XXXIV.

So felt perchance Badoura, as she knelt

Before her Father with her strange petition; Oh! in her voice what sweet persuasion dwelt! How moving was her look of meek submission! I don't know how her gracious Father felt, But he was far too great a Politician To let absurd, intrusive feelings glance Through his profound and passionless countenance.

XXXV.

He simply answer'd that "he quite agreed
In every single syllable she'd said;
Such notions were most amiable indeed,

And did much credit to her heart and head.
He only griev'd that there was urgent need
That she should set off instantly to wed
The heir apparent of a distant State-
Her resolution had been form'd too late."

XXXVI.

This was not what Badoura had expected,
And a distracting scene of course ensued;
The Maid declar'd the match must be rejected,
The King swore roundly, "d-n him if it should;
She ought to jump to be so well connected ;"-
She still persisted that she never would:
He swore that she must do as she was bid,
And should be lock'd up closely till she did.
XXXVII.

Poor girl, they shut her in a lonely tower,
(Oh! subject meet for melancholy verse ;)
Nor would the old hard-hearted brute allow her
One poor companion, save her kind old Nurse.
"Twas a sad stretch of arbitrary power,

For the convenience of his private purse: (I own to me it seems extremely funny How money matters mix with matrimony.)

XXXVIII.

In the meantime, while all the Chinese Court
Was in confusion with this pleasant scene,
Another, quite as pleasant of the sort,

Was acting by the Prince of Fadladeen.
But 'twould be indecorous to report

Such angry squabbles as should ne'er have been. The Youth, in short, was of the Lady's mind, And like the Lady was the Youth confin'd.

XXXIX.

Judge not, fair dames, too harshly of his heart,
Nor deem him quite to your attractions blind,
Insensible and dead to Cupid's dart,

And careless of the eyes of womankind.
Perhaps some luckier beauty had the start
Of poor Badoura in his wayward mind;
Perhaps some young Court-Siren's fascination
Within his breast had caus'd a palpitation.

XL.

Perhaps but no!-the truth must be confest;
No woman had dominion o'er his soul;
His eye had wander'd o'er earth's loveliest,

And still his heart was free from their control :
Yet did he madly love, and o'er his rest

Dreams of such bright and passionate beauty stole, As oft in slumber to the Poet's eyes

Disclose the long-lost joys of Paradise.

XLI.

He was, I said, a Poet from his birth,

And fairy-land around his boyhood shone; His soul drank in the beauty of the earth

With fervent joy, but near his Father's throne How did he feel of kindred souls the dearth! How sigh for some belov'd and loving one, To whom he might in solitude reveal

Bliss which the hearts around him could not feel!

XLII.

So he grew pensive, and at times would wander
Through lonely dell, and unfrequented wood;
And on his fate in deep abstraction ponder,
And in his more imaginative mood

Would picture to himself a dream of wonder,

A lot he would have chosen if he could; And shadow out a creature who might be The gentle sharer of his sympathy.

XLIII.

And then he search'd the tomes of old romance,
(I don't know how he got romances) there;
He cull'd from many a heroine's countenance
The traits he thought most exquisitely fair;
From one he stole her eyes' o'erwhelming glance,
And from another clipp'd her auburn hair:
From this her lips, from that her blushes stole,
And from five hundred form'd one lovely whole

XLIV.

And then for taste and feeling, sense and wit,
With which this dainty creature must abound;
Again he search'd all Tales that e'er were writ,
And chose the brightest models that he found;
Which blending with his dreamings, in a fit

Of joy he swore that all the world around
No living beauty could be found so bright
As that which swam in his Quixottic sight.
XLV.

'Twas ever with him, this imagin'd form,
And as the wayward fancy stronger grew;
The bright creation shone in hues so warm,
So palpably apparent to his view,
That he grew quite enraptur'd, and a storm
Of such wild passion on his bosom blew,
That in his fits he deem'd the vision real,
And fell in love with this bright shape ideaf.

XLVI.

It was a silly fancy-never mind;

It made him happy, if it made him mad;
The worst on't was He could not feel resign'd
To execute the orders of his Dad.
But when he was, in consequence, confin'd,
Wrapt in this vision, he was seldom sad.
The King imagin'd that the boy was frantic,
Though the fact was he only was romantic.

XLVII.

The good old Monarch lov'd his headstrong son,
(Though 'twas a cruel measure, I must say,
A thing which no wise Father would have done,
To lock him up in that outrageous way ;)
And, fearing sorely that his wits were gone,
He bled and dosed him every other day.
"Twas all in vain, no physic could remove
His wild, ideal, solitary love.

XLVIII.

Affairs bore now a most forlorn appearance,
Both Monarchs were confoundedly afraid,
That, spite of their parental interference,

The marriage would be grievously delay'd. Though both had hopes, they said, "that in a year hence They might perhaps contrive to be obey'd." So in this state we'll leave them for the presént, And turn to prospects rather less unpleasant.

XLIX.

I don't know how, for many a weary line

I've pros'd of courtship, wedlock, love, and fighting, Till I've arriv'd at Stanza forty-nine,

And grown half-weary of the stuff I'm writing; And yet (confound this stupid head of mine)

Ne'er thought, one single moment, of inditing A strain of soft and eulogistic fummery,

On your approaching nuptials, Miss Montgomery.

L.

A little while-a few short weeks-and thou
Shalt go forth gaily in thy bridal dress;
Serene, yet bearing on thy modest brow
The timid blush of virgin bashfulness.
And thou shalt pledge the irrevocable vow,
And utter (if thou canst) the fatal " Yes;"
At which most ladies' lips are apt to falter,
When they come fairly to the marriage altar.

LI.

Thou hast done wisely thy young eloquent eyes
Long might with gentle victories have shone;
Well dost thou choose, for many a fleeting prize,
The better triumph of securing one.

Well dost thou choose, for many a lover's sighs,
A husband's smile; and since we can't but own
That you were form'd for doing execution,
The more praiseworthy is your resolution.

LII.

But we shall miss, beside our quiet hearth,
Thy delicate form, thine ever-smiling eye,
The frankness of thy laughter-loving mirth,
Thy voice so rich in sweetest melody;
And when I seek this dearest spot of Earth,
From my world-weary rovings, I shall sigh
To meet no longer in my Father's hall
The fairest face, the lightest step of all.

LIII.

I'll write a fine description in the papers

Of the proceedings of your wedding-day;

And give old maids and bachelors the vapours,

Telling how bright your looks, your dress how gay;

And then I'll praise your milliners and drapers, Beginning somewhat in the following way:"Married last week, at in this Shire,

Miss H. Montgomery to John Stumps, Esquire."

LIV.

Fie on my giggling Muse, who can't be serious
For half a stanza on so grave a theme;
But 'tis in vain for me to be imperious,
When she's determin'd to rebel; I deem,

Most courteous readers, that this strain will weary us, And I shall sadly sink in your esteem

If I pursue it longer; if you please

I'll breathe awhile, and give your Worships ease.

LV.

Yet, ere I close my Canto, I must mention

What should have been declar'd some stanzas back

That 'twas not my original intention

To follow so irregular a track;

And I must own I merit reprehension

And punishment, for having been so slack

To introduce you to the sportive Dame,
From whom this wondrous story takes its name.

LVI.

I must implore your pardon, and will try
(If you get through this Canto) in my next
To check the rovings of my Phantasy,

And stick a little closer to my text.

"I've wander'd from my theme, yet scarce know why," As sings a friend of mine,-for I'm perplext

For time; could I but polish as I would,
I'd make my Poem wonderfully good.