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 And did much credit to her heart and head. XXXVI. This was not what Badoura had expected, Poor girl, they shut her in a lonely tower, 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 acting by the Prince of Fadladeen. 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, And careless of the eyes of womankind. XL. Perhaps but no!-the truth must be confest; And still his heart was free from their control : 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 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, XLIV. And then for taste and feeling, sense and wit, Of joy he swore that all the world around 'Twas ever with him, this imagin'd form, XLVI. It was a silly fancy-never mind; It made him happy, if it made him mad; XLVII. The good old Monarch lov'd his headstrong son, XLVIII. Affairs bore now a most forlorn appearance, 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 LI. Thou hast done wisely thy young eloquent eyes Well dost thou choose, for many a lover's sighs, LII. But we shall miss, beside our quiet hearth, 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 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, LVI. I must implore your pardon, and will try 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, |