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But with the exception of a number of Strephons and Chloes, not always ungraceful, in the newer fashion, and a sprinkling of ruder verses in which there is more indecency than immorality, the first two volumes of the Tea-table Miscellany are full of merit, and include many delightful simple lyrics, songs which compare most advantageously with the insipid "words" which at this present advanced age are used as a sort of necessary evil to serve the purpose of the music.
The servants let him sleep on, and bustled about without noticing him; only an overseer pointed to him, and said laughing: "His companions went home no more sober than that one. He is a pretty boy, and pretty Chloes lover besides she will look for him in vain this morning." "And to-morrow too perhaps," answered another; "for if the fat king sees her, poor Damon will have seen the last of her."
"On the twentieth of May," continued Jacques, enveloping the fascinating countenance of Belle-bouche with his melancholy glance, "the old lovers in Arcadia the Strephons, Chloes, Corydons, Daphnes, and Narcissuses always made love and married on that day." "Then," said Belle-bouche, faintly smiling, "they did every thing very quickly." "In a great hurry, eh?" said Jacques, sighing. "Yes, sir."
The servants let him sleep on, and bustled about without noticing him; only an overseer pointed to him, and said laughing: "His companions went home no more sober than that one. He is a pretty boy, and pretty Chloes lover besides she will look for him in vain this morning." "And to-morrow too perhaps," answered another; "for if the fat king sees her, poor Damon will have seen the last of her."
"Chloes are dead, however," he murmured, "and the reed of Pan is still. The fanes of Arcady are desolate." And having uttered this beautiful sentiment, the melancholy Jacques was silent. "Do you like 'My Arcady?" asked Belle-bouche; "I think it very pretty." "It is the gem of music. Ah! to hear you sing it," sighed poor Corydon.
So saying Dorothy left him to what consolation he could find in such china-pastoral abuse as the gallants of the day would, with the aid of poetic penny-trumpet, cast upon offending damsels Daphnes and Chloes, and, in the mood, heathen shepherdesses in general.
"I am not a Corydon," he says, "much less have I a Chloe at least, who treats me as Chloes should treat their faithful shepherds. My Chloe runs away when I approach, and her crook turns into a shadow which I grasp in vain at. The shepherdess has escaped!" "It is well she don't beat you," says the lovely girl, smiling. "Beat me!" "With her crook." "Ah!
And now, my young friends, in the year 1822, in which I write, and shall probably die, the love which glitters through Moore, and walks so ambitiously ambiguous through the verse of Byron; the love which you consider now so deep and so true; the love which tingles through the hearts of your young ladies, and sets you young gentlemen gazing on the evening star, all that love too will become unfamiliar or ridiculous to an after age; and the young aspirings and the moonlight dreams and the vague fiddle-de-dees which ye now think so touching and so sublime will go, my dear boys, where Cowley's Mistress and Waller's Sacharissa have gone before, go with the Sapphos and the Chloes, the elegant "charming fairs," and the chivalric "most beauteous princesses!"
In the dreary round of petty details, in the incessant drudgery of a poor farmer's household, with no companions of any sympathy for the family of a hard-working New England farmer are not the Chloes and Clarissas of pastoral poetry, nor are cow-boys Corydons with no opportunity of retirement and cultivation, for reading and studying which is always voted "stuff" under such circumstances the light suddenly quenched out of life, what was she to do?
II. Love dozes by the purling brook, No friend to lonely places; Or, if he toy with Strephon's crook, His Chloes are the Graces. III. Forsake 'The Flaunting Town! Alas! Be cells for saints, my own love! The wine of life's a social glass, Nor may be quaffed alone, love. IV. Behold the dead and solemn sea, To which our beings flow; Let waves that soon so dark must be Catch every glory now.
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