A Gentleman of the Old School 1777 You may see him pass by the little "Grande Place", He smiles, as he goes, to the fleuriste Rose, He turns, as a rule, through the "Marché" cool, And his compliment pays to the Belle Thérèse", There's a letter to drop at the locksmith's shop, Has jubilant hopes, for the Curé gropes In his tails for a pain d'épice. There's a little dispute with a merchant of fruit, Who is said to be heterodox, That will ended be with a Ma foi, oui!" There is also a word that no one heard And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red, But a grander way for the Sous-Préfet, For ever through life the Curé goes With a smile on his kind old face With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, And his green umbrella-case. Austin Dobson [1840 A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL He lived in that past Georgian day, With toil their pleasure; He held some land, and dwelt thereon,- Reynolds has painted him, -a face The eyes are blue, the hair is dressed With buds brocaded. He wears a brown old Brunswick coat, An elder fashion, A strangeness, which, to us who shine Inspires compassion. He lived so long ago, you see! Like Ariel, post o'er land and sea With careless parting; He found it quite enough for him And watch, about the fish tank's brim, He liked the well-wheel's creaking tongue,- His netted peaches; He liked to watch the sunlight fall A Gentleman of the Old School 1779 His were the times of Paint and Patch, He liked their ruffling, puffed content; Not that, in truth, when life began But now his "fervent youth" had flown Yet still he loved the chase, and held But most his measured words of praise His rustic diet. Not that his "meditating" rose With fruitless prying; But held, as law for high and low, What God withholds no man can know, And smiled away enquiry so, Without replying. We read-alas, how much we read!--- Our groaning tables; His books-and they sufficed him--were One more The Bible. Not that he It may be that he could not count Once he had loved, but failed to wed, And still when time had turned him gray, Where first he met her. "In Calo Quies" heads the stone The "Benefactions" still declare Lie softly, Leisure! Doubtless you, But we, to whom our age allows Scarce space to wipe our weary brows, Look down upon your narrow house, Old friend, and miss you! Austin Dobson [1840 On a Fan : 1781 ON A FAN THAT BELONGED TO THE MARQUISE DE POMPADOUR CHICKEN-SKIN, delicate, white, Painted by Carlo Vanloo, Loves in a riot of light, Roses and vaporous blue; Hark to the dainty frou-frou! Eyes that could melt as the dew,— This was the Pompadour's fan! See how they rise at the sight, Thronging the Eil de Bœuf through, Cardinal, Duke,—to a man, Eager to sigh or to sue,- Ah, but things more than polite ENVOY Where are the secrets it knew? Austin Dobson [1840 |