Here, however, is the proper place, if any, to introduce the poem of
seventy-three short lines, calling itself an Ode to Society written in a
state of perfect solitude, secluded from all mortal tread, as was our
habitation at the Bagni di Pisa.
ODE TO SOCIETY.
I.
SOCIETY! gregarious dame!
Who knows thy favour'd haunts to name?
Whether at Paris you prepare
The supper and the chat to share,
While fix'd in artificial row,
Laughter displays its teeth of snow:
Grimace with raillery rejoices,
And song of many mingled voices,
Till young coquetry's artful wile
Some foreign novice shall beguile,
Who home return'd, still prates of thee,
Light, flippant, French SOCIETY.
II.
Or whether, with your zone unbound,
You ramble gaudy Venice round,
Resolv'd the inviting sweets to prove,
Of friendship warm, and willing love;
Where softly roll th' obedient seas,
Sacred to luxury and ease,
In coffee-house or casino gay
Till the too quick return of day,
Th' enchanted votary who sighs
For sentiments without disguise,
Clear, unaffected, fond, and free,
In Venice finds SOCIETY.
III.
Or if to wiser Britain led,
Your vagrant feet desire to tread
With measur'd step and anxious care,
The precincts pure of Portman square;
While wit with elegance combin'd,
And polish'd manners there you'll find;
The taste correct--and fertile mind:
Remember vigilance lurks near,
And silence with unnotic'd sneer,
Who watches but to tell again
Your foibles with to-morrow's pen;
Till titt'ring malice smiles to see
Your wonder--grave SOCIETY.
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