A POEM BY THE JESUIT GRESSET .

Ens original Ennocence.

A LAS ! what evils I discern in
Too great aNaptitude for learning!
And fain would all the ills unravel
That aye ensue from foreign travel;
Far happier is the man who tarries
Quiet within his household " Lares: "
Read, and you'll find how virtue vanishes,
How foreign vice all goodness banishes,
And how abroad young heads will grow dizzy;
Proved in the underwritten Odyssey.

In old Nevers, so famous for its
Dark narrow streets and Gothic turrets,
Close on the brink of Loire's young flood,
Flourished a convent sisterhood
Of Ursulines . Now in this order
A parrot lived as parlour-boarder:
Brought in his childhood from the Antilles ,
And sheltered under convent mantles:
Green were his feathers, green his pinions,
And greener still were his opinions;
For vice had not yet sought to pervert
This bird, who had been christened Vert-Vert;
Nor could the wicked world defile him,
Safe from its snares in this asylum.
Fresh, in his teens, frank, gay, and gracious,
And, to crown all, somewhat loquacious;
If we examine close, not one, or he,
Had a vocation for a nunnery.

The convent's kindness need I mention?
Need I detail each fond attention,
Or count the tit-bits which in Lent he
Swallowed remorseless and in plenty?
Plump was his carcass; no, not higher
Fed was their confessor the friar;
And some even say that our young Hector
Was far more loved than the " Director. "
Dear to each novice and each nun —
He was the life and soul of fun;
Though, to be sure, some hags censorious
Would sometimes find him too uproarious.
What did the parrot care for those old
Dames, while he had for him the household?
He had not yet made his " profession, "
Nor come to years called " of discretion; "
Therefore, unblained, he ogled, flirted,
And romped like any unconverted;
Nay sometimes, too, by the Lord Harry!
He'd pull their caps and " scapulary. "
But what in all his tricks seemed oddest,
Was that at times he'd turn so modest,
That to all bystanders the wight
Appeared a finished hypocrite.
In accent he did not resemble
Kean, though he had the tones of Kemble;
But fain to do the sisters' biddings,
He left the stage to Mrs. Siddons.
Poet, historian, judge, financier,
Four problems at a time he'd answer
He had a faculty like Caesar's.
Lord Althorp, baffling all his teazers,
Could not surpass Vert-Vert in puzzling;
" Goodrich " to him was but a gosling.

Placed when at table near some vestal,
His fare, be sure, was of the best all, —
For every sister would endeavour
To keep for him some sweet hors d'aeuvre .
Kindly at heart, in spite of vows and
Cloisters, a nun is worth a thousand!
And aye, if Heaven would only lend her,
I'd have a nun for a nurse tender!

Then, when the shades of night would come on,
And to their cells the sisters summon,
Happy the favoured one whose grotto
This sultan of a bird would tot to:
Mostly the young ones' cells he toyed in,
(The aged sisterhood avoiding),
Sure among all to find kind offices, —
Still he was partial to the novices,
And in their cells our anchorite
Mostly cast anchor for the night;
Perched on the box that held the relics, he
Slept without notion of indelicacy.
Rare was his luck; nor did he spoil it
By flying from the morning toilet;
Not that I can admit the fitness
Of (at the toilet) a male witness;
But that I scruple in this history
To shroud a single fact in mystery.

Quick at all arts, our bird was rich at
That best accomplishment, called chit-chat;
For, though brought up within the cloister,
His beak was not closed like an oyster,
But, trippingly, without a stutter,
The longest sentences would utter;
Pious withal, and moralising
His conversation was surprising;
None of your equivoques, no slander —
To such vile tastes he scorned to pander;
But his tongue ran most smooth and nice on
" Deo sit laus " and " Kyrie eleison; "
The maxims he gave with best emphasis
Were Suarez's or Thomas a Kempis's;
In Christmas carols he was famous,
" Orate, fratres, " and " O REMUS ; "
If in good humour, he was wont
To give a stave from " Think well on't; "
Or, by particular desire, he
Would chant the hymn of " Dies irae. "
Then in the choir he would amaze all
By copying the tone so nasal
In which the sainted sisters chanted, —
(At least that pious nun my aunt did.)

Thus fatall Renowne.

The public soon began to ferret
The hidden nest of so much merit,
And, spite of all the nuns' endeavours,
The fame of Vert-Vert filled all Nevers;
Nay, from Moulines folks came to stare at
The wondrous talent of this parrot;
And to fresh visitors ad libitum
Sister Sophie had to exhibit him.
Drest in her tidiest robes, the virgin,
Forth from the convent cells emerging,
Brings the bright bird, and for his plumage
First challenges unstinted homage;
Then to his eloquence adverts. —
" What preacher's can surpass Vert-Vert's?
Truly in oratory few men
Equal this learned catechumen;
Fraught with the convent's choicest lessons,
And stuffed with piety's quintessence;
A bird most quick of apprehension,
With gifts and graces hard to mention:
Say in what pulpit can you meet
A Chrysostom half so discreet,
Who'd follow in his ghostly mission
So close the " fathers and tradition?" "
Silent meantime, the feathered hermit
Waits for the sister's gracious permit.
When, at a signal from his mentor.
Quick on a course of speech he'll enter;
Not that he cares for human glory,
Bent but to save his auditory;
Hence he pours forth with so much unction
That all his hearers feel compunction.

Thus for a time did Vert-Vert dwell
Safe in his holy citadelle;
Scholared like any well-bred abbe,
And loved by many a cloistered Hebe;
You'd swear that he had crossed the same bridge
As any youth brought up in Cambridge.
Other monks starve themselves; but his skin
Was sleek like that of a Franciscan,
And far more clean; for this grave Solon
Bathed every day in eau de Cologne .
Thus he indulged each guiltless gambol,
Blest had he ne'er been doomed to ramble!

For in his life there came a crisis
Such as for all great men arises, —
Such as what Nap to Russia led,
Such as the " FLIGHT " of Mahomed;
O town of Nantz! yes, to thy bosom
We let him go, alas! to lose him!
Edicts , O town famed for revoking ,
Still was Vert-Vert's loss more provoking!
Dark be the day when our bright Don went
From this to a far-distant convent!
Two words comprised that awful era —
Words big with fate and woe — " I L IRA ! "
Yes, " he shall go; " but, sisters! mourn ye
The dismal fruits of that sad journey, —
Ills on which Nantz's nuns ne'er reckoned,
When for the beautcous bird they beckoned.

Fame, O Vert-Vert! in evil humour,
One day to Nantz had brought the rumour
Of thy accomplishments, — " acumen, "
" Nove , " and " esprit , " quite superhuman:
All these reports but served to enhance
Thy merits with the nuns of Nantz.
How did a matter so unsuited
For convent ears get hither bruited!
Some may inquire. But " nuns are knowing, "
And first to hear what gossip's going.
Forthwith they taxed their wits to elicit
From the famed bird a friendly visit.
Girls' wishes run in a brisk current,
But a nun's fancy is a torrent;
To get this bird they'd pawn the missal;
Quick they indite a long epistle,
Careful with softest things to fill it,
And then with musk perfume the billet;
Thus, to obtain their darling purpose,
They send a writ of habeas corpus .

Off goes the post. When will the answer
Free them from doubt's corroding cancer?
Nothing can equal their anxiety,
Except, of course, their well-known piety.
Things at Nevers meantime went harder
Than well would suit such pious ardour;
It was no easy job to coax.
This parrot from the Nevers folks.
What, take their toy from convent belles?
Make Russia yield the Dardanelles!
Filch his good rifle from a " Suliote, "
Or drag her " Romeo " from a " Juliet! "
Make an attempt to take Gibraltar,
Or try the old corn laws to alter!
This seemed to them, and eke to us,
" Most wasteful and ridiculous. "
Long did the " chapter " sit in state,
And on this point deliberate;
The junior members of the senate
Set their fair faces quite again' it;
Refuse to yield a point so tender,
And'urge the motto — No surrender.
The elder runs feel no great scruple
In parting with the charming pupil;
And as each grave affair of state runs
Most on the verdict of the matrons,
Small odds, I ween, and poor the chance
Of keeping the dear bird from Nantz.
Nor in my surmise am I far out. —
For by their vote off goes the parrot.

Eps shil Voyage.

En ce tems la , a small canal-boat,
Called by most chroniclers the " Talbot, "
(T ALBOT , a name well known in France!)
Travelled between Nevers and Nantz.
Vert-Vert took shipping in this craft,
'Tis not said whether fore er aft;
But in a book as old as Massinger's
We find a statement of the passengers;
These were — two Gascons and a piper,
A sexton (a notorious swiper),
A brace of children, and a nurse;
But what was infinitely worse,
A dashing Cyprian; while by her
Sat a most jolly-looking friar.

For a poor bird brought up in purity
'Twas a sad augur for futurity
To meet, just free from his indentures,
And in the first of his adventures,
Such company as formed his hansel, —
Two rogues! a friar!! and a damsel!!!
Birds the above were of a feather;
But to Vert-Vert 't was altogether
Such a strange aggregate of scandals
As to be met but among Vandals;
Rude was their talk, bereft of polish,
And calculated to demolish
All the fine notions and good-breeding
Taught by the nuns in their sweet Eden.
No Billingsgate surpassed the nurse's,
And all the rest indulged in curses:
Ear hath not heard such vulgar gab in
The nautic cell of any cabin.
Silent and sad, the pensive bird.
Shocked at their guilt, said not a word.

Now he " of orders grey, " accosting
The parrot green, who seemed quite lost in
The contemplation of man's wickedness,
And the bright river's gliding liquidness,
" Tip us a stave (quoth Tuck), my darling,
Ayn't you a parrot or a starling?
If you don't talk, by the holy poker,
I'll give that neck of yours a choker! "
Scared by this threat from his propriety,
Our pilgrim thinking with sobriety,
That if he did not speak they'd make him,
Answered the friar, P AX SIT TECUM !
Here our reporter marks down after
Poll's maiden-speech — " loud roars of laughter; "
And sure enough the bird so affable
Could hardly use a phrase more laughable.

Talking of such, there are some rum ones
That oft amuse the House of Commons:
And since we lost " Sir Joseph Yorke , "
We've got great " Feargus " fresh from Cork, —
A fellow honest, droll, and funny,
Who would not sell for love or money
His native land: nor, like vile Daniel,
Fawn on Lord Althorp like a spaniel;
Flatter the mob, while the old fox
Keeps an eye to the begging-box.
Now 'tis a shame that such brave fellows,
When they blow " agitation's " bellows,
Should only meet with heartless scoffers.
While cunning Daniel fills his coffers.
But Kerrymen will e'er be apter
At the conclusion of the chapter,
While others bear the battle's brunt,
To reap the spoil and fob the blunt .
This is an episode concerning
The parrot's want of worldly learning,
In squandering his tropes and figures
On a vile crew of heartless niggers.
The " house " heard once with more decorum
Phil. Howard on " the Roman forum. "

Poll's brief address met lots of cavillers
Badgered by all his fellow-travellers,
He tried to mend a speech so ominous
By striking up with " D IXIT D OMINUS ! "
But louder shouts of laughter follow, —
This last roar beats the former hollow,
And shews that it was bad economy
To give a stave from Deuteronomy.

Posed, not abashed, the bird refused to
Indulge a scene he was not used to;
And, pondering on his strange reception,
" There must, " he thought, " be some deception
In the nuns views of things rhetorical,
And sister Rose is not an oracle.
True wit, perhaps, lies not in " mattins ,"
Nor is their school a school of Athens. "

Thus in this villanous receptacle
The simple bird at once grew sceptical.
Doubts lead to hell. The arch-deceiver
Soon made of Poll an unbeliever;
And mixing thus in bad society,
He took French leave of all his piety.

His austere maxims soon he mollified,
And all his old opinions qualified;
For he had learned to substitute
For pious lore things more astute;
Nor was his conduct unimpeachable,
For youth, alas! is but too teachable;
And in the progress of his madness
Soon he had reached the depths of badness,
Such were his curses , such his evil
Practices, that no ancient devil,
Plunged to the chin when burning hot
Into a holy water-pot,
Could so blaspheme, or fire a volley
Of oaths so drear and melancholy.

Must the bright blossoms, ripe and ruddy,
And the fair fruits of early study,
Thus in their summer season crossed,
Meet a sad blight — a killing frost?
Must that vile demon, Moloch, oust
Heaven from a young heart's holocaust?
And the glad hope of life's young promise
Thus in the dawn of youth ebb from us?
Such is, alas! the sad and last trophy
Of the young rake's supreme catastrophe;
For of what use are learning's laurels
When a young man is without morals?
Bereft of virtue, and grown heinous,
What signifies a brilliant genius?
'Tis but a case for wail and mourning, —
'Tis but a brand fit for the burning!

Meantime the river wafts the barge,
Fraught with its miscellaneous charge,
Smoothly upon its broad expanse,
Up to the very quay of Nantz;
Fondly within the convent bowers
The sisters calculate the hours,
Chiding the breezes for their fool-tardiness,
And, in the height of their fool-hardiness,
Picturing the bird as fancy painted —
Lovely, reserved, polite, and sainted —
Fit " Ursuline . " And this , I trow, meant
Enriched with every endowment!
Sadly, alas! these nuns anointed
Will find their fancy disappointed;
When, to meet all those hopes they drew on,
They'll find a regular D ON J UAN !

The awfull Discoberte.

Scarce in the port was this small craft
On its arrival telegraphed,
When, from the boat home to transfer him,
Came the nuns portress, " sister Jerome. "
Well did the parrot recognise
The walk demure and downcast eyes;
Nor aught such saintly guidance relished
A bird by worldly arts embellished;
Such was his taste for profane gaiety,
He'd rather much go with the laity.
Fast to the bark he clung; but plucked thence,
He shewed dire symptoms of reluctance,
And, scandalising each beholder,
Bit the nun's cheek, and eke her shoulder!
Thus a black eagle once, 'tis said,
Bore off the struggling Ganymede.
Thus was Vert-Vert, heart-sick and weary,
Brought to the heavenly monastery.
The bell and tidings both were tolled,
And the nuns crowded, young and old,
To feast their eyes with joy uncommon on
This wondrons talkative phenomenon.

Round the bright stranger, so amazing
And so renowned, the sisters gazing,
Praised the green glow which a warm latitude
Gave to his neck, and liked his attitude.
Some by his gorgeous tail are smitten,
Some by his beak so beauteous bitten!
And none e'er dreamt of dole or harm in
A bird so brilliant and so charming.
Shade of Spurzheim! and thou, Lavater,
Or Gall, of " bumps " the great creator!
Can ye explain how our young hero,
With all the vices of a Nero,
Seemed such a model of good-breeding,
Thus quite astray the convent leading?
Where on his head appeared, I ask from ye,
The " nob " indicative of blasphemy?
Methinks 't would puzzle your ability
To find his organ of scurrility.

Meantime the abbess, to " draw out "
A bird so modest and devout,
With soothing air and tongue caressing
The " pilgrim of the Loire " addressing,
Broached the most edifying topics,
To " start " this native of the tropics;
When, to their scandal and amaze, he
Broke forth — " Morbleu! those nuns are crazy! "
(Shewing how well he learnt his task on
The packet-boat from that vile Gascon!)
" Fie! brother poll! " with zeal outbursting,
Exclaimed the abbess, dame Augustin;
But all the lady's sage rebukes
Brief answer got from poll — " Gadzooks! "
Nay, 'tis supposed, he muttered, too,
A word folks write with W.
Scared at the sound, — " Sure as a gun,
The bird's a demon! " cried the nun.
" O the vile wretch! the naughty dog!
He's surely Lucifer incog .
What! is the reprobate before us
That bird so pious and decorous —
So celebrated? " — Here the pilgrim,
Hearing sufficient to bewilder him,
Wound up the sermon of the beldame
By a conclusion heard but seldom —
" Ventre Saint Gris! " " Parbleu! " and " Sacre! "
Three oaths! and every one a whacker!

Still did the nuns, whose conscience tender
Was much shocked at the young offender,
Hoping he'd change his tone, and alter,
Hang breathless round the sad defaulter;
When, wrathful at their importunity,
And grown audacious from impunity,
He fired a broadside (holy Mary!)
Drawn from Hell's own vocabulary!
Forth like a Congreve rocket burst,
And stormed and swore, flared up and cursed.
Stunned at these sounds of import stygian,
The pious daughters of religion
Fled from a scene so dread, so horrid,
But with a cross first signed their forehead.
The younger sisters, mild and meek,
Thought that the culprit spoke in Greek;
But the old matrons and " the bench "
Knew every word was genuine French;
And ran in all directions, pell-mell,
From a flood fit to overwhelm hell.
'Twas by a fall that Mother Ruth
Then lost her last remaining tooth.

" Fine conduct this, and pretty guidance! "
Cried one of the most mortified ones;
" Pray, is such language and such ritual
Among the Nevers nuns habitual?
'Twas in our sisters most improper
To teach such curses — such a whopper!
He shan't by me, for one, be hindered
From being sent back to his kindred! "
This prompt decree of Poll's proscription
Was signed by general subscription.
Straight in a cage the nuns insert
The guilty person of Vert-Vert;
Some young ones wanted to detain him;
But the grim portress took " the paynim "
Back to the boat, close in his litter;
'Tis not said this time that he bit her.

Back to the convent of his youth,
Sojourn of innocence and truth,
Sails the green monster, scorned and hated,
His heart with vice contaminated.
Must I tell how, on his return,
He scandalised his old sojourn?
And how the guardians of his infancy
Wept o'er their quondam child's delinquency?
What could be done? the elders often
Met to consult how best to soften
This obdurate and hardened sinner,
Finish'd in vice ere a beginner!
One mother counselled " to denounce
And let the Inquisition pounce
On the vile heretic; " another
Thought " it was best the bird to smother! "
Or " send the convict for his felonies
Back to his native land — the colonies. "
But milder views prevailed. His sentence
Was, that, until he shewed repentance,
" A solemn fast and frugal diet,
Silence exact, and pensive quiet,
Should be his lot; " and, for a blister,
He got, as gaoler, a lay-sister,
Ugly as sin, bad-tempered, jealous,
And in her scruples over-zealous.
A jug of water and a carrot
Was all the prog she'd give the parrot:
But every eve when vesper-bell
Called sister Rosalie from her cell,
She to Vert-Vert would gain admittance,
And bring of " comfits " a sweet pittance.
Comfits! alas! can sweet confections
Alter sour slavery's imperfections?
What are " preserves " to you or me,
When locked up in the Marshalsea?
The sternest virtue in the hulks,
Though crammed with richest sweetmeats, sulks.

Taught by his gaoler and adversity,
Poll saw the folly of perversity,
And by degrees his heart relented:
Duly, in fine, " the lad " repented.
His Lent passed on, and sister Bridget
Coaxed the old abbess to abridge it.

The prodigal, reclaimed and free,
Became again a prodigy,
And gave more joy, by works and words,
Than ninety-nine canary-birds,
Until his death. Which last disaster
(Nothing on earth endures!) came faster
Than they imagined. The transition
From a starved to a stuffed condition,
From penitence to jollification,
Brought on a fit of constipation.
Some think he would be living still,
If given a " Vegetable Pill; "
But from a short life, and a merry,
Poll sailed one day per Charon's ferry

By tears from nuns' sweet eyelids wept,
Happy in death this parrot slept;
For him Elysium oped its portals,
And there he talks among immortals.
But I have read, that since that happy day
(So writes Cornelius a Lapide,
Proving, with commentary droll,
The transmigration of the soul),
That still Vert-Vert this earth doth haunt,
Of convent bowers a visitant;
And that, gay novices among,
He dwells, transformed into a tongue!