'Formosum Pastor Corydon.'Lucretius' irreligion is too strong,
For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food; I can't help thinking Juvenal was wrong, Although no doubt his real intent was good, For speaking out so plainly in his song,
So much indeed as to be downright rude; And then what proper person can be partial To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial?
Juan was taught from out the best edition, Expurgated by learned men, who place Judiciously, from out the schoolboy's vision, The grosser parts; but, fearful to deface
Too much their modest bard by this omission, And pitying sore his mutilated case,
They only add them all in an appendix, Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index;
For there we have them all 'at one fell swoop,' Instead of being scatter'd through the Pages;
They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop, To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages,
Till some less rigid editor shall stoop
To call them back into their separate cages, Instead of standing staring all together,
Like garden gods--and not so decent either.
The Missal too (it was the family Missal) Was ornamented in a sort of way
Which ancient mass-books often are, and this all
Kinds of grotesques illumined; and how they,
11
Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all,
Could turn their optics to the text and pray,
Is more than I know--But Don Juan's mother
Kept this herself, and gave her son another.
Sermons he read, and lectures he endured, And homilies, and lives of all the saints;
To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured,
He did not take such studies for restraints; But how faith is acquired, and then ensured, So well not one of the aforesaid paints
As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions,
Which make the reader envy his transgressions.
This, too, was a seal'd book to little Juan-- I can't but say that his mamma was right,
If such an education was the true one.
She scarcely trusted him from out her sight; Her maids were old, and if she took a new one, You might be sure she was a perfect fright;
She did this during even her husband's life-- I recommend as much to every wife.
Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace; At six a charming child, and at eleven
With all the promise of as fine a face
As e'er to man's maturer growth was given: He studied steadily, and grew apace,
And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven, For half his days were pass'd at church, the other Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.
At six, I said, he was a charming child, At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy; Although in infancy a little wild,
They tamed him down amongst them: to destroy
His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd,
At least it seem'd so; and his mother's joy Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady, Her young philosopher was grown already.
I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still, But what I say is neither here nor there:
I knew his father well, and have some skill In character--but it would not be fair From sire to son to augur good or ill:
He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair-- But scandal 's my aversion--I protest Against all evil speaking, even in jest.
For my part I say nothing--nothing--but This I will say--my reasons are my own-- That if I had an only son to put
To school (as God be praised that I have none),
'T is not with Donna Inez I would shut Him up to learn his catechism alone, No--no--I 'd send him out betimes to college, For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.
12
For there one learns--'t is not for me to boast, Though I acquired--but I pass over that,
As well as all the Greek I since have lost:
I say that there 's the place--but 'Verbum sat.' I think I pick'd up too, as well as most, Knowledge of matters--but no matter what--
I never married--but, I think, I know
That sons should not be educated so.
Young Juan now was sixteen years of age,
Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit: he seem'd
Active, though not so sprightly, as a page; And everybody but his mother deem'd Him almost man; but she flew in a rage
And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd) If any said so, for to be precocious
Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.
Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all Selected for discretion and devotion, There was the Donna Julia, whom to call Pretty were but to give a feeble notion
Of many charms in her as natural
As sweetness to the flower, or salt to ocean,
Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid
(But this last simile is trite and stupid).
The darkness of her Oriental eye
Accorded with her Moorish origin
(Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by; In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin); When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly, Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin
Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain,
Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain.
She married (I forget the pedigree)
With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down
His blood less noble than such blood should be; At such alliances his sires would frown,
In that point so precise in each degree
That they bred in and in, as might be shown, Marrying their cousins--nay, their aunts, and nieces, Which always spoils the breed, if it increases.
This heathenish cross restored the breed again, Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh; For from a root the ugliest in Old Spain
Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh;
