Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A PARTY OF PLEASURE UP THE RIVER TAMER, by FRANCES TALBOT


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A PARTY OF PLEASURE UP THE RIVER TAMER, by                    
First Line: The clock strikes nine -- nor has the sun
Last Line: Tis better starve than steal.
Alternate Author Name(s): Morley, Countess Of
Subject(s): Crime & Criminals; Pleasure; Punishment; Rivers


—Proudly riding on the azure realm,
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes—
Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm—
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
That waits in grim repose his evening's prey.
—Gray

The clock strikes nine—nor has the sun,
Since from the east his course begun,
Deign'd once to show his face;
Low on the hills the mist descends,
A certain sign which rain portends
Ere he has run his race.

Fie, Phoebus, fie! on such a day,
Thus spiteful, to withhold thy ray
Seems at the best suspicious;
But if that frown betrays intent
In thee t'oppose the government,
'Tis surely most flagitious.

That thou, the sky's great potentate,
Shouldst scowl on ministers of state,
Appears such strange behavior!
One would have thought the brightest beam
That from thy summer's smile could gleam
Had shone to show them favour.

That morning many a lovely eye,
Bright as thyself, beheld the sky
With doubt and trepidation;
And many a gay and gallant spark
Contemplated the horizon dark
With undisguised vexation.

But souls like ours, of courage high,
Will triumph, though prosperity
Seems threat'ning to desert us.
Let black'ning clouds the skies deform,
Dauntless, we brave the gathering storm,
"In arduis viget virtus."

See then the gallant bark unmoor'd:
Graceful the ladies step on board;
(What lovely themes for sonnets!)
Those airy forms and beaming faces
Have quite the ton of Nymphs and Graces
Disguised in cloaks and bonnets.

Proud Egypt's queen might boast of old
Her royal galley deck'd with gold—
We venture not to blame her,
Though we suspect her far-famed crew
Had dowdies been, compared to you,
Ye ladies of the Tamer.

Flow on, fair stream! thy rapid tide
Swiftly the painted bark will guide
Along thy sinuous way,
To where high banks of tufted wood,
And tow'ring crags o'ershade the flood
From the broad glare of day.

That day, alas! such shade was vain,
As umbrellas from the rain
Was all the shelter needed;
For still the pelting torrent pours,
And Tamer's wild and woody shores
Were pass'd in fogs unheeded.

Council was held, and all agreed
'Twould show more spirit to proceed
Till we had reach'd Pentilly,
Than dastardly to turn the boat;
As going back, when once afloat,
Would seem so very silly.

Ply then your oars, ye gallant crew!
For see,—Pentilly full in view,
Rising from yon dark wood,
Majestic from the mountain's brow,
Frowns on her battlements below,
Reflected in the flood.

Steer for yon little shelter'd glade,
Where underneath the mountain's shade
That lonely cottage stands;
Some light repast of milk and fruits,
Such as that lowly dwelling suits,
Our famish'd state demands.

But, lo! beneath the humble shed,
Surprised we find a banquet spread
Of dainties quite patrician:
The Baron there of beef the prime,
And stately Sir Loin tower'd sublime,—
But where was the magician?

No magic power was here exerted,
Or nature from her course diverted:
A tourist from the east
Had saunter'd out to take an airing,
Just whilst his servants were preparing
For him this tempting feast.

Fain would I here a fact conceal
Which truth compels me to reveal,
To this conclusion leading:—
That e'en amidst the most polite
There's no controlling appetite—
Hunger devours good breeding.

Dishes so savoury and alluring
Increased our hunger past enduring,
Till, to refrain unable,
We all at once, like hungry hawks,
Pounced on the meal of Mr. Fawkes,
And quickly clear'd the table.

Scarce had we finish'd, when on high
The sun in cloudless majesty
Shone forth on saint and sinner:
It really seem'd as if, in spite,
He only shone to bring to light
That dark and guilty dinner.

And conscience-stricken off we flew,
To gain the boat ere yet in view
The injured Fawkes appear'd;
And quickly as the dashing oars
Bore us from those unhallow'd shores,
Straight for Cotele we steer'd.

The clouds in airy tumult fly,
And opening show a dappled sky—
(An omen inauspicious);
And that bright sun-beam on the flood,
Which gilds the water, rocks, and wood,
Is treacherous—not propitious.

Onward we go—the rapid tide
Lashes the vessel's painted side,
And bubbles round the keel;
Whilst lovelier still the landscape grows,
Through which the mazy river flows,
Which leads us to Cotele.

We land—and up the steep we climb,
To gain that ancient pile, where time
Vainly asserts his rights;
We view those gloomy-vaulted halls,
The winding stairs, the tapestried walls,
Fit haunt for ghosts and sprites.

In such a scene, 'tis not surprising
Our thoughts should turn to moralizing
On fleeting earthly pleasure—
On human vanity and pride;
Though for such thoughts the ebbing tide
Left us but little leisure.

As on our voyage homeward bent,
Some ominous presentiment
Seem'd to oppress the party;
Flatter and flatter grew the jest,
Fainter the laugh, and lost the zest
For punning and ecarté.

The hollow wind, midst rushes sighing,
Brushing the wave, the sea-mew flying—
All shook our resolution;
For, thinking on that stolen repast,
We fear'd, whilst listening to the blast,
The hour of retribution.

More loud and dread the storm approaches,
And gloomy twilight fast encroaches
On the fair light of day;
Anxious we spread the fluttering sail,
But court in vain the changeful gale
To speed us on our way.

That fatal dinner ill-digested,
With direful qualms the fair molested,
Who, pale, despairing, lost,
Stretch'd on the deck await their doom,
Like roses, in their op'ning bloom,
Nipt by untimely frost.

Awful to hear the wild wind raging,
And with the waves' dread warfare waging,
As darker grows the night;
The blackening clouds in torrents pouring—
When, lo! to cheer a scene so lowering,
Behold a distant light.

The ladies from their lowly beds
Like drooping lilies raised their heads
To hail that beam of hope;
So, when he first emits his ray,
Turns fondly to the lord of day
His cherish'd Heliotrope.

That scene so dismal, dark, and dreary—
Ourselves so frighten'd, wet, and weary,
Seems now a troubled dream;
Hope smiles where lately frown'd despair,
And joy assumes the place of fear,
All by that magic gleam.

And nearer as the beacon blazes
Eager the weary seaman gazes,
And briskly plies his oar;
Whilst we, despising dangers past,
Scorning the billows and the blast,
Triumphant reach the shore.

But who shall paint the joyous faces,
The greetings, chidings, smiles, embraces,
Which our return awaited!
The eager looks, the exclamations
Of anxious friends and dear relations
At all we then narrated.—

MORAL

Learn hence, ye fair, on pleasure bent,
When guilt allures, that punishment
Treads closely on his heel:
Not all that tempts the greedy eyes
Or hungry stomach 's lawful prize—
'Tis better starve than steal.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net