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Are natives of these holy places,
As Ver-Vert witness'd every day.
No human parrot of the court
Was fondled half so much as he;
In indolence genteel, and sport,
His hours roll'd on delightfully:
Each chamber that he fancied best
Was his the dormitory round,

And, where at eve he chose to rest,
Honour'd, thrice honour'd, was the ground,
And much the lucky nun was bless'd!
But nights he very seldom pass'd,

With those whom years and prudence bless'd,
The plain neat room was more his taste
Of some young damsel not profess'd;
This nicety at board and bed
Show'd he was nobly born and bred.
When the young female anchorite,
Whom all the rest with envy view'd,
Had fix'd him for the coming night,
Perch'd on her Agnus box he stood,
Silent iu undisturb'd repose
Till Venus' warning-star arose:
And when at morn the pious maid
Her toilette's mysteries display'd,
He freely saw whate'er was done;
I say the toilette, for I've read,
But speak it in a lower tone,
That virgins, in a cloyster bred,
Their looks and languishings review
In mirors to their eyes as true
As those, that serve to show the faces
Of dames who flaunt in gems and laces.
For, as in city or at court
Some certain taste or mode prevails,
There is among the godly sort
A taste in putting on their vails;
There is an art to fold with grace,
Round a young vestal's blooming face,
Plain crape or other simple stuff,

With happy negligence enough.

Often the sportive Loves in swarms,
Which to the monasteries repair,
Spread o'er the holy fillets charms
And tie them with a killing air;
In short, the nuns are never seen
In parlour or at grate below,
Ere at the looking-glass they've been,
To steal a decent glance or so.

This softly whisper'd, friends between,
Farther digression we adjourn,
And to our hero now return.
Safe in this unmolested scene
Ver-Vert, amidst a life of bliss,
Unrivall'd reign'd on every part;
Her slighted sparrows took amiss
This change in sister Thecla's heart;
Four finches through mere rage expir'd
At his advancement mortified,
And two Grimalkins late admir'd,
With envy languish'd, droop'd and died.
In days like these of joy and love,
Who would have thought such tender cares
To form his youthful mind, should prove,
Through Fortune's spite, destructive snares?
Or that an adverse time should come
When this same idol of their hearts
Should stand the mark, by cruel doom,
Of horrour's most envenom'd darts?
But stop, my Muse, forbid to flow

The tears arising from the sight
Of such an unexpected woe,
Too bitter fruit, alas! to grow
From the soft root of dear delight!

CANTO II,

IN such a school, a bird of sense
Would soon acquire, it is confess'd,
The gift of copious eloquence;
For, save his meals and hours of rest,
His tongue was always occupied:
And no good treatise could excel,
In phrases ready cut and dried,
His doctrines about living well.
He was not like those parrots rude
Whom dangling in a public cage
The common manners of the age
Have render'd conversably lewd;
Who, doctor'd by the worldly tribe,
With frail concupiscence endued,
Each human vanity describe.
Our Ver-Vert was a saint in grain,
A soul with innocency fraught,
Who never utter'd word profane,
Who never had immodest thought.
But in the room of ribbald wit
Each mystic colloquy he knew,
And many a text in holy writ
With prayers and collects not a few;
Could psalms and canticles repeat
And benedicite complete;

He could petition Heaven for grace
With sanctimonious voice and eyes,
And at a proper time and place
Religiously soliloquise

Each help he had in this learn'd college
That could conduce to sacred knowledge.
For many virgins had retreated
Through grace to this religious fold,
Who, word for word, by rote repeated
Each Christmas carol, new and old.
From frequent lessons every day
The scholar grew as learn'd as they;
Their very tone of speaking too
In pious drawlings he express'd,
The same religious sighs he drew
Deep heaving from the godly breast,
And languid notes in which these doves
Mournfully chant their mystic loves.
In short, the bird perform'd his part
In all the psalmodising art.

Such merit could not be coufin'd
Within a cloyster's narrow bound,
But flew, for Fame is swift as wind,
The neighbouring territories round;
Through Nevers' town from morn to night,
Scarce any other talk was heard,
But of discourses exquisite
Betwixt the nuns and Indian bird:
And e'en from Moulins numbers came
To witness to the truth of Fame.
Ver-Vert, the parlour's boasted glory,
Whilst all that came were told his story,
Perch'd proud upon his favourite stand,
S ster Melania's ivory hand,

Who pointed out each excellence

Of mind or body he possess'd,

His sweet mild temper, polish'd sense,
And various colours on his breast,
When his engaging aspect won
Each visiter he look'd upon;
But beauty the most exquisite
Was, in our tender proselyte,
The least his qualities among,
For all forgot his feathery pride
And every outward charm beside

The moment that they heard his tongue.
With various righteous graces fill'd,
By the good sisterhood instill'd,
Th' illustrious bird his speech began,
At every turn allusions new,
Conceptions fine, and doctrines true,
In streams of honey'd language ran.
But what was singularly new,
In this uncommon gift of speech,
And scarce will be reputed true,
Not any whilst they heard him preach
Did ever feel (his powers were such)
Ecclesiastic lethargy,

From soporific sanctity;

What orator can boast as much?

Much was he prais'd and much caress'd, Whilst he, familiaris'd to fame, Convinc'd 'twas only a mere name, His head on his projected breast With priestly gentleness reclin'd, And always modestly express'd The inward triumph of his mind. When he had utter'd to the crowd His treasur'd scientific store, =He mutter'd something not aloud, And sunk in cadence more and more, Till, with an aspect sanctified, At last in silence down he sate, And left his audience edified On what had pass'd to ruminate. These eloquent harangues would flow With choice of sweetest phrases fraught, Except a trifling word or so, Which accidentally he caught, - Of scandal, at the grate below, Or some small syllable of haste, Which gentle nuns will, by the by, At one another sometimes cast, When none but holy ears are nigh. Thus liv'd in this delightful cage, As saint, as master, or as sage, Good father Ver-Vert, dear to more Than of veil'd Hebes half a score, As any cloyster'd monk as fat, As reverend too in holy state, Learn'd as an abbe town-approv'd, And fair as youths by brides caress'd, For lovely he was always lov'd, =Perfum'd, well-bred, in fashion dress'd; In short, had he not hapless rov'd To see the world, completely bless'd. But soon the fatal moments came Of ever-mouruful memory, Destructive to our hero's fame. Voyage of crimes and misery, Of sad remorse, and endless shame!' Would foresight in a former age Had torn it from th' historic page! Ah! what a dangerous good at best

Is the possession of renown!
Obscurity is sooner blest,
From his sad fate it will be shown;
Too much success and brilliant parts
Have often ruin'd virtuous hearts.

Thy talents, Ver-Vert, and thy name,
To these lone walls were not confin'd;
As far as Nants the voice of fame
Proclaim'd th' endowments of thy mind.
At Nants, 'tis known, the Visitation
Of reverend sisters has a fold,

Who there, as elsewhere through the nation,
Know first whate'er by Fame is told.
With other news, each holy dame,
This parrot's merit having heard,
Had longings to behold the bird.
A lay-maid's wish is like a flame;
But, when a nun has such desire,
'Tis fifty times a fiercer fire.
Their curious hearts already burn'd,
Their thoughts to distant Nevers flew,
And many a holy head was turn'd,
The feather'd prodigy to view.
Immediately upon the spot

To the good abbess of the place
A female secretary wrote,

Beseeching her to have the grace
To Nants, by water down the Loire,
To send the bird so fam'd for sense,
That all the female Nantine choir
Might hear and see his excellence.
The letter goes: all question, when
The bearer will return again?
'Twill be eleven days at least,
An age to any female breast!
They send each day fresh invitation,
Depriv'd of sleep through expectation.
Howe'er at length to Nevers came
This letter of importance great.
At once the convent's in a flame,

And the whole chapter's summon'd straight. "Lose Ver-Vert? Heaven! send rather death! What comfort will with us be left,

These solitary towers beneath,

When of the darling bird bereft ?"
Thus spoke the nuns of blooming years,
Whose hearts, fatigu'd with holy leisure,
Preferr'd to penance and to tears
Soft sentiments of harmless pleasure.
In truth, a holy flock, at least,
So close confin'd, might fairly claim
To be by one poor bird caress'd,
Since there no other parrot came
Fledg'd or unfledg'd to cheer their nest.
Yet 'twas th' opinion of the dames
Who, by their age superior, sate
Rulers in senatorial state,
Whose hearts resisted passion's flames,
That, for a fortnight's space or so,
Their dear disciple straight should go;
For, prudence overweighing love,
Th' infatuated state decreed

A stubborn negative might prove
The cause of mutual hate, and breed
For ever after much bad blood
"Twixt theirs and Nants's sisterhood.

Soon as the ladies, in conclusion,
O' th' upper house the bill had pass'd,
The commons were in great confusion;

Young Seraphina cry'd in haste,
"Ah! what a sacrifice they make!
And is it true consent they give?
Fate from us nothing more can take;
How, Ver-Vert leave us, and we live!"
Another, though reputed sage,

Grew pale at what she heard them say;
No council could her grief assuage,
She trembled, wept, and swoon'd away.
All mourn'd departing Ver-Vert's fate,
Presaging, from I know not what,
This tour would prove unfortunate,
In horrid dreams the night they spent,
The morn redoubled horrours sent.
Too vain regret! the mournful hour
Already 's come, within their view
The boat is waiting at the shore,
The Fates command to bid adieu,
And to his absence, for a while,
Their throbbing bosoms reconcile.
Already every sister pin'd

Like the soft turtle of the grove,
To grief before-hand self-resign'd
For the lone hours of widow'd love.
What tender kisses were bestow'd
On Ver-Vert leaving this abode!
What briny streams of sorrow flow'd!
The nearer his departure drew
They doted on him more and more,
And found each moment genius new
And beauties never seen before.

At length be leaves their wishful eyes,
Love with him from the convent flies.
"Ah! go, my child; my dearest, haste,
Where honour calls thee from my arms;
But, O! return, thy exile past,
For ever true, and full of charms!
May Zephyrs with their airy plumes
Waft thee securely on thy way!
Whilst I, amidst these dreary tombs,
In anguish waste the tardy day,
And sadly, solitary mourn
Uncomforted till thy return.
O Ver-Vert, dearest soul! adieu,
And, whilst thy journey happy proves,
May all, thy beauteous form who view,
Think thee the eldest of the Loves!"
Such were the words and parting scene
Of one young lately-veiled fair,
Who oft, to dissipate chagrin,
In bed made many a fervent prayer,
Learnt from the manuel of Racine;
And who with all her heart, no doubt,
Would, for sweet Ver-Vert's company,
Have left the holy monastery,
And follow'd him the world throughout.
But now the droll is put on board,
At present virtuous and sincere,
And modest too in deed and word:
O! may his bosom every where,
By prudence guarded, still retain
That worth, and bring it home again!
Be that however, as it may,
The boat's already on its way;
The noise of waves beneath the prow
Re-echoes in the air above;
The Zephyrs favourably blow,
And Nevers backward seems to move.

CANTO III.

IN the same passage-boat, that bore
This bird of holiness from shore,
There happen'd the same time to sail
Two nymphs of constitution frail,
A nurse loquacious, two gascoons,
A vagrant monk, and three dragoons,
Which, for a youth of piety,
Was worshipful society!
Ver-Vert, unpractis'd in their ways,
As folks in foreign countries do,
Stood silently in fix'd amaze;

Their thoughts and language both were new,
The style he did not understand;

It was not, like the Scriptures, phras'd
In dialect of holy land,

With sacred eastern figures rais'd;
Nor that, in which the vestal band
Of nuns their Maker pray'd and prais'd;
But full of, what the bird surpris'd,
Big words not over Christianis'd;
For the dragoons, a wordy race,
Not burthen'd with religious grace,
Spoke fluently the sutler's tongue,
Saint Bacchus only they ador'd,
To whom libations oft they pour'd
For pastime as they sail'd along;
The gascoons and the female three
Convers'd in idioms which belong
To Venus's great mystery;

On t' other hand the sailors swore,
Curs'd and blasphem'd each heavenly power,
Whose voices, not in flowers of speech,
But words sonorous, us'd to deal,
Roundly articulated each,
Nor lost the smallest, syllable.
In this variety of sound
And unintelligible prate,
Ver-Vert, surpris'd at all around,
Sad, silent, and einbarrass'd sate;
He fear'd his ignorance to betray,
And knew not what to think or say.

The monk, to satisfy the crowd,
Who long'd to hear his thoughts aloud,
To talk the pensive stranger press'd;
The girls in words too debonnair,
Unus'd at penance, or in prayer,
The melancholy bird caress'd:
Here by the sex he lov'd address'd
The Parrot (whilst his look benign
With usual light religious glisters)
In sacred sighs and nunnery whine`
Answers," God save you, holy sisters!"
At this "God save you," we'll suppose,
An universal laugh arose:
In ridicule the words aloud
Were echo'd through the noisy crowd.
Thus mock'd, abash'd the novice stood,
And inly chew'd the mental cud.
He found what he had said was wrong,
And saw 'twas needful to endeavour
To speak the language of the throng,
If e'er he hop'd to gain their favour:
His heart, by nature, fond of praise,
Which had been nourish'd all his days,
Till then, with flattery's incense full,

Sate sullen at the gloomy grate;

Now could, alas! sustain no more
Of constancy the modest power
Against th' assaults of ridicule;
Here first, by sour impatience cross'd,
Ver-Vert his innocency lost.

From thence he pour'd ungrateful curses
Against the nuns his former nurses,
Who never had adorn'd his mind,
Careless of literary merit,
With language copious and refin'd,
Replete with elegance and spirit.
IT' acquire this great accomplishment
Each earnest faculty he bent,

And though his prudent tongue lay still,
His soul of thinking had its fill.
But first the bird resolv'd, in pet,
All the old gew-gaws to forget
Which hitherto compos'd his creed,
That new ideas might succeed.
In two days by strict computation,
All former knowledge he expell'd;
So much the present conversation
The convent dialect excell'd.

This first step made, within a trice,
The truly docile animal

(Young minds too soon are skill'd in vice!)
In ribaldry was clerical,

And quickly learn'd to curse and swear,
As fast as an old devil would chatter,
Bound down by chains of mystic prayer,
Beneath a pot of holy water.
His practice contradicted plain
A maxim which old books maintain,
That none to heinous crimes can leap
At first, but progress step by step;
For he at once without degree
Was doctor in iniquity.

He learnt by heart the alphabet
Of watermen, the Loire along,
And when, in any stormy fit,
An oath escap'd a sailor's tongue;
Ver-Vert, emphatically plain,
Re-echo'd" Damn you" back again.
On this, applauded by the crew,
Proudly content with what had past,
Solicitous he daily grew,

The shameful honour to pursue
Of pleasing their corrupted taste;
And, soon degrading to their bent,
His generous organ of discourse,
Became profanely eloquent.
Ah! why should bad examples force
A youthful heart, born free from evils,
From Heaven's allegiance to the Devil's?
Ye nymphs of Nevers' convent chaste,
What did you in your cloister'd cells,
Where pensive Melancholy dwells,
Whilst these unlucky moments pass'd?
In that sad interval, no doubt,
Nine days you spent in prayers devout,
Petitioning kind Heaven to give
A happy journey home again
To the most thankless soul alive,
Who, quite regardless of your pain,
Abroad engag'd in pleasures new,
Spent not a single thought on you.
The yawning band of Tediousness
The convent round besieg'd each gate;
And Spleen, in fanciful distress,

Nay, what the sex shuns every where,
Silence herself came almost there.

Ah! cease your vows, for Ver-Vert's grown
Unworthy of your lavish loves;

Ver-Vert no longer will be known

By heart as spotless as the dove's,
By temper softer than the down,
By fervency of soul in prayer;
Oh! must the Muse the truth declare?
A very wretched profligate,

A scoffer of his ancient home,
Blasphemer of your holy state,
And loose apostate he's become;
What you such care and labour cost,
Among the winds and waves is lost.
Then, fair-ones, fondly boast no more
His science and his docile soul,
Genius is vain, and learning's store,
If virtue governs not the whole.
Forget him quite; the shameful wretch
His heart has tainted with pollution,
And given up all those powers of speech
And mighty parts to prostitution.

But now to Nants, the boat's last station,
Our hero and his friends draw nigh,
Where through impatient expectation
The holy sisters almost die:
For their desires the rising Sun
Begins his daily course too late;
Too slow his fiery coursers run,
To gain at eve the western gate.
The flatterer Hope, in this suspense,
For ever artful to deceive,
Promis'd a prodigy to give
Of genius, dignity, and sense;
A parrot highly-born and bred,
Possess'd of noble sentiments,
Persuasive tongue, discerning head;
In short with all accomplishments:
But O! Imention it with pain,
These expectations all were vain!

At length the vessel reaches land,
Where an old solemn sister sate,
Commission'd by the sacred band
Th' arrival of the bird to wait;
Who, on that errand daily sent,
Ere since the first epistle went,
At first approach of rising day
Her wandering eyes impatient cast,
Which seem'd, along the watery waste,
To waft our hero on his way.
The sly bird had no sooner seen
The nun, near whom he disembark'd,
But straight he knew her by the mien
And eyes with holy prudery mark'd,
By the white gloves and languid tone,
The veil, and linsey-woolsey vest,
And, what would have suffic'd alone,
The little cross upon her breast.
He shudder'd at th' approaching evil,
And, soldier-like, we may conclude,
Sincerely wish'd her at the devil;
Preferring much the brotherhood
Of the dragoons who spoke out plain,
Whose dialect he understood,

Than to return to learn again

Prayers stuff'd with many a holy notion,
And ceremonials of devotion:

But the vex'd droll, by force, was fated
To be conducted where he hated.
The careful carrier held her prize
In spite of all his rueful cries;
Though much he bit her, by the way,
Upon her arms, her neck, and face,
And in his anger, as they say,
Would not have scrupled any place.
At last howe'er, with much ado,
She brought him safe to sacred ground;
Ver-Vert's announc'd: the rumour flew
Swift as the wind the convent round.
The bell proclaims the welcome morn;
Straight from the choir each sister springs,
And to the common parlour's borne
On expectation's eager wings.
All crowd this wonder to behold
With longings truly female fir'd;
Nay, e'en the feeble and the old

With youth's warm thoughts are re-inspir'd;
Whilst each, regardless of her years,
For speed forgets the load she bears;
And mother Agnes, near fourscore,
Now runs, who never ran before.

CANTO IV.

AT length expos'd to public view,
His figure was by all admir'd;
Charm'd with a sight so fair and new,
Their eager eyes were never tir'd;
Their taste beyond dispute was true;

For though the rogue had swerv'd from duty,
He had not lost one jot of beauty,
And the camp mien and rakish stare
Improv'd it with an easy air.

Why, Heaven, should charms attractive glow,
Brilliant around a son of sin?
Rather deformity should show
The badness of the heart within.
To praise his looks and lovely feather
Our sisters babbled so together,
Unheard, it would have been no wonder,
If Heaven had roll'd its loudest thunder:
Mean while unmov'd th' apostate bird
Deign'd not to speak one pious word,
But, like a lusty Carmelite,
Roll'd his lascivious eyes about.
This gave offence: so lewd a sight
Was shocking to the band devout.
Next, when the mother abbess came,
With an authoritative look,
The feather'd libertine to blame,
Contemptuously his tail he shook;
And, not maturely having weigh'd
The horrour of the words he said,
Reply'd, in military phrase,

"What damn'd fools nuns are now-a-days!"
Our history notes, that on the way
These words he'd heard the sailors say.

At this, with looks demure, another,

The holy sisterhood among,

(Willing to make him hold his tongue),

Cry'd, "Fie! for shame, my dearest brother!" For thanks this dearest brother swore,

And us'd, sagaciously enough,

One syllable that rhimes to more,

'Gainst which few female ears are proof.
"Jesu! good mother," she exclaim'd,
"This is some wicked witch, 'tis clear;
And not the bird of Nevers fam'd,
To friends of our religion dear!"
Here, sutler-like, he cry'd aloud,
"The devil seize this noisy crowd!"
By turns each sister did essay
To curb the feather'd grenadier;
And each as fast was sent away
With something buzzing in her ear;
For, laughing at the younger tribe,
He mimick'd their loquacious rage;
And, still more freely to describe
The dull grimace of scolding age,
He ridicul'd the dying closes

Of precepts snuffled through their noses.
But, what was worse than all the rest,
By these dull sermons much oppress'd,
And with unvented choler swelling,
He thunder'd out each horrid word,
The very tars in noise excelling,
Which on the river he had heard;
Cursing and swearing all along,
Juvoking every power of Hell,

Whilst b's redundant from his tongue,

And f's emphatically fell.

The sense of what they heard him speak
The younger sisters could not tell;

For they believ'd his language Greek:

Next he came out with "blood! and zounds!
Damnation,-brimstone,-fire,—and thunder!"
The grate, at these terrific sounds
Trembling, is almost split asunder;
And the good nuns in speechless fright,
Crossing their throbbing bosoms, fly
Each to her cell remote from light,
Thinking the day of judgment nigh.
Wide opening her sepulchral jaws,

One ancient sister whines, "What evil
Have we designed, good Heaven, that draws
Upon us this incarnate devil?

By what incentive is he mov'd

So like the damn'd below to swear?
Is this that Ver-Vert so approv'd?
Are these his faculties so rare?
But let us without farther pain
Send back the profligate again."
"Mother of God!" another cries,
"What horrours are before our eyes!
In Nevers' consecrated dome

Is this the language vestals speak?
Is all their youth taught thus at home?
Home with the hateful heretic!

For, if he enters, we shall dwell
In league with all the fiends of Hell."
In fine, his freedom Ver-Vert lost;
And 'twas resolv'd, without delay,
To send the wretch cag'd-up away.
This end our pilgrim wish'd the most:
Howe'er, in form, he 's cited first,
Arraign'd, detestable declar'd,
Convicted by the court, accurst,
And from each charity debarr'd,
For having wickedly assail'd
The virtue of the sister's veil'd.
All sign the sentence, yet bemoan
The object it's inflicted on;
For pity 'tis, ere full-age blooms,

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