CANTO FIRST .
I.
List to my lay, daughter of Lombardy,
Hope of Gonzaga's house, fair Isabelle!
Graced with thy name, the simplest melody,
Albeit from rural pipe or rustic shell,
Might all the music of a court excel:
Light though the subject of my song may seem,
'Tis one on which thy spirit loves to dwell;
Nor on a tiny insect dost thou deem
Thy poet's labour lost, nor frivolous my theme.
II.
For thou dost often meditate how hence
Commerce deriveth aliment; how Art
May minister to native opulence,
The wealth of foreign lands to home impart,
And make of I TALY the general mart.
These are thy goodly thoughts—how best to raise.
Thy country's industry. A patriot heart
Beats in thy gentle breast—no vulgar praise!
Be then this spinner-worm the hero of my lays!
III.
Full many a century it crept, the child
Of distant China or the torrid zone;
Wasted its web upon the woodlands wild,
And spun its golden tissue all alone,
Clothing no reptile's body but its own.
So crawled a brother-worm o'er mount and glen,
Uncivilised, uncouth; till, social grown,
He sought the cities and the haunts of men—
Science and Art soon tamed the forest denizen.
IV.
Rescued from woods, now under friendly roof
Fostered and fed, and sheltered from the blast,
Full soon the wondrous wealth of warp and woof—
Wealth by these puny labourers amassed,
Repaid the hand that spread their green repast:
Right merrily they plied their jocund toil,
And from their mouths the silken treasures cast,
Twisting their canny thread in many a coil,
While men looked on and smiled, and hailed the shining.
V.
Sweet is the poet's ministry to teach
How the wee operatives should be fed;
Their wants and changes; what befitteth each;
What mysteries attend the genial bed,
And how successive progenies are bred.
Happy if he his countrymen engage
In paths of peace and industry to tread:
Happier the poet still, if o'er his page
Fair I SABELLA'S een shed radiant patronage!
VI.
Thou, then, who wouldst possess a creeping flock
Of silken sheep, their glossy fleece to shear,
Learn of their days how scanty is the stock:
Barely two months of each recurring year
Make up the measure of their brief career;
They spin their little hour, they weave their ball,
And, when their task is done, then disappear
Within that silken dome's sepulchral hall;
And the third moon looks out upon their funeral.
VII.
Theirs is, in truth, a melancholy lot,
Never the offspring of their loves to see!
The parent of a thousand sons may not
Spectator of his children's gambols be,
Or hail the birth of his young family.
From orphan-eggs, fruit of a fond embrace,
Spontaneous hatched, an insect tenantry
Creep forth, their sires departed to replace:
Thus, posthumously born, springs up an annual race.
VIII.
Still watchful lest their birth be premature,
From the sun's wistful eye remove the seed,
While yet the season wavers insecure,
While yet no leaves have budded forth to feed
With juicy provender the tender breed;
Nor usher beings into life so new
Without provision—'twere a cruel deed!
Ah, such improvidence men often rue!
Tis a sad, wicked thing,—if Malthus telleth true.
IX.
But when the vernal equinox is passed,
And the gay mulberry in gallant trim
Hath robed himself in verdant vest at last
('Tis well to wait until thou seest him
With summer-garb of green on every limb),
Then is thy time. Be cautious still, nor risk
Thine enterprise while yet the moon is dim,
But tarry till she hangeth out her disc,
Replenished with full light, then breed thy spinners brisk.
X.
Methinks that here some gentle maiden begs
To know how best this genial deed is done:—
Some on a napkin strew the little eggs,
And simply hatch their silkworms in the sun;
But there's a better plan to fix upon.
Wrapt in a muslin kerchief, pure and warm,
Lay them within thy bosom safe; nor shun
Nature's kind office till the tiny swarm
Begins to creep. Fear not; they cannot do thee harm.
XI.
Meantime a fitting residence prepare,
Wherein thy pigmy artisans may dwell,
And furnish forth their factory with care:
Of season'd timber build the spinner's cell,
And be it lit and ventilated well;
And range them upon insulated shelves,
Rising above each other parallel:
There let them crawl—there let the little elves
On carpetting of leaf gaily disport themselves.
XII.
And be their house impervious both to rain
And to th' inclemency of sudden cold:
See that no hungry sparrow entrance gain,
To glut his maw and desolate the fold,
Ranging among his victims uncontrolled.
Nay, I have heard that once a wicked hen
Obtained admittance by manœuvre bold,
Slaughtering the insects in their little den;
If I had caught her there—she had not come again.
XIII.
Stop up each crevice in the silk worm-house,
Each gaping orifice be sure to fill;
For oftentimes a sacrilegious mouse
Will fatal inroad make, intent on ill,
And in cold blood the gentle spinners kill.
Ah, cruel wretch! whose idol is thy belly,
The blood of innocence why dost thou spill?
Dost thou not know that silk is in that jelly?
Go forth, and seek elsewhere a dish of vermicelli.
XIV.
When thy young caterpillars 'gin to creep,
Spread them with care upon the oaken planks.
And let them learn from infancy to keep
Their proper station, and preserve their ranks—
Not crawl at random, playing giddy pranks.
Let them be taught their dignity, nor seek,
Dress'd in silk gown, to act like mountebanks:
Thus careful to eschew each vulgar freak,
Sober they maun grow up, industrious and meek.
XV.
Their minds kind Nature wisely pre-arranged,
And of domestic habits made them fond;
Rarely they roam, or wish their dwelling changed,
Or from their keeper's vigilance abscond:
Pleased with their home, they travel not beyond.
Else, wo is me! it were a bitter potion
To hunt each truant and each vagabond:
Haply of such attempts they have no notion,
Nor on their heads is seen “the bump of locomotion.”
XVI.
The same kind Nature (who doth all things right)
Their stomachs hath from infancy imbued
Straight with a most tremendous appetite;
And till the leaf they love is o'er them strew'd,
Their little mouths wax clamorous for food.
For their first banquetings this plan adopt—
Cull the most tender leaves in all the wood,
And let them, ere upon the worms they're dropp'd,
He minced for their young teeth, and diligently chopp'd.
XVII.
Pass'd the first week, an epoch will begin,
A crisis which maun all thy care engage;
For then the little asp will cast his skin.
Such change of raiment marks each separate stage
Of childhood, youthhood, manhood, and old age:
A gentle sleep gives token when he means
To doff his coat for seemlier equipage;
Another and another supervenes,
And then he is, I trow, no longer in his teens.
XVIII.
Until that period, it importeth much,
That no ungentle hand, with contact rude,
Visit the shelves. Let the delightful touch
Of Italy's fair daughters—fair and good!—
Administer alone to that young brood.
Mark how you maiden's breast with pity yearns,
Tending her charge with fond solicitude,—
Hers be the blessing she so richly earns!
Soon may she see her own wee brood of bonny bairns!
XIX.
Foliage, fresh gather'd for immediate use,
Be the green pasture of thy silken sheep,
For when ferments the vegetable juice,
They loathe the leaves, and from th' untasted heap
With disappointment languishingly creep.
Hie to the forest, evening, noon, and morn;
Of brimming baskets quick succession keep;
Let the green grove for them be freely shorn,
And smiling Plenty void her well-replenished horn.
XX.
Pleasant the murmur of their mouths to hear,
While as they ply the plentiful repast,
The dainty leaves demolish'd, disappear
One after one. A fresh supply is cast—
That, like the former, vanisheth as fast.
But, cautious of repletion (well yelept
The fatal fount of sickness), cease at last;
Fling no more food—their fodder intercept,
And be it laid aside, and for their supper kept.
XXI.
To gaze upon the dew-drop's glittering gem,
T' inhale the moisture of the morning air,
Is pleasantness to us;—'tis death to them.
Shepherd, of dank humidity beware,
Moisture maun vitiate the freshest fare;
Cull not the leaves at the first hour of prime,
While yet the sun his arrows through the air
Shoots horizontal. Tarry till he climb
Half his meridian height: then is thy harvest-time.
XXII.
There be two sisters of the mulberry race,
One of complexion dark and olive hue;—
Of taller figure and of fairer face,
The other wins and captivates the view,
And to maturity grows quicker too.
Oft characters with colour correspond;
Nathless the silkworm neither will eschew,
He is of both immoderately fond—
Still he doth dearly love the gently blooming blonde.
XXIII.
With milder juice and more nutritious milk
She feedeth him, though delicate and pale;
Nurtured by her he spins a finer silk,
And her young sucklings, vigorous and hale,
Aye o'er her sister's progeny prevail.
Her paler charms more appetite beget,
On which the creepers greedily regale:
She bears the bell in foreign lands; and yet
Our brown Italian maids prefer the dark brunette.
XXIV.
The dark brunette, more bountiful of leaves,
With less refinement more profusion shews;
But often such redundancy deceives.
What though the ripen'd berry ruddier glows
Upon these tufted branches than on those?
Due is the preference to the paler plant:
Then her to rear thy tender nurslings choose,
Her to thy little orphans' wishes grant,
Nor use the darker leaves unless the white be scan.
XXV.
O VID has told a tender tale of T HISBÉ ,
Who found her lifeless lover lying pale
Under a spreading mulberry. Let this be
The merit and the moral of that tale.
Sweet is thy song, in sooth, love's nightingale!
But hadst thou known that, nourish'd from that tree,
Love's artisans would spin their tissue frail,
Thou never wouldst of so much misery
Have laid the scene beneath a spreading mulberry.
XXVI.
Now should a failure of the mulberry crop
Send famine to the threshold of thy door,
Do not despair: but, climbing to the top
Of the tall elm, or kindred sycamore,
Young budding germs with searching eye explore
Practise a pious fraud upon thy flock,
With false supplies and counterfeited store;
Thus for a while their little stomachs mock,
Until thou canst provide of leaves a genuine stock.
XXVII.
But ne'er a simple village maiden ask
To climb on trees, —for her was never mear
The rude exposure of such uncouth task;
Lest while she tries the perilous ascent,
On pure and hospitable thoughts intent,
A wicked faun, that lurks behind some bush,
Peep out with upward eye—rude, insolent!
Oh, vile and desperate hardihood! But, hush!
Nor let such matters move the bashful Muse to blush
XXVIII.
The maiden's ministry it is to keep
Incessant vigil o'er the silkworm fold,
Supply fresh fodder to the nibbling sheep,
Cleanse and remove the remnants of the old,
Guard against influence of damp or cold,
And ever and anon collect them all
In close divan: and ere their food is doled,
Wash out with wine each stable and each stall,
Lest foul disease the flock through feculence befail.
XXIX.
Changes will oft come o'er their outward form,
And each transition needs thy anxious cares:
Four times they cast their skin. The spinner-worm
Four soft successive suits of velvet wears;
Nature each pliant envelope prepares.
But how can they, in previous clothing pent,
Get riddance of that shaggy robe of theirs?
They keep a three-days' fast. When by that Lent
Grown lean, they doff with ease their old accountrement.
XXX.
Now are the last important days at hand—
The liquid gold within its living mine
Brightens. Nor nourishment they now demand.
Nor care for life; impatient to resign
The wealth with which diaphanous they shine!
Eager they look around—imploring look,
For branch or bush, their tissue to entwine;
Some rudimental threads they seek to hook,
And dearly love to find some hospitable nook.
XXXI
Anticipate their wishes, gentle maid!
Hie to their help; the fleeting moment catch.
Quick be the shelves with wicker-work o'er-laid;
Let osier, broom, and furze, their workshop thatch,
With fond solicitude and blithe despatch.
So may they quickly, mid the thicket dense,
Find out a spot their purposes to match;
So may they soon their industry commence,
And of the round cocoon plan the circumference.
XXXII.
Their hour is come. See how the yellow flood
Swells in yon creeping cylinder! how teems
Exuberant the tide of amber blood!
How the recondite gold transparent gleams,
And how pellucid the bright fluid seems!
Proud of such pregnancy, and duly skill'd
In Dædalean craft, each insect deems
The glorious purposes of life fulfilled,
If into shining silk his substance be distill'd!
XXXIII.
Say, hast thou ever mark'd the clustering grape
Swoll'n to maturity with ripe prodúce,
When the imprison'd pulp pants to escape,
And longs to joy “emancipated” juice
In the full freedom of the bowl profuse?
So doth the silk that swells their skinny coat
Loathe its confinament, panting to get loose:
Such longing for relief their looks denote—
Soon in their web they'll find a “bane and antidote.”
XXXIV.
See! round and round, in many a mirthful maze,
The wily workman weaves his golden gauze;
And while his throat the twisted thread purveys,
New lines with labyrinthine labour draws,
Plying his pair of operative jaws.
From morn to noon, from noon to silent eve,
He toileth without interval or pause,
His monumental trophy to achieve,
And his sepulchral sheet of silk resplendent weave!
XXXV.
Approach, and view thy artisans at work;
At thy wee spinners take a parting glance;
For soon each puny labourer will lurk
Under his silken canopy's expanse—
Tasteful alcove! boudoir of elegance!
There will the weary worm in peace repose,
And languid lethargy his limbs entrance;
There his career of usefulness will close;
Who would not live the life and die the death of those!
XXXVI.
Mostly they spin their solitary shroud
Single, apart, like ancient anchoret;
Yet oft a loving pair will, if allow'd,
In the same sepulchre of silk well met,
Nestle like R OMEO and J ULIET .
From such communing be they not debarred,
Mindful of her who hallow'd Paraclet;
Even in their silken cenotaph 'twere hard
To part a H ELOISE from her loved A BELARD .
XXXVII.
The task is done, the work is now complete;
A stilly silence reigns throughout the room!
Sleep on, blest beings! be your slumbers sweet.
And calmly rest within your golden tomb—
Rest, till restored to renovated bloom.
Bursting the trammels of that dark sojourn,
Forth ye shall issue, and rejoiced, resume.
A glorified appearance, and return
To life a wingèd thing from monumental urn.
XXXVIII.
Fain would I pause, and of my tuneful text
Reserve the remnant for a fitter time:
Another song remains. The summit next
Of double-peak'd Parnassus when I climb,
Grant me, ye gods! the radiant wings of rhyme!
Thus may I bear me up th' adventurous road
That winds aloft—an argument sublime!
But of didactic poems 'tis the mode,
No canto should conclude without an episode.
XXXIX.
V ENUS it was who first invented SILK —
L INEN had long, by Ceres patronised,
Supplied Olympus: ladies of that ilk
No better sort of clothing had devised—
Linen alone their garde de robe comprised.
Hence at her cambric loom the “suitors” found
P ENELOPÉ , whom hath immortalised
The blind man eloquent: nor less renown'd
Were “Troy's proud dames.” whose robes of linen “swept the ground.”
XL.
Thus the first female fashion was for flax;
A linen tunic was the garb that graced
Exclusively the primitive, “Almack's.”
Simplicity's costume! too soon effaced
By vain inventions of more modern taste.
Then was the reign of modesty and sense.
Fair ones were not, I ween, more prude and chaste,
Girt in hoop-petticoats' circumference
Or stays— Honi soi the rogue qui mal y pense .
XLI.
W OOL , by M INERVA manufactured, met
With blithe encouragement and brisk demand;
Her loom by constant buyers was beset,
“Orders from foreign houses” kept her hand
Busy supplying many a distant land.
She was of woollen stuffs the sole provider,
Till some were introduced by contraband:
A female called A RACHNE thus defied her,
Put soon gave up the trade, being turned into a spider.
XLII.
Thus a complete monopoly in wool,
“Almost amounting to a prohibition,”
Enabled her to satisfy in full
The darling object of her life's ambition,
And gratify her spiteful disposition.
V ENUS she had determined should not be
Suffer'd to purchase stuffs on no condition :
While every naked Naiad nymph was free
To buy her serge, moreen, and woollen drapperie.
XLIII.
Albeit “when unadorned adorned the most,”
The goddess could not brook to be outwitted
How could she bear her rival's bitter boast,
If to this taunt she quietly submitted!
O LYMPUS (robeless as she was) she quitted,
Fully determined to bring back as fiue a
Dress as was ever woven, spun, or knitted;
Europe she searched, consulted the C ZARINA ,
And, taking good advice, cross'd o'er “the wall” to C HINA .
XLIV.
Long before Europeans, the Chinese
Possess'd the compass, silkworms, and gunpowder,
And types, and tea, and other rarities.
China (with gifts since Nature hath endowed her)
Is proud; what land hath reason to be prouder?
Her let the dull “Barbarian Eye” respect,
And be her privileges all allowed her;
She is the WIDOW (please to recollect)
Of ONE the Deluge drown'd, P RIMORDIAL I NTELLECT !
XLV.
The good inhabitants of P EKIN , when
They saw the dame in downright dishabille,
Were shock'd. Such sight was far beyond the ken
Of their C ONFUCIAN notions. Full of zeal
To guard the morals of the commonweal,
They straight deputed S YLK , a mandarin,
Humbly before the visitant to kneel
With downcast eye, and offer Beauty's queen
A rich resplendent robe of gorgeous bombazin.
XLVI.
Venus received the vesture nothing loath,
And much its gloss, its softness much admired,
And praised that specimen of foreign growth,
So splendid, and so cheaply too acquired!
Quick in the robe her graceful limbs attired,
She seeks a mirror—there delighted dallies;
So rich a dress was all could be desired.
How she rejoiced to disappoint the malice
Of her unfeeling foe, the vile, vindictive P ALLAS !
XLVII.
But while she praised the gift and thank'd the giver
Of spinner-worms she sued for a supply.
Forthwith the good Chinese fill'd Cupid's quiver
With the cocoons in which each worm doth lie
Snug, until changed into a butterfly.
The light cocoons wild Cupid shower'd o'er Greece,
And o'er the isles, and over Italy,
Into the lap of industry and peace;
And the glad nations hail'd the long-sought “Golden Fleece.”
I.
List to my lay, daughter of Lombardy,
Hope of Gonzaga's house, fair Isabelle!
Graced with thy name, the simplest melody,
Albeit from rural pipe or rustic shell,
Might all the music of a court excel:
Light though the subject of my song may seem,
'Tis one on which thy spirit loves to dwell;
Nor on a tiny insect dost thou deem
Thy poet's labour lost, nor frivolous my theme.
II.
For thou dost often meditate how hence
Commerce deriveth aliment; how Art
May minister to native opulence,
The wealth of foreign lands to home impart,
And make of I TALY the general mart.
These are thy goodly thoughts—how best to raise.
Thy country's industry. A patriot heart
Beats in thy gentle breast—no vulgar praise!
Be then this spinner-worm the hero of my lays!
III.
Full many a century it crept, the child
Of distant China or the torrid zone;
Wasted its web upon the woodlands wild,
And spun its golden tissue all alone,
Clothing no reptile's body but its own.
So crawled a brother-worm o'er mount and glen,
Uncivilised, uncouth; till, social grown,
He sought the cities and the haunts of men—
Science and Art soon tamed the forest denizen.
IV.
Rescued from woods, now under friendly roof
Fostered and fed, and sheltered from the blast,
Full soon the wondrous wealth of warp and woof—
Wealth by these puny labourers amassed,
Repaid the hand that spread their green repast:
Right merrily they plied their jocund toil,
And from their mouths the silken treasures cast,
Twisting their canny thread in many a coil,
While men looked on and smiled, and hailed the shining.
V.
Sweet is the poet's ministry to teach
How the wee operatives should be fed;
Their wants and changes; what befitteth each;
What mysteries attend the genial bed,
And how successive progenies are bred.
Happy if he his countrymen engage
In paths of peace and industry to tread:
Happier the poet still, if o'er his page
Fair I SABELLA'S een shed radiant patronage!
VI.
Thou, then, who wouldst possess a creeping flock
Of silken sheep, their glossy fleece to shear,
Learn of their days how scanty is the stock:
Barely two months of each recurring year
Make up the measure of their brief career;
They spin their little hour, they weave their ball,
And, when their task is done, then disappear
Within that silken dome's sepulchral hall;
And the third moon looks out upon their funeral.
VII.
Theirs is, in truth, a melancholy lot,
Never the offspring of their loves to see!
The parent of a thousand sons may not
Spectator of his children's gambols be,
Or hail the birth of his young family.
From orphan-eggs, fruit of a fond embrace,
Spontaneous hatched, an insect tenantry
Creep forth, their sires departed to replace:
Thus, posthumously born, springs up an annual race.
VIII.
Still watchful lest their birth be premature,
From the sun's wistful eye remove the seed,
While yet the season wavers insecure,
While yet no leaves have budded forth to feed
With juicy provender the tender breed;
Nor usher beings into life so new
Without provision—'twere a cruel deed!
Ah, such improvidence men often rue!
Tis a sad, wicked thing,—if Malthus telleth true.
IX.
But when the vernal equinox is passed,
And the gay mulberry in gallant trim
Hath robed himself in verdant vest at last
('Tis well to wait until thou seest him
With summer-garb of green on every limb),
Then is thy time. Be cautious still, nor risk
Thine enterprise while yet the moon is dim,
But tarry till she hangeth out her disc,
Replenished with full light, then breed thy spinners brisk.
X.
Methinks that here some gentle maiden begs
To know how best this genial deed is done:—
Some on a napkin strew the little eggs,
And simply hatch their silkworms in the sun;
But there's a better plan to fix upon.
Wrapt in a muslin kerchief, pure and warm,
Lay them within thy bosom safe; nor shun
Nature's kind office till the tiny swarm
Begins to creep. Fear not; they cannot do thee harm.
XI.
Meantime a fitting residence prepare,
Wherein thy pigmy artisans may dwell,
And furnish forth their factory with care:
Of season'd timber build the spinner's cell,
And be it lit and ventilated well;
And range them upon insulated shelves,
Rising above each other parallel:
There let them crawl—there let the little elves
On carpetting of leaf gaily disport themselves.
XII.
And be their house impervious both to rain
And to th' inclemency of sudden cold:
See that no hungry sparrow entrance gain,
To glut his maw and desolate the fold,
Ranging among his victims uncontrolled.
Nay, I have heard that once a wicked hen
Obtained admittance by manœuvre bold,
Slaughtering the insects in their little den;
If I had caught her there—she had not come again.
XIII.
Stop up each crevice in the silk worm-house,
Each gaping orifice be sure to fill;
For oftentimes a sacrilegious mouse
Will fatal inroad make, intent on ill,
And in cold blood the gentle spinners kill.
Ah, cruel wretch! whose idol is thy belly,
The blood of innocence why dost thou spill?
Dost thou not know that silk is in that jelly?
Go forth, and seek elsewhere a dish of vermicelli.
XIV.
When thy young caterpillars 'gin to creep,
Spread them with care upon the oaken planks.
And let them learn from infancy to keep
Their proper station, and preserve their ranks—
Not crawl at random, playing giddy pranks.
Let them be taught their dignity, nor seek,
Dress'd in silk gown, to act like mountebanks:
Thus careful to eschew each vulgar freak,
Sober they maun grow up, industrious and meek.
XV.
Their minds kind Nature wisely pre-arranged,
And of domestic habits made them fond;
Rarely they roam, or wish their dwelling changed,
Or from their keeper's vigilance abscond:
Pleased with their home, they travel not beyond.
Else, wo is me! it were a bitter potion
To hunt each truant and each vagabond:
Haply of such attempts they have no notion,
Nor on their heads is seen “the bump of locomotion.”
XVI.
The same kind Nature (who doth all things right)
Their stomachs hath from infancy imbued
Straight with a most tremendous appetite;
And till the leaf they love is o'er them strew'd,
Their little mouths wax clamorous for food.
For their first banquetings this plan adopt—
Cull the most tender leaves in all the wood,
And let them, ere upon the worms they're dropp'd,
He minced for their young teeth, and diligently chopp'd.
XVII.
Pass'd the first week, an epoch will begin,
A crisis which maun all thy care engage;
For then the little asp will cast his skin.
Such change of raiment marks each separate stage
Of childhood, youthhood, manhood, and old age:
A gentle sleep gives token when he means
To doff his coat for seemlier equipage;
Another and another supervenes,
And then he is, I trow, no longer in his teens.
XVIII.
Until that period, it importeth much,
That no ungentle hand, with contact rude,
Visit the shelves. Let the delightful touch
Of Italy's fair daughters—fair and good!—
Administer alone to that young brood.
Mark how you maiden's breast with pity yearns,
Tending her charge with fond solicitude,—
Hers be the blessing she so richly earns!
Soon may she see her own wee brood of bonny bairns!
XIX.
Foliage, fresh gather'd for immediate use,
Be the green pasture of thy silken sheep,
For when ferments the vegetable juice,
They loathe the leaves, and from th' untasted heap
With disappointment languishingly creep.
Hie to the forest, evening, noon, and morn;
Of brimming baskets quick succession keep;
Let the green grove for them be freely shorn,
And smiling Plenty void her well-replenished horn.
XX.
Pleasant the murmur of their mouths to hear,
While as they ply the plentiful repast,
The dainty leaves demolish'd, disappear
One after one. A fresh supply is cast—
That, like the former, vanisheth as fast.
But, cautious of repletion (well yelept
The fatal fount of sickness), cease at last;
Fling no more food—their fodder intercept,
And be it laid aside, and for their supper kept.
XXI.
To gaze upon the dew-drop's glittering gem,
T' inhale the moisture of the morning air,
Is pleasantness to us;—'tis death to them.
Shepherd, of dank humidity beware,
Moisture maun vitiate the freshest fare;
Cull not the leaves at the first hour of prime,
While yet the sun his arrows through the air
Shoots horizontal. Tarry till he climb
Half his meridian height: then is thy harvest-time.
XXII.
There be two sisters of the mulberry race,
One of complexion dark and olive hue;—
Of taller figure and of fairer face,
The other wins and captivates the view,
And to maturity grows quicker too.
Oft characters with colour correspond;
Nathless the silkworm neither will eschew,
He is of both immoderately fond—
Still he doth dearly love the gently blooming blonde.
XXIII.
With milder juice and more nutritious milk
She feedeth him, though delicate and pale;
Nurtured by her he spins a finer silk,
And her young sucklings, vigorous and hale,
Aye o'er her sister's progeny prevail.
Her paler charms more appetite beget,
On which the creepers greedily regale:
She bears the bell in foreign lands; and yet
Our brown Italian maids prefer the dark brunette.
XXIV.
The dark brunette, more bountiful of leaves,
With less refinement more profusion shews;
But often such redundancy deceives.
What though the ripen'd berry ruddier glows
Upon these tufted branches than on those?
Due is the preference to the paler plant:
Then her to rear thy tender nurslings choose,
Her to thy little orphans' wishes grant,
Nor use the darker leaves unless the white be scan.
XXV.
O VID has told a tender tale of T HISBÉ ,
Who found her lifeless lover lying pale
Under a spreading mulberry. Let this be
The merit and the moral of that tale.
Sweet is thy song, in sooth, love's nightingale!
But hadst thou known that, nourish'd from that tree,
Love's artisans would spin their tissue frail,
Thou never wouldst of so much misery
Have laid the scene beneath a spreading mulberry.
XXVI.
Now should a failure of the mulberry crop
Send famine to the threshold of thy door,
Do not despair: but, climbing to the top
Of the tall elm, or kindred sycamore,
Young budding germs with searching eye explore
Practise a pious fraud upon thy flock,
With false supplies and counterfeited store;
Thus for a while their little stomachs mock,
Until thou canst provide of leaves a genuine stock.
XXVII.
But ne'er a simple village maiden ask
To climb on trees, —for her was never mear
The rude exposure of such uncouth task;
Lest while she tries the perilous ascent,
On pure and hospitable thoughts intent,
A wicked faun, that lurks behind some bush,
Peep out with upward eye—rude, insolent!
Oh, vile and desperate hardihood! But, hush!
Nor let such matters move the bashful Muse to blush
XXVIII.
The maiden's ministry it is to keep
Incessant vigil o'er the silkworm fold,
Supply fresh fodder to the nibbling sheep,
Cleanse and remove the remnants of the old,
Guard against influence of damp or cold,
And ever and anon collect them all
In close divan: and ere their food is doled,
Wash out with wine each stable and each stall,
Lest foul disease the flock through feculence befail.
XXIX.
Changes will oft come o'er their outward form,
And each transition needs thy anxious cares:
Four times they cast their skin. The spinner-worm
Four soft successive suits of velvet wears;
Nature each pliant envelope prepares.
But how can they, in previous clothing pent,
Get riddance of that shaggy robe of theirs?
They keep a three-days' fast. When by that Lent
Grown lean, they doff with ease their old accountrement.
XXX.
Now are the last important days at hand—
The liquid gold within its living mine
Brightens. Nor nourishment they now demand.
Nor care for life; impatient to resign
The wealth with which diaphanous they shine!
Eager they look around—imploring look,
For branch or bush, their tissue to entwine;
Some rudimental threads they seek to hook,
And dearly love to find some hospitable nook.
XXXI
Anticipate their wishes, gentle maid!
Hie to their help; the fleeting moment catch.
Quick be the shelves with wicker-work o'er-laid;
Let osier, broom, and furze, their workshop thatch,
With fond solicitude and blithe despatch.
So may they quickly, mid the thicket dense,
Find out a spot their purposes to match;
So may they soon their industry commence,
And of the round cocoon plan the circumference.
XXXII.
Their hour is come. See how the yellow flood
Swells in yon creeping cylinder! how teems
Exuberant the tide of amber blood!
How the recondite gold transparent gleams,
And how pellucid the bright fluid seems!
Proud of such pregnancy, and duly skill'd
In Dædalean craft, each insect deems
The glorious purposes of life fulfilled,
If into shining silk his substance be distill'd!
XXXIII.
Say, hast thou ever mark'd the clustering grape
Swoll'n to maturity with ripe prodúce,
When the imprison'd pulp pants to escape,
And longs to joy “emancipated” juice
In the full freedom of the bowl profuse?
So doth the silk that swells their skinny coat
Loathe its confinament, panting to get loose:
Such longing for relief their looks denote—
Soon in their web they'll find a “bane and antidote.”
XXXIV.
See! round and round, in many a mirthful maze,
The wily workman weaves his golden gauze;
And while his throat the twisted thread purveys,
New lines with labyrinthine labour draws,
Plying his pair of operative jaws.
From morn to noon, from noon to silent eve,
He toileth without interval or pause,
His monumental trophy to achieve,
And his sepulchral sheet of silk resplendent weave!
XXXV.
Approach, and view thy artisans at work;
At thy wee spinners take a parting glance;
For soon each puny labourer will lurk
Under his silken canopy's expanse—
Tasteful alcove! boudoir of elegance!
There will the weary worm in peace repose,
And languid lethargy his limbs entrance;
There his career of usefulness will close;
Who would not live the life and die the death of those!
XXXVI.
Mostly they spin their solitary shroud
Single, apart, like ancient anchoret;
Yet oft a loving pair will, if allow'd,
In the same sepulchre of silk well met,
Nestle like R OMEO and J ULIET .
From such communing be they not debarred,
Mindful of her who hallow'd Paraclet;
Even in their silken cenotaph 'twere hard
To part a H ELOISE from her loved A BELARD .
XXXVII.
The task is done, the work is now complete;
A stilly silence reigns throughout the room!
Sleep on, blest beings! be your slumbers sweet.
And calmly rest within your golden tomb—
Rest, till restored to renovated bloom.
Bursting the trammels of that dark sojourn,
Forth ye shall issue, and rejoiced, resume.
A glorified appearance, and return
To life a wingèd thing from monumental urn.
XXXVIII.
Fain would I pause, and of my tuneful text
Reserve the remnant for a fitter time:
Another song remains. The summit next
Of double-peak'd Parnassus when I climb,
Grant me, ye gods! the radiant wings of rhyme!
Thus may I bear me up th' adventurous road
That winds aloft—an argument sublime!
But of didactic poems 'tis the mode,
No canto should conclude without an episode.
XXXIX.
V ENUS it was who first invented SILK —
L INEN had long, by Ceres patronised,
Supplied Olympus: ladies of that ilk
No better sort of clothing had devised—
Linen alone their garde de robe comprised.
Hence at her cambric loom the “suitors” found
P ENELOPÉ , whom hath immortalised
The blind man eloquent: nor less renown'd
Were “Troy's proud dames.” whose robes of linen “swept the ground.”
XL.
Thus the first female fashion was for flax;
A linen tunic was the garb that graced
Exclusively the primitive, “Almack's.”
Simplicity's costume! too soon effaced
By vain inventions of more modern taste.
Then was the reign of modesty and sense.
Fair ones were not, I ween, more prude and chaste,
Girt in hoop-petticoats' circumference
Or stays— Honi soi the rogue qui mal y pense .
XLI.
W OOL , by M INERVA manufactured, met
With blithe encouragement and brisk demand;
Her loom by constant buyers was beset,
“Orders from foreign houses” kept her hand
Busy supplying many a distant land.
She was of woollen stuffs the sole provider,
Till some were introduced by contraband:
A female called A RACHNE thus defied her,
Put soon gave up the trade, being turned into a spider.
XLII.
Thus a complete monopoly in wool,
“Almost amounting to a prohibition,”
Enabled her to satisfy in full
The darling object of her life's ambition,
And gratify her spiteful disposition.
V ENUS she had determined should not be
Suffer'd to purchase stuffs on no condition :
While every naked Naiad nymph was free
To buy her serge, moreen, and woollen drapperie.
XLIII.
Albeit “when unadorned adorned the most,”
The goddess could not brook to be outwitted
How could she bear her rival's bitter boast,
If to this taunt she quietly submitted!
O LYMPUS (robeless as she was) she quitted,
Fully determined to bring back as fiue a
Dress as was ever woven, spun, or knitted;
Europe she searched, consulted the C ZARINA ,
And, taking good advice, cross'd o'er “the wall” to C HINA .
XLIV.
Long before Europeans, the Chinese
Possess'd the compass, silkworms, and gunpowder,
And types, and tea, and other rarities.
China (with gifts since Nature hath endowed her)
Is proud; what land hath reason to be prouder?
Her let the dull “Barbarian Eye” respect,
And be her privileges all allowed her;
She is the WIDOW (please to recollect)
Of ONE the Deluge drown'd, P RIMORDIAL I NTELLECT !
XLV.
The good inhabitants of P EKIN , when
They saw the dame in downright dishabille,
Were shock'd. Such sight was far beyond the ken
Of their C ONFUCIAN notions. Full of zeal
To guard the morals of the commonweal,
They straight deputed S YLK , a mandarin,
Humbly before the visitant to kneel
With downcast eye, and offer Beauty's queen
A rich resplendent robe of gorgeous bombazin.
XLVI.
Venus received the vesture nothing loath,
And much its gloss, its softness much admired,
And praised that specimen of foreign growth,
So splendid, and so cheaply too acquired!
Quick in the robe her graceful limbs attired,
She seeks a mirror—there delighted dallies;
So rich a dress was all could be desired.
How she rejoiced to disappoint the malice
Of her unfeeling foe, the vile, vindictive P ALLAS !
XLVII.
But while she praised the gift and thank'd the giver
Of spinner-worms she sued for a supply.
Forthwith the good Chinese fill'd Cupid's quiver
With the cocoons in which each worm doth lie
Snug, until changed into a butterfly.
The light cocoons wild Cupid shower'd o'er Greece,
And o'er the isles, and over Italy,
Into the lap of industry and peace;
And the glad nations hail'd the long-sought “Golden Fleece.”
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