No part she had in vulgar cares That belong to common household affairs-- Nocturnal annoyances such as theirs, Who lie with a shrewd surmising, That while they are couchant (a bitter cup!) Their bread and butter are getting up, And the coals, confound them, are rising. CXCIII. No fear she had her sleep to postpone, Like the crippled Widow who weeps alone, And cannot make a doze her own, For the dread that mayhap on the morrow, The true and Christian reading to baulk, A broker will take up her bed and walk, By way of curing her sorrow. CXCIV. No cause like these she had to bewail: But the breath of applause had blown a gale, And winds from that quarter seldom fail To cause some human commotion; But whenever such breezes coincide With the very spring-tide Of human pride, There's no such swell on the ocean! CXCV. Peace, and ease, and slumber lost, She turn'd, and roll'd, and tumbled and toss'd, With a tumult that would not settle. A common case, indeed, with such As have too little, or think too much, Of the precious and glittering metal. CXCVI. Gold!--she saw at her golden foot The Peer whose tree had an olden root, The Proud, the Great, the Learned to boot, The handsome, the gay, and the witty-- The Man of Science--of Arms--of Art, The man who deals but at Pleasure's mart, And the man who deals in the City. CXCVII. Gold, still gold--and true to the mould! In the very scheme of her dream it told; For, by magical transmutation, From her Leg through her body it seem'd to go, Till, gold above, and gold below. She was gold, all gold, from her little gold toe To her organ of Veneration! CXCVIII. And still she retain'd through Fancy's art The Golden Bow, and the Golden Dart, With which she had play'd a Goddess's part In her recent glorification: And still, like one of the selfsame brood, On a Plinth of the selfsame metal she stood For the whole world's adoration. CXCIX. And hymns and incense around her roll'd, From Golden Harps and Censers of Gold,-- For Fancy in dreams is as uncontroll'd As a horse without a bridle: What wonder, then, from all checks exempt, If, inspired by the Golden Leg, she dreamt She was turn'd to a Golden Idol? HER COURTSHIP. CC. When leaving Eden's happy land The grieving Angel led by the hand Our banish'd Father and Mother, Forgotten amid their awful doom, The tears, the fears, and the future's gloom, On each brow was a wreath of Paradise bloom, That our Parents had twined for each other. CCI. It was only while sitting like figures of stone, For the grieving Angel had skyward flown, As they sat, those Two in the world alone, With disconsolate hearts nigh cloven, That scenting the gust of happier hours, They look'd around for the precious flow'rs, And lo!--a last relic of Eden's dear bow'rs-- The chaplet that Love had woven! CCII.