, the seigneurial lord,
The Briton (who the German tongue ignored),
Gossing & Co., the Messrs. Thingumbob,
— All wish with the great lady to hob-nob.
With what a supercilious eye they stare
To see a thing — a husband — crouching there!
Here may the dullest flat, the seediest wight,
(Dare your wife's friend as much?) express delight,
And as admirers of the fair one pose;
And this, withal, before my very nose.
I must look on, and, merely to behave,
His precious " company to dine " must crave.

At table, friend, begins my misery.
Short work is made of my poor cellar's store;
Burgundy (which the doctor bans for me)
Down their approving gullets I must pour.
My hard-earned daily bread I must subscribe
To stuff this greedy, parasitic tribe.
This immortality — confound its ways! —
With my good Niersteiner havoc plays.
Away with all who use the printing press!
And what my meed of thanks? I bid thee guess —
A shrug, a gesture, some unmannered bluff —
Dost understand? — Oh, I see plain enough!
Who such a woman — such a priceless gem —
To live with such a noodle would condemn?

Spring-time approaches, and fair Nature flings
Her varied tapestry o'er glade and field;
A kindly green the shrubs and flowers yield,
Loud trills the lark; to life the forest springs.
— To her no more the Spring appeals;
The songstress of our pleasures gay,
Of groves where we were wont to play,
Now nothing to her heart reveals.
The nightingales! — they cannot read;
The lilies! — they can not admire;
And Nature's triumphs, as they plead,
Do but an epigram inspire.
To travelling the time of year invites:
— Why, Pyrmont must just now be crowded out:
In praise of Carlsbad every one unites
— And there she is, amid the motley rout,
Where princely riband, doctor's gown,
With every kind of fashion blends;
Show themselves off, strut up and down,
And seem to be the best of friends.
From many climes they come with languid zeal,
Their tattered virtue of its wounds to heal.
— Learn thine advantage, friend; there strolls my wife,
And seven orphans palms on me for life!

Ah! my first love — my young romantic days!
How quickly have ye vanished from the scene!
A paragon, beyond all human praise —
— Such was my wife — a Goddess in her mien.
Of brilliant wit, expansive mind
She was, of character refined.
I gladly bore her soft control,
And by her playful side reclined.
The words — " I love thee, thou art mine! "
Sprang eloquently from her eyes:
I led her to the sacred shrine,
And who so happy with his prize?

A vista of entrancing years
Mirrored before me seemed to rise,
And open lay the very spheres.
I saw fair children gambol round
With circling dance her kindly knee
— The fairest of the circle she —
Her heart with mine in harmony,
Our souls for ever firmly bound.
And then appeared — oh, cursed be his name!
— A mighty man of quite superior cast.
This mighty genius did but breathe a blast,
And down my house of cards in atoms came.

What have I left? — Ah! transformation fell!
As from me fades th' intoxicating spell,
What of my angel now remains?
A virile spirit, but arrayed
In sexless form — nor man nor maid,
Not fit to love, nor hold the reins;
A child in giant's armour clad,
A mean betwixt the wise and mad,
Who has renounced her native grace
In coarser scenes to find a place.
Down from her throne-like pinnacle of fame
She falls, and quits her dear, mysterious home,
Struck out from Cytherea's golden tome,
To earn — a sorry newspaper acclaim.