CANTO I.

ALAS! that partial Science should approve 75 The sly RECTANGLE’S[218] too licentious love! For _three_ bright nymphs the wily wizard burns;— _Three_ bright-eyed nymphs requite his flame by turns. Strange force of magic skill! combined of yore With Plato’s science and Menecmus’ lore.[219] 80 In _Afric’s_ school, amid those sultry sands High on its base where Pompey’s pillar stands, This learnt the Seer; and learnt, alas! too well, Each scribbled talisman, and smoky spell: What muttered charms, what soul-subduing arts, 85 Fell Zatanai[220] to his sons imparts.

GINS[221]—black and huge! who in Dom-Daniel’s[222] cave Writhe your scorched limbs on sulphur’s[223] azure wave; Or, shivering, yell amidst eternal snows, Where cloud-capp’d Caf[224] protrudes his granite toes; 90 (Bound by his will, _Judæa’s_ fabled king,[225] Lord of _Aladdin’s_ lamp and mystic ring.) Gins! ye remember!—for your toil conveyed Whate’er of drugs the powerful charm could aid; Air, earth, and sea ye searched, and where below 95 Flame embryo lavas, young volcanoes[226] glow,— Gins! ye beheld appall’d th’ enchanter’s hand Wave in dark air th’ _Hypothenusal_ wand; Saw him the mystic _Circle_ trace, and wheel With head erect, and far-extended heel;[227] 100 Saw him, with speed that mocked the dazzled eye, Self-whirled, in quick gyrations eddying fly: Till done the potent spell—behold him grown Fair _Venus’_ emblem—the _Phœnician_ CONE.[228]

Triumphs the Seer, and now secure observes 105 The kindling passions of the _rival_ CURVES.

And first, the fair PARABOLA[229] behold, Her timid arms, with virgin blush, unfold! Though, on one _focus_ fixed, her eyes betray A heart that glows with love’s resistless sway; 110 Though, climbing oft, she strives with bolder grace Round his tall neck to clasp her fond embrace, Still ere she reach it, from his polished side Her trembling hands in devious _Tangents_ glide.

Not thus HYPERBOLA;[230]—with subtlest art 115 The blue-eyed wanton plays her changeful part; Quick as her _conjugated_ axes move Through every posture of luxurious love, Her sportive limbs with easiest grace expand; Her charms unveiled provoke the lover’s hand; 120 Unveiled, except in many a filmy ray, Where light _Asymptotes_[231] o’er her bosom play, Nor touch her glowing skin, nor intercept the day.

Yet why, ELLIPSIS,[232] at thy fate repine? More lasting bliss, securer joys are thine. 125 Though to each fair his treacherous wish may stray, Though each, in turn, may seize a transient sway, ’Tis thine with mild coercion to restrain, Twine round his struggling heart, and bind with endless chain.

Thus, happy France! in thy regenerate land, 130 Where TASTE with RAPINE saunters hand in hand; Where, nursed in seats of innocence and bliss, REFORM greets TERROR with fraternal kiss; Where mild PHILOSOPHY first taught to scan The _wrongs_ of PROVIDENCE, and _rights_ of MAN; 135 Where MEMORY broods o’er FREEDOM’S earlier scene, The _Lantern_ bright, and brighter _Guillotine_; _Three_ gentle swains evolve their longing arms, And woo the young REPUBLIC’S virgin charms; And though proud _Barras_ with the fair succeed, 140 Though not in vain th’ Attorney _Rewbell_ plead, Oft doth th’ impartial nymph their love forego, To clasp thy crooked shoulders, blest _Lepaux_!

So, with dark dirge athwart the blasted heath, _Three_ Sister Witches hailed the appalled Macbeth. 145

So, the _Three_ Fates beneath grim Pluto’s roof, Strain the dun warp, and weave the murky woof; ’Till deadly Atropos with fatal shears Slits the thin promise of the expected years, While ’midst the dungeon’s gloom or battle’s din, 150 Ambition’s victims perish, as they spin.

Thus, the _Three_ Graces on the Idalian green Bow with deft homage to Cythera’s Queen; Her polished arms with pearly bracelets deck, Part her light locks, and bare her ivory neck; 155 Round her fair form ethereal odours throw, And teach th’ unconscious zephyrs where to blow, Floats the thin gauze, and glittering as they play, The bright folds flutter in phlogistic day,.

So, with his daughters _Three_, th’ unsceptered Lear 160 Heaved the loud sigh, and poured the glistering tear: His daughters _Three_, save one alone, conspire (Rich in his gifts) to spurn their generous sire; Bid the rude storm his hoary tresses drench, Stint the spare meal, the hundred knights retrench; 165 Mock his mad sorrow, and with altered mien Renounce the daughter, and assert the queen. A father’s griefs his feeble frame convulse, Rack his white head, and fire his feverous pulse; Till kind Cordelia soothes his soul to rest, 170 And folds the parent-monarch to her breast.

Thus some fair spinster grieves in wild affright, Vexed with dull megrim, or vertigo light; Pleased round the fair, _Three_ dawdling doctors stand, Wave the white wig, and stretch the asking hand, 175 State the grave doubt, the nauseous draught decree, And all receive, though none deserve, a fee.

So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn,[233] glides The Derby dilly, carrying _Three_ INSIDES. One in each corner sits, and lolls at ease, 180 With folded arms, propt back, and outstretched knees; While the pressed _Bodkin_, punched and squeezed to death, Sweats in the midmost place, and scolds, and pants for breath.[234]

(_To be continued._)

No. XXV.

April 30, 1798.

BRISSOT’S GHOST.[235]

As at the Shakespeare Tavern dining, O’er the well replenished board Patriotic chiefs reclining, Quick and large libations poured; While, in fancy, great and glorious, ’Midst the democratic storm, FOX’S crew, with shout victorious, Drank to _Radical Reform_;

Sudden, up the staircase sounding, Hideous yells and shrieks were heard; Then, each guest with fear confounding, A grim train of Ghosts appeared: Each a head, with anguish gasping, (Himself a trunk deformed with gore), In his hand, terrific, clasping, Stalked across the wine-stained floor.

On them gleamed the lamp’s blue lustre, When stern BRISSOT’S grizzly shade His sad bands was seen to muster, And his bleeding troops arrayed. Through the drunken crowd he hied him, Where the chieftain sate enthroned, There, his shadowy trunks beside him, Thus in threatening accents groaned:

“Heed, oh heed our fatal story, (I am BRISSOT’S injured Ghost), You who hope to purchase glory In that field where I was lost! Though dread PITT’S expected ruin Now your soul with triumph cheers, When you think on our undoing, You will mix your hopes with fears.

“See these helpless, headless spectres, Wandering through the midnight gloom: Mark their Jacobinic lectures Echoing from the silent tomb; These, thy soul with terror filling, Once were Patriots fierce and bold”— (Each his head, with gore distilling, Shakes, the whilst his tale is told).

“Some from that dread engine’s carving In vain contrived their heads to save— See BARBAROUX and PÉTION[236] starving In the Languedocian cave! See, in a higgler’s[237] hamper buckled, How LOUVET’S soaring spirit lay! How virtuous ROLAND,[238] helpless cuckold, Blew what brains he had away.

“How beneath the power of MARAT, CONDORCET, blaspheming, fell, Begged some laudanum of GARAT,[239] Drank;—and slept,—to wake in hell! Oh that, with worthier souls uniting, I in my country’s cause had shone! Had died my Sovereign’s battle fighting, Or nobly propp’d his sinking throne!—

“But hold!—I scent the gales of morning— Covent-Garden’s clock strikes One! Heed, oh heed my earnest warning, Ere England is, like France, undone! To St. Stephen’s quick repairing, Your dissembled mania end; And, your errors past forswearing, Stand at length your Country’s Friend!”

[The preceding ballad is parodied from the one by Glover, entitled—

ADMIRAL HOSIER’S GHOST.

As near Porto-Bello lying On the gently swelling flood, At midnight with streamers flying, Our triumphant navy rode: There while VERNON sat all-glorious From the Spaniard’s late defeat, And his crews, with shouts victorious, Drank success to England’s fleet:

On a sudden, shrilly sounding, Hideous yells and shrieks were heard, Then each heart with fear confounding, A sad troop of ghosts appeared: All in dreary hammocks shrouded, Which for winding-sheets they wore, And with looks by sorrow clouded, Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam’d the moon’s wan lustre, When the shade of HOSIER brave His pale bands was seen to muster, Rising from their wat’ry grave: O’er the glimmering wave he hied him, Where the Burford rear’d her sail, With three thousand ghosts beside him, And in groans did VERNON hail.

Heed, O heed, our fatal story, I am HOSIER’S injured ghost. You who now have purchas’d glory, At this place where I was lost; Though in Porto-Bello’s ruin You now triumph free from fears, When you think on our undoing, You will mix your joy with tears.

See these mournful spectres sweeping Ghastly o’er this hated wave, Whose wan cheeks are stain’d with weeping, These were English Captains brave. Mark those numbers pale and horrid, Those were once my sailors bold, See each hangs his drooping forehead, While his dismal tale is told.

I by twenty sail attended Did this Spanish town affright, Nothing then its wealth defended But my orders not to fight. O! that in this rolling ocean I had cast them with disdain, And obey’d my heart’s warm motion To have quell’d the pride of Spain.

For resistance I could fear none, But with twenty ships had done What thou, brave and happy VERNON, Hast achiev’d with six alone. Then the Bastimentos never Had our foul dishonour seen, Nor the sea the sad receiver Of this gallant train had been.

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, And her galleons leading home, Though condemned for disobeying, I had met a traitor’s doom: To have fallen, my country crying He has play’d an English part, Had been better far than dying Of a griev’d and broken heart.

Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let HOSIER’S wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.

Hence with all my train attending From their oozy tombs below, Through the hoary foam ascending, Here I feed my constant woe. Here the Bastimentos viewing, We recal our shameful doom, And our plaintive cries renewing, Wander through the midnight gloom.

O’er these waves for ever mourning, Shall we roam deprived of rest, If to Britain’s shores returning, You neglect my just request; After this proud foe subduing, When your patriot friends you see, Think on Vengeance for my ruin, And for England sham’d in me.]

No. XXVI.

May 7, 1798.

LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES.

The frequent solicitations which we have received for a continuation of the LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES have induced us to lay before the public (with Mr. Higgins’s permission) the concluding lines of the Canto. The catastrophe of Mr. and Mrs. Gingham, and the episode of Hippona, contained, in our apprehension, several reflections of too free a nature. The conspiracy of Parameter and Abscissa against the Ordinate is written in a strain of poetry so very splendid and dazzling as not to suit the more tranquil majesty of diction which our readers admire in Mr. Higgins. We have therefore begun our extract with the Loves of the Giant Isosceles, and the Picture of the Asses-Bridge, and its several illustrations.