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For none likes more to hear himself converse。'
I said that Lambro was a man of patience；
And certainly he show'd the best of breeding；
Which scarce even France； the paragon of nations；
E'er saw her most polite of sons exceeding；
He bore these sneers against his near relations；
His own anxiety； his heart； too； bleeding；
The insults； too； of every servile glutton；
Who all the time was eating up his mutton。
Now in a person used to much mand…
To bid men e； and go； and e again…
To see his orders done； too； out of hand…
Whether the word was death； or but the chain…
It may seem strange to find his manners bland；
Yet such things are； which I can not explain；
Though doubtless he who can mand himself
Is good to govern… almost as a Guelf。
Not that he was not sometimes rash or so；
But never in his real and serious mood；
Then calm； concentrated； and still； and slow；
He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood；
With him it never was a word and blow；
His angry word once o'er； he shed no blood；
But in his silence there was much to rue；
And his one blow left little work for two。
He ask'd no further questions； and proceeded
On to the house； but by a private way；
So that the few who met him hardly heeded；
So little they expected him that day；
If love paternal in his bosom pleaded
For Haidee's sake； is more than I can say；
But certainly to one deem'd dead； returning；
This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning。
If all the dead could now return to life
（Which God forbid！） or some； or a great many；
For instance； if a husband or his wife
（Nuptial examples are as good as any）；
No doubt whate'er might be their former strife；
The present weather would be much more rainy…
Tears shed into the grave of the connection
Would share most probably its resurrection。
He enter'd in the house no more his home；
A thing to human feelings the most trying；
And harder for the heart to overe；
Perhaps； than even the mental pangs of dying；
To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb；
And round its once warm precincts palely lying
The ashes of our hopes； is a deep grief；
Beyond a single gentleman's belief。
He enter'd in the house… his home no more；
For without hearts there is no home； and felt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a wele； there he long had dwelt；
There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er；
There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt
Over the innocence of that sweet child；
His only shrine of feelings undefiled。
He was a man of a strange temperament；
Of mild demeanour though of savage mood；
Moderate in all his habits； and content
With temperance in pleasure； as in food；
Quick to perceive； and strong to bear； and meant
For something better； if not wholly good；
His country's wrongs and his despair to save her
Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver。
The love of power； and rapid gain of gold；
The hardness by long habitude produced；
The dangerous life in which he had grown old；
The mercy he had granted oft abused；
The sights he was accustom'd to behold；
The wild seas； and wild men with whom he cruised；
Had cost his enemies a long repentance；
And made him a good friend； but bad acquaintance。
But something of the spirit of old Greece
Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays；
Such as lit onward to the Golden Fleece
His predecessors in the Colchian days；
T is true he had no ardent love for peace…
Alas！ his country show'd no path to praise：
Hate to the world and war with every nation
He waged； in vengeance of her degradation。
Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime
Shed its Ionian elegance； which show'd
Its power unconsciously full many a time；…
A taste seen in the choice of his abode；
A love of music and of scenes sublime；
A pleasure in the gentle stream that flow'd
Past him in crystal； and a joy in flowers；
Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours。
But whatsoe'er he had of love reposed
On that beloved daughter； she had been
The only thing which kept his heart unclosed
Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen；
A lonely pure affection unopposed：
There wanted but the loss of this to wean
His feelings from all milk of human kindness；
And turn him like the Cyclops mad with blindness。
The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock；
The ocean when its yeasty war is waging
Is awful to the vessel near the rock；
But violent things will sooner bear assuaging；
Their fury being spent by its own shock；
Than the stern； single； deep； and wordless ire
Of a strong human heart； and in a sire。
It is a hard although a mon case
To find our children running restive… they
In whom our brightest days we would retrace；
Our little selves re…form'd in finer clay；
Just as old age is creeping on apace；
And clouds e o'er the sunset of our day；
They kindly leave us； though not quite alone；
But in good pany… the gout or stone。
Yet a fine family is a fine thing
（Provided they don't e in after dinner）；
'T is beautiful to see a matron bring
Her children up （if nursing them don't thin her）；
Like cherubs round an altar…piece they cling
To the fire…side （a sight to touch a sinner）。
A lady with her daughters or her nieces
Shines like a guinea and seven…shilling pieces。
Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate；
And stood within his hall at eventide；
Meantime the lady and her lover sate
At wassail in their beauty and their pride：
An ivory inlaid table spread with state
Before them； and fair slaves on every side；
Gems； gold； and silver； form'd the service mostly；
Mother of pearl and coral the less costly。
The dinner made about a hundred dishes；
Lamb and pistachio nuts… in short； all meats；
And saffron soups； and sweetbreads； and the fishes
Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets；
Drest to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes；
The beverage was various sherbets
Of raisin； orange； and pomegranate juice；
Squeezed through the rind； which makes it best for use。
These were ranged round； each in its crystal ewer；
And fruits； and date…bread loaves closed the repast；
And Mocha's berry； from Arabia pure；
In small fine China cups； came in at last；
Gold cups of filigree made to secure
The hand from burning underneath them placed；
Cloves； cinnamon； and saffron too were boil'd
Up with the coffee； which （I think） they spoil'd。
The hangings of the room were tapestry； made
Of velvet panels； each of different hue；
And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid；
And round them ran a yellow border too；
The upper border； richly wrought； display'd；
Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue；
Soft Persian sentences； in lilac letters；
From poets； or the moralists their betters。
These Oriental writings on the wall；
Quite mon in those countries； are a kind
Of monitors adapted to recall；
Like skulls at Memphian banquets； to the mind
The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall；
And took his kingdom from him： You will find；
Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure；
There is no sterner moralist than Pleasure。
A beauty at the season's close grown hectic；
A genius who has drunk himself to death；
A rake turn'd methodistic； or Eclectic
（For that 's the name they like to pray beneath）…