THE BAS BLEU.

THE BAS BLEU . VESEY ! of Verse the judge and friend ! Awhile my idle strain attend : Not with the days of early Greece , I mean to ope' my slender piece ; The rare Symposium to proclaim , Which crown'd th' Athenians' social name ; Or how ASPASIA'S parties shone , The first Bas-bleu at Athens known ; Nor need I stop my tale , to shew , At least to Readers such as you , How all that Rome esteem'd polite , Supp'd with LUCULLUS every night ; LUCULLUS , who , from Pontus come , Brought conquests , and brought cherries home : Name but the suppers in th' Apollo , What classic images will follow ! How wit flew round , while each might take Conchylia from the Lucrine lake ; And Attic Salt , and Garum Sauce , And Lettuce from the Isle of Cos ; The first and last from Greece transplanted , Us'd here — because the rhyme I wanted : How Pheasants' heads , with cost collected , And Phenicopters' stood neglected , To laugh at SCIPIO'S lucky hit , POMPEY'S bon-mot , or CAESAR'S wit ! Intemperance , list'ning to the tale , Forgot the Mullet growing Seneca says , that in his time the Romans were arrived at such a pitch of luxury , that the Mullet was reckoned stale which did not die in the hands of the guest . stale ; And Admiration , balanc'd , hung 'Twixt PEACOCKS' brains , and TULLY'S tongue . I shall not stop to dwell on these , But be as epic as I please , And plunge at once in medias res . To prove the privilege I plead , I'll quote some Greek I cannot read ; Stunn'd by Authority , you yield , And I , not Reason , keep the field . Long was Society , e'er-run By Whist , that desolating Hun ; Long did Quadrille despotic sit , That Vandal of colloquial wit ; And Conversation's setting light Lay half-obscur'd in Gothic night ; Till LEO'S triple crown , to you , BOSCAWEN sage , bright MONTAGU , Divided , fell ; — your cares in haste Rescued the ravag'd realms of Taste ; And LYTTELTON'S accomplish'd name , And witty PULTNEY shar'd the fame ; The Men , not bound by pedant rules , Nor Ladies' precieuses ridicules ; For polish'd WALPOLE shew'd the way , How Wits may be both learn'd and gay ; And CARTER taught the female train , The deeply wise are never vain ; And she , who SHAKESPEARE'S wrongs redrest , Prov'd that the brightest are the best . O ! how unlike the wit that fell , RAMBOUILLET The Society at the Hotel de RAMBOUILLET , though composed of polite and ingenious persons , was much tainted with affectation and false taste . See VOITURE , MENAGE , &c. ! at thy quaint Hotel ; Where point , and turn , and equivoque , Distorted every word they spoke ! All so intolerably bright , Plain Common Sense was put to flight ; Each speaker , so ingenious ever , 'Twas tiresome to be quite so clever ; There twisted Wit forgot to please , And Mood and Figure banish'd ease : Poor exil'd Nature houseless stray'd , 'Till SEVIGNE receiv'd the maid . Tho' here she comes to bless our isle , Not universal is her smile . Muse ! snatch the lyre which CAMBRIDGE strung , When he the empty ball-room sung ; 'Tis tun'd above thy pitch , I doubt , And thou no music wou'dst draw out ; Yet , in a lower note , presume To sing the full , dull Drawing-room . Where the dire Circle keeps its station , Each common phrase is an oration ; And cracking fans , and whisp'ring Misses , Compose their Conversation blisses . The Matron marks the goodly shew , While the tall daughter eyes the Beau — The frigid Beau ! — Ah ! luckless fair , 'Tis not for you that studied air ; Ah ! not for you that sidelong glance , And all that charming nonchalance ; Ah ! not for you the three long hours He worship'd the " Cosmetic powers ; " That finish'd head which breathes perfume , And kills the nerves of half the room ; And all the murders meant to lie In that large , languishing , grey eye ; Desist ; — less wild th' attempt wou'd be , To warm the snows of Rhodope : Too cold to feel , too proud to feign , For him you're wise and fair in vain . Chill shade of that affected Peer , Who dreaded Mirth ! come safely here ; For here no vulgar joy effaces Thy rage for polish , ton , and graces . Cold Ceremony's leaden hand , Waves o'er the room her poppy wand ; Arrives the stranger ; every guest Conspires to torture the distrest ; At once they rise — so have I seen — You guess the simile I mean , Take what comparison you please , The crowded streets , the swarming bees , The pebbles on the shores that lie , The stars , which form the galaxy ; This serves t' embellish what is said , And shews , besides , that one has read ; — At once they rise — th' astonish'd guest Back in a corner slinks , distrest ; Scar'd at the many bowing round , And shock'd at her own voice's sound , Forgot the thing she meant to say , Her words , half-utter'd , die away ; In sweet oblivion down she sinks , And of her ten appointments thinks : While her loud neighbour on the right , Boasts what she has to do to-night ; So very much , you'd swear her pride is To match the labours of ALCIDES ; 'Tis true , in hyperbolic measure , She nobly calls her labours Pleasure ; In this , unlike ALCMENA'S son , She never means they shou'd be done ; Her fancy of no limits dreams , No ! ne plus ultra bounds her schemes ; Fir'd at th' idea , out she flounces , And a new Martyr JOHN announces . We pass the pleasures vast and various Of Routs , not social , but gregarious ; And , pleas'd , to gentler scenes retreat , Where Conversation holds her seat . Small were that art which wou'd ensure The Circle's boasted quadrature ! See VESEY'S plastic genius make A Circle every figure take ; Nay , shapes and forms which wou'd defy All science of Geometry , Isosceles , and Parallel , Names hard to speak , and hard to spell ! Th' enchantress wav'd her wand , and spoke ! Her potent wand the Circle broke ; The social Spirits hover round , And bless the liberated ground . Ask you what charms this gift dispense ? 'Tis the strong spell of COMMON SENSE . Away fell Ceremony flew , And with her bore Detraction too . Nor only Geometric Art , Does this presiding power impart ; But Chymists too , who want the essence , Which makes or mars all coalescence , Of her the secret rare might get , How different kinds amalgamate : And he , who wilder studies chose , Find here a new metempsychose ; How forms can other forms assume , Within her Pythagoric room ; Or be , and stranger is th' event , The very things which Nature meant ; Nor strive , by art and affectation , To cross their genuine destination . Here sober Duchesses are seen , Chaste Wits , and Critics void of spleen ; Physicians , fraught with real science , And Whigs and Tories in alliance ; Poets , fulfilling Christian duties , Just Lawyers , reasonable Beauties ; Bishops who preach , and Peers who pay , And Countesses who seldom play ; Learn'd Antiquaries , who , from college , Reject the rust , and bring the knowledge ; And , hear it , age , believe it , youth , Polemics , really seeking truth ; And Travellers of that rare tribe , Who've seen the countries they describe ; Ladies who point , nor think me partial , An Epigram as well as MARTIAL ; Yet in all female worth succeed , As well as those who cannot read . Right pleasant were the task , I ween , To name the groupes which fill the scene ; But Rhyme's of such fastidious nature , She proudly scorns all Nomenclature , Nor grace our Northern names her lips , Like HOMER'S Catalogue of Ships . Once — faithful Memory ! heave a sigh , Here ROSCIUS gladden'd every eye . Why comes not MARO ? Far from town , He rears the Urn to Taste , and BROWN ; His English garden breathes perfume , And promises perennial bloom . Here , rigid CATO , awful Sage ! Bold Censor of a thoughtless age , Once dealt his pointed moral round , And , not unheeded , fell the sound ; The Muse his honour'd memory weeps , For CATO now with ROSCIUS sleeps ! Here once HORTENSIUS lov'd to sit , Apostate now from social Wit : Ah ! why in wrangling senates waste The noblest parts , the happiest taste ? Why Democratic Thunders wield , And quit the Muses' calmer field ? Taste thou the gentler joys they give ; With HORACE and with LELIUS live . Hail , Conversation , soothing Power , Sweet Goddess of the social hour ! Not with more heart-felt warmth , at least , Does LELIUS bend , thy true High Priest , Than I , the lowest of thy train , These field-flow'rs bring to deck thy fane ; Who to thy shrine like him can haste , With warmer zeal , or purer taste ? O may thy worship long prevail , And thy true votaries never fail ! Long may thy polish'd altars blaze With wax-lights' undiminish'd rays ! Still be thy nightly offerings paid , Libations large of Limonade ! On silver Vases , loaded , rise The biscuits' ample sacrifice ! Nor be the milk-white streams forgot Of thirst-assuaging , cool orgeat ; Rise , incense pure from fragrant Tea , Delicious incense , worthy Thee ! Hail , Conversation , heav'nly fair , Thou bliss of life , and balm of care ! Call forth the long-forgotten knowlege Of school , of travel , and of college ! For thee , best solace of his toil ! The sage consumes his midnight oil ; And keeps late vigils , to produce Materials for thy future use . If none behold , ah ! wherefore fair ? Ah ! wherefore wise , if none must hear ? Our intellectual ore must shine , Not slumber , idly , in the mine . Let Education's moral mint The noblest images imprint ; Let Taste her curious touchstone hold , To try if standard be the gold ; But 'tis thy commerce , Conversation , Must give it use by circulation ; That noblest commerce of mankind , Whose precious merchandize is MIND ! What stoic Traveller wou'd try A sterile soul , and parching sky , Or dare th' intemperate Northern zone , If what he saw must ne'er be known ? For this he bids his home farewell , The joy of seeing is to tell . Trust me , he never wou'd have stirr'd , Were he forbid to speak a word ; And Curiosity wou'd sleep , If her own secrets she must keep : The bliss of telling what is past , Becomes her rich reward at last . Yet not from low desire to shine , Does Genius toil in Learning's Mine ; Not to indulge in idle vision , But strike new light by strong collision . O'er books the mind inactive lies , Books , the mind's food , not exercise ! Her vigorous wing she scarcely feels , 'Till use the latest strength reveals ; Her slumbering energies call'd forth , She rises , conscious of her worth ; And , at her new-found powers elated , Thinks them not rous'd , but new created . Enlighten'd spirits ! you , who know What charms from polish'd converse flow , Speak , for you can , the pure delight When kindred sympathies unite ; When correspondent tastes impart Communion sweet from heart to heart ; You ne'er the cold gradations need Which vulgar souls to union lead ; No dry discussion to unfold The meaning , caught as soon as told : But sparks electric only strike On souls electrical alike ; The flash of Intellect expires , Unless it meet congenial fires . The language to th' Elect alone Is , like the Mason's mystery , known ; In vain th' unerring sign is made To him who is not of the Trade . What lively pleasure to divine , The thought implied , the hinted line , To feel Allusion's artful force , And trace the Image to its source ! Quick Memory blends her scatter'd rays , 'Till Fancy kindles at the blaze ; The works of ages start to view , And ancient Wit elicits new . But wit and parts if thus we praise , What nobler altars shou'd we raise , Those sacrifices cou'd we see Which Wit , O Virtue ! makes to Thee . At once the rising thought to dash , To quench at once the bursting flash ! The shining Mischief to subdue , And lose the praise , and pleasure too ! This is high Principle's controul ! This is true continence of soul ! Blush , heroes , at your cheap renown , A vanquish'd realm , a plunder'd town ! Your conquests were to gain a name , This conquest triumphs over Fame ; So pure its essence ; 'twere destroy'd . If known , and if commended , void . Amidst the brightest truths believ'd , Amidst the fairest deeds atchiev'd , Shall stand recorded and admir'd , That Virtue sunk what Wit inspir'd ! But let the letter'd , and the fair , And , chiefly , let the Wit beware ; You , whose warm spirits never fail , Forgive the hint which ends my tale . Tho' Science nurs'd you in her bow'rs , Tho' Fancy crown your brow with flowers , Each thought , tho' bright Invention fill , Tho' Attic bees each word distil ; Yet , if one gracious power refuse Her gentle influence to infuse , In vain shall listening crowds approve , They'll praise you , but they will not love . What is this power , you're loth to mention , This charm , this witchcraft ? 'tis ATTENTION : Mute Angel , yes ; thy looks dispense The silence of intelligence ; Thy graceful form I well discern , In act to listen and to learn ; 'Tis Thou for talents shalt obtain That pardon Wit wou'd hope in vain ; Thy wond'rous power , thy secret charm , Shall Envy of her sting disarm ; Thy silent flattery sooths our spirit , And we forgive eclipsing merit ; The sweet atonement screens the fault , And love and praise are cheaply bought . With mild complacency to hear , Tho' somewhat long the tale appear , — Tis more than Wit , 'tis moral Beauty , 'Tis Pleasure rising out of Duty .