"Sir, says the clown why sure you joke,
(And kept on digging as he spoke)
And prate not to extort conviction,
But merrily by way of fiction.
Say, do your manuscripts attest,
What was old father Adam's crest;
Did he a nobler coat receive
In right of marrying Mrs. Eve;
Or had supporters when he kiss'd her,
On dexter side, and side sinister;
Or was his motto, prithee, speak,
English, French, Latin, Welsh, or Greek;
Or was he not without a lie,
Just such a nobleman as I?"
Song of a Spirit; from Mrs. Radcliffe's Romance of the Forest.
N the sightless air I dwell,
On the sloping sun-beams play;
Delve the cavern's inmost cell,
Where never yet did day-light stray;
Dive beneath the green-sea waves,
And gambol in the briny deeps;
Skim ev'ry shore that Neptune laves,
From Lapland's plains to India's steeps.
Oft I mount with rapid force
Above the wide earth's shadowy zone;
Follow the day-star's flaming course
Through realms of space to thought unknown;
And listen to celestial sounds
That swell the air unheard of men,
As I watch my nightly rounds
O'er woody steep, and silent glen.
Under the shade of waving trees,
On the green bank of fountain clear,
At pensive eve I sit at ease,
While dying music murmurs near.
And oft, on point of airy clift,
That hangs upon the western main,
I watch the gay tints passings swift,
And twilight veil the liquid plain.
Then, when the breeze has sunk away,
And ocean scarce is heard to lave,
For me the sea-nymphs softly play
Their dulcet shells beneath the wave.
Their dulcet shells! I hear them now,
Slow swells the strain upon mine ear;
Now faintly falls-now warbles low,
Till rapture melts into a tear.
The ray that silvers o'er the dew,
And trembles through the leafy shade,
And tints the scene with softer hue,
Calls me to rove the lonely glade;
Or hie me to some ruin'd tower,
Faintly shewn by moon-light gleam;
Where the lone wanderer owns my power,
In shadows dire that substance seem;
In thrilling sounds that murmur woe,
And pausing silence makes more dread;
In music breathing from below
Sad solemn strains, that wake the dead.
Unseen I move-unknown am fear'd!
Fancy's wildest dreams I weave;
And oft by bards my voice is heard
To die along the gales of eve.
Moody having invented the game of whist, to silence two old maids and his molker, lays down the laws of the game; from Whist, a poem, by A. Thompson, esq.
OUT though Confusion's voice was heard no more,
And silence reign'd where all was noise before;
Yet still at times occasions would arise,
Where each restraint the sisters could despise;
And still disturb the youth's unlucky state
With all the violence of keen debate.-
Perhaps the dealer might the cards confuse,
Nor yet her privilege could bear to lose :
Perhaps a card might on the table fall-
Its mistress never meant to play at all;
Who then her error might lament in vain,
And urge her right to take it up again :
Perhaps her haste a trick with trumps had gain'd,
While of the suit her hand a card retain'd-
A sad mistake; which, when it once was found,
In endless strife embroil'd the table round:
Or, worse than all, perhaps Oblivion's pow'r
Had miss'd entirely scoring's proper hour;
And now too late those honours rose to mind,
Which to their tricks they might have justly join'd;
A loss which never pass'd from Mem'ry's sight,
But clouded still each after triumph bright,
And fill'd with murmur's voice the whole repining night.
All this young Moody with displeasure saw,
And vainly strove to keep the storm in awe:
From this he found, that, though so much was done,
He had not wholly yet the battle won;
From this he knew, that somewhat still remain'd,
Ere silence here a perfect triumph gain'd.'
Oft had he read the tracks of fertile ground,
With lavish Nature's richest bounty crown'd,
In rude neglect and savage wildness lay,
To desolation and to waste a prey;
From this one single but important cause,
The want of regular and wholesome laws.
And, since capricious fortune's blind control
Had thus already made his favour'd soul
The bold discov'rer of a region new,
Resolv'd to prove its legislator too.
Nor did the strength of his inventive mind
This second task an arduous duty find:
For two short hours of one tempestuous day
Suffic'd to range his laws in neat array;
And, lest his subjects might, perhaps, disdain
The recent offspring of his youthful brain,
His prudent art a cautious method chose,
And feign'd (for fiction well each lawyer knows)
That he these laws had in the pages found
Of one whose genius had been long renown'd.
Success, as usual, crown'd his artful plan,
And, leave of reading gain'd, he thus began:
The cards to shuffle long as may him suit,
Is ev'ry player's right, without dispute:
But when this right thro' all the hands has pass'd,
Still with the dealer it should rest at last;
Who, ere he deals, should have the painted band
Cut by the person on his better hand;
As else th' unlawful deal will never stand.
If in the pack a card display its face
* He must begin again in such a case:
And should he one in dealing chance to turn,
The foes, if so inclin'd, that deal may spurn.
But if he gives not each his number due,
To one too many, or to one too few,
+ He then must be content the deal to lose,
Unless his luck supplies the sole excuse,
That, while he dealt, by either of the foes
The cards were touch'd; for then we may suppose
From them, and not from him, the fault arose.
Still on the board, the whole commencing round,
Let his trump card expos'd to view be found:
Nor, after that, though you may trumps inquire,
Can you of it another sight desire.
Let each, before he play, his hand review,
And mark if he possess the number due;
For should he not, and yet proceed to play,
Till he perceives at last a card away,
He must for each revoke the forfeit pay.
Let each with constant eye the board survey,
Nor ask another what he chanc'd to play,
Though he may bid him draw his card away.
Nor here, as in your former game, Quadrille,
May one examine all the tricks at will:
The latest can alone return to sight;
The rest must ne'er again behold the light.
The card which once has fairly touch'd the board,
Must never more be to the hand restor❜d.
When, from mistake, as it at times proceeds,
The one rash partner for the other leads;
* Vide Hoyle, chap. xviii. laws ix. and xi.
Id. chap. xviii. law xviii. § Id, ibid. law xii.
Vide Id. chap, xxii. law xiii.
|| Id. chap. xxii. law. viii.
* Then
Then may the foes a just occasion seize,
To make his brother play what suit they please;
And for that card, which was so keen to fall,
They have a right at any time to call.
For each revoke your foe may chance to make,
From his collected tricks you three can take
Or from his score (if tricks he yet has none)
+ Take down three points, or add them to your own:
But this to do you ne'er can urge the right,
Until the trick is turn'd, and out of sight;
Though then its influence boasts a fairer claim
Than any other score in all the game.
The tricks, fair children of superior skill,
Before the casual honours reckon still.
Remember always, when the hand is o'er,
At once your honours and your tricks to score;
For should you wait till trumps be turn'd again,
Your right you then may claim, but claim in vain.
But if beyond the truth you chance to go,
Your score diminish'd must enrich the foe.
The proper season on your friend to call,
Is just before your hand a card lets fall;
A moment later and you lose the claim,
And even a moment sooner is the same.
But when the trump has once appear'd in sight,
Let none remind his friend of calling's right.
Although of tricks one side should make them all,
That rarest triumph which a slam we call,
Yet they from this no profit e'er must claim,
Which would not suit the spirit of the game.
* Hoyle, chap. xviii. law i. + Id. chap. xviii, laws iii. and ii. Id. ibid. law. vi.
§ Id. chap. xviii. law xxii.
|
