Classic Poem

AND THE ONE-HORSE CHAIR .

A T Blagrave's once upon a time,
There stood a Phaeton sublime:
Unsullied by the dusty road
Its wheels with recent crimson glow'd;
Its sides display'd a dazzling hue,
Its harness tight, its lining new:
No scheme-enamour'd youth, I ween,
Survey'd the gaily-deck'd machine,
But fondly long'd to seize the reins,
And whirl o'er Campsfield's tempting plains.
Meantime it chanc'd, that hard at hand
A One-Horse Chair had took its stand:
When thus our vehicle begun
To sneer the luckless Chaise and One, —
" How could my master place me here
Within thy vulgar atmosphere?
From classic ground pray shift thy station,
Thou scorn of Oxford education! —
Your homely make, believe me, man,
Is quite upon the gothic plan;
And you, and all your clumsy kind,
For lowest purposes design'd:
Fit only, with a one-ey'd mare,
To drag, for benefit of air,
The country parson's pregnant wife,
Thou friend of dull domestic life!
Or, with his maid and aunt, to school
To carry Dicky on a stool:
Or, haply, to some christening gay
A brace of godmothers convey. —
Or, when blest Saturday prepares
For London tradesmen rest from cares,
'Tis thine to make them happy one day,
Companion of their genial Sunday!
'Tis thine, o'er turnpikes newly made,
When timely show'rs the dust have laid.
To bear some alderman serene
To fragrant Hampstead's silvan scene.
Nor higher scarce thy merit rises
Among the polish'd sons of Isis.
Hir'd for a solitary crown,
Canst thou to schemes invite the gown?
Go, tempt some prig, pretending taste,
With hat new cock'd, and newly lac'd,
O'er mutton-chops, and scanty wine,
At humble Dorchester to dine!
Meantime remember, lifeless drone!
I carry bucks and bloods alone.
And oh! whene'er the weather's friendly,
What inn at Abingdon or Henley,
But still my vast importance feels,
And gladly greets my entering wheels!
And think, obedient to the thong,
How yon gay street we smoke along;
While all with envious wonder view
The corner turn'd so quick and true."
To check an upstart's empty pride,
Thus sage the One-Horse Chair replied:
" Pray, when the consequence is weigh'd,
What's all your spirit and parade?
From mirth to grief what sad transitions,
To broken bones and impositions!
Or if no bones are broke, what's worse,
Your schemes make work for Glass and Nourse". —
On us pray spare your keen reproaches,
From One-Horse Chairs men rise to Coaches;
If calm Discretion's stedfast hand
With cautious skill the reins command.
From me fair Health's fresh fountain springs,
O'er me soft Snugness spreads her wings:
And Innocence reflects her ray
To gild my calm sequester'd way;
Ev'n kings might quit their state to share
Contentment and a One-Horse Chair. —
What though, o'er yonder echoing street
Your rapid wheels resound so sweet;
Shall Isis' sons thus vainly prize
A Rattle of a larger size?"
Blagrave, who during the dispute
Stood in a corner, snug and mute,
Surpris'd, no doubt, in lofty verse
To hear his Carriages converse,
With solemn face, o'er Oxford ale,
To me disclos'd this wond'rous tale:
I strait dispatch'd it to the Muse,
Who brush'd it up for Jackson's news,
And, what has oft been penn'd in prose,
Added this moral at the close:
" Things may be useful, though obscure;
The pace that's slow is often sure:
When empty pageantries we prize,
We raise but dust to blind our eyes.
The Golden Mean can best bestow
Safety for unsubstantial show."