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THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS ;
Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried,
As e'er scrawld jargon in a darken'd room ;
With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue they eyed, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN. Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside, WRITTEN IN 1817.
And then in solemn accents spoke their doom,
« His majesty is very far from well.» 0, FOR a glance of that gay Muse's eye,
Then each to work with his specific fell: That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing tale,
The Hakim Ibrahim instanter brought And iwinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly,
His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, When Giam Battista bade her vision hail!!
While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail
Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily. Given by the natives of that land canorous;
More and yet more in deep array appear, Italian license loves to leap the pale,
And some the front assail and some the rear: We Britons have the fear of shame before us,
Their remedies to reinforce and vary, And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be decorous.
Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary;
Till the tired monarch, though of words grown chary, In the far eastern clime, no great while since,
Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labour, Lived Sullaun Solimaun, a mighty prince,
Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre.
There lack d, I promise you, no longer speeches,
To rid the palace of those learned leeches. & Sultaun! thy vassal hears, and he obeys!»—
Then was the council call'd— by their advice, All have their tastes—this may the fancy strike
(They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice, Of such grate folks as pomp and grandeur like;
And sought to shift it off from their own shoulders), For me, I love the honest heart and warm
Tatars and couriers in all speed were sent, Of monarch who can amble round his farm,
To call a sort of eastern parliament Or, when the toil of state no more annoys,
Of feudatory chieftains and freeholdersla chimney-corner seek domestic joys
Such have the Persians at this very day,
My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai;* la fitting time, can, gayest of the gay,
I'm not prepared to show in this slight song
That to Serendib the same forms belong,—
Een let the learn'd go search, and tell me if I'm wrong.
Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for war
« The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath And where's Serendib? may some critic say— Too long has slepi, nor ownd the work of death ; Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart,
Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, Scare not my Pegasus before I start!
| Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of battle! If Rennell bas it not, you 'll find, mayhap, The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map,–
This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's day
Shall from his kindled bosom flit away, Famed mariner! whose merciless narrations
When the bold Lootic wheels his courser round, Drove every friend and kipsman out of patience,
And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter,
Each noble panis to own the glorious summonsHe deigo'd to tell them over to a porter
And for the charges-Lo! your faithful Commons !» The last edition see by Long. and Co.,
The Riots who attended in their places Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the Row.
(Serendib-language calls a farmer Riot) Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction
Look'd ruefully in one another's faces, This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction
From this oration auguring much disquiet, (A sort of stimulant which hath its uses,
Double assessment, forage, and free quarters : To raise the spirits and reform the juices,
Aud fearing these as China-men the Tartars, Sovereign specific for all sort of cures
Or’as the whiskerd vermnia fear the mousers,
Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers.
And next came forth the reverend Convocation,
Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban green, With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes
Imaum and Mollah there of every station, Delonging to the Mollah's subtle craft,
Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. I wot not-but the Sultaan never laugh'd,
Their votes were various—some advised a Mosque Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy
With filting revenues should be erected, That scorn'd all remedy, profave or boly;
With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, In his long list of melancholics, mad,
To recreate a band of priests selected; Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad,
For tbese hard words see d'Herbelot, or the learned editor of
ibe Recipes of Avicenna. "The hint of the following tale is taken from La Camiscia Ma- See Sir Joro Malcolm's admirable History of Persia. gia, 4 novel of Gian Battista Casti.
Others opined that through the realms a dole
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit Incline to think some of them must be happy; The Sultaun's weal in body, and in soul ;
At least they have as fair a cause as any can,
But fair Italia, she who once unfurld
Long from her throne of domination tumbled, From all the cares of state, my liege, enlarge thee, Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled; And leave the burthen to thy faithful clergy.»
The Pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and lean,
And was not half the man he once had been. These counsels sage availed not a whit,
« While these the priest and those the noble fleeces, And so the patient (as is not uncommon
Our poor old boot, w' they said, « is torn to pieces. Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) Its tops: the vengeful claws of Austria feel, Resolved to take advice of an old woman;
And the Great Devil is rending toe and lieel.3
A tramontane, a heretic,- the buck,
Poffaredio! still has all the luck; But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest,
By land or occan never strikes his flagBy dint of magic amulet or lay;
And then-a perfect walking money-bag.” And, when all other skill in vain was shown,
Off set our prince to seek Joho Bull's abode, She deem'd it fitting time to use her own.
But first took France—it lay upon the road.
« Sympathia magica hath wonders done,»
Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion, (Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son),
Was agitated like a settling ocean, « It works upon the fibres and the pores,
Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what aild him, And thus, insensibly, our health restores,
Only the glory of his house had fail'd him; And it must help us here. Thou must endure
Besides, some tumours on his noddle biding, The ill, my son, or travel for the cure,
Gave indication of a recent hiding.
And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme il faut, a
Then whisper'd, « Ave you any news of Xappy! I know not if she had some under-game,
The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross question, As doctors have, who bid their patients roam
« Pray, can you tell me aught of one Jolin Ball, An-l live abroad, when sure to die at home;
That dwells somewhere beyond your herring-pool Or if she thought, that, somehow or another,
The query seemd of difficult digestion, Queen Regent sounded better than Queen Mother; The party shrugg'd, and grion'd, and took his snuff, But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it ?)
And found his whole good breeding scarce enough. That such was ber advice-the Sultaun took it.
Twitching his visage into as many puckers
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers
Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, They paused —« Arabia,» thought the pensive prince, « Jean Rool!-I vas not know him-yes, I vas« Was call'd The Happy many ages since
I vas remember dat von year or two, For Mokha, Rais.»-- And they came safely thither. I saw him at von place caild VaterlooBut not in Araby with all her balm,
Ma foi! il s'est très-joliment battu, Nor where Judæa weeps beneath her palm,
for Englishman,-m'entendez-vous ? Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste,
But den he had wit him von dama son-gun, Could there the step of Happiness be traced.
Rogue I no like-dey call him Vellington
So Solimaun took leave and cross'd tlie streigbi.
The well-known resemblance of Italy in the map.
• Florence, Venice, etc. Enough of turbans,» said the weary king, « These dolimans of ours are not the thing;
* The Calabrias, infested by bands of assassins. One of the
leaders was called Fra Diavolo, i.e. Brother Devil. Master of the vessel
* Or drubbing, so called in the Slang dictionary.
John Ball was in his very worst of moods,
That when his mortal foe was on the floor,
And past the power to harm his quiet more, Poor Joha had well nigh wept for Bonaparte! Such was the wight whorn Solimaun salam'd, « And who are you,» John answer'd, « and be d—d ?»
She bade him «sit into the fire,» and took
Then up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle,
In search of goods her customer to nail, Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely throttle,
And hollow'd, — « Ma'am, that is not what I ail. Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this soug glen ?»
Happy !» said Peg; « What for d'ye want to ken! Besides, just think upon this by-gane year,
Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh.» « What say you to the present?»—« Meal's sae dear,
To mak their brose my bairns have scarce aneugh.» « The devil take the shirt,» said Solimaun, «I think my quest will end as it began. Farewell, ma'am; nay, no ceremony, I beg-» « Ye 'll no be for the linen then ?» said Peg.
• A stranger, come to see the happiest man, So, seignior, all avouch,-in Frangistan.»— & Happy! my tenants breaking on my hand ? Cnstockd my pastures, and untilld my land; Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths The sole consumers of my good broad-clothsHappy! why, cursed war and racking tax Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs.» « In that case, Seignior, I may take my leave; I came to ask a favour-but I grieve--> • Favour?» said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, ali's my belief you came to break the yard ! But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner,Take that, to buy yourself a shirt and dinner.»With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, « Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline; A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. Seigoior, I kiss your hands, so fare
well.» < Kiss and be d-d,» quoth John, « and go to hell ! »
Now, for the land of verdant Erin,
Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg,
And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation,
A quiet soul as any in the nation ; The sole remembrance of her warlike joys Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife, She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life, Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour, Who look'd to the main chance, declined no labour, Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon, And was d-d close in making of a bargain.
The Sultaun saw him on a holiday,
The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg,
See the True-Born Englishman, by Daniel de Poe.
Shilela their plan was well nigh after baulking
As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore
On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.'
Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep,
Loaded and primed, and prompt from desperate hand, Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls,
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand, Now gives full value for true Indian shawls;
While round the hut are in disorder laid O'er court, o'er custom-house, his shoe who flings, The tools and booty of his lawless trade; Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings.
For force or fraud, resistance or escape, Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind; His pilfer'd powder in yon nook he hoards, Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees,
And the filch'd lead the church's roof affordsThat baulks the spare, yet battens on the cheese ; (Hence shall the rector's congregation fret, Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe, That while his sermon 's dry, bis walls are wet.) Our buckskin'd justices expound the law,
The fish-spear barb'd, the sweeping net are there, Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skios of hare, And for the netted partridge noose the swain ; Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. And thy vindicrivcarm would faia have broke Barter'd for game from chase or warren won, The last light fetter of the feudal yoke,
Yon cask holds moonlight," run wheo moon was done : To give the denizens of wood and wild,
And lale-snatch'd spoils lie stow'd in batch apart, Nature's free race, to each her frec-born child.
To wait the associate higgler's evening cart.
Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest :
What scenes perturb'd are acting in his breast ! Pour d o'er Chantilly the Parisian train,
His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain, When musket, pistol, blunderbuss combined,
And his dilated nostril toils in vain, And scarce the field-pieces were left behind!
For short and scant the breath each effort draws, A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismay'd,
And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause. On every covey fired a bold brigade:
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretch'd, La Douce Humanité approved the sport,
His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch, For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt; While the tongue falters, as to utterance loth, Shouts patriotic solemnized the day,
Sounds of dire import-watch-word, threat, and at Avd Seine re-echo'd Vive la Liberté!
Though, stupified by toil and druggʻd with gin,
The body sleep, the restless guest within
« Was that wild start of terror and despair, Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws.
Those bursting eye-balls, and that wilder'd air,
Signs of compunction for a murder'd hare ? Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops
Do the locks bristle and the eye-brows arch,
For grouse or partridge massacred in March !
No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe,
There is no wicket in the gate of law! Or stracgling hollies spread a brighter green.
He, that would c'er so lightly set ajar Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep,
That awful portal must undo each bar; Our scarce-mark'd path descends yon dingle deep :
Tempting occasion, labit, passion, pride, Follow-but heedful, cautious of a trip.
Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide. In earthly mire philosophy may slip, Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream,
That ruffian, wliom true men avoid and dread, Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam,
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Vel We reach the frail yet barricaded door
Was Edward Mansell ouce; - the lightest heart,
That ever play'd on holiday his part!
Sach is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tesdias par (Though placed where still the Conqueror's hests o'er- to increase the varions settlements of thieves, smugglers, and
stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts the presidia ? awe,
wears as a badge of office an antique stirrup, said to bser *** And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law),
that of William Rufus. See Nr William Rose's spirited posur The builder claims the unenviable boon,
titled - The Red King.. To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon
• A capt name for smuggled spirits.
And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance,
But he, whose humours spurn law's awful yoke, Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are broke. The common drcad of justice soon allies The clown, who robs the warren or excise, With sterner felons train'd to act more dread, Een with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass, Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw, Their hope impunity, their fear the law; Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same, Till the revenue baulk d, or pilfer'd game, Flesh the young culprit, and example leads To darker villany and direr deeds.
'T is at such a lide and hour,
Gleam on the gifted ken;
Among the sons of men :-
Had follow'd stout and stern,
And Morven lony shall tell,
Of conquest as he fell.
Wild howl'd the wind the forest glades along,
fave and sow withheld her doubtful beam;
'Lone on the outskirts of the host,
When down the destined plain
And Joom'd the future slain.-
For Flodden's fatal plain;
The yet unchristen d Dane.
With gesture wild and dread;
The lightning's flaslı more red;
And of the destined dead.
THE DANCE OF DEATH.
Night and morning were at meeting
Over Waterloo ;
Faint and low they crew,
Where the soldier lay, Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain, Wishing dawn of morn again,
Though death should come with day.
Wheel the wild dance,
And thunders rattle loud,
To sleep without a shroud.