XXXIII And now in this new field, with some applause, He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, and rail, XXXIV But on the whole, to general admiration He acquitted both himself and horse: the squires Marvell'd at merit of another nation; The boors cried "Dang it! who'd have thought it?"— Sires, The Nestors of the sporting generation, Swore praises, and recall'd their former fires; The huntsman's self relented to a grin, And rated him almost a whipper-in. Such were his trophies XXXV not of spear and shield, But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes; Yet I must own, — although in this I yield To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes, XXXVI He also had a quality uncommon To early risers after a long chase, Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon When her soft, liquid words run on apace, Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner, He did not fall asleep just after dinner; XXXVII But, light and airy, stood on the alert, Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert; And smiling but in secret cunning rogue! He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer; In short, there never was a better hearer. XXXVIII And then he danced; - all foreigners excel A thing in footing indispensable; He danced without theatrical pretence, Not like a ballet-master in the van Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman. XXXIX Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bound, XL Or, like a flying Hour before Aurora, In Guido's famous fresco which alone Is worth a tour to Rome, although no more a And ne'er to be described; for to the dolour XLI No marvel then he was a favourite ; A full-grown Cupid, very much admired; A little spoilt, but by no means so quite ; At least he kept his vanity retired. FROM "DON JUAN," CANTO XVI CONVENTIONAL SOCIETY XCVI Juan, when he cast a glance Which she went through as though it were a dance, Betraying only now and then her soul By a look scarce perceptibly askance (Of weariness or scorn), began to feel XCVII So well she acted all and every part By turns with that vivacious versatility, Which many people take for want of heart. They err't is merely what is call'd mobility, A thing of temperament and not of art, Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false-though true; for surely they're sincerest Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest. XCVIII This makes your actors, artists, and romancers, Though all Exchequer chancellors endeavour, |