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BLUE-STOCKING REVELS; OR,
BLUE-STOCKING REVELS;
OR,
THE FEAST OF THE VIOLETS.
CANTO I.
Shewing what sort of rebuke Apollo gave his Nymphs, and how gods furnish houses.
Lo! I, who in verse flowing smooth as the wine
("Modest youth!") once recorded a dinner divine,[1]
And shew'd the great god of the sun, entertaining
With wit and crack'd walnuts the poets then reigning;
Now sing, in a dance fitter still for the crupper
Whose wings bore me thither, a more divine supper;
For that was of man, though of Phœbus; but this is
Of Phœbus, and woman, and blue-stocking blisses.
("Modest youth!") once recorded a dinner divine,[1]
And shew'd the great god of the sun, entertaining
With wit and crack'd walnuts the poets then reigning;
Now sing, in a dance fitter still for the crupper
Whose wings bore me thither, a more divine supper;
For that was of man, though of Phœbus; but this is
Of Phœbus, and woman, and blue-stocking blisses.
The god, you must know, then, like other bright souls,
Attends not to ev'ry dull curfew that tolls,
But often pays visits at night-time, and sits
Conversing till morning with beauties and wits
In guise of some talker renown'd,—my Carlyle,
Jeffrey, Wilson, or Wordsworth;—joy listens the while;—
And in case he 's too late for Aurora, they say,
Some proxy, I know not who, brings up the day;
Which is likely;—for after a night such as that,
The day, you may notice, is terribly flat.
Attends not to ev'ry dull curfew that tolls,
But often pays visits at night-time, and sits
Conversing till morning with beauties and wits
In guise of some talker renown'd,—my Carlyle,
Jeffrey, Wilson, or Wordsworth;—joy listens the while;—
And in case he 's too late for Aurora, they say,
Some proxy, I know not who, brings up the day;
Which is likely;—for after a night such as that,
The day, you may notice, is terribly flat.
Well; the eve of last May-day, his work being done,
Apollo sat playing his lute in the sun,
Apollo sat playing his lute in the sun,
- ↑ The "Feast of the Poets."
