'HARLEQUIN'
A SIGN-BOARD, PAINTED ON COPPER, SIGNED
'W. EVANS, LONDON' CIRCA 1820
Harlequin dances, and, over the park he dances in, surely there is
thunder brooding. His figure stands out, bright, large, and fantastic.
But all around him is sultry twilight, and the clouds, pregnant with
thunder, lower over him as he dances, and the elms are dim with unusual
shadow. There is a tiny river in the dim distance. Under one of the
nearest elms you may descry a square tomb, topped with an urn. What
lord or lady underlies it? I know not. Harlequin dances. Sheathed in
his gay suit of red and green and yellow lozenges, he ambles lightly
over the gravel. At his feet lie a tambourine and a mask. Brown ferns
fringe his pathway. With one hand he clasps the baton to his hip, with
the other he points mischievously to his forehead. He wears a flat,
loose cap of yellow. There is a ruff about his neck, and a pair of fine
buckles to his shoes, and he always dances. He has his back to the
thunderclouds, but there is that in his eyes which tells us that he has
seen them, and that he knows their presage. He is afraid. Yet he
dances. Never, howsoever slightly, swerves he, see! from his right
posture, nor fail his feet in their pirouette. All a' merveille! Nor
fades the smile from his face, though he smiles through the tarnished
air of a sultry twilight, under the shadow of impending storm.
'THE GARDEN OF LOVE'