Lord Byron's Don Juan

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LORD B IRON'S

DON JUAN.

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A. CUNNINGHAM, ESQ

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PHILADELPHIA :

PUBLISHED BY JAS. B. SMITH & CO.
1859.

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Ix presenting to the public a biography of 10 distinguished an Itul-
vidual as the subject of the present memoir— a subject already so
ably illustrated by such men as Hobhouse, Scott, Bulwer, Moore—
the writer has before him a task of no ordinary difficulty : yet,
though in the main agreeing with those eminent authorities, there
are shades of colouring, hitherto lost sight of, which present in a
more favourable riew many of those passages in the life of the im-
mortal author of " Childe Harold," which hare been tortured by the
withering tongue of slander — prompted by political prejudice, reli»
gious bigotry, and mawworm morality — Into blots upon his proud
escutcheon, into stigmas upon his fair fame.

His father, Captain Byron, who appears to hare been of extremely
spendthrift and improvident habits, having carried off to the Conti«
nent the wife of Lord Carmarthen, on the latter obtaining a divorce,
married her. Of this union, one daughter only was the issue, the
tlon. Augusta Byron, afterwards Mrs. Colonel Leigh. On the death
of his first wife in 1784, Captain Byron contracted a marriage, in thq
following year, with Miss Catherine Gordon, only daughter and
heiress of George Gordon, Esq., of Gight, a descendant of the third
son of the Earl of Huntley, by the daughter of James I. Shortly aft«t
their marriage, which took place at Bath, Captain Byron and his
lady removed to their estate in Scotland, when his creditors becom-
ing clamoitms, not only her ready money (£3,000), bank shares,
salmon fisheries on the Dee, the farm of Monkshlll, &c., were sacn-
ilced to meet their claims, but a sum of £8,OCO, raised by mortgage
on the estate of Gight. In the sammer of 1786, she and her husband
left Scotland to proceed to rrance, and in the following year the fee-
simple of the estate itself was sold to Lord Haddo, for £17,860, thi
whole of which was applied to the payment of Captain Byron's debts,
with the exception of a small sum rested in trustees for the use Oi
Mrs. Byron, who thus found herself, within the short space of twi
fours, reduced from affluence to a pittance of £150 a year

ft LIFE OF LORD BYROIT.

rrom ITance Mrs. Byron returned to England towards tho close
erf 1787, and on the 22nd of January, 1788, gave birth, in Holies
Street, London, to her first and only child, George Gordon Byrcn,
— the prefix of Gordon being added in compliance with a condition
imposed by will on whosoever should become husband of the heiress
of Gight. At the baptism of the child, the Duke of Gordon and
Colonel Duff of Fetteresso, stood sponsors.

In person, Mrs. Byron was lowsized and corpulent, provincially
bred, of very plain manners and education, with apparently little or
no sense of religion, though possessing an abundant stock of weak
and vulgar superstition, — a woman whose violent passions her hus-
band's almost incredible ill-usage seems to have so worked upon as
to shatter her reason, and, indeed, distort even her maternal feelings ;
for we find her, in one of her fits of passion, upbraiding her child
with being " a lame brat." Such was the parent to whose unaided
care a youth, precocious in all his instincts, was abandoned during
those years in which the education of the heart makes such rapid
and irrevocable strides, even when the mental faculties are dull — a
circumstance deeply to be weighed by those anxious to judge with
candour the personal history of her son.

By an accident which, it is said, occurred at his birth, one of his
feet was twisted out of its natural position, and this defect (chiefly
from the contrivances employed to remedy it) was a source of much
pain and inconvenience to him during his early years ; the expe-
dients, however, subsequently adopted, under the directions of the
celebrated John Hunter, were eventually so far successful as to
enable him to draw on a boot. It is a singular coincidence that this
deformity was a characteristic of three of bis most distinguished
cotemporaries — Sir Walter Scott, Marshal Soult, and Prince Talley-
rand.

When not quite five years of age, young Byron was sent to a day-
school at Aberdeen, evidently less with a view to his advance in
learning (the terms being only a guinea a year) than for the purpose
of keeping him quiet and training him to scholastic discipline.
Having attended this school for a twelvemonth, he was then
removed to that of a clergyman named Ross, with whom he made
considerable progress ; and was subsequently placed under the pri-
vate tutorship of a young man named Paterson, a rigid Presbyterian
and distinguished scholar, with whom he commenced Latin and
continued to read until he was sent to the Grammar-school at Aber-
deen, where he remained until recalled to England by the death of
hi« grand-uncle, the fifth Lord Byron, at Newstead Abbey, May 19,
1768.

The general impression retained of him by his surviving class-
fallows at the Grammar-school is, that he was a lively, warmhearted
and high-spirited boy — passionate and resentful, but affectionate
.ind companionable with his school-fellows—to a remarkable degree
venturous and fearless, and " always more ready to give a blow than
lake one." He was, indeed, much more anxious to distinguish hiat-

LIFE OP LORD BTRON. 7

golf by his proi**1! in sports and exercises than by advancement ID
learning. Th -^.a quiet when he would apply himself, or had any
study that pleased him, he was in general low in his class, nor
seemed ambitious of being promoted.

In the summer of the year 17S6, after an attack of scarlet fever, ?;«
was removed by his mother for change of air into the Highlands,
where they took up their residence at a fami-houso in the vicinity
uf Ballater, a favourite summer resort for health and gaiety, about
forty miles up the Dee from Aberdeen, and within a pleasant drive
of that wild and romantic scenery amidst which the dark summit of
Laehin-y-gair stood towering before the eyes of the future bard ; and
the verses in which, not many years after, he commemorated this
sublime spectacle, afford convincing proof of the deep impression,
young as he was at the time, its "frowning glories" made upon
him.

In the autumn of 1798, Mrs. Byron and her son (now in his ele-
venth year) attended by their faithful domestic, May Gray, left Aber-
deen for Newstead Abbey, the aucient seat of his ancestors. This
priory was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II., soon after the
murder of Thomas a Becket. On the dissolution of the monasteries
in the reign of Henry VIII., it was added, by a royal grant, with the
lands pertaining thereto, to the possessions of the Byron family.
The favourite upon whom they were conferred was the grand-
nephew of the gallant soldier who fought by the side of Richmond at
Besworth, and is distinguished from the other knights of the same
Christian name in the family, by the title of " Sir John Byron, the
httle."

The small income of Mrs. Byron received, about this period, a very
seasonable addition— though on what grounds accorded is not stated
— of a pension on the civil list of £300 a year. Shortly after her
arrival at Newstead, she placed her son under the care of a person at
Nottingham, named Lavender, who appears to have been a mere em-
pirical pretender, in the hope of having his lameness removed ; and
that the boy might not lose ground in his education, he received
lessons in Latin from a Mr. Rogers, with whom he read parts of
Virgil and Cicero, and made considerable progress. Finding that he
derived little benefit from the Nottingham practitioner, Mrs. Byron,
in the summer of 1799, thought it right to remove him to London ;
and he -was accordingly placed in the. academy of Dr. Glennie, at
Dulwich, and also under the surgical treatment of Dr. Matthew
Baillie, she herself at the same time taking a house in Sloane Tcr-
~.ice. Having remaiued nearly two years with Dr. Glennie, during
which time his studies were materially impeded by his mother's
taking him to Sloane Terrace every Saturday and detaining him till
Monday— much to the annoyance of the Doctor, who strongly re-
monstrated against it— young Byron, at the suggestion of his mother
and with the consent of Lord Carlisle, was sent to Harrow. During
Ms n-sidcnce in Dulwich Grove, the same amiability of disposition
tbii characterised him at Aberdeen seems to huva luroiupuuivU him.
1*

?I LIFE OP LORD BTROIf.

Dr. Glennie says, " I found him enter upon his studies with alacrity
and success. He was playful, good humoured, and beloved by his
companions. His reading in history and poetry was far beyond the
usual standard of his age, and he showed an intimate acquaintance
with the historical parts of the Holy Scriptures."

To a shy disposition, such as Byron's was in his youth — and such
as, to a certain degree>rit continued all his life — the transition from
a quiet establishment, like that of Dr. Glennie's, to the bustle of a
largo public school, was sufficiently trying. Accordingly, we find
from his own account, that, for the first year and a half, he " hated
Harrow." The activity and sociableness of his nature, however,
soon overcame this repugnance ; and from being, as he himself says,
'• a most unpopular boy," he rose at length to be a leader in all the
sports, schemes and mischief of the school. The Rev. Dr. Drury,
than whom there cannot be a more trustworthy or valuable au-
thorky, and who was at this period (1801) head master of the school,
has given the following brief but important statement of the im-
pressions which his early intercourse with the young noble left upon
him: —

" Mr. Hanson, Lord Byron's solicitor, consigned him to my care
at the age of 1SJ, with remarks that his education had been imper-
fect; that he was ill prepared for a public school, but that he
thought there was a cleverness about him. After his departure I
took my young pupil into my study, and endeavoured to elicit from
him some information with respect to his former amusements and
associates, but with little or no effect, — in fact I soon found that a
wild mountain colt had been submitted to my management. But •
there was mind in his eye. For some time a degree of shyness hung
about him : however, his manner and temper soon convinced me,
that he might be led by a silken string to a point, rather than by a
cable, — and on that principle I acted. After some continuance at
Harrow, and when the powers of his mind had begun to expand,
Lord Carlisle desired to see me in town ; I accordingly waited on his
lordship. His object was to inform me of Lord Byron's expectations
of property when he came of age, which he represented as contracted,
and to inquire respecting his abilities. On the former circumstance
I made no remark ; as to the latter, I replied, ' He has talents, my
lord, which will add lustre to his rank.' ' Indeed ! ! ! ' said his lord-
ship, with a degree of surprise, that, according to my feeling, did not
express in it all the satisfaction I expected."

The following interesting anecdotes of his school life at Harrow
are to be found scattered through his various note-books ; and
coming as they do from his own pen, afford the liveliest and best
records of that period which we can present to the reader.

" At Harrow I was remarked for the extent and readiness of my
jttneral information ; but in all other respects idle, capable of great
sudden exertions but of few continuous drudgeries. My qualities
were much more oratorical and martial than poetical ; and Dr. Urury,
my grand patron, had a great notion that 1 should turn out iu

LITE OF lORD BTRON. fll

orator, from my fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my copiousness
of declamation, and my action."

" Peel, the orator and statesman, was my form-fellow. We wer«
on good terms, but his brother was my intimate friend. There were
always great hopes of Peel amongst us all, masters and scholars—*
and he has not disappointed them. At a scholar, bo was greatly my
superior; as a declaimcr and actor, I was reckoned at least his
equal."

" The prodigy of our school days was George Sinclair (son of Sir
John) ; he made exercises for half the school, verses at will, and
t homes without it. He was a friend of mine and in the same re-
more, and used at times to beg me to let him do my exercises,— a
request always most readily accorded upon a pinch. On the other
hand, as he was of a pacific temperament : I fought for him, or
thrashed others for him, or thrashed himself to make him thrash
others, when it was necessary as a point of honour and stature that
In) should so chastise ; and we were very good friends."

"At Harrow, I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but ona

battle out of seven, and that was to H ; but be only won it by

the unfair treatment of his own boarding-house, where we boxed.
I had not even a second."

Notwithstanding these general habits of play and idleness, which
might seem to indicate a certain absence of reflection and feeling,
there were moments when the youthful poet would retire thought-
fully within himself, and give way to moods of musing uncongenial
with the usual cheerfulness of bis age. They show a tomb in the
churchyard at Harrow, overhanging a picturesque valley and com-
manding a view of Windsor, known among his schoolfellows by the
name of " Byron's tomb ; " and here, it is said, he used to sit for hours
rapt in thought, — brooding lonelily over the first emotions of pas-
sion and genius in his soul, and perhaps indulging in those bright
forethoughts of fame, under the influence of which, when little inora
than fifteen years of age, he wrote the following lines : —

" My epitaph shall be my name alone;
If that with honour fail to crown my clay,
Oh may no other fame my deeds repay !
That, only that, shall single out trie spot,
By that remembeiM, or with that forgot."

His pursuits, however, continued to be of the same truant descrip-
tion during the whole of his stay at Harrow, — " always," as he says
himself, "cricketing, rebelling, rowing, and in all manner of mis-
chiefs." The general character which ho bore among the masters
\.-.is that of an idle boy, who could never learn anything ; and, as fai
;'.^ regarded bis tasks in school, this reputation was, by hfS own
avowal, not ill-founaed.

\Ve now come to an event in his life, which, according to his own
deliberate pervasion, exercised a paramount influence over the
\vhele of his subsequent career. In the neighbourhood of Newsttad
A obey, (whose noble tenant Lord Grey de Euthvo, knowing Lord

vm

LIFE OF LORD BTRON.

Byron's strong attachment to Newstead, had placed an apartment at bi«
service) at Annesley, resided a family of the name of Chaworth, to
whom he had, some time before, been introduced in London, and
with whom he soon renewed his acquaintance. This family were
the descendants of that Hr. Chaworth who was killed in a duel by
the grand-uncle of the poet, the fifth Lord Byron, and for which the
latter stood his trial before the House of Peers, in the year 1765.
Lapse of years, however, and benevolence of disposition, served to
obliterate the recollection of this catastrophe, and a feeling of mutual
esteem grew up between the present youthful lord and the young
heiress of Annesley. In addition to the many worldly advantages which
encircled her, Miss Chaworth possessed much personal beauty and a
disposition the most amiable and attaching. Though already alive
to all her charms, it was at the period of which we are speaking that
the young poet seems to have drunk deepest of that fascination
whose effects were to he so lasting. He himself, in a memorandum
in one of his note- books, says : — " Our union would have healed
ft-uds in which blood had been shed by our fathers, — it would have
!oined lands broad and rich, — it would have joined at least one heart,
and two persons not ill matched in years (she is two years my elder)
and — and — and — what has been the result?" This result was
occasioned by a very thoughtless expression on the one hand, and
by very hasty deportment on the other. He was either told of, or
overheard. Miss Chaworth saying to her maid, " Do you think I could
care anything for that lame boy?" This expression, as he himself
described it, shot through his heart. Though late at night, he darted
out of the house, and, scarcely knowing whither he ran, never
stopped till he found himself at Newstead.

The Edinburgh Review of March, 1808, issued a most truculent
critique on his " H jurs of Idleness," said to proceed from the pen of
Henry (subsequently Lord) Brougham.

It was in the autumn of this year (1808), that he, for the first
time, took up his residence at Newstead Abbey. His coming of age,
in 1809, was celebrated, at Newstead, by such festivities as his
limited means admitted. The pecuniary supplies requisite for bis
outset at this epoch, were procured from money-lenders at an enor-
mously usurious interest, the payment of which for a long time con-
tinued a burden to him. He now determined on taking his seat in
the House of Peers, and having communicated his intention to Lord
Carlisle, — under the impression that it was customary for a young
peer, on first taking his seat, to be introduced by a member, — instead
of the answer he expected, he received a mere formal and cold reply.
In * letter to his mother (March 6, 1809), be says: I shall get my
seat on the return of the affidavits from Carhais, in Cornwall, and
will do something in the House soon." So far from taking an active
part in the proceedings of his noble brethren, as was anticipated, he
appears to have regarded even the ceremony of his«ttendance among
them as irksome and mortifying ; and in a few days after his admis-
Uoii to his seat, he withdrew in disgust to the seclusion of Newstead,

LIFE OF LORD BYRON. It

Where he was soon actively engaged In preparing a new edition cl
his satire, in arrangements for his intended tour, and in dispensing
his hospitalities to a few college friends who had assembled around
him to celebrate a sort of festive farewell.

His new edition being now ready for the press, and all necessary
preparations for bis journey made, he, on the llth of June, proceeded
to London, and on the 2nd of July, set sail from Falmouth, in com-
pany with Mr. Hobhouse, for Lisbon, where they arrived after a plea-
sant voyage of four, days and a half, rested ten days, and thence
proceeded to Seville, Cadiz, Gibraltar ; Tepaleen (in Albania), where
ho was hospitably entertained by All Pacha ; Jannina, Zitza, Acar-
nania, and on the 21st of November arrived at Missolonghi. And
here it is impossible not to pause, and send a mournful thought
forward to the visit which, fifteen years after, he paid to this same
spot, when, in the full meridian of his age and fame, he came to lay
down his life as the champion of that land, through which he now
wandered a stripling and a stranger.

An unexpected offer of a passage to Smyrna in an English sloop of
war, the " Pylades," now induced the travellers to make immediato
preparations for departure; and on the 5th of March, 1810, they
reluctantly took leave of Athens.

Immediately on his arrival in London, and while engaged settling
some law affairs with his agent, he was suddenly called away to
Newstead by an event which affected him far more deeply than might
have been expected, — the dangerous illness of his mother, whom,
fate would have it, he was destined never to See again. In a letter,
dated August 2nd, 1811, he says : " My poor mother died yesterday !
and I am on my way from town, to attend her to the family vault.
I heard one day of her illness, the ntxt of her death. Thank God, her
last moments were tranquil. Peace be to her ! "

Having passed several months between Newstead and London,
in preparing new editions of his works, composing others, and
arranging the state of his affairs, he determined to make his appear-
ance once more in the House of Lords. Ho accordingly took his seat
on the 27th of February, 1812. The subject of debate was the Not-
tingham Frame-breaking Bill, against which he delivered Uis maiden
speech— one on which the highest encomiums were passed, even by
ministerial members.

Wo now find him at the zenith of poetic fame— honourably noticed
by royalty, his society courted by those nobles who before stood with
cold formality aloof, and an admiring world captivated and dazzled
by the electric brilliancy of his genius. No more opportune moment/
could have been selected for that important change in Iffe, which,
it would appear, he contemplated; for in his note-book at this
period (1813) his lordship writes : " A wife would be the saving of
me." It was under this conviction, entertained not only by himself
but by some of his friends, of the prudence of his taking timely refuge
in matrimony from those perplexities which form the sequel of less
regular ties, that he had been induced to turn his thoughts seriously

Jt LIFE OF LOUD BYRO*C.

to marriage ; and chiefly it is said by the advice and through th«
Intervention of Lady Melbourne, to become a suitor for the hand of
her niece, Miss Milbanke, daughter of Sir Ralph Milbankc, of Seaham,
in the county of Durham. Though his first proposal was not
accepted, every assurance of regard and esteem accompanied tha
refusal ; and on a second offer of bis hand by the noble peer, in Sept.

1814, she thought proper to accept it, and on the 2nd of January,

1815, they were united.

Shortly before his marriage, on a scrutiny into the state of his
affairs, he found them in so utterly embarrassed' a condition as to
fill him with alarm, and eren to suggest to his mind the prudence
of deferring it — the die, however, was cast, and be had no alternative
but to proceed. These embarrassments soon realised his worst
anticipations. Great dissatisfaction appears to have been man-
ifested by Lady Byron — the mortification of not being able to
support a style suitable to her rank, the fretfulness occasioned in her
husband by his pecuniary distresses, and the imaginary impression
made on her mind that be was under the influence of insanity — all
combined to induce her to wish for a separation ; and she, accord-
ingly, under pretence of paying a short risit to her father, left London
for one of his seats, whither Lord Byron was to follow in a few days;
but from whence, immediately on her arrival, Sir Ralph Mllbanke
wrote to acquaint him that she would return to him no more. The
issue of this unfortunate marriage was one daughter, Augusta Ada,
born December 10th, 1815. The tide of popular feeling, |now set in
against him with such impetuosity, that the utter hopelessness of
stemming the torrent seems to have prompted his withdrawal to
a foreign land ; and we accordingly find him, on the 25th of April,

1816, and in the 28th year of his age, taking a last farewell of his
native country.

The noble exile first proceeded to Ostend, thence to Brussels,
Waterloo, and Geneva ; and in the early part of October, set out for
Italy, visiting Martigny, Milan, Verona, and Venice, which was his
chief station till December, 1819. During this interval he spent some
days at Rome, Ferrara, and other places. He next proceeded to
Ravenna, whence his correspondence for nearly two years is dated
(including his visits to Bologna.) It was while in Venice that he
became acquainted with the Countess Guiccioli, a young Romagnese
lady, daughter ol Count Gamba, of Ravenna. Whilst residing at
Ravenna he appears to have been mixed up, with Carbonaro politics
to a great extent, and to have contributed large sums for the patriots
of the Austrian States, of the Romish legations, and even of Naples.
He now removed to Pisa (Nov. 1821), and in September, 1822, took
up his residence at Genoa. About this period he began to turn his
thoughts more actively towards Greece, and having received commu-
nications from the Greek Committee in London and other quarters,
impressing on him the great stimulus his presence on the scene of
action would afford, he lost no time in making preparations for his
romantic expedition. By the aid of his banker at Genoa, he con-

LIFE OP LORD BYfiOK. XI

trived to raise 10,000 crowns in specie, and £40,000 in Mils. An
English vessel, the " Hercules," was now freighted, and on the 14th
July, 1823, he and his suite sailed for Leghorn, to take in gunpowder
and other materiel, and thence proceeded to Argostoli in Cephalonia,
where they arrived about the 3rd of August.

Having despatched messengers to Corfu and Missoloughi, in order
to ascertain the position of affairs, he, meantime, made an excursion
to Ithaca, which occupied eight days; and Mavrocordato baring
been appointed, with full powers, to organise Western Greece, the fit
moment for Lord Byron'a presence seemed to hare arrived. He,
therefore, forthwith embarked on board a Greek vessel, the " Mis-
tioo;" and, previously touching at Zante, to take in specie, pro-
ceeded to Hissolonghi, where he arrived, having narrowly escaped
being captured by the Turkish fleet, on the 5th Jan. 1824. The
reception their noble visitor experienced was flattering and brilliant.

He was not long in ascertaining that disorganization and dissatis-
faction prevailed in every department. In this state of things his
ready foresight pointed out the necessity of energetic measures, and,
at his suggestion, an expedition was projected against Lepanto, a
fortified town, wbich, from its commanding the entrance to the Gulf
of Corinth, was of vital importance. Of this expedition he was
appointed Commander-in-chief, but whilst the necessary prepara-
tions were being made, he was strenuously opposed by Colonel Stan-
hope, who, at a meeting on the 15th of February, maintained the
propriety of first healing internal dissensions by means of a free
press— to which Lord Byron replied : " I think the author't brigade
will be ready before the toldier's printing press." The words were
scarcely uttered, when he staggered forward a pace or two, and fell
int the anus of one of the bystanders. As soon as the fit ceased,
leeches were applied to his temples, and other restoratives adminis-
tered, which partially restorM him.

The Suliote troops destined for the expedition now became so
insubordinate and mutinous that all idea of the attack on Lepauto
was abandoned. This, added to the dreadful shock his frame sus-
tained on the 15th, and the effect of a cold caught in an excursion
made into the country with Count Gamba, whence he returned wet
through and in a state of violent perspiration, brought on a shivering
attended with rheumatic fever. On the llth of April the fever
seemed to increase, and on the 14th, Dr. Bruno recommended bleed-
ing, which, though approved of by a meeting of the faculty, was
obstinately opposed by the patient. He, however, at length assented,
but the result did not correspond with the hopes formed ; yet it was
repeated twice on the 17th, and blisters applied to his feet. On the
18th, he rose about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and leaning on bis
servant Tita, tottered into an adjoining room, but feeling faint,
returned to his bed. It was1 now evident that he knew ho was
dying, and between his anxiety to make his last wishes understood
and the rapid failure of his utterance, a most painful scene ensued.
On Fletcher asking whether he should bring pen and paper to tak*

»ii LIFE OT LORD BTEO1T.

down his words—" Oh no," he replied, " there is no time— It It now
nearly over. Go to my sister— tell her— go to Lady Byron — you will
see her and say — " Here his voice faltered and became indistinct.
Yet he continued to matter — " Poor Greece — my poor servants — my
sister — my child."

It was about 6 o'clock in the evening, when he said " Now I shall
go to sleep ;" and then turning round, fell into that slumber from
which he never awoke. At a quarter past 6 o'clock in the evening
of the following day (the 19th) he was observed to open his eyes and
(but them again. The physicians felt his pulse — he was no more.

The grief that universally pervaded all classes at Missolonghi on
the announcement ofius death would be as difficult as superfluous
to describe. No honours that could be devised, were too great to be
lavished on his remains. At Salona, where tha Congress had assem-
bled, his soul was prayed for in the church ; after which the whole
garrison and the citizens went out into the plain, where another
religious ceremony took place, under the shade of the olive trees.
This being concluded, the troops fired ; and an oration, full of the
warmest praise and gratitude, was pronounced by the High Priest.

After an energetic effort on the part of the Greek Government and
people to retain his 'remains among them, and place them in the
Temple of Theseus at Athens, it was at length conceded to allow
them to be sent to England. They were, accordingly, embarked, on
the 2nd of May, on board an English frigate, under a mournful
salute from the battery ; and on the 29th of June arrived in the
Downs. On its arrival in London, the body was removed to the
house of Sir Edward Knatchbull, where it lay in state during Friday
auc! Saturday, the 9th and 10th of July. The Dean and Chapter of
Westminster are said to have intimated their intention of refusing
his remains a resting-place in the Abbey ; even if they had signified
their assent, it would not have altered the determination of his
friends to deposit them in the village church of Hucknall, where, on
Friday, the 16th of July, they were interred, close to those of his
mother, in the family vault. We cannot close this biography more
appropriately than by an extract from a tribute to his meroory, tr
Samuel Rogers, Esq.

" Thou art gone ;

And he who would assail thee in thy grave,
Oh! let him pause! for who among us all,
Tried as thou wort— even from thy earliest years,
When wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boy —
, Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of (fame;
Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek,
Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine,
Her charmed cup — ah, who amongst us all
Could say he had not err'd as much and more ?'

inn Stun.

" Difficile est proprie communia dicere." — Ho*.

" Dost thou tUak, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no mnrt
Cakes and Ale 7 — Yes, by Saint Anne, and Ginger shall be hot i' the
mouth, too!"— SHAMPRARB, Twelfth Night, or What You WM,

DEDICATION.

X.

BOB SOUTHEY ! You 're a poet — Poet-laureate,

And representative of all the race,
Although 't is true that you turn'd out a Tory at

Last, — yours has lately been a common case, —
And now, my Epic Renegade ! what are ye at ?

With all the Lakers, in and out of place ?
A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye
I ike " four and twenty Blackbirds in a pye ; 4

it.

• Which pye being open'd they began to sing"
(This old song and new simile liolds good),

" A dainty dish to set before the King,

Or Regent, who admires such kind of food ; —

And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing,
But like a hawk encumber'd with his hood,—

Explaining metaphysics to the nation —

I wish he would explain his Explanation.

III.'

You, Bob ! are rather insolent, you know,

At being disappointed in your wish
To supersede all warblers here below,

And be the only Blackbird in the dish ;
And then you overstrain yourself, or so,

And tumble downward like the flying fish
Gasping on deck, because you soar too high, Bofr,
And fall, for lack of moisture quite a-dry, Bob!

4 DON JUAH.

XIV.

A bungler even in its disgusting trade,

And botching, patching, leaving still behind

Something of which its masters are afraid

States to be curb'd, and thoughts to be confined,

Conspiracy or Congress to be made —
Cobbling at manacles for all mankind —

A tinkering slave-maker, who mends old chains,

With God and man's abhorrence for its gains.

XT.

If we may judge of matter by the mind,

Emasculated to the marrow It
Hath but two objects, how to serve, and bind,

Deeming the chain it wears even men may fit,
Eutropius of its many masters, — blind

To worth as freedom, wisdom as to wit,
Fearless — because no feeling dwells in ice,
Its very courage stagnates to a vice.

XVI.

Where shall I turn me not to view its bonds,

For I will never fed them ; — Italy !
Thy late reviving Roman soul desponds

Beneath the lie this State-thing breathed o'er the
Thy clanking chain, and Erin's yet green wounds,

Have voices — tongues to cry aloud for me.
Europe has slaves — allies — kings — armies still,
And Southey lives to sing them very ill.

XVII.

Meantime — Sir Laureate— I proceed to dedicate,
In honest simple verse, this song to you.

And, if in flattering strains I do not predicate,
Tis that I still retain my " buff and blue ;"

My politics as yet are all to educate :
Apostasy's so fashionable, too,

To keep one creed's a task grown quite Herculeaa:

Is it not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian 1

$ B it § u a a.

CANTO THE FIRST.

I WANT a hero : an uncommon want,

When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with ciat.

The age discovers ne is not die true one ;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,

I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan —
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,

Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,

Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign-posts then, like Wellesley now ;

Each in their turn, like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, " nine farrow" of that sow :

France, too, had Buonaparte and Dumourier

Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

Barnarve, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,

Were French, and famous people, as we know ;
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,

Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,

Exceedingly remarkable at times,

But no* at all adapted to my rhymes.

Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd ;

There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd ;

Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd ;

Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,

Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.
2*

DON JVAX.

Brave men were living before the Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,

A good deal like him too, though quite the same none {
But then they shone not on the poet's page,

And so have been forgotten : — I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age

lit for my poem (that is, for my new one) ;

So, as I said, I '11 take my friend Don Juan.

VI.

Most epic poets plunge " in medias res"

(Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road),

And then your hero tells, -whene'er you please,
What went before — by way of episode,

While seated after dinner at his ease,
Beside his mistress in some soft abode,

Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern,

Which serves the happy couple for a tavern.

VII.

That is the usual method, but not mine —
My way is to begin with the beginning ;

The regularity of my design

Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning,

And therefore I shall open with a line

(Although it cost me half an hour in spinning)

^Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father,

And also of his mother, if you'd rather.

vm.
In Seville was he born, a pleasant city,

Famous for oranges and women — he
Who has not seen it will be much to pity,

So says the proverb — and I quite agree ;
Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty,

Cadiz perhaps — but that you soon may see ; —
Don Juan's parents lived beside the river,
A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir.

Bis father's name was Jose — Don, of course,
A true Hidalgo, free from every stain

Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source
Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain ;

A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse,
Or, being mounted, e'er got down again,

Than Jose, who begot our hero, who

Begot — but that's to come Well, to renew :

DON JUAN.

His mother -was a learned lady, famed
For every branch vl every science known —

In every Christian language ever named,
With virtues equall'd by her wit alone

She made the cleverest people quite ashamed,
And even the good with inward envy groan,

Finding themselves so very much exceeded

In their own way by all the things that she did.

XI.

Her memory was a mine : she knew my heart
All Calderon and greater part of Lopd,

So that if any actor miss'd his part

She could have served him for the prompter's copy ;

For her Ftinagle's were an useless art,
And he himself obliged to shut up shop — he

Could never make a memory so fine as

That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inez.

Her favourite science was the mathematical,
Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity,

Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all,
Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity ;

In short, in all things she was fairly what I call
A prodigy — her morning dress was dimity,

Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin,

And other stuffs, with which I won't stand puzzling.

xin.
She knew the Latin — that is, " the Lord's prayer,"

And Greek — the alphabet — I'm nearly sure ;
She read some French romances here and there,

Although her mode of speaking was not pure ;
For native Spanish she had no great care,

At least her conversation was obscure ;
Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem,
As if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble 'em.

She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue,
And said there was analogy between 'em ;

She proved it somehow out of sacred song,

But I must leave the proofs to those who 've seen 'em,

But this I heard her say, and can't be wrong,
And all may think wnich way their judgments lean 'em.

"'Tis strange — the Hebrew noun which means ' I am,'

The English always use to govern d — n,"

8 DON JUAN.

XV.

Some women use their tongues — she look'd a lecture,
Each eye a sermon, and her brow a homily,

An all-in-all sufficient self-director,

Like the lamented late Sir Samuel Romilly,

The Law's expounder, and the State's corrector,
Whose suicide was almost an anomaly —

One sad example more, that " All is vanity,"

(The jury brought their verdict in " Insanity.")

XVI.

In short, she was a walking calculation,

Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their cover*,
Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education,

Or " Coelebs' Wife" set out in quest of lovers,
Morality's prim personification,

In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers ;
To others' share let " female errors fall,"
For she had not even one — the worst of all.

XVII.

Oh ! she was perfect past all parallel —
Of any modern female saint's comparison ;

So far above the cunning powers of hell,

Her guardian angel had given up his garrison ;

Even her minutest motions went as well
As those of the best time-piece made by Harrison :

In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her,

Save thine " incomparable oil," Macassar !

XVIII.

Perfect she was, but as perfection is

Insipid in this naughty world of ours,
Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss

Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers,
Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss,

(I wonder how they got through the twelve hours),
Don Jose like a lineal son of Eve,
Went plucking various fruit without her leave.

He was a mortal of the careless kind,

With no great love for learning, or the learn'd,

Who chose to go where'er he had a mind,
And never dream'd his lady was concern'd

The world, as usual, wickedly inclined
To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd,

Whisper 'd he had a mistress, some said tn-o^

But for domestic quarrels one will do.

XX.

Now Donna Inez had, with all her merit,
A great opinion of her own good qualities ;

Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it,
And such, indeed, she was in her moralities ;

But then she had the devil of a spirit,

And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities,

And let few opportunities escape

Of getting her liege lord into a scrape.

XXI.

This was an easy matter with a man

Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard ;

And even the wisest, do the best they can,

Hare moments, hours, and days, so unprepared,

That you might " brain them with their lady's fan
And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard,

And fans turn into falchions in fair hands,

And why and wherefore no one understands.

XXII.

Tis pity learned virgins ever wed
With persons of no sort of education,

Or, gentlemen, who, though well born and bred,
Grow tired of scientific conversation :

I don't choose to say much upon this head,
I 'm a plain man, and in a single station,

But — Oh ! ye lords of ladies intellectual,

Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?

xxln.
Don Jose and his lady quarrel'd — why,

Not any of the many could divine,
Though several thousand people chose to try,

Twas surely no concern of theirs nor mine;
I loathe that low vice— curiosity ;

But if there's any thing in which I shine,
T is in arranging all my friends' affairs,
Not having, of my own, domestic cares.

XXIV.

And so I interfered, and with the best

Intentions, but their treatment was not kind ;

I think the foolish people were possess'd,
For neither of them could I ever find,

Although their porter afterwards confess'd —
But that's no matter, and the worst's behind,

For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs,

A pail of housemaid's water unawares.

10 DON JUAJT.

XXV.

A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing^

And mischief-making monkey from his birth ;

His parents ne'er agreed except in doting
Upon the most unquiet imp on earth ;

Instead of quarrelling, had they been but both in
Their senses, they'd have sent young master forth

To school, or had him soundly whipp'd at home

To teach him manners for the time to come.

XXYI.
Don Jose and the Donna Inez led

For some time an unhappy sort of life,
Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead ;

They lived respectably as man and wife,
Their conduct was exceedingly -well-bred,

And gave no outward signs of inward strife,
Until at length the smother'd fire broke out,
And put the business past all kind of doubt.

XXVII.

For Inez call'd some druggists, an physicians,
And tried to prove her loving lord was mad,

But as he had some lucid intermissions,
She next decided he was only bad ;

Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions,
No sort of explanation could be had,

Save that her duty both to man and God

Required this conduct — which seem'd very odd

XXVIII.

She kept a journal, where his faults were noted,
And open'd certain trunks of books and letters.

All which might, if occasion served, be quoted ;
And then sne had all Seville for abettors,

Besides her good old grandmother (who doted) ;
The hearers of her case became repeaters,

Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges,

Some for amusement, others for old grudges.

XXIX*

And then this best and meekest woman bore
With such serenity her husband's woes,

Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore,

Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chose

Never to say a word about them more —
Calmly she heard each calumny that rose,

And saw his agonies with such sublimity,

That all the world exclaim'd, "What magnanimity!"

XXX. •

No doubt, this patience, when the world is damning us,

Is philosophic in our former friends
Tis also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous,

The more so in obtaining our own ends ;
And what the lawyers call a " malus animus,"

Conduct like this by no means comprehends :
Revenge in person's certainly no virtue
But then 'tis not my fault, if others hurt you.

XXXI.

And if our quarrels should rip up old stories,
And help them with a lie or two additional,

fm not to blame, as you well know, no more is
Any one else — they were become traditional ;

Besides, their resurrection aids our glories

By contrast, which is what we just were wishing all ,

And science profits by this resurrection —

Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.

XXXII.

Their friends had tried at reconciliation,

Then their -elations who made matters wors? ;

(Twere hard to tell upon a like occasion
To whom it may be best to have recourse —

I can't say much for friend or yet relation) :
The lawyers did their utmost for divorce,

But scarce a fee was paid on either side

Before, unluckily, Don Jose died.

XXXIII.

He died : and most unluckily, because,

According to all hints I could collect
From counsel learned in those kinds of laws,

(Although their talk's obscure and circumspect)
His death contrived to spoil a charming cause ;

A thousand pities also with respect
To public feeling, which on this occasion
Was manifested in a great sensation.

XXXIV.

But ah ! he died : and buried with him lay
The public feeling and the lawyer's fees :

His house was sold, his servants sent away,
A Jew took one of his two mistresses,

A priest the other at least so they say :
I asked the doctors after his decease,

He died of the slow fever call'd the tertian.

And left his widow to her own exertion.

12 DON TO AS.

XXXV.

Vet Jose was an honourable man,
That I must say, who knew him very well ;

Therefore his frailties I'll no further scan,
Indeed there were not many more to tell ;

And if his passions now and then .outran
Discretion, and were not so peaceable

As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius),

He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious.

xxxvi.

Whate'er might be his worthlessness or worth,

Poor fellow ! he had many things to wound him
Let's own, since it can do no good on earth ;
' It was a trying moment that which found him
Standing alone beside his desolate hearth,

Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round hita
No choice was left his feelings or his pride
Save death or Doctor's Commons — so he died.

XXXVII.

Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir

To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands,

Which, with a long minority and care,

Promised to turn out well in proper hands :

Inez became sole guardian, which was fair,
And answer'd but to nature's just demands ;

An only son left with an only mother

Is brought up much more wisely than another.

Sagest of women, even of widows, she

Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon,

And worthy of the noblest pedigree :

(His sire was of Castile, his dam from Arragon.)

Then for accomplishments of chivalry,
In case our lord the king should go to war again,

He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery,

And how to scale a fortress — or a nunnery.

XXXIX.

But that which Donna Inez most desired,
And saw into herself each day before all

The learned tutors whom for him she hired,
Was, that his breeding should be strictly moral

Much into all his studies she inquired,

And so they were submitted first to her, all,

Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery

To Juan's eyes, excepting natural history.

DON JUAN. 13

XL.

The languages, especially the dead,

The sciences, and most of all the abstruse,

The arts, at least all such as could be said
To be the most remote from common use,

In all these he was much and deeply read :
But not a page of anything that's loose,

Or hints continuation of the species,

Was ever suffer'd, lest he should grow vicious.

XLI.
His classic studies made a little puzzle,

Because of filthy loves of gods and goddesses,
Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle,

But never put on pantaloons or boddices ;
His reverend tutors had at times a tussle,

And for their jEneids, Iliads, and Odysseys,
Were forced to make an odd sort of apology,
For Donna Inez dreaded the mythology.

XL1I.

Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,

Catullus scarcely has a decent poem,

I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example,

Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn
Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample;

But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one

Beginning with " Formosum Pastor Corydon."

XLIII.
Lucretius' irreligion is too strong

For early stomachs to prove wholesome food ;
I can't help thinking Juvenal was wrong.

Although no doubt his real intent was good,
For speaking out so plainly in his song,

So much indeed as to be downright rude ;
And then what proper person can be partial
To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial ?

* .xuv.

Juan was taught from out the best edition,

Expurgated by learned men, who place,
Judiciously, from out the schoolboy's vision,

The grosser parts ; but fearful to deface
Too much their modest bard by this omission,

And pitying sore his mutilated case,
They only add them all in an appendix,
Which saves in fact the trouble of an index.
8

14 -DON JUAN.

XLV.

For there we have them all " at one fell swoop,**
Instead of being scatter'd through the pages,

They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop
To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages.

Till some less rigid editor shall stoop

To call them back into their separate cages,

Instead of standing staring altogether,

Like garden gods — and not so decent either.

XLVI.
The Missal too (it was the family Missal)

Was ornamented in a sort of way
"Which ancient mass-books often are, and this all

Kinds of grotesques illumined ; and how they,
Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all,

Could turn their optics to the text and pray
Is more than I know — but Don Juan's mother
Kept this herself, and gave her son another.

XLVTI.

Sermons he read, and lectures he endured,
And homilies, and lives of all the saints ;

To Jerome and Ghrysostom inured,

He did not take such studies for restraints :

But how faith is acquired, and then insured,
So well not one of the aforesaid paints

As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions,

Which make the reader envy his transgression*.

XLVIII.
This, too, was a seal'd book to little Juan —

I can't but say that his mamma was right,
If such an education was the true one.

She scarcely trusted him from out her sight ;
Her maids were old, and if she took a new one

You might be sure she was a perfect fright :
She did this during even her husband's life —
I recommend as much to every wife.

XLIX. »

Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace;

At six a charming child, and at eleven
With all the promise of as fine a face

As e'er to man's maturer growth was given :
He studied steadily and grew apace,

And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven.
For half his days were pass'd at church, the other
Between his tutors, confessor and mother.

15

ft,
At six, I said, he was a charming child,

At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy :
Although in infancy a little wild,

They tamed him down amongst them : to destroy
His natural spirit not in Tain they toil'd.

At least it seem'd so ; and his mother's joy
Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady
Her young philosopher was grown already.

LI.
I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still,

But what I say is neither here nor there
I knew his father well, and have some skill

In character — but it would not be fair
From sire to son to augur good or ill :

He and his. wife were an ill-sorted pair-
But scandal's my aversion — I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

XII.

For my part I say nothing — nothing — but
This I will say — my reasons are my own —

That if I had an only son to put

To school (as God be praised that I have none),

'Tis not with Donna Inez I would shut
Him up to learn his catechism alone,

No — no — I'd send him out betimes to college,

For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.

LIII.

For there one learns — 'tis not for me to boast,
Though I acquired — but I pass over that,

As well as all the Greek I since have lost :

I say that there's the place— but " Verbum sat."

I think I pick'd up too, as well as most,

Knowledge of matters — but no matter what —

I never married — but, I think, I know

That sons should not be educated so.

iiv.

Young Juan now was sixteen years 01 age,

Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit : he seem'd

Active, though not so sprightly, as a page ;
And every body but his mother deem'd

Him almost man ; but she flew in a rage
And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd)

If any said so, for to be precocious

Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.

16 DON JUA».

LV.

Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all

Selected for discretion and devotion,
There was the Donna Julia, whom to call

Pretty were but to give a feeble notion
Of many charms in her as natural

As sweetness to the flower, or salt to oceaa,
Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid,
(But this last simile is trite and stupid.)

1VI.

The darkness of her Oriental eye

Accorded with her Moorish origin ;
(Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by ;

In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin.)
When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly,

Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin
Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain,
Her great great grandmamma chose to remain.

LVII.
She married (I forget the pedigree)

With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down
His blood less noble than such blood should be ;

At such alliances his sires would frown,
In that point so precise in each degree

That they bred in and in, as might be shown,
Marrying their cousins — nay, <iheir aunts, and uiecet,
Which always spoils the breed, if it increases.

LVIII.

This heathenish cross restored the breed again,
Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh ;

For from a root the-ugliest in Old Spain
Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh ;

The sons no more were short, the daughters plain :
But there's a rumour which I fain would hush,

Tis said that Donna Julia's grandmamma

Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.

iix*

However this might be, the race were on
Improving still through every generation,

Until it centred in an only son,
Who left an only daughter ; my narration

May have suggested thst this single one
Could be but Julia (whom on this occasion

I shall have much to speak about), and she

Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three.

DON JUAN. 17

LX.

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire

Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise
Flash 'd an expression more of pride than ire,

And love than either ; and there would arise
A something in them which was not desire,

But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul

Which struggled through and chasten'd down the whole.

LXI.

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow

Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth ;

Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,

Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning ; she, in sooth,

Possess'd an air and grace by no means common :

Her stature tall — I hate a dumpy woman.

txn.

Wedded she was some years, and to a man
Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty ;

And yet, I think, instead of such a OME

'Twere better to have TWO of five-and-twenty.

Especially in countries near the sun :
And now I think on't, " mi vien in mente,"

Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue

Prefer a spouse whose age is shorfof thirty.

1XIII.

Tis a sad thing, I cannot choose but say,

And all the fault of that indecent sun,
Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay,

But will keep baking, broiling, burning on,
That howsoever people fast and pray,

The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone :
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,
Is much, more common where the climate's sultry.

ixiv.

Happy the nations of the moral North !

Where all is virtue, and the winter season
Sends sin, without a rag on, shivering forth

(Twas snow that brought St. Anthony to reason) ;
Where juries cast up what a wife is worth,

By laying whate'er sum, in mulct, they please on
The lover, wno must pay a handsome price,
Because it is a marketable vice.

18 DON JUAK,

LXV.

Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord,
A man well looking for his years, and who

Was neither much beloved nor yet abhorr'd :
They lived together as most people do,

Suffering each other's foibles by accord,
And not exactly either one or two ;

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,

For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

Julia was — yet I never could see why —
With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend ;

Between their tastes there was small sympathy,
For not a line had Julia ever penn'd ;

Some people whisper (but, no doubt, they lie,
For malice still imputes some private end)

That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage,

Forgot with him her very prudent carriage ;

1XVII.

And that still keeping up the old connection,

Which time had lately render'd much more cliasta,

She took his lady also in affection,

And certainly this course was much the best :

She flatter'd Julia with her sage protection,
And complimented Don Alfonso's taste :

And if she could not (who can?) silence scandal,

At least she left it a more slender handle.

LXVIII.

I can't tell whether Julia saw the affair
With other people's eyes, or if her own

Discoveries made, but none could be aware
Of this, at least no symptom e'er was shown ;

Perhaps she did not know, or did not care,
Indifferent from the first, or callous grown ;

I'm really puzzled what to think or say,

She kept her counsel in so close a way.

LXIX.

Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child,

Caress'd him often — such a thing might be

Quite innocently done, and harmless styled,
When she had twenty years and thirteen he ;

But I am not so sure I should have smiled
When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three ;

These few short years make wondrous alterations,

Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations.

DON JUAN. 19

LXX.

Whate'er the cause might be, they had become

Changed ; for the dame grew distant, the youth shy,

Their looks cast down, their greetings almost dumb,
•And much embarrassment in either eye ;

There surely will be little doubt with some
• That Donna Julia knew the reason why,

But as for Juan, he had no more notion

Than he who never saw the sea or ocean.

txxi.
Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind,

And tremulously gentle her small hand
Withdrew itself from his, but left behind

A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland
And slight, so very slight, that to the mind

'Twas but a doubt ; but ne'er magician's wand
Wrought change with all Armida's fairy art
Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart.

LXXII.

And if she met him, though she smiled no more,
She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile,

As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store
She must not own, but cherish'd more the while

For that compression in its burning core ;
Even innocence itself has many a wile,

And will not dare to trust itself with truth,

And love is taught hypocrisy from youth.

LXXIII.
But passion most dissembles, yet betrays

Even by its darkness ; as the blackest sky
Fortels the heaviest tempest, it displays

Its workings through the vainly guarded eye.
And in whatever aspect it arrays

Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy ;
Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,
Are masks it often wears, and still too late.

LXXIT.

Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,

And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
And burning blushes, though for no transgression,

Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left j
All these are little preludes to possession,

Of which young passion cannot be bereft,
And merely tend to show how greatly love is
Embarrass'd at first starting with a novice.

20 DON JUAN.

.LXXV.

Poor Julia's heart -was in an awkward state ;

She felt it going and resolved to make
The noblest efforts for herself and mate, ,

For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake
Her resolutions were most truly great,

And almost might have made a Tarquin quake :
She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace,
As being the best judge of a lady's case.

LXXVI.
She vow'd she never would see Juan more,

And next day paid a visit to his mother,
And look'd extremely at the opening door,

Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another ;
Grateful, she was, and yet a little sore —

Again it opens, it can be no other,
Tis surely Juan now — No ! I'm afraid
That night the Virgin was no further pray'd.

LXXVII.

She now determined that a virtuous woman
Should rather face and overcome temptation,

That flight was base and dastardly, and no man
Should ever give her heart the least sensation ;

That is to say, a thought beyond the common
Preference, that we must feel upon occasion,

For people who are pleasanter than others,

But then they only seem so many brothers.

LXXVIII.
And even if by chance — and who can tell ?

The devil's so very sly — she should discover
That all within was not so very well,

And, if still free, that such or such a lover
Might please perhaps, a virtuous wife can quell

Such thoughts, and be the better when they're over ;
And if the man should ask, 'tis but denial :
I recommend young ladies to make trial.

xxxix.

And then there are such things as love divine,
Bright and immaculate, unmix'd and pure,

Such as the angels think so very fine,

And matrons, who would be no less secure,

Platonic, perfect, "just such love as mine ;"
Thus Julia said — and thought so to be sure ;

And so I'd have her think, were I the man

On wnom her reveries celestial ran.

DON JUAN. J

1XXX.

Such love is innocent and may exist

Between young persons without any danger,

A hand may first, and then a lip be kiss'd ;
For my part, to such doings I'm a stranger,

But hear these freedoms form the utmost list
Of all o'er which such love may be a ranger ;

If people go beyond,'tis quite a crime,

But not my fault — I'll tell them all in time.

LXXXI.

Love, then, but love within its proper limits,

Was Julia's innocent determination
In young Don Juan's favour, and to him its

Exertion might be useful on occasion ;
And, lighted at too pure a shrine to dim its

Ethereal lustre, with what sweet persuasion
He might be taught, by love and her together
I really don't know what, nor Julia either.

LXXXII.

Fraught with this fine intention, and well fenced

In mail of proof — her purity of soul,
She,for the future of her strength convinced,

And that her honour was a rock, or mole,
Exceeding sagely from that hour dispensed

With any kind of troublesome control ;
But whether Julia to the task was equal
Is that which must be mentioned hi the sequel.

LXXXIII.
Her plan she deemed both innocent and feasible,

And surely, with a stripling of sixteen
Not scandal's fangs could fix on much that's seizable,

Or if they did so, satisfied to mean
Nothing but what was good, her breast was peaceable—

A quiet conscience makes one so serene !
Christains have burnt each other, quite persuaded
That all the Apostles would have done as they did.

LXXXJV.

And if in the mean time her husband died,
But heaven forbid that such a thought should cross

Her brain, though in a dream ! (and then she sigh'd)
Never could she survive that common loss ;

But just suppose that moment should betide,
I only suppose it — inter nos.

(This should be entre nous, for Julia thought

In French, but then the rhyme would go for nought.)

22 DON JUAN.

LXXXV.

I only say suppose this supposition :

Juan being then grown up to man's estate,

Would fully suit a widow of condition,
Even seven years hence it would not be too late,

And in the interim (to pursue this vision)
The mischief, after all, could not be great,

For he would learn the rudiments of love,

1 mean the seraph way of those above.

LXXXVI.

So much for Julia. Now we'll turn to Juan.

Poor little fellow ! he had no idea
Of his own case, and never hit the true one ;

In feelings quick as Ovid's Miss Medea,
He puzzled over what he found a new one,

But not as yet imagined it could be a
Thing quite in course, and not at all alarming,
Which, with a little patience, might grow charming.

LXXXTTI.

Silent, and pensive, idle, restless, slow,
His home deserted for the lonely wood,

Tormented with a wound he could not know,
His, like all deep grief, plunged in solitude :

I'm fond myself of solitude or so,
But then, I beg it may be understood,

By solitude, I mean a sultan's, not

A hermit's, with a haram for a grot.

LXXXVIII.
" Oh Love ! in such a wilderness as this,

Where transport and security entwine, .
Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss,

And here thou art a god indeed divine."
The bard I quote from does not sing amiss,

With the exception of the second line,
For that same twining " transport and security**
Are twisted to a phrase of some obscurity.

LXXXIX.

The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals
To the good sense and senses of mankind,

The very thing which every body feels,
As all have found on trial, or may find,

That no one likes to be disturb'd at meals

Or love. — I won't say more about " entwined"

Or " transport," as we knew all that before,

But beg " security" will bolt the door.

DON JUAN. 23

XC.

Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks,

Thinking unutterable things : he threw
Himself at length within the leafy nooks

'Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew ;
There poets find materials for their books,

And every now and then we read them through,
So that their plan and prosody are eligible,

Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible.

XCI.

He, Juan, (and not Wordsworth) so pursued
His self-communion with his own high soul,

Until his mighty heart, in its great mood,
Had mitigated part, though not the whole

Of its disease ; he did the best he could
With things not very subject to control,

And turn'd, without perceiving his condition,

Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician.

xcn.
He thought about himself, and the whole earth,

Of man the wonderful, and of the stars,
And how the deuce they ever could have birth ;

And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars,
How many miles the moon might have in girth,

Of air-balloons, and of the many bars
To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies ; —
And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.

XCIII.

In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern

Longings sublime, and aspirations high,
Which some are born with, but the most part learn

To plague themselves withal, they know not why :
'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern

His brain about the action of the sky ;
If you think 'twas philosophy that this did,
I can't help -thinking puberty assisted.

xciv.
He pored upon the leaves, and on the flowers,

And heard a voice in all the winds ; and then
He thought of wood-nymphs and immortal bowerB,

And how the goddesses came down to men :
He miss'd the pathway, he forgot the hours,

And when he look'd upon his watch again,
He found how much old Time had been a winner —
He also found that fie had lost his dinner.

24 DON JUAN.

XCV.

Sometimes he turn'd to gaze upon his book,

Boscan, or Garcilasso ; — by the wind
Even as the page is rustled while we look,

So by the poesy of his own mind
Over the mystic leaf his soul was shook,

As if 'twere one whereon magicians bind
Their spells, and give them to the passing gale,
According to some good old woman's tale.

xcvi.

Thus would he while his lonely hours away
Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted ;

Nor glowing reverie, nor poet's lay,

Could yield his spirit that for which it panted,

A bosom whereon he his head might lay,
And hear the heart beat with the love it granted,

With several other things which I forget,

Or which, at least, I need not mention yet.

xcvii.
Those lonely walks, and lengthening reveries,

Could not escape the gentle Julia's eyes ;
She saw that Juan was not at his ease ;

But that which chiefly may, and must surprise,
Is, that the Donna Inez did not tease

Her only son with question or surmise ;
Whether it was she did not see, or would not,
Or, like all very clever people, could not.

xcvm.
This may seem strange, but yet 'tis very common ;

For instance — gentlemen, whose ladies take
Leave to o'erstep the written rights of woman,

And break the Which commandment is 't they break?

(I have forgot the number, and think no man

Should rashly quote, for fear of a mistake.)
I say when these same gentlemen are jealous,
They make some blunder, which their ladies tell ui.

* xcix.
A real husband always is suspicious,

But still no less suspects in the wrong place,
Jealous of some one who had no such wishes,

Or pandering blindly to his own disgrace,
By harbouring some dear friend extremely vicious ;

The last indeed's infallibly the case :
And when the spouse and friend are gone off wholly,
He wonders at their vice, and not his folly.

DON JUAN. 25

c.

Thus parents are also at times short-sighted ;

Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er discover,
The while the wicked world beholds delighted,

Young Hopeful's mistress, or Miss Fanny's lover,
Till some confounded escapade has blighted

The plan of twenty years, and all is over ;
And then the mother cries, the father swears,
And wonders why the devil he got heirs.

or,

But Inez was so anxious, and so clear

Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion,

She had some other motive much more near
For leaving Juan to this new temptation ;

But what that motive was, I shan't say here,
Perhaps to finish Juan's education,

Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes,

In case he thought his wife too great a prize.

en.

It was upon a day, a summer's day ;

Summer's indeed a very dangerous season,
And so is spring, about the end of May :

The sun no doubt is the prevailing reason ;
But whatsoe'er the cause is, one may say,

And stands convicted of more truth than treason,
That there are months whkh nature grows more merry in,
March has its hares, and May must have its heroine.

cm.
'Twas on a summer's- day — the sixth of June : —

I like to be particular in dates,
Not only of the age, and year, but moon ;

They are a sort of posi-house, whjere the Fates
Change horses, making history change its tune,

Then spur away o'er empires and o'er states,
Leaving at last not much besides chronology,
Excepting the post-obits of theology.

civ. 9

'Twas on the sixth of June about the hour

Of half-past six — perhaps still nearer seven,
When Julia sat within as pretty a bower

As e'er held houri in that heathenish heaven
Described by Mahomet, and Anacreon Moore,

To whom the lyre and laurels have been given,
With all the trophies of triumphant song —
He won them well, and may he wear them long !

26 DON JUAN.

CV.

She sate, but not alone ; I know not well «.

How this same interview had taken place,
And even if I knew, I should not tell —

People should hold their tongues in any case ;
No matter how or why the thing befel,

But there were she and Juan face to face —
'When two such faces are so, 'twould be wise,
But very difficult to shut their eyes.

cvi.

How beautiful she look'd ! her conscious heart
Glow'd in her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong :

Oh Love ! how perfect is thy mystic art,
Strengthening the weak, and trampling on the strong,

How self-deceitful is the sagest part

Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along —

The precipice she stood on was immense,

So was her creed in her own innocence.

cm.

She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth,

And of the folly of all prudish fears,
Victorious virtue, and domestic truth,

And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years :
I wish these last had not occurr'd, in sooth,

Because that number rarely much endears,
And through all climes, the snowy and the sunny,
Sound? ill in love, whate'er it may in money.

cviii.
When people say, " I've told you fifty times,"

They mean to scold, and very often do ;
When poets say, " I've written fifty rhymes,"

They make you dread that they'll recite them too-;
In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes ;

At fifty love for love is rare, 'tis true,
But then, no doubt, it equally as true is,
A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis.

cix.

Julia had honour, virtne, truth, and lore,

For Don Alfonso ; and she inly swore,
By all the vows below to powers above,

She never would disgrace the ring she wore,
Nor leave a wish which wisdom might reprove ;

And while she ponder'd this, besides much more,
One hand on Juan's carelessly was thrown,
Quite by mistake — she thought it was her own,

DON JUAN. 27

CX.

Unconsciously she lean'd upon the other,
Which play'd within the tangles of her hair ;

And to contend with thoughts she could not smother
She seem'd by the distraction of her air ;

"Twas surely very wrong in Juan's mother
To leave together this imprudent pair,

She who for many years had watch'd her son so —

I'm yery certain mine would have done so.

CXI.

The hand which still held Juan's, by degrees

Gently, but palpably, confirm'd its grasp,
As if it said, " detain me, if you please ;"

Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp
His fingers with a pure Platonic squeeze ;

She would have shrunk as from a toad, or asp,
Had she imagined such a thing could rouse
A feeling dangerous to a prudent spouse.

CXII.

I cannot know what Juan thought of this,
But what he did, is much what you would do ;

His young lip thank'd it with a grateful kiss,
And then abash'd at its own joy, withdrew

In deep despair, lest he had done amiss ;
Love is so very timid when 'tis new ;

She blush'd and frown' J not, but she strove to speaL

And held her tongue, her voice was grown so weak.

CXIII.

The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon :
The devil's in the moon for mischief ; they

Who call'd her chaste, methinks began too soon
Their nomenclature : there is not a day,

The longest, not the twenty-first of June,
Sees half the business in a wicked way

On which three single hours of moonshine smile —

And then she looks so modest all the while.

cxiv.
There is a dangerous silence in that hour,

A stillness which leaves room for the full soul
To open all itself, without the power

Of calling wholly back its self-control ;
The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower.

Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whcie,
Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws
A loving languor, which is not repose.

28

.DON JUAN.

And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced
And half retiring from the glowing arm,

Which trembled like the bosom where 'twas placed :
Yet still she must have thought there was 10 harm,

Or else 'twere easy to withdraw her waist ;
But then the situation had its charm,

And then — God knows what next — I can't go on ;

I'm almost sorry that I e'er begun.

Oh Plato ! Plato ! you have paved the way,
With your confounded fantasies, to more

Immoral conduct by the fancied sway,

Your system feigns o'er the controller's core

Of human hearts, than all the long array
Of poets and romancers : — You're a bore,

A charlatan; a coxcomb — and have been

At best, no better than a go-between.

CXVII.

And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs,
Until too late for useful conversation ;

The tears were gushing fron> her gentle eyes,
I wish, indeed, they had not had occasion,

But who, alas ! can love, and then be wise ?
Not that remorse did not oppose temptation,

A little still she strove, and much repented,

And whispering " I'll ne'er consent " — consented.

cxvin.
'Tis said that Xerxes offer'd a reward

To those who could invent him a new pleasure '
Methinks the requisition's rather hard,

And must have cost his Majesty a treasure :
For my part, I'm a moderate-minded bard,

Fond of a little love (which I call leisure) ;
I cara not for new pleasures, as the old
Are quite enough for me, so they but hold.

cxiz.
Oh Pleasure ! yon are indeed a pleasant thing,

Although one must be damn'd for you, no do ibti
I make a resolution every spring

Of reformation, ere the year run out,
But somehow, this my vestal vow takes wing,

Yet still, I trust, it may be kept throughout :
I'm very sorry, very much ashamed,
And mean, next whiter, to be quite reclaun'd.

DON JUAH.
CXX.

Here my chaste Muse a liberty must take —

Start not ! still chaster reader — she'll be nice hence-
Forward, and there is no great cause to quake ;

This liberty is a poetic licence,
Which some irregularity may make

In the design, and as I have a high sense
Of Aristotle and the Rules, 'tis fit
To beg his pardon when I err a bit.

cxxi.
This licence is to hope the reader will

Suppose from June the sixth, (the fatal day,
Without whose epoch my poetic skill

For want of facts would all be thrown away),
But keeping Julia and Don Juan still

In sight, that several months have pass'd ; we 11 say
Twas in November, but I'm not so sure
About the day — the era's more obscure.

01X11.

We'll talk of that anon. — 'Tis sweet to hear
At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep

The song and oar of Adria's gondolier,

By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep ;

'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear ;
'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep

From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high

The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.

CXXIII.

Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark
Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home

Tis sweet to know there is an eye will nark
Our coming, and look brighter when we come ;

Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark,

Or lull'd by falling waters ; sweet the hum

Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,

The Lisp of children, and their earliest words.

ozxrv.

Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes

In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth,
Purple and gushing : sweet are our escapes

From civic revelry to rural mirth ;
Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps,

Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth ;
Sweet is revenge — especially to women,
Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen.

30 DON JUAJf.

CXXV.

Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet

The unexpected death of some old lady,
Or gentlemen of seventy years complete,

Who've made " us youth " wait too — too long already
For an estate, or cash, or country seat,

Still breaking, but with stamina so steady,
That all the Israelites are fit to mob its
Next owner for their double-damn'd post-obits.

CXXVI.

'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels,

By blood or ink ; 'tis sweet to put an end
To strife ; 'iis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,

Particularly with a tiresome friend :
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ;

Dear is the helpless creature we defend
Against the world ; and dear the schoolboy spot
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot.

CXXVII.

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,
Is first and passionate love — it stands alone,

Like Adam's recollection of his fall,
The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd — all's known—

And life yields nothing further to recall
Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven

Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven.

cxxvm.

Han's a strange animal, and makes strange use

Of his own nature, and the various arts,
And likes particularly to produce

Some new experiment to show his parts ;
This is the age of oddities let loose,

Where different talents find their different marts ;
You'd best begin with truth, and when you've lost your
Labour, there's a sure market for imposture.
• . /

CXXIX.

What opposite discoveries we have seen !

(Signs of true genius and empty pockets.)
One makes new noses, one a guillotine,

One breaks your bones, one sets them in their socket* ;
But vaccination certainly has been

A kind antithesis to Congreve's rockets,
With which the doctor paid off an old pox,
By borrowing a new one from an ox.

DON JUAN. 81

CXXX.

Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes
And galvanism has set some corpses grinning,

But has not answer'd like the apparatus
Of the Humane Society's beginning,

By which men are unsuffocated gratis :
What wondrous new machines have late been spinning I

I said the small-pox has gone out of late ;

Perhaps it may be follow'd by the great.

cxxxi.
Tis said the great came from America ;

Perhaps it may set out on its return, —
The population there so spreads, they say

'Tis grown high time to thin it in its turn,
With war, or plague, or famine, any way,

So that civilisation they may learn ;
And which in ravage the more loathsome evil is —

Their real lues, or our pseudo-syphilis ?

CXXXII.

This is the patent age of new inventions

For killing bodies, and for saving souls,
All propagated with the best intentions ;

Sir Humphry Davy's lantern, by which coals
Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions,

Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles
Are ways to benefit mankind as true,
Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.

cxxxxm.
Man's a phenomenon, one knows not what,

And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure ;
Tis pity though, in this sublime world, that

Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure
Few mortals know what end they would be at,

But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure,
The path is through perplexing ways, and when
The goal is gain'd, we die, you know — and then

cxxxiv.

What then ? — I do not know, no more do you —
And so good night. — Return we to our story :

Twas in November, when fine days are few,
And the far mountains wax a little hoary,

And clap a white cape on their mountains blue ;
And the sea dashes round the promontory,

And the loud breaker boils against the rock,

And sober suns must set at five o'clock.

cxxxv.

Twas, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night ;

No moon, no stars, the wind was low or loud
By gusts, and many a sparkling hearth was bright

With the piled wood, round which the family crowd ;
There's something cheerful in that sort of light,

Even as a summer sky's without a cloud :
I'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that,
A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat.

cxxxn.
Twas midnight — Donna Julia was in bed,

Sleeping, most probably, — when at her door
Arose a clatter might awake the dead,

If they had never been awoke before,
And that they have been so, we all have read,

And are to be so, at the least, once more ; —
The door was fasten'd but with voice and fist
First knocks were heard, then " Madam — Madam — hist !

CXXXVII.

" For God's sake, Madam — Madam — here's my master,
With more than half the city at his back —

Was ever heard of such a curst disaster !

'Tis not my fault — I kept good watch — Alack !

Do pray undo the bolt a little faster —
They're on the stair just now, and in a crack

Will all be here ; perhaps he yet may fly — »

Surely the window's not so very high !"

CXXXVIII.

By this time Don Alfonso was arrived,

With torches, friends, and servants in great number ;
The major part of them had long been wived,

And therefore paused not to disturb the slumber
Of any wicked woman, who contrived

By stealth her husband's temples to encumber :
Examples of this kind are so contagious,
Were one not punish'd, all would be outrageous.

cxxxix.

1 can't tell how, or why, or what suspicion

Could enter into Don Alfonso's head ;
But far a cavalier of his condition

It surely was exceedingly ill-bred,
Without a word of previous admonition,

To hold a levee'round a lady's bed,
And summon lackeys, arm'd with fire and sword,
To prove himself the thing he most abhorr'd.

DON JUAN.

Poor Donna Julia ! starting as from sleep,
(Mind — that I.do not say — she had not slept)

Began at once to scream, and yawn, and weep ;
Her maid Antonia, who was an adept,

Contrived to fling the bed-clothes in a heap,
As if she had just now from out them crept ;

I can't tell why she should take all this trouble

To prove her mistress had been sleeping double.

CXLI.
But Julia mistress, and Antonia maid,

Appear'd like two poor harmless women, who
Of goblins, but still more of men afraid,

Had thought one man might be deterr'd by two,
And therefore side by side were gently laid,

Until the hours of absence should run through,
And truant husband should return, and say,
" My dear, I was the first who came away."

CXI.II.

Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried,

" In heaven's name, Don Alfonso, what d'ye mean ?

Has madness seized you ? would that I had died
Ere such a monster's victim I had been !

What may this midnight violence betide,
A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen ?

Dare you suspect me, whom the thought would kill ?

Search, then, the room !" — Alfonso said, " I will."

He search'd, they search'd, and rummaged everywhere,
Closets and clothes' press, chest and window-seat,

And found much linen, lace, and several pair
Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete,

With other articles of ladies fair,

To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat :

Arras they prick'd and curtains with their swords,

And wounded several shutters, and some boards.

OXLTV.

Under the bed they search'd, and there they found -
No matter what — it was not that they sought ;

They open'd windows, gazing if the ground

Had signs or footmarks, but the earth said nought ;

And then they scared each others' faces round :
Tis odd, not one of all these seekers thought,

And seems to me almost a sort of blunder,

Of looking in the bed as well as under.

34 DON JUAN.

CXLV.

During this inquisition, Julia's tongue

Was not asleep — " Yes, search and search," she cried,
" Insult on insult heap, and wrong on •wrong !

It was for this that I became a bride !
For this in silence I have suffer'd long

A husband like Alfonso at my side ;
But now I'll bear no more, nor here remain,
If there be law or lawyers, in all Spain.

CXLVI.
" Yes, Don Alfonso ! husband now no more,

If ever you indeed deserved the name,
Is't worthy of your years ? — you have three-score —

Fifty, or sixty, it is all the same —
Is't wise or fitting, causeless to explore

For facts against a virtuous woman's fame 1
Ungrateful, perjured, barbarous Don Alfonso,
How dare you think your lady would go on so ?

CXLVII.
" Is it for this I have disdain'd to hold

The common privileges of my sex ?
That I have chosen a confessor so old

And deaf, that any other it would vex,
And never once he has had cause to scold,

But found my very innocence perplex
So much, he always doubted I was married-r-
How sorry you will be when I've miscarried !

CXLVIII.
" Was it for this that no Cortejo e'er

I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville ?
Is it for this, I scarce went any where,

Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel f
Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were,

I favour'd none — nay, was almost uncivil ?
Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly,
Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely ?

CXLIX.
" Did not the Italian Musico Cazzani

Sing at my heart six months at least in vain ?
Did not his countryman, Count Corniani,

Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain ?
Were there not also Russians, English, many ?

The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain,
And Lord Mount Coffeehouse, the Irish peer,
Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year.

DON JUAN. 96

CL.

14 Hare I not had two bishops at my feet ?

The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez ;
And is it thus a faithful wife you treat ?

I wonder in what quarter now the moon is :
I praise your vast forbearance not to beat

Me also, since the time so opportune is —
Oh, valiant man ! with sword drawn and cock'd trigger,
Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure?

CM.

" "Was it for this yon took your sudden journey,

Under pretence of business indispensable
With that sublime of rascals your attorney,

Whom I see standing there, and looking sensible
Of having play*d the fool ? though both I spurn, he

Deserves the worst, his conduct's less defensible
Because, no doubt 'twas for his dirty fee,
And not from any love to you nor me.

CLII.

" If he comes here to take a deposition,

By all means let the gentleman proceed ;
You've made the apartment in a fit condition : —

There's pen and ink for you, sir, when you need —
Let every thing be noted with precision,

I would not you for nothing should be fee'd —
But, as my maid's undrest, pray turn your spies out."
•' Oh !" sobb'd Antonia, " I could tear their eyes out."

CLIII.
•' There is the closet, there the toilet, there

The antechamber — search them under, over ;
There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair,

The chimney — which would really hold a lover.
I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care

And make no further noise, till you discover
The secret cavern of this lurking treasure —
And when "tia found, let me, too, have that pleasure.

CLIV.
" And now, Hidalgo ! now that you have thrown

Doubt upon me, confusion over all,
Pray have the courtesy to make it known

Who is the man you search for ? how d'ye call
Him ? what's his lineage ? let him but be shown—

I hope he's young and handsome — is he tall ?
Tell me — and be assured, that since you stain
My honour thus, it shall not be in vain.

CLV.

•• At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years,
At that age he would be too old for slaughter,

Or for so young a husband's jealous fears —
(Antonia ! let me hare a glass of water.)

I am ashamed of having shed these tears,
They are unworthy of my father's daughter ;

My mother dream'd not in my natal hour,

That I should fall into a monster's power.

ctvi.
•• Perhaps 'tis of Antonia you are jealous,

You saw that she was sleeping by my side,
When you broke in upon us with your fellows :

Look where you please — we've nothing, sir, to hide ;
Only another time, I trust, you'll tell us,

Or for the sake of decency abide
A moment at the door, that we may be
Drest to recieve so much good company.

CLVII.

•« And now, sir, I have done, and say no more ;

The little I have said may serve to show
The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er

The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow:—
I leave you to your conscience as before,

'Twill one day ask you why you used me so ?
God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief !—
Antonia! where's my pocket-handkerchief?

CLTIII.

She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow ; pale

She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears,

Like skies that rain and lighten ; as a veil,
Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears

Her streaming hair ; the black curls strive, but fail,
To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears

Its snow through all ; — her soft lips lie apart,

And louder than her breathing beats her heart.

CLIX.
The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused ;

Antonia bustled round the ransack'd room
And, turning up her nose, with looks abused.

Her master and his myrmidons, of whom,
Not one, except the attorney, was amused ;

He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb,
So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause,
Knowing they must be settled by the laws.

DON JUAN. 8?

CLX.

With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood,
Following Antonia's motions here and there,

With much suspicion in his attitude ;

For reputations he had little care ; •

So that a suit or action were made good,
Small pity had he for the young and fair,

And ne'er believed in negatives, till these

Were proved by competent false witnesses.

CLXI.
But Don Alfonso stood, with downcast looks,

And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure;
When, after searching in five hundred nooks,

And treating a youn£ wife with so much rigour,
He gain'd no point, except some self-rebukes,

Added to those his lady with such vigour
Had pour'd upon him for the last half-hour
Quick, thick, and heavy — as a thunder-shower.

CLXII.

At first he tried to hammer an excuse,

To which the sole reply was tears, and sobs,

And indications of hysterics, whose

Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs,

Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose :
Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's;

He saw too, in perspective, her relations,

And then he tried to muster all his patience.

CLXIII.

He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer,

But sage Antonia cut him short before
The anvil of his speech received the hammer,

With " Pray, sir, leave the room, and say no mor«,
Or madam dies." — Alfonso mutter'd, " D — n her,"

But nothing else, the time of words was o'er ;
He cast a rueful look or two, and did,
He knew not wherefore, that which he was bid.

cuuv.

With him retired his " posse comitatiu"

The attorney last, who linger'd near the door

Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as
Antonia let him — not a little sore

At this most strange and unexplain'd " hiatus"
In Don Alfonso's facts, which just now wore

An awkward look ; as he revolved the case,

The door was fasten'd in his legal face.

6

CLXT.

No sooner was it bolted, than — Oh shame !

Oh sin ! Oh sorrow ! and Oh womankind !
How can you do such things and keep your fam*

Unless this world, and t'other too, be blind ?
Nothing so dear as an nnfilch'd good name !

But to proceed — for there is more behind :
With much heartfelt reluctance be it said,
Young Juan slipp'd half-smother'd from the bed.

CLXYI.
He had been hid — I don't pretend to say

How, nor can I indeed describe the where —
Young, slender, and pack'd easily, he lay,

No doubt, in little compass, round or square ;
But pity him I neither must nor may

His suffocation by that pretty pair ;
'Twere better, sure, to die so, than be shut
With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt.

CLXYTI.

And, secondly, I pity not, because
He had no business to commit a sin,

Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws,
At least 'twas rather early to begin ;

But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much as when we call our old debts in

At sizty years, and draw th« accompts of evil,

And find a deuced balance with the devil.

CLXTIII.
Of his position I can give no notion ;

Tis written in the Hebrew Chronicle,
How the physicians, leaving pill and potion

Prescribed by way of blister, a young belle,
When Old King David's Wood grew dull in mo

And that the medicine answer'd very well,
Perhaps 'twas in a different way applied,
For David lived, but Juan nearly died.

CLXIX.

What's to be done ? Alfonso will be back
The moment he has sent his fools away.

Antonia's skill was put upon the rack,

But no device could be brought into play—

And how to parry the renew'd attack ?
Besides, it wanted but few hours of day :

Antonia puzzled : Julia did not speak,

But press'd her bloodless lip to Jaun's cheek,

39

CLXX.

He turn'd his lip to hers, and with his hand
Call'd back the tangles of her wandering hair ;

Even then their love they could not all command,
And half forgot their danger and despair ;

Antonia's patience now was at a stand —

Come, come, 'tis no time now for fooling there,"

She whisper'd, in great wrath — " I must deposit

This pretty gentleman within the closet ;

CLXXI.

" Pray, keep your nonsense for some luckier uight-
Who can have put my master in this mood ?

What will become on't — I'm in such a fright,
The devil's in the urchin, and no good —

Is this a time for giggling ? this a plight ?
Why, don't you know that it may end in blood ?

You'll lose your life, and I shall lose my place,

My mistress all, for that half-girlish face.

CLXXII.

" Had it but been for a stout cavalier
Of twenty-five or thirty — (come, make haste)

But for a child, what piece of work is here !
I really, madam, wonder at your taste —

(Coide, sir, get in) — my master must be near :
There, for the present, at the least, he's fast,

And if we can but till the morning keep

Our counsel — (Juan, mind, you must not sleep.)"

CLXXIII.
Now, Don Alfonso entering, but alone,

Closed the oration of the trusty maid :
She loiter'd, and he told her to be gone,

An order somewhat sullenly obey'd ;
However, present remedy was none,

And no great good seem'd answer'd if she staid :
Regarding, both with slow and sidelong view,
She snuff d the candle, curtsied, and withdrew.

CLXXIV.

Alfonso paused a minute — then begun
Some strange excuses for his latfe proceeding ;

He would not justify what he had done,

To say the best, it was extreme ill-breeding ;

But there were ample reasons for it, none
Of which he specified in this his pleading :

His speech was a fine sample, on the whole,

Of rhetoric, which the Igarn'd call " rigmarole."

CLXXV.

Julia said nought ; though all the while there rost
A ready answer, which at once enables

A matron, who her husband's foible knows
By a few timely words to turn the tables,

Which, if it does not silence, still must pose,—
Even if it should comprise a pack of fables ;

*Tis to retort with firmness, and when he

Suspects with one, do you reproach with thru.

CLXXYI.
Julia, in fact had tolerable grounds, —

Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known ;
But whether 'twas that one's own guilt confounds— »

But that can't be, as has been often shown,
A lady with apologies abounds ;

It might be that her silence sprang alone
From delicacy to Don Juan's ear,
To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear.

CLXXY1I.

There might be one more motive, which makes two;

Alfonso ne'er to Juan had alluded,
Mention'd his jealousy, but never who

Had been the happy lover, he concluded,
Conceal'd amongst his premises ; 'tis true,

His mind the more o'er iliis its mystery brooded;
To speak of Inez now were, one may say,
Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way.

CLXXTIII.
A hint, in tender cases, is enough ;

Silence is best, besides there is a tact —
(That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff,

But it will serve to keep my verse compact) —
Which keeps, when push'd by questions rather rough,

A lady always distant from the fact :
The charming creatures lie with such a grace,
There's nothing so becoming to the face.

CLSXIX.
They blush, and we believe them ; at least I

Have always done so ; 'tis of no great use,
In any case, attempting a reply,

For then their eloquence grows quite profuse
And when at length they're out of breath, they sigh

And cast their languid eyes down, and let loose
A tear or two, and then we make it up ;
And then — and then — and then-^sit down and sup.

41

CLXXX.

Alfonzo closed his speech, and begg'd her pardon,
Which Julia half withheld, and then half granteJ,

And laid conditions he thought very hard on,
Denying several little things he wanted :

He stood like Adam lingering near his garden,
With useless penitence perplex'd and haunted,

Beseeching she no further would refuse,

When, lo ! he stumbled o'er a pair of shoes.

CLXXXI.
A pair of shoes ! — wnat then ? not much, if they

Are such as fit with ladies' feet, but these
(No one can tell how much I grieve to say)

Were masculine ; to see them, and to seize,
Was but a moment's act. — Ah ! well-a-day !

My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze !
Alfonso first examined well their fashion,
And then flew out into another passion.

CLXXXII.

He left the room for his relinquish'd sword,

And Julia instant to the closet flew.
•' Fly, Juan, fly ! for heaven's sake — not a word—

The door is open — you may yet slip through
The passage you so" often have explored —

Here is the garden-key — Fly — fly — Adieu !
Haste — haste I I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet —

Day has not broke — there's no one in the street.**

CLXXXIII.

None can say that this was not good advice,
The only mischief was, it came too late ;

Of all experience 'tis the usual price,
A sort of income-tax laid on by fate :

Juan had reach'd the room-door in a trice,
And might have done so by the garden-gate,

But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown,

Who threaten'd death — so Juan knock d him down.

CLXXXIV.
Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light ;

Antonia cried out " Rape!" and Julia " Fire !**
But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight.

Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire,
Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night ;

And J uan, too, blasphemed an octave higher ;
His blood was up ; though young, he was a Tartar,
And not at all disposed to prove a martyr.
6«

42 DON JUAN.

CI.XXXV.

Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere lie could draw it,
And they continued battling hand to hand,

Tor Juan very luckily ne'er saw it ;
His temper not heing under great command,

If at that moment he had chanced to claw it,
Alfonso's days had not been in the land

Much longer. -Think of husbands', lovers' lives !

And how ye may be doubly widows — wives !

CLXXXTI.
Alfonso grappled to detain the foe,

And Juan throttled him to get away,
And blood ('twas from the nose) began to flow ;

At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay,
Juan contrived to give an awkward blow,

And then his only garment quite gave way ;
He fled, like Joseph, leaving it ; but there,
I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair.

CLXXXVII.
Lights came at length, and men, and maids, who found

An awkward spectacle their eyes before ;
Antonia hi hysterics, Julia swoon 'd,

Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door ;
Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground,

Some blood, and several footsteps, bnt no more :
Juan the gate gain'd turn'd the key about,
And liking not the inside, locked the out.

CLXXXV1II.

Here ends this canto. — Need I sing, or say,
How Juan, naked, favour'd by the night,

Who favours what she should not, found his way.
And reach'd his home in an unseemly plight ?

The pleasant scandal which arose next day,

The nine days' wonder which was brought to light,

And how Alfonso sued for a divorce,

Were in the English newspapers, of course.

CLXXXIX.

If you would like to see the whole proceedings,

The depositions, and the cause at full,
The names of all the witnesses, the pleadings

Of counsel to nonsuit, or to annul,
There's more than one edition, and the readings

Are various, but they none of them are dull :
The best is that in short-hand ta'en by Gurncy,
Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey.

43

cxo.
But Donna Inez, to divert the train

Of one of the most circulating scandals
That had for centuries been known in Spain.

At least since the retirement of the Vandals,
First vow'd (and never had she vowed in vain)

To Virgin Mary several pounds of candles':
And then, by the advice of some old ladies,
She sent her son to be shipp'd off from Cadiz.

cxci.
She had resolved that he should travel through

All European climes, by land or sea,
To mend his former morals, and get new,

Especially in France and Italy,
(At least this is the thing most people do.)

Julia was sent into a convent : she
Grieved, but, perhaps, her feelings may be better
Shown in the following copy of her Letter : —

cxcu.
" They tell me 'tis decided ; you depart :

'Tis wise — "t is well, but not the less a pain ;
I have nc further claim on your young art,

Mine is the victim, and would be again ;
To love too much has been the only heart

I used ; — I write in "haste, and if a stain
Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears ;
My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears.

CXCIII.

" I loved, I love you, for this love have lost

State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own estoe:u,

And yet can not regret what it hath cost,
So dear is still the memory of that dream ;

Yet, if I name my guilt, 'tis not to boast,

None can deem harshlier of me than I deem :

I trace this scrawl because I cannot rest —

I've nothing to reproach, or to request.

cxciv.
" Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,

'Tis woman's whole existence ; man may range
The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart,

Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange
Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart,

And few there are whom these can not estrange :
Men have all these resources, we but one,
To love again, and be again undone.

44 DON JUAN.

CXCV.

** You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride,

Beloved and loving many ; all is o'er
For me on earth, except some years to hide

My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core'.
These I could bear, but cannot cast aside

The passion which still rages as before, —
And so farewell — forgive me, love me — No,
That word is idle now — but let it go.

cxcvi.
" My breast has been all weakness, is so yet ;

But still I think I can collect my mind ;
My blood still rushes where my spirit's set.

As roll the waves before the settled wind ;
My heart is feminine, nor can forget —

To all, except one image, madly blind ;
So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole,
As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul.

cxcvu.
" I have no more to say, but linger still,

And dare not set my seal upon this sheet,
And yet I may as well the task fulfil,

My misery can scarce be more complete ;
I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill ;

Death shuns the wretch who fairf the blow would meet
And I must even survive this last adieu,
And bear with life, to love and pray for you !"

cxcvni.
This note was written upon gilt-edged paper

With a neat little crow-quill, slight and new ;
Her small white hand could hardly reach the taper,

It trembled as magnetic needles do,
And yet she did not let one tear escape her ,

The seal a sunflower : "Elle vous suit partont,"
The motto cut upon a white cornelian ;
The wax was superfine, its hue vermilion.

cxcix.
This was Don Juan's earliest scrape ; but whether

I shall proceed with his adventures is
Dependent on the public altogether ;

We'll see however, what they say to this,
Their favour in an author's cap's a feather,

And no great mischief's done by their caprice ;
And if their approbation we experience,
Perhaps they'll have some more about a year heuce.

DON JUAN. 45

CO.

My poem's epic, and is meant to be

Divided in twelve books ; each book containing,

With love, and war, a heavy gale at sea,

A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning.

New characters ; the episodes are three :
A panoramic view of hell's in training,

After the style of Virgil and of Homer,

So that my name of epic's no misnomer.

cci.
All these things will be specified in time,

With strict regard to Aristotle's rules,
The Vade Mecum of the true sublime,

Which makes so many poets, and some fools :
Prose poets like blank-verse, I'm fond of rhyme,

Good workmen never quarrel with their tools ;
I've got new mythological machinery,
And very handsome supernatural scenery.

ecu.
There's only one slight difference between

Me and my epic brethren gone before,
And here the advantage is my own, I ween ;

(Net that I have not several merits more,
But this will more peculiarly be seen) ;

They so embellish, that 'tis quite a bore
Their labyrinth of fables to thread through,
Whereas this story's actually true.

com.
If any person doubt it, I appeal

To history, tradition, and to facts,
To newspapers, whose truth all know and feel,

To plays in five, and opera's in three acts ;
All these confirm my statement a good deal,

But that which more completely faith exacts
Is, that myself, and several now in Seville,
Saw Juan's last elopement with the devil.

CCIV.

If ever I should condescend to prose,

I'll write poetical commandments, which
Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those

That went before ; in these I shall enrich
My text with many things that no one knows,

And carry precept to the highest pitch,
I'll call the work " Longinus o'er a Bottle,
Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle."

46 DON JUAN.

CCV.

Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope,
Thout shalt set not up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey ;

Because the first is crazed beyond all hope,

The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy ;

With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope,

And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy :

Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor

Commit — flirtation with the muse of Moore.

cc vi.
Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby's Muse,

His Pegasus, nor any thing that's his ;
Thou shalt not bear false witness like " the Blues" —

(There's one, at least, is very fond of this) ;
Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose ;

This is true criticism, and you may kiss —
Exactly as you please, or not, — the rod ;
But if you don't, I'll lay it on, by G— d!

ccvn
If any person should presume to assert

This story is not moral, first, I pray,
That they will not cry out before they're hurt,

Then that they'll read it o'er again, and say,
(But doubtless nobody will be so pert,)

That this is not a moral tale, though gay ;
Besides, in Canto Twelfth, I mean to show
The very place where wicked people go.

CCVIII.

If, after all, there should be some so blind
To their own good this warning to despise

Led by some tortuosity of mind,

Not to believe my verse and. their own eyes

And cry that they " the moral cannot find,"
I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies ;

Should captains the remark, or critics, make,

They also lie too — under a mistake.

ccix.
The public approbation I expect,

And beg they'll take my word about the moral,
Which I with their amusement will connect

(So children cutting teeth receive a coral) ;
Meantime they'll doubtless please to recollect

My epical pretensions to the laural ;
For fear some prudish readers should grow skittish,
I've bribed my grandmother's review — the British.

ccx.
I sent it in a letter to the Editor,

Who thanked me duly by return of post—
I'm for a handsome article his creditor ;

^et, if my gentle Muse he please to roast,
And break a promise after having made it her,

Denying the receipt of what it cost,
And smear his page with gall instead of honey,
All I can say is — that he had the money,

ccxi.
I think that with this holy new alliance

I may ensure the public, and defy
All other magazines of art or science,

Daily, or monthly, or three monthly ; I
Have not essay *d to multiply their clients

Because they tell me 'twere in vain to try,
And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly
Treat a dissenting author very martyrly.

v

CCXII.
•'JVbn ego hocferrem calida juventa

Console Planco" Horace said, and so
Say I ; by which quotation there is meant a

Hint that some six or seven good years ago
(Long ere I dreamt of dating from the Brenta)

I was most ready to return a blow,
And would not brook at all this sort of thing
In my hot youth — when George the Third was King.

CCXIII.

But now at thirty years my hair is grey —
(I wonder what it would be like at forty ?

I thought of a peruke the other day — -)

My heart is not much greener ; and, in short, I

Have squander'd my whole summer while 'twas May,
And feel no more the spirit to retort ; I

Have spent my life, both interest and principal,

And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible.

CCXIT.

No more — no more — Oh ! never more on me
The freshness of the heart can fall like dew,

Which out of all the lovely things we see
Extracts emotions beautiful and new,

Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee,

Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew ?

Alas ? 'twas not in them, but in thy power

To double even the sweetness of a flower.

48 DON JUAN.

ccxv.
No more — no more — Oh ! never more, my heart,

Canst thou be my sole world, my universe ;
Once all in all, but now a thing apart,

Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse ; ^

The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art

Insensible, I trust, but none the worse,
And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment,
Though heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment.

ccxvi.
My days of love are over ; me no more

The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,
Can make the fool of which they made before, —

In short, I must not lead the life I did do ;
The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er,

The copious use of claret is forbid too,
So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,
I think I must take up with avarice.

CCXVII.

Ambition was my idol, which was broken

Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure ;

And the two last have left me many a token,
O'er which reflection may be made at leisure :

Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken,

" Time is, Time was, Time's past:" — a chymic treasure

Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimes —

ily heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.

CCXVIII.

What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill

A certain portion of uncertain paper :
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,

Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour :
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,

And bards burn what they call their " midnight taper,"
To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture, and worst bust.

ccxix.
What are the hopes of man ? Old Egypt's King

Cheops erected the first pyramid
And largest, thinking it was just the thing

To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid ;
But somebody or other rummaging

Burglariously broke his coffin's lid ;
Let not a monument give you or me hopes,
Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.

DON JUAN. 49

CCXX.

But I being fond of true philosophy,

Say very often to myself, "Alas?
All things that have been born were born to die,

And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass ;
You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly,

And if you had it o'er again— 'twould pass-
So thank your stars that matters are no worse,
And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse."

ccxxi.
But for the present, gentle reader ! and

Still gentler purchaser ! the bard — that's I —
Must, with permission, shake you by the hand,

And so your humble servant, and good-b'ye !
We meet again, if we should understand

Each other ; and if not, I shall not try
Your patience further than by this short sample—
'Twere well if others follow'd my example.

ccxxn.
" Go, little book, from this my solitude !

I cast thee on the waters — go thy ways !
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good,

The world will find thee after many days."
When Southey's read, and Wordsworth understood,

I can't help putting in my claim to praise—
The four first rhymes are Southey's every line :
For God's sake, reader ! take them not for mine,
6

an

OANTC THE SECOHD.

OH ye! who teach the ingenious youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain*

I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain ;

The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in rain,

Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he

Became divested of his native modesty.

II.

Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,

His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north ;

Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth—

A lad of sixteen causing a divorce

Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

ill.

I can't say that it puzzles me at all,

If all things be consider'd : first there was

His lady-mother, mathematical,
A never mind ; — his tutor, an old ass ;

A pretty woman — (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass)

A husband rather old, not much in unity

With his young wife — a time and opportunity.

IT.

Well — well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,

And live and die, make love and pay oar taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails ;

The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us.
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,

A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,

Fighting, devotion, dust, — perhaps a name.

DON JUAN. 51

V.

I said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz —

A pretty town, I recollect it well —
"Tis there the mart of the colonial trade is,

(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel,)
And such sweet girls — I mean, sudi graceful ladies,

Their very walk would make your bosom swell ;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it — I never saw the like :

IV.

An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb

New broke, a cameleopard, a gazelle,
No — none of these will do ; — and then their garb !

Their veil and petticoat — Alas ; to dwell
Upon such things would very near absorb

A canto — then their feet and ankles, — well,
Thank Heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready,
(And so, my sober Muse — come, let's be steady—

VII.

Chaste Muse ! — well, if you must, you must) — the veil
Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand,

While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale,
Flashes into the heart : — All sunny land

Of love ! when I forget you, may I fail
To say my prayers — but never was there plann'd

A dress through which the eyes give such a volley,

Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli.

VIII.

But to our tale : the Donna Inez sent

Her son to Cadiz only to embark;
To stay there had not answer'd her intent,

But why ? — we leave the reader in the dark —
Twas for a voyage that the young man was meant.

As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark,
To wean him from the wickedness of earth,
And send him like a dove of promise forth.

IX.

Don Juan bade his valet pack his things

According to direction, then received
A lecture and some money : for four springs

He was to travel ; and though Inez grieved -
(As every kind of parting has its stings,)

She hoped he would improve — perhaps believed :
A letter, too, she gave (he never read it)
Of good advice — and two or three of credit.

52 DON JUAN.

X.

In the mean time, to pass her hours away,
Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school,

For naughty children, who would rather play
(Like truant rogues) the devil, or the fool ;

Infants of three years old were taught that day,
Dunces were whipt, or set upon a stool:

The great success of Juan's education,

Spurr'd her to teach another generation.

XI.

Juan embark'd — the ship got under way,
The wind was fair, the water passing rough ;

A devil of a sea rolls in that bay,

As I, who've cross'd it oft, know well enough ;

And standing upon the deck, the dashing spray
Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough :

And there he stood to take, and take again,

His first — perhaps his last — farewell of Spain.

XII.

I can't but say it is an awkward sight
To see one's native land receding through

The growing waters ; it unmans one quite,
Especially when life is rather new :

I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white,
But almost every other country's blue,

When gazing on them, mystified by distance,

We enter on our nautical existence.

XIII.

So Juan stood, bewilder'd on the deck :

The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors swore.
And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck,

From which away so fair and fast they bore,
The best of remedies is a beef-steak

Against sea-sickness : try it, sir, before
You sneer, and I assure you this is true,
For I have found it answer — so may you.

XIV.

Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern,
Beheld his native Spain receding far :

First partings form a lesson hard to learn,
Even nations feel this when they go to war ;

There is a sort of unexprest concern,
A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar :

At leaving even the most unpleasant people

And places, one keeps looking at the steeple.

DON JUAN.
XV.

But Juan had got many things to leave
His mother, and a mistress, and no wife,

So that he had much better cause to grieve,
Thau many persons more advanced in life ;

And if we now and then a sigh must heave
At quitting even those we quit in strife,

No doubt we weep for those the heart endears —

That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears.

XVI.

So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews
By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion :

I'd weep — but mine is not a weeping Muse,
And such light griefs are not a thing to die on :

Young men should travel, if but to amuse

Themselves ; and the next time their servants tie on

Behind their carriages their new portmanteau,

Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

XVII.

And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd and thought,
While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea,

" Sweets to the sweet ;" (I like so much to quote ;
You must excuse this extract, 'tis where she,

The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought
Flowers to the grave ;) and, sobbing often, ho

Reflected on his present situation,

And seriously resolved on reformation.

XVIII.

" Farewell, my Spain ! a long farewell !" he cried,

" Perhaps I may revisit thee no more,
But die, as many an exiled heart hath died,

Of its own thirst to see again thy shore :
Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide !

Farewell, my mother ! and, since all is o'er,
Farewell, too, dearest Julia! — (here he drew
Her letter out again, and read it through.)

XIX.

"And oh ! if e'er I should forget, I swear —
But that's impossible, and cannot be —

Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air,
Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,

Than I resign thine image, oh, ray fair !
Or think of any thing excepting thee ;

A mind diseased no remedy can physic —

(Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick.)
6*

64 DON JUAN.

XX.

«' Sooner shall heavtt kiss earth — (here he fell sicker)
Oh, Julia ! wha is every other woe ? —

(For God's sake, let me have a glass of liquor ;
Pedro, Battista, help me down below.)

Julia, my love! — (you rascal, Pedro, quicker) —
Oh Julia ! — (this curst vessel pitches so) —

Bftloved Julia, hear me still beseeching !"

(Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)

XXI.

He felt that chilling heaviness of heart,
Or rather stomach, which alas ! attends,

Beyond the best apothecary's art,

The loss of love, the treachery of friends,

. Or death of those we dote on, when a part
Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends :

No doubt he would have been much more pathetic,

But the sea acted as a strong emetic.

XXII.

Love's a capricious power ; I've known it hold
Out through a fever caused by its own heat,

But be much puzzled by a cough and cold
And find a quinsy very hard to treat :

Against all noble maladies he's bold,
But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet,

Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh,

Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.

XXIII.

But worst of all is nausea, or a pain

About the lower region of the bowels ;
Love, who heroically breathes a vein,

Shrinks from application of hot towels,
And purgatives are dangerous to his reign,

Sea-sickness, death ; his love was perfect, how else
Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar,
Besist his stomach, ne'er at sea before ?

The ship, call'd the most holy " Trinidada,"
Was steering duly for the port Leghorn ;

For there the Spanish family Moncada
Were settled long ere Juan's sire was boru !

They were relations, and for them he had a
Letter of introduction, which the morn

Of his departure had been sent him by

His Spanish friends for those in Italy.

DON JUAN. M

XXV.

His suite consisted of three servants and

A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo,
Who several languages did understand,

But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow,
And, rocking in his hammock, long d for land,

His_headache being increased by every billow ;
And the waves oozing through the port-hole made
His berth a little damp, and him afraid.

XXVI.

'Twas not without some reason, for the wind

Increased at night, until it blew a gale ;
And though 'twas not much to a naval mind,

Some landsmen would have look'd a little pale,
For sailors are, in fact, a different kind :

At sunset they began to take in sail,
For the sky show'd it would come on to blow,
And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so.

XXVII

At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift

Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea,

Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift,
Started the stern-post, also shatter 'd the

Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift
Herself from out her present jeopardy,

The rudder tore away : 'twas time to sound

The pumps, and there were four feet water found.

XXVIII.

One gang of people instantly was put

Upon the pumps, and the remainder set
To get up part of the cargo, and what not ;

But they could not come at the leak as yet ;
At last they did get at it reallyvLut

Still their salvation was an even bet :
The water rush'd through in a way quite puzzling, .
While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin,

XXIX.

Into the opening ; but all such ingredients

Would have been vain, and they must have gone down,
Despite of all their efforts and expedients,

But for the pumps ; I'm glad to make them known
To all the brother tars who may have need hence,

For fifty tons of water were upthrown
By them per hour, and they had .all been un-done,
But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of Ixmdon.

56 DON '

XXX.

Ai day advanced the weather seeem'd to abate,

And then the leak they reckonM to r>-'
And keep the ship afloat, though throe feet yet

Kept two band ami one chain-pump still in use.
The wind blew fresh again : as it grew late

A squall ram-' on, ;unl w iul.- sonu: guns broke loose,
A gust — which all desi riptive power transcend* —
Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends.

XXXI.

There she lay, motionless, and seem'd upset,
The water Ml tin- hold, and wash'd the decks,

And made a scene men do not sooji forget ;
For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks,

Or any other thing that brings regret,

Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or headsj or nocks

Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the divers,

And swimmers, who may chance to be surrirors.

xxxn.
Immediately the masts were cut away,

Both main and mi/.cri ; tir: f, tin- rni/i-n went,
The main mast follow'd ; hut tin- ship still lay

Like a mere log, and battled our intent.
Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they

Eased her at last (although we new r i,
To part with all till every hope was blighted),
And then with violence the old ship righted.

XXXIII.

It may be easily supposed, while this

Was going on, some people were unquiet,
That passengers would find it much amiss

To lose their lives, as well a* .spoil their di« f ;
That even the able seamen, deeming his

Days nearly o'er, might he disposal to riot,
As upon such occasions tars will ask
For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask.

xxxiv.
There's nought, no doubt, HO murh the spirit calms

As rum and true religion : thus it was,
Some plundered, some • <^ psalms,

The high wind made the treble, and a>.
The ||.,;ir.i' harsh waves kept tune ; fright cured the qualms

Of all the Buckler . .< -• i< k maws:

Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion,
C'lamour'd in chorus to the roarm • •-• • .m.

DOS JVAX. 5)

XXXV.

Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for
Our Joan, who, with sense beyond his years,

Got to the spirit-room, and stood before
It with a pair of pistols ; and their fears,

As if Death were more dreadful by this door
Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears.

Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk,

Thought it would be becoming to die drunk.

xxxn.
M Give us more grog," they cried, " for it will be

All one an hour hence." Juan answer 'd " Mo !
Tis true that death awaits both you and me,

But let us die men, not sink below
Like brutes :" — and thus his dangerous post kept he,

And none liked to anticipate the blow ;
And even Fedrillo, his most reverend tutor,
Was for some rum a disappointed suitor.

XXXYII.

The good old gentlemen was quite aghast,
And made- a loud and pious lamentation ;

Bepented all his sins, and made a last
Irrevocable vow of reformation ;

Nothing should tempt him (this peril past)
To quit his academic occupation,

In cloisters of the classic Salamanca,

To follow Juan's wake, like Sancho Panca.

XXXYIII.

But now there came a flash of hope once more ;

Day broke, and the wind lull'd : the masts were gone,
The leak increased ; shoals round her, but no shore,

The vessal swam, yet still she held her own.
They tried the pumps again, and though before

Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless grown,
A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale —
The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a saiL

XTTTT.

Under the vessel s keel the sail was past.

And for the moment it had some effect ;
But with a leak, and not a stick of mast,

Nor rag of canvass, what could they expect ?
But still 'tis best to struggle to the last,

Tis never too late to be wholly wreck'd :
And though 'tis true that man can only die once,
Tis not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons.

58 DON JUAN.

XL.
There winds and waves had hurl'd them, and from thence,

Without their will, they carried them away ;
For they were forced with steering to dispense,

And never had as yet a quiet day
On which they might repose, or even commence

A jurymast or rudder, or could say
The ship would swim an hour, which, by good luck,
Still swam — though not exactly like a duck.

XLI.
The wind, in fact, perhaps, was rather less,

But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could hope
To weather out much longer ; the distress

Was also great with which they had to cope
For want of water, and their solid mess

Was scant enough : in vain the telescope
Was used — nor sail nor shore appear'd in sight,
Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night.

XLII.
Again the weather threaten'd, — again blew

A gale, and in the fore and after hold
Water appear'd ; yet, though the people knew

All this, the most were patient, and some bold,
Until the chains and leathers were worn through

Of all our pumps ; — a wreck complete she roB'd,
At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are
T^ikft human beings during civil war.

XLIII.

Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears
In his rough eyes, and told the captain he

Could do no more ; he was a man in years,
And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea

And if he wept at length, they were not fears
That made his eyelids as a woman's be,

But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children,

Two things for dying people quite bewild'ring.

XLIV.
The ship was evidently settling now

Fast by the head ; and, all distinction gone,
Some went to prayers again, and made a vow

Of candles to their saints — but there were none
To pay them with ; and some look'd o'er the bow ;

Some hoisted out the boats ; and there was one
That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution,
Who told him to be damn'd — in his confusion.

DOM JUAN. £9

XLV.

Some lash'd them in their hammocks ; some put on

Their best clothes, as if going to a fair ;
Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun,

And gnash'd their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair
And others went on as they had begun :

Getting the boats out, being well aware,
That a tight boat will live in a rough sea,
Unless with breakers close beneath her lee.

XLVI.
The worst of all was, that in their conditon,

Having been several days in great distress,
'Twas difficult to get out such provision

As now might render their long suffering less :
Men, even when dying, dislike inanition ;

Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress :
Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter,
Were all that could be thrown into the cutter.

XLVII.
But in the long-boat they contrived to stow

Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet ;
Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so ;

Six flasks of wine ; and they contrived to get
A portion of their beef up from below,

Aiid with a piece of pork, moreover, met
But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheon-
Then there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon.

XLTIII.
The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had

Been- stove in the beginning of the gale ;
And the long-boat's condition was but bad,

As there were but two blankets for a sail,
And one oar for a mast, which a young lad

Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail ;
And two boats could not hold, far less be stored,
To save one half the people then on board.

XLIX.
Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down

Over the waste of waters ; like a veil,
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown

Of one whose hftte is mask'd but to assail.
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,

And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale,
And the dim desolate deep : twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

60 DON JUAN.

L.

Some trial had been making at a raft,

With little hope in such a rolling sea,
A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd,

If any laughter at such times could be,
Unless with people who too much hare quafFd

And have a kind of wild and horrid glee,
Half epileptical, and half hysterical :— -
Their preservation would have been a miracle.

ri.

At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars,
And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose,

That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,
For yet they strove, although of no great use :

There was no light in heaven but a few stars,
The boats put off o'er crowded with their crews ;

She gave a heel, aud then a lurch to port,

And, going down head foremost — sunk, in short.

LIT.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell-
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave-
Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,

As eager to anticipate their grave ;
And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And strives to strangle him before he die.

me,

And first one universal shriek there rush'd,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash

Of echoing thunder ; and then all was hush'd,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash

Of billows ; but at intervals there gush'd,
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,

A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry

Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

LIT.

The boats, as stated, had got off before,

And in them crowded several of the crew ;
And yet their present hope was hardly more

Than what it had been, for so strong it blew,
There was slight chance of reaching any shore ;

And then they were too many, though so few--
Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat,
Were counted in them when they got afloat.

61

IV.

All the rest perish'd ; near two hundred souls
Had left their bodies ; and what's worse, alas !

When over Catholics the ocean rolls,
They must wait several weeks before a mass

Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals,
Because, till people know what's come to pass,

They won't lay out their money on the dead —

It costs three francs for every mass that's said.

LVI.

Juan got into the long-boat, and there
Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place ;

It seem'd as if they had exchanged their care,
For Juan wore the magisterial face

Which courage gives, while poor Pedrillo's pair
Of eyes were crying for their'owner's ease :

Battista, though, (a name call'd shortly Tita)

Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita.

XVII.

Pedro, his valet, too, he tried to save,
But the same cause, conducive to his loss,

Left him so drunk, he jump'd into the wave,
As o'er the cutter's edge he tried to cross,

And so he found a wine-and-watery grave ;
They could not rescue him although so close,

Because the sea ran higher every minute,

And for the boat — the crew kept crowding in it,

LVIII.

A small old spaniel, — which had been Don Jose's,
' His father's, whom he loved, as ye may think,
For on such things the memory reposes

With tenderness — stood howling on the brink,
Knowing, (dogs have such intellectual noses !)

No doubt, the vessel was about to sink :
And Juan caught him up, and ere he stepp'd
Off, threw him in, then after him he leap'd.

LIX.
He also stuff & his money where he could

About his person, and Pedrillo's too,
Who let him do, in fact, whate'er he would.

Not knowing what himself to say, or do,
As every rising wave his dread renew'd ;

But Juan, trusting they migiit still get through.
And deeming there were remedies for any ill,
Thus re-embark'd his tutor aud his spaniel.
7

62 DOW TOAS .

LX.

Twas a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet,
That the sail was becalm'd between the seas,

Though on the wave's high top too much to set,
They dared not take it in for all the breeze :

Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them wet,
And made them bale without a moment's ease,

So that themselves as well as hopes were damp'd

And the poor little cutter quickly swamp'd.

LXI.

Nine souls more went hi her : the long-boat still
Kept above water, with an oar for mast,

Two blankets stitch'd together, answering ill
Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast ; .,

Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill,
And present peril all before surpass'd,

They grieved for those who perish'd with the cutter,

And also for the biscuit-casks and butter.

The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign

Of the continuance of the gale : to run
Before the sea until it should grow fine,

Was all that for the present could be done :
A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine

Were served out to the poeple, who begun
To faint, and damaged bread wet through the bags,
And most of them had little clothes but rags.

1XIII.

They counted thirty, crowded in a space

Which left scarce room for motion or exertion ;

They did their best to modify their case,

One half sate up, though numb'd with the immersion,

While t'other half were laid down in their place,

At' watch and watch ; thus, shivering like the tertian

Ague in its cold fit, they fill'd their boat,

Wtth nothing but the sky for a great coat.

UT.

Tis very certain the desire of life

Prolongs it : this is obvious to physicians,

When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife,
Survive through very desperate conditions,

Because they still can hope, nor shines the knife
Nor shears of Atropos before their visions :

Despair of all recovery spoils longevity,

And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity.

DON JUAN. 63

LXV.

Tis said that persons living on annuities

Are longer lived than others, — God knows why,

Unless to plague the grantors, — yet so true it is,
That some, I really think do never die :

Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is,

And that's their mode of furnishing supply :

In my young days they lent me cash that way,

Which I found very troublesome to pay.

LXVI.

'Tis thus with people in an open boat,

They live upon the love of life, and bear
More than can be believed, or even thought,

And stand like rocks the tempest's wear and tear ;
And hardship still has been the sailor's lot,

Since Noah,s ark went cruising here and there ;
She had a curious crew as well as cargo,
Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo.

LXVII.

But man is a carnivorous production,
And must have meals, at least one meal a day ;

He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction,
But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey ;

Although his anatomical construction
Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way,

Your labouring people think beyond all question,

Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion.

1XV1II.

And thus it was with this our hapless crew ;

For on the third day there came on a calm,
And though at first their strength it might renew,

And lying on their weariness like balm,
Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue

Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm
And fell all ravenously on their provision,
Instead of hoarding it with due precision.

LXIX.

The consequence was easily foreseen —

They ate up all they had, and drank their wine,

In spite of all remonstrances, and then

On what, in fact, next day were they to dine ?

They hopod the wind would rise, these foolish men '
And carry them to shore ; these hopes were fine,

But as they had but one oar, and that brittle,

It would have been more wise to save their victual.

C4 DON JOAN.

LXX.

The fourth day came, but not a breath of air,
And Ocean slumber'd like an unwean'd child ;

The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there,
The sea and sky were blue, and clear, and mild —

With their one oar (I wish they had had a pah-)
What could they do? and hunger's rage grew wild ;

So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating,

Was kill'd, and portion'd out for present eating.

LXXI.

On the sixth day they fed upon his hide,
And Juan, who had still refused, because

The creature was his father's dog that died,
Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws,

With some remorse received (though first denied)
As -a great favour one of the fore-paws

Which he divided with Pedrillo, who

Devour'd it, longing for the other too.

LXXII.*
The seventh day, and no wind — the burning sun

Blister'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the sea,
They lay like carcasses ; and hope was none,

Save in the breeze that came not ; savagely
They glared upon each other — all was done,

Water, and wine, and food, and you might see
The longings of the cannibal arise
(Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.

LXXIII.

At length one whisper'd his companion, who
Whisper'd another, and thus it went round,

And then into a hoarser murmur grew,

An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound ;

And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew,
'Twas but his own, suppress'd till now, he found

And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood,

And who should die to be his fellow's food.

LXX1V.

But ere they came to this, they that day shared
Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of shoes ;

And then they look'd around them, and despair'd,
And none to be the sacrifice would choose ;

At length the lots were torn up, and prepared,
But of materials that much shock the Muse —

Having no paper, for the want of better,

They took by force from Juan Julia's letter.

DON JUAN. 65

LXXV.

The lots were made, and mark'd, and mix'd, and handed,

In silent horror, and their distribution
Lull'd even the savage hunger which demanded,

Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution ;
None in particular had sought or planu'd it,

'Twas nature gnaw'd them to this resolution,
By which none were permitted to be neuter —
And the. lot fell on Juan's luckless tutor.

LXXVI.

He but requested to be bled to death :

The surgeon had' his instruments, and bled

Pedrillo, and so gently ebb'd his breath,
You hardly could perceive when he was dead.

He died as born, a Catholic in faith,

Like most in the belief in which they're bred,

And first a little crucifix he kiss'd,

And then held out his jugular and wrist.

LXXVII.

The surgeon, as there was no other fee,

Had his first choice of morsels for his pains ;

But being thirstiest at the moment, he

Preferr'd a draught from the fast-flowing veins ;

Part was divided, part thrown in the sea,

And such things as the entrails and the brains

Regaled two sharks, who follow'd o'er the billow —

The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo.

LXXVIII.
The sailors ate him, all save three or four,

Who were not quite so fond of animal food :
To these was added Juan, who, before

Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could
Feel now his appetite increased much more ;

Twas not to be expected that he should,
Even in extremity of their disaster,
Dine with them on his pastor and his master.

LXXIX.

Twas better that he did not ; for, in fact,
The consequence was awful in the extreme ;

For they, who were most ravenous in the act,

Went raging mad — Lord ! how they did blaspheme !

And foam and roll, with strange convulsions rack'd,
Drinking salt-water like a mountain stream,

Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing,

And, with hyaena-laughter, died despairing.
7*

GO DON JCAN.

ixzz.

Their numbers were much thinn'd by this infliction,

And all the rest were thin enough, Heaven knows ;
'And some of them had lost their recollection,

Happier than they who still perceived their woes.

But others ponder'd on a new dissection,
As if not warn'd sufficiently by those

Who had already perish'd, suffering madly, r

For having used their appetites so sadly.

J.XXXI.

And next they thought upon the master's mate,
As fattest ; but he saved himself, because,

Besides being much averse from such a fate,
There were some other reasons : the first was,

He had been rather indisposed of late ;

And that which chiefly proved his saving clause,

Was a small present made to him at Cadiz,

By general subscription of the ladies.

LXXXII.

Of poor Pedrillo something still remain'd,
But was used sparingly, — some were afraid,

And others still their appetites constrain'd,
Or but at times a little supper made ;

All except Juan, who throughout abstain'd,
Chewing a piece of bamboo, and some lead ;

At. length they caught two boobies, and a noddy,

And then they left off eating the dead body.

LXXXIII.

And if Pedrillo's fate should shocking be,

Kemember Ugolino condescends
To eat the head of his arch-enemy

The moment after he politely ends
His tale : if foes be food in hell, at sea

'Tis surely fair to dine upon our friends,
When shipwreck's short allowance grows too scanty.
Without being much more horrible than Dante.

LX^XIV.

And the same night there fell a shower of rain,

For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of earth

When dried to summer dust ; till taught by pain
Men really know not what good water's worth ;

If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,

Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your berth,

Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,

You'd wish yourself where Truth is — iu a well.

DON JUAN. 67

LXXXV.

It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer

Until they found a ragged piece of sheet, •

Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher,
And when they deem'd its moisture was complete,

They wrung it out, and though a thirsty ditcher

Might not have thought the scanty draught so sweet

Asa full pot of porter, to their thinking

They ne'er till now had known the joys of drinking.

LXXXVI.

And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack,
Suck'd in the moisture, which like nectar stream'd ;

Their throats were ovens, their swolu tongues were black,
As the rich man's in hell, who vainly scream'd

To beg the beggar, who could not rain back
A drop of dew, when every drop had seem'd

To taste of heaven — If this be true, indeed,

Some Christians have a comfortable creed.

LXXXVII.

There were two fathers in this ghastly crew,
And with them their two sons, of whom the one

Was more robust and hardy to the view,
But he died early ; and when he was gone,

His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw

One glance at him, and said, " Heaven's will be done

I can do nothing," and he saw him thrown

Into the deep without a tear or groan.

LXXXVIII.
The other father had a weaklier child,

Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate ;
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild

And patient spirit held aloof his fate ;
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,

As if to win a part from off the weight
He saw increasing on his father's heart,
With the "deep deadly thought, that they niurt part.

LXXXIX.
And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised

His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam
From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed,

And when the wish'd-for shower at length was com
Afld the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,

Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam,
He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain
Into his dying child's mouth — but in vain.

xc.
The boy exipred — the father held the clay,

And look'd upon it long, and when at last
Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay

Stiff on his heart, the pulse and hope were past,
He watch'd it wistfully, until away

'Twas borne by the rude wave, wherein 'twas cast ;
Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering1
And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

xci.

Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through

The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea,

Besting its bright base on the quivering blue
And all within its arch appear 'd to be

Clearer than that without, and its wide hue
Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free,

Then changed like to a bow that's bent, and then

Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men.

xcn.
It changed, of course ; a heavenly cameleon,

The airy child of vapour and the sun,
Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion,

Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun,
Guttering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion,

And blending every colour into one,
Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle
(For sometimes we must box without the muffle).

xcni.
Our shipwreck'd seamen throught it a good omen —

It is as well to think so, now and then ;
Twas an old custom of the Greek and Roman,

And may become of great advantage when
Folks are discouraged ; and most surely no men

Had greater need to nerve themselves again
Than these, and so this rainbow look'd like hope —
Quite a celestial kaleidoscope.

xciv.
About this time a beautiful white bird,

Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size
And plumage (probably it might have err'd

Upon its course), pass'd oft before their eyes,
And tried to perch, although it saw and heard

The men within the boat, and in this guise
It came and went, and flutter'd round them till
Night fell : — this seeni'd a better omen still. /

DON JCAN. 69

XCV.

But in this case I also must remark,

'Twas well this bird of promise did not, perch.

Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark
Was not so safe for roosting as a church ;

And had it been the dove from Noah's ark,
Returning there from her successful search,

Which in their way that moment chanced to fall,"

They would have eat her, olive-branch and all.

xcvi.
With twilight it again came on to blow,

But not with violence ; the stars shone out,
The boat made way ; yet now they were so low,

They knew not where nor what they were about ;
Some fancied they saw land, and some said " No !"

The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubt —
Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns,
And all mistook about the latter once.

xcvn
As morning broke, the light wind died away,

When he who had the watch sung out and swore,
If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray,

He wish'd that land he never might see more ;
And the rest rubb'd their eyes and saw a bay,

Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore *,
For shore it was, and gradually grew
Distinct, and high, and palpable to view.

XCVIII.

And then of these some part burst into tears,

And others, looking with a stupid stare,
Could not yet separate their hopes from fears,

And seem'd as if they had no further care ;
While a few pray'd — (the first time for some years) —

And at the bottom of the boat three were
Asleep ; they shook them by the hand and head,
And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.

xcix.

The day before, fast sleeping on the water,
They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind,

And by good fortune, gliding softly, caught her,
Which yielded a day's life, and to their mine,

Proved even still a more nutritious matter,
Because it left encouragement behind :

They thought that in such perils, more than chance

Had sent them this for their deliverance.

70 lX)Ji JUAJf..

C.

The land appear'd a high and rocky coast,

And higher grew the mountains as they drew,

Set by a current, toward it : they were lost
In various conjectures, for none knew

To what part of the earth they had been tost,
So changeable had been the winds that blew,

Some thought it was Mount JEtna, some the highlands

Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other isUfcds.

ci.
Meantime the current, with a rising gale,

Still set them onwards to the welcome shore,
Lake Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale:

Their living freight was now reduced to four
And three dead, whom their strength could not avail

To heave into the deep with those before,
Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd
The spray into their faces as they splash'd.

en.
Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done

Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to
Such things a mother had not known her sou

Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew ;
By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one

They perish'd, until wither'd to these few,
But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter,
In washing down Pedrillo with salt water.

cm.
As they drew nigh the land, which how was seen

Unequal in its aspect here and there,
They felt the freshness of its growing green,

That waved in forest tops, and smooth'd the air,
And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen

From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare —
Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep
Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.

civ.
The shore look'd wild, without a trace of man,

And girt by formidable waves ; but they
Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran,

Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay ;
A reef between them also now began

To show its boiling surf and bounding spray,
But finding no place for their landing better,
They ran the boat for shore, — and overset' her.

DON JUAH. 71

CV.

But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir,
Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont ;

And having learnt to swim in that sweet river,
Had often turn'd the art to some account :

A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,
He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont,

As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)

Leauder, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did.

en.
So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark,

He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply
With the oj|ick wave, and gain, ere it was dark,

The beach which lay before him, high and dry :
The greatest danger here was from a shark,

That carried off his neighbour by the thigh ;
As for the other two, they could not swim,
So nobody arrived on shore but him.

CTII.
ITor yet had he arrived but for the oar,

Which, providentially for him was wash'd
Just as his feeble arms could strike no more,

And the hard wave o'erwhelmed him as 'twas dash'd
Within his grasp ; he clung to it, and sore

The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd ;
At last, with swimming, wading, scrambling, he
lioll'd on the beach, half-senseless, from the sea :

CT1II.

There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung
Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave,

From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung,
Should suck him back to her insatiate grave :

And there he lay, full length, where he was flung,
Before the-entrance of a cliff-worn cave,

With, just enough of life to feel its pain,

And deem that it was saved, perhaps in vain.

cix.

With si .w and staggering effort he arose,

But sunk again upon his bleeding knee
And quivering hand ; and then he look'd for those,

Who long had been his mates upon the sea ;
But none of them appear'd to share his woes,

Save one, a corpse, from out the famish'd three,
Who died two days before, and now had found
An unknown barren beach for burial ground.

72 DON JUAK.

CX.

And as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast,
And down he sunk ; and as he sunk, the sand

Swam round and round and all his senses pass'd :
He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand

Droop'd dripping on the oar (their jury-mast),
And, like a wither'd lily, on the land

His slender frame and pallid aspect lay

As fair a thing as e'er was forra'd of clay.

CXI.

How long in this damp trance young Juan lay
He knew not, for the earth was gone for him,

And Time had nothing more of night nor day >
For his congealing blood, and senses' dim :

And how this heavy faintness pass'd away

He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb,

And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to life

For Death, though vanquished, still retired with strife,

cxn.
His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed,

For all was doubt and dizziness ; he thought
He still was in the boat, and had but dozed,

And felt again with his despair o'erwrought,
And wish'd it death in which he had reposed,

And then once more his feelings back were brought,
And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen
A lovely female face of seventeen.

CXIII.

"Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth
Seem'd almost prying into his for breath ;

And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
RecalTd his answering spirits back from death ;

And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe
Each pulse to animation, till beneath

Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh

To these kind efforts made a low reply.

cxiv.
Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung

Around his scarce-clad limbs ; and the fair arm
Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung ;

And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm,
Pillow'd his death-like forehead ; then she wrung

His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm ;
And watch 'd with eagerness each throb that drew
A sigh from his heaved bosom — and hers, too.

DON JUAN. 73

cxv.

And lifting him with care into the cave,

The gentle girl and her attendant, — one
Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave,

And more robust of figure, — then begun
To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave

Light to the rocks that roof d them, which the sun
Had never seen, the maid or whatsoe'er
She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair.

CXVI.

Her brow was overhung with coins of gold,
That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair,

Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd
In braids behind ; and though her stature were

Even of the highest for a female mould,
They nearly reach'd her heel ; and in her air

There was a something which bespoke command,

As one who was a. lady in the land.

CXVII.

Her hair, I said, was auburn ; but her eyes
Were black as death, their lashes the same hue,

Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies
Deepest attraction, for when to the view

Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,
Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew ;

'Tis as the snake late coiled, who pours his length

And hurls at once his venom and his strength.

cxvm.
Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dyr

Like twilight rosy still with the set sun ;
Short upper lip — sweet lips ! that make us sigh

Ever to have seen such ; for she was one
Fit for the model of a statuary,

(A race of mere imposters, when all's done —
I've seen much finer women, ripe and real,
Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.)

cxix.
I'll tell you why I say so, for 'tis just

One should not rail without a decent cause :
There was an Irish lady, to whose bust

.1 ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was
A frequent model ; and if e'er she must

Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws
They will destroy a face which mortal thought \
Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrought. )
8

74 DOS JI/Alf.

cxx.
Ajud such was she the lady of the cave ;

Her dress was very different from the Spa
Simpler, and yet of colours not so grave ;

For, as you know, the Spanish •women banish
Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while wav*

Around them( what I hope will never vanish)
The basquina and the mantilla, they
Seem at the same time mystical and gay.

cxxi.
But with our damsel this was not the case ;

Her dress was many-coloured, finely spun ;
Her locks curl'd negligently round her face,

But through them gold and gems profusely shone
Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace

Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone
Flash'd on her little hand ; but what was shocking.
Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking.

cxxn.
The other female's dress was not unlike,

But of inferior materials ; she
Had not so many ornaments to strike,

Her hair had silver only, bound to be
Her dowry ; and her veil, in form alike,

Was coarser : and her air, though firm less free j
Her hair was thicker, but less long : her eyes
As black, but quicker, and of smaller size.

cxxin.

And these two tended him, and cheer'd him both
With food and raiment, and those soft attentions,

Which are (as I must own) of female growth,
And have ten thousand delicate inventions ;

They made a most superior mess of broth,
A thing which poesy but seldom mentions,

But the best dish that e'er was cook'd since Homer'i

Achilles order'd dinner for the new comers.

CXXIY.

Ill tell you who they were, this female pair,
Lest they should seem princesses in disguise ;

Besides, I hate all mystery, and that air
Of clap-trap, which your recent poets prize ;

And so, in short, the girls they really were
They shall appear before your curious eyes,

Mistress and maid ; the first was only daughter

Of an old man, who lived upon the water.

cxxv.
A fisherman he had been in his youth,

And still a sort of fisherman was he ;
But other speculations were, in sooth,

Added to his connection with the sea,
Perhaps not so respectable, in truth :

A little smuggling, and some piracy,
Left him, at last, the sole of many masters
Of an ill-gotten million of piastres.

cxxvi.
A fisher, therefore, was he, — though of men,

Like Peter the Apostle, — and he fish'd
For wandering merchant-vessels now and then,

And sometimes caught as many as he wish'd ;
The cargoes he confiscated, and gain

He sought in the slave-market too, and dish'd
Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade,
By which, no doubt, a good deal may be made.

cxxvi i.
He was a Greek, and on his isle had built

(One of the wild and smaller Cyclades)
A very handsome house from out his guilt,

And there he lived exceedingly at ease ;
Heaven knows what cash he got or blood he spilt,

A sad old fellow was he, if you please ;
But this I know, it was a spacious building,
Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding.

cxxvur.
He had an only daughter, call'd Haidee,

The greatest heiress of the Eastern Isles ;
Besides, so very beautiful was she,

Her dowry was as nothing to her smiles :
Still in her teens, and like a lovely tree,

She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
How to accept a better in his tnrn.

cxxix.

And walking out upon the beach, below
The cliff towards sunset, on that day she found,

Insensible, — not dead, but nearly so, —
Don Juan, almost famish "d, and half drown'd ;

But being naked, she was shock'd you know,
Yet deem'd herself in common pity bound,

As far as in her lay, " to take him in,

A stranger " dying, with so white a skin.

76 DOM JUAN.

CXXX.

But taking him into her father's house

Was not exactly the best way to save,
But like conveying to the cat the mouse,

Or people in a trance into their grave ;
Because the good old man had so much " vows,"

Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave,
He would have hospitably cured the stranger,
And sold him instantly when out of danger.

CXXXI.

And therefore, with her maid, she thought it best,

(A virgin always on her maid relies)
To place him in the cave for present rest :

And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes,
Their charity increased about their guest :

And their compassion grew to such a size,
It open'd half the turnpike-gates to heaven —
(St. Paul says, 'tis the toll which must be given)

CXXXII.

They made a fire, — but such a fire as they
Upon the moment could contrive with such

Materials as were cast up round the bay, —

Some broken planks, and oars, that to the touch

Were nearly tinder, since so long they lay
A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch ;

But, by God's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty,

That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty.

CXXX1II.

He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse,

For Haidee stripp'd her sables off to make

His couch ; and, that he might be more at ease,
And warm, in case by chance he should awake,

They also gave a petticoat apiece,

She and her maid, — and promised by day break

To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish

For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish.

cxxxiv.
And thus they left him to his lone repose :

Juan slept like a top, or like the dead,
Who sleep at last, perhaps (God only knows),

Just for the present ; and in his lull'd head
Not even a vision ofjbjs former woes

Throbb'd in accursed dreams, which sometimes spread
Unwelcome visions of our former years,
Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears

DON J0AN. 77

CXXXV.

Young Juan slept all dreamless : — but the maid,
Who smooth'd his pillow, as she left the den

Look'd back upon him, and a moment staid,
And turn'd, believing that he call'd again.

He slumber'd ; yet she thought, at least she said,
(The heart will slip even as the tongue and pen)

He had pronounced her name — but she forgot

That at this moment Juan knew it not.

cxxxvi.
And pensive to her father's house she went,

Enjoining silence strict to Zoe, who
Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant.

She being wiser by a year or two ;
A year or two's an age when rightly spent,

And Zoe spent her's, as most women do,
In gaining all that useful sort of knowledge
Which is acquired in Nature's good old college.

cxxxvu.
The morn broke and found Juan slumbering still

Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon
His rest ; the rushing of the neighbouring rill.

And the young beams of the excluded sun
Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill ;

And need he had of slumber yet, for none
Had suffered more ; — his hardship's were comparative^
To those related in my grand-dad's Narrative.

cxxxvin.
Not so Haidee ; she sadly toss'd and tumbled,

And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er,
Dream 'd of a thousand wrecks o'er which she stumbled

And handsome corpses strew'd upon the shore ;
And woke her maid so early that she grumbled,

And call'd her father's old slaves up, who swore
In several oaths — Armenian, Turk, and Greek, —
They knew not what to think of such a freak.

cxxxix.
But up she got, and up she made them get,

With some pretence about the sun, that makes
Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set ;

And 'tis, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks
Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are wet

With mist, and every bird witli him awakes,
And night is flung off like a mourning suit
Worn for a husband, or some other brute.
8*

78 DON JUAN.

CXL.

I say, the sun is a most glorious sight,

I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of Lte
I have sat up on purpose all the night,

Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fate ;
And so all ye, who would be in the right

In health and purse, begin your day to date
From daybreak, and when cofnn'd at four-score,
Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four.

CXLI.
And Itaidee met the morning face to face ;

Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush
Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race

From heart to cheek is curb'd into a blush,
Like to a torrent which a mountain's base,

That overpowers some Alpine river's rush
Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread
Or the Red Sea — but the sea is not red.

CXLII.
And down the cliff the island virgin came,

And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew
. While the sun, smiled on her with his first flame,

And young Aurora kiss'd her lips with dew,
Taking her for a sister ; just the same

Mistake you would have made on seeing the two,
Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair,
Had all the advantage, too, of not being air.

CXLIII.
And when to the cavern Haidee stepp'd

All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
That like an infant Juan sweetly slept ;

And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe
(For sleep is awful) , and on tiptoe crept

And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw,
Should reach his blood, then o'er him still as death
Bent, with hush'd lips, that drunk his scarce-drawn
breath.

CXLIV.

And thus like to an angel o'er the dying

Who die in righteousness, she lean'd ; and there

All tranquill the shipwreck'd boy was lying,
As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air

But- Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying,
Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair

Must breakfast, and betimes — lest they should ask it,

She drew out her provision from the basket.

DOM JUAN. 79

CXLV.

She knew th^t the best feelings must have victual,
And that a shipwreck'd youth would hungry be ;

Besides, being less in love, she yawn'd a little,
And felt her veins chill'd by the neighbouring sea ;

And so, she cook'd their breakfast to a tittle ;
I can't say that she gave them any tea,

But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey

With Scio wine — and all for love, not money,

CXLVI.

And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and
The coffee made, would fain have waken'd Juan ;

But Haidee stopp'd her with her quick small baud,
And without word, a sign her finger drew on

Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand ;
And, the first breakfast spoilt, prepared a new one,

Because her mistress would not let her break

That sleep which seem'd as it would ne'er awake.

CXLVII.

For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek

A purple hectic play'd like dying day
On the snow-tops of distant hills ; the streak

Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay,
Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, and weak ;

And his black curls were dewy with the spray,
Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt,
Mii'd with the stony vapours of the vault.

CXLVIIl.

And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath,
Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast,

Droop'd as the willow when no winds can breathe,
Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at rest.

Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath,
Soft as the callow cignet in its nest ;

In short, he was a very pretty fellow,

Although his woes had turn'd him rather yellow.

CXLIX.
He woke and gazed, and Would have slept again,

But the fair face which met his eye forbade
Those to close, though weariness and pain

And further sleep a further pleasure made
For woman's face was never form'd in vain

For Juan, so that even when he pray'd
He turn'd from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy,
To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary.

80 DON JUAN.

CL.

And thus upon his elbows he arose,

And look'd upon the lady, in whose cheek

The pale contended with the purple rose,
As with an effort she began to speak ;

Her eyes were eloquent, her words would pose,
Although she told him, in good modern Greek,

With an Ionian accent, low and sweet,

That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat.

CLI.

Now Juan could not understand a word,

Being no Grecian ; but he had an ear
And her voice was the warble of a bird,

So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear,
That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard ;

The sort of sound we echo with a tear,
Without knowing why — an overpowering tone
Whence Melody descends as from a throne.

cm.
And Juan gazed as one who is awoke

By a distant organ, doubting if he be
Nor yet a dreamer, till the spell is broke

By the watchman, or some such reality,
Or by one's early valet's cursed knock ;

At least it ^ a heavy sound to me,
Who like a morning slumber — for the night
Shows stars and women in a better light.

CLIII.

And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream,
Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was, by feeling

A most prodigious appetite : the steam
Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing

Upon his senses, and the kindling beam

Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, kneeling,

To stir her viands, made him quite awake

And long for food but chiefly a beef-steak.

CUV.

But beef is rare within these oxless isles ;

Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton ;
And, when a holiday upon them smiles,

A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on
But this occurs but seldom, between whiles,

For some of these are rocks with scarce a hut on,
Others are fair and fertile, among which
This, though not large was one of the most rich.

DON JUAN. 81

CLV.

I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking

That the old fable of the Minotaur —
From which our modern morals, rightly shrinking,

Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore
A cow's shape for a mask — was only (sinking

The allegory) a mere type, no more,
That Pasiphae promoted breeding cattle,
To make the Cretans bloodier in battle.

CLVI.
For we all know that English peoplo are

Fed upon beef — I won't say much of beer,
Because 't is liquor only, and being far

From ibis my subject, has no business here ;
We know, too, they are very fond of war,

A pleasure — like all pleasures — rather dear ;
So were the Cretans — from which I infer,
That beef and battles both were owing to her.

CLVII.

But to resume. The languid Juan raised

His head upon his elbow, and he saw
A sight on which he had not lately gazed,

As all his latter meals had been quite raw,
Three or four things, for which the Lord he praised,

And, feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw,
He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like
A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike.

CLVIII.

He ate and he was well supplied : and she, ••
Who watch'd him like a mother, would have fed

Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see
Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead:

But Zoe, being older than llaidee,

Knew (by .tradition, for she ne'er had read)

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,

And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

CLIX
And so she took the liberty to state,

Kather by deeds than words, because the case
Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate

Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace
The sea-shore at this hour, must leave his plate,

Unless he wish'd to die upon the place —
She snatch'd it, and refused another morsel,
Saying, he had gorged enough to make a horse ill.

CLX.

Next they— be being naked, save a tatter'd
Pair of scarce decent trousers — vent to work,

And in the fire his recent rags they seatter'd,
And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk,

Or Greek— that is, although it not much matter'd,
Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk. —

They funu&h'd him, entire, except some stitches*

With a dean shirt, and very spaeiow breeches,

And then £airHaid& tried her tongue at speaking,
Bat not a -word could Juan eomyehend,

Although he hsten'd so that the young Greek m
Her tircestnes-s \rc-uld ne'er hare made aa end;

And, as he interrupted not, vest eking
Her speech out to her protege* and friend,

Tffl pausing at the last her breath to take,

She av he did not nndesaMd Bomaie.

And then she had recourse to nods, and signs,
And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye,

And read (the only book she could) the lines
Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy,

The answer eloquent, -where the soul shines
And darts in one quick glance a kmg reply ;

And thus in every look she saw exprest

A vorM of words, and things at vhidi she goes'*.

And nov, by dint of fingers and of eyes,
And words repeated after her, he took

A lesson in her tongue ; but by surmise,
No doubt, ketefher language than her look ;

As he who studies fa »euUj the skies
Turns oftener to the stars than to his book,

Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better.

From HaideVs glance than any grave* letter.

Tis pleasing to be scaooTdm a strange tongue
By female tips and eyes — that is, I mean,

When both the teacher and the taught are young,
As was the ease, at least, when I hare been ;

They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong.
They smile still more, and then there intervene

Fre^nre :: hand?, jxrhare even a chaste t;^ ;—

I learn'd the little that I know by this

DON JUAX.

83

That is, some words of Spanish, Turk and Greek,
Italian not at all, having no teachers ;

Much English I cannot pretend to speak,

Learning that language chiefly from its preachers.

Barrow, South, Tillotsou, whom every week
I study, also Blair, the highest reachers

Of eloquence in piety and prose —

I hate your poets, so read none of those.

CLXVI.
As for the ladies, I have nought to say,

A wanderer from the British world of fashion,
Where. I, like other " dogs, have had my day,"

Like other men, too, may have had my passion.
But that, like other things, has pass'd away,

And all her fools I could lay the lash on :
' Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me,
But dreams of what has been, no more to be, /

CLZTU.

Return we to Don Juan. He begun

To hear new words, and to repeat them ; but

Some feelings, universal as the sun,
Were such as could not in his breast be shut

More than within the bosom of a nun :

He was in love, — as you would be, no doubt,

With a young benefactress, — so was she,

Just in the way we very often see.

ctxvm.
And every day by day-break rather early

For Juan, who was somewhat fond of rest —
She came into the cave, but it was merely

To see her bird reposing in its nest ;
And she would softly stir his locks so curly,

Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest,
Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth,
As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south.

CLXIX.

And every morn his colour fres%lier came,
And every day help'd on his convalescence ;

Twas well, because health in the human frame
Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence,

For health and idleness to passion's flame
Are oil and gunpowder ; and some good lessons.

Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus,

Without whom Venus will not long attack us.

84 DON JTJAH.

CLXX.

While Venus fills the heart, (without heart really
Love, though good always, is not quite so good,)

Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli, —

For love must be sustain'd like flesh and blood, -

While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly :
Eggs, oysters, too, are amatory food ;

But who is their purveyor from above

Heaven knows, — it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove.

CLXXI.
When Juan woko he found some good thinap ready,

A bath, a breakfast, and the finest eyes
That ever made a youthful heart less steady,

Besides her maid's, as pretty for their size ;
But I have spoken of all this already —

And repetition's tiresome and unwise, — »
Well — Juan, after bathing in the sea,
Came always back to coffee and Haidee.

CLXXII.
Both were so young, and one so innocent,

That bathing pass'd for nothing ; Juan seemM
To her, as 'twere, the kind of being sent,

Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd,
A something to be loved, a creature meant

To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd
To render happy, all who joy would win
Must share it, — Happiness was born a twin.

C1XXIII.

It was such pleasure to behold him, such

Enlargement of existence to partake
Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch,

To watch him slumbering, and to see him wake :
To live with him for ever were too much ;

But then the thought of parting made her quake :
He was her own, her ocean-treasure, cast
Like a rich wreck — her first love, and her last

CLXXIV.
And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidee

Paid daily visits to her boy, and took
Such plentiful precautions, that still he

llemain'd unknown within his craggy nook ;
A t last her father's prows put out to sea,

For certain merchantmen upon the look,
Not as of yore to carry off an lo,
Eut three B&gusan vessels, bound for Scio.

85

CLXXV.

Then came her freedom, for she had no mother,
So that, her father being at sea, she was

Free as a married woman, or such other
Female, as where she likes may freely pass,

Without even the incumbrance of a brother,
The freest she that ever gazed on glass ;

I speak of Christian lands in this comparison,

Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison.

CLXXVI.

Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk

(For they must talk), and he had learnt to say

So much as to propose to take a walk, —
For little had he wander'd since the day

On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stalk,
Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay, —

And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon,

And saw the sun set opposite the moon.

CLXXVII.

It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast,
With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore,

Guarded by shoals and rocks as by a host,
With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore

A better welcome to the tempest-tost ;
And rarely ceased the haughty billow's roar,

Save on the dead long summer days, which make

The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake.

CLXXVIII.

And the small ripple spilt upon the beach

Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne,

When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach,
That spring-dew of the spirit ! the heart's rain !

Few things surpass old wine ; and they m;iy preach
Who please, — the more because they preach in vain •

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,

Sermons and soda-water the day after.

CLXXIX.
31 an, being reasonable, must get drunk

The best of life is but intoxication :
Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk

The hopes of all men, and of every nation ;
Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk

Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion :
But to return, — Get very drunk ; and when
You wake with headach, you shall see what then.
0

CLXXX.

King for your valet — bid him quickly bring
Some hock and soda-water, then you'll know

A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king.

For not the blest sherbet, sublimed with snoir,

Kor for the first sparkle of the desert-spring,
Nor Burgandy in all its sunset glow,

After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter,

Vie with that draught of hock and soda-water.

CLXXXI.
The coast — I think it was the coast that I

Was just describing — Yes, it was the coast —
Lay at this period quiet as the sky,

The sands untumbled, the blue waves untost,
And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry,

And dolphin's leap, and little billow crost
By some low rock or shelve, that made it fret
Against the boundary it scarcely wet.

ctxxxir.
And forth they wander'd, her sire being gone,

As I have said, upon an expedition ;
And mother, brother, guardian, she had none,

Save Zoe, who, although with due precision
She waited on her lady with the sun,

Thought daily service was her only mission,
Bringing warm water, wreathing her long tresses,
And asking now and then for cast-off dresses.

CLXXXIII.
It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded

Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded,

Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded

On one side, aud the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.

CLXXXIV.
And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand,

Over the shining pebbles and the shells.
Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand.

And in the worn aud wild receptacles
Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd,

In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells,
They torn'd to rest ; and, each claspM by an arm.
Yielded to the deep twilight's purple cljann.

DON JUAN. 87

CLXXXV.

They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow-
Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright ;

They gazed upon the glittering sea below,

Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight ;

They heard the wares' splash, and the wind so low,
And saw each other's dark eyes darting light

Into each other — and, beholding this,

Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss ;

CLXXXVI.
A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,

And beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above ;

Such kisses as belong to early days,
Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,

And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake, — for a kiss's strength,
I think, it must be reckon'd by its length.

CLXXXVII.

By length I mean duration ; theirs endured

Heaven knows how long — no doubt they never reckon'd ;

And if they had, they could not have secured
The sum of their sensations to a second :

They had not spoken ; but they felt allured,
As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd,

Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clung —

Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung.

CLXXXVIII.
They were alone, but not alone as they

Who shut in chambers think it loneliness ;
The silent ocean, and the starlight bay,

The twilight glow, which momently grew less,
The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay

Around them, made them to each other press,
As if there were no life beneath the sky
Save theirs, and that their life could never die.

CLXXXIX.
They fear'd no ears on that lone beach,

They felt no terrors from the night, they were
All in all to each other : though their speech

Was broken words, they thought a language there, —
And all the burning tongues the passions teach

Found in one sigh the best interpreter
Of nature's oracle — first love, — that all
Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall.

38 DON JUAN.

cxo.
Haidee spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows,

Nor offer'd any ; she had never heard
Of plight and promises to be a spouse,

Or perils bj a loving maid incurr'd ;
She was all which pure ignorance allows,

And flew to her young mate like a young bird ;
And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she
Had not one word to say of constancy.

cxci.
She loved, and was beloved — she adored,

And she was worshipp'd ; after nature's fashion,
Their intense souls, into each other pour'd

If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion,—
But by degrees their senses were restored,

Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on ;
And, beating "gainst his bosom, Haidee's heart
Felt as if never more to beat apart.

CXCI I.
Alas ! they were so young, so beautiful,

So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour
Was that in which the heart is always full,

And, having o'er itself no further power,
Prompts deeds eternity can not annul,

But pays off moments in an endless shower
Of hell-fire — all prepared for people giving
Pleasure or pain to one another living.

CXCIII.

Alas ! for Juan and Haidee ! they were
So lovely and so loving — till then never,

Excepting our first parents, such a pair
Had run the risk of being damn'd for ever

And Haidee, being devout as well as fair,

Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian river,

And hell and purgatory — but forgot

Just in the very crisis she should not.

cxciv.

They look upon each other, and their eyes

Gleam in the moonlight ; and her white arm clasps

Round Juan's head, and his around her lies
Half buried in the tresses which it grasps ;

She sits upon his knee and drinks his sighs,
He hers, until they end in broken gasps ;

And thus they form a group that's quite antique,

Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek

PON JUAN. 89

cxcv.
And when those deep and burning moments pass'd

And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms,
She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast,

Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms ;
And now and then her eye to heaven is cast,

And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms,
Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants
With all it granted, and with all it grants.

cxcvi.
An infant when it gazes on a light,

A child the moment when it drains the breast,
A devotee when soars the Host in sight,

An Arab with a stranger for a guest,
A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,

A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
Feel rapture ; but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.

cxcvu.
For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,

All that it hath of life with us is living ;
So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved.

And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving ;
All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,

Hush'd into depths beyond the watchers diving ;
There lies the thing we love with all its errors
And all its charms, like death without its terrors.

cxcvin
The lady watch'd her lover — and that hour

Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude,
O'erflow'd her soul with the united power ;

Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude
She and her wave-worn love had made their bower,

Where naught upon their passion could intrude,
And all the stars that crowded the blue space
Saw nothing happier than her glowing face.

CXCIX.

Alas ! the love of women ! it is known

To be a lovely and a fearful thing ;
For all of theirs upon that die is thrown,

And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring
To them but mockeries of the past alone,

And their revenge is as the tiger's spring,
Deadly, and quick, and crushing ; yet, as real
Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel

90 DON JUAM

cc.
They are right ; for man, to man so oft unjust,

Is always so to women ; one sole bond
Awaits them, treachery is all their trust ;

Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts desponi
Over their idol, till some wealthier lust

Buys them in marriage — and what rests beyond ?
A thankless husband, next a faithless lover,
Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over.

ccr.
Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers,

Some mind their household, others dissipation,
Some run away, and but exchange their cares,

Losing the advantage of a virtuous station ;
Few changes e'er can better their affairs,

Theirs bring an unnatural situation,
From the dull palace to the dirty hovel :
Some play the devil, and then write a novel,

CCII.
Haidee was Nature's bride, and knew not this ;

Haidee was Passion's child, born where the suu
Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss

Of his gazelle-eyed daughters ; she was one
Made but to love, to feel that she was his

Who was her chosen ; what was said or done
Elsewhere was nothing. — She had nought to fear,
Hope, care, nor love, beyond, her beat here.

com.
And oh ! that quickening of the heart, that beat !

How much it costs us ! yet each rising throb
Is in its cause as its effect so sweet,

That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob
Joy of its alchemy, and to repeat

Fine truths ; even Conscience, too has a tough jo )
To make us understand each good old maxim,
So good — I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em.

cciv.
And now 'twas done — on the lone shore were plight ?d

Their hearts ; the stars, their nupth.l torches, shed
Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted :

Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed,
By their own feelings hallow'd and united,

Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed •
Ajid they were happy, for to their young eyes
Each was an angel, and earth paradise.

Dl

ccv.
Oh, Love ! of whom great Caesar was the suitor,

Titus the master, Antony the Slave,
Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor,

Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave
All those may leap who rather would be neuter —

(Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave) —
Oh, Love ! thou art the very god of evil,
For, after all, we cannot call thee devil.

ccvi.
Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state precarious,

And jestest with the brows of mightiest men.
Caesar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius,

Have much employ'd the muse of history's pen :
Their lives and fortunes were extremely various,

Such worthies Time will never see again ;
Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds,
They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds.

CCVII.

Thou mak'st philosophers ; there's Epicurus

And Aristippus, a material crew !
Who to immoral courses would allure us

By theories quite practicable too ; ,
If only from the devil they would insure us,

How pleasant were the maxim (not quite new),
*' Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us ?"
So said the royal sage Sardanapalus.

OCVIII.

But Juan ! had he quite forgotten Julia ?

And should he have forgotten her so soon ?
I can't but say it seems to me most truly a

Perplexing question ; but, no doubt, the moon
Does these things for us, and whenever newly a

Palpitation rises, 'tis her boon,
Else how the devil is it that fresh features
' Have such a charm for us poor human creatures.

CCIX.

I hate inconstancy — I loathe, detest,

Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made

Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast
No permanent foundation can be laid ;

Love, constant love, has been my constant guest,
And yet last night, being at a masquerade,

1 saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan,

Which gave me some sensations like like a villain.

92 DON JUAN.

OCX.

But soon Philosophy came to my aid,

And whisper'd, " Think of every sacred tie !"

" I will, my dear Philosophy !" I said,

" But then her teeth, and then, oh, Heaven ! her eye !

I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid,
Or neither — out of curiosity."

"'Stop !" cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian

(Though she was masqued then as a fair Venetian :)

ccxi.
" Stop !" so I stopp'd. — But to return : that which

Men call inconstancy is nothing more
Than admiration due where nature's rich

Profusion with young beauty covers o'er
Some favour'd object ; and as in the niche

A lovely statue we almost adore,
This sort of adoration of the real
Is but a heightening of the " beau ideal."

CCXII.

'Tis the perception of the beautiful,

A fine extension of the faculties,
Platonic, universal, wonderful,

Drawn from the stars, and filter'd tnrough the skies,
Without which life would be extremely dull ;

In short, it is the use of our own eyes,
With one or two small senses added, just
To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust.

ccxin.
Yet 'tis a painful feeling, and unwilling,

For surely if we always could perceive
In the same object graces quite as killing

As when she rose upon us like an Eve,
"Twould save us many a heartach, many a shilling,

(For we must get them anyhow, or grieve),
Whereas if one sole lady pleased for ever,
How pleasant for the heart, as well as liver !

ccxiv.

The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven,
But changes night and day, too, like the sky ;

Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven,
And darkness and destruction as on high :

But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and riven,
Its storms expire in water drops ; the eye

Pours forth at last the heart's blood turu'd to tears,

Which make the English climate of our years.

ccxv.
The lirer is the lazaret of bile,

But very rarely executes its function,
For the first passion stays there such a while.

That all the rest creep in and form a junction,
Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil,

Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction,
So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail,.
Like earthquakes from the hidden tire call'd " central.

C£XVI.

^n the mean time, without proceeding more

In this anatomy, I've nnish'd now
Two hundred and odd stanzas as before,

That being about the number I'll allow
Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four ;

Aud, laying down my pen, I make my bow,
Leaving Don Juan and ilaidee to plead
For them and theirs with all who deign to read.

DON JUAN.

inn

CANTO THE THIBD.

HAIL, Muse ! et cetera. — We left Juan sleeping,

Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast.
And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping,

And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest
To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,

Or know who rested there, a foe to rest,
Had soil'd the current of her sinless years,
And turned her pure heart's purest blood to tears !

ir.
Oh, Love ! what is it in this world of ours

Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah why
With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers,

And made thy best interpreter a sigh ?
As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers

And place them on their breast — but place to die —
Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish
Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

in.

In her first passion woman loves her lover,

In all the others all she loves is love,
Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over,

And fits her loosely — like an easy glove,
As you may find, whene er you like to prove her :

One man alone at first her heart can move ;
She then prefers him in the plural number,
Not finding that the additions much encumber

I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ;

But one thing's pretty sure ; a woman planted
(Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers) —

After a decent time must be gallanted ;
Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs

Is that to which her heart is wholly granted ;
Tet there are some, they say, who have had none,
But those who have ne'er end with only one.

DON JUAH. 95

T.

Pis melancholy, and a fearful sign

Of human frailty, folly, also crime,
That love and marriage rarely can combine,

Although they both are born in the same clime.
If arriage from lore, like vinegar from wine —

A sad> sour, sober beverage — by time
Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour
Down to a very homely household savour.

n.

There's something of antipathy, as 'twere,
Between their present and their future state ;

A kind of flattery that's hardly fair

Is used until the truth arrives too late —

Yet what can people do, except despair ?

The same things change their names at 'such a rate*

For instance — passion in a lover's glorious,

But for a husband is pronounced uxorious.

VII.

Men grow ashamed of being so very fond ;

They sometimes also get a little tired
(But that," of course, is rare), and then despond

The same things cannot always be admired,
Yet 'tis "so nominated in the bond,"

That both are tied till one shall have expired.
Sad thought ! to lose the spouse that was adorning
Our days, and put one's servants into mourning.

VIII.

There's doubtless something in domestic doings
Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis ;

Romances paint at full length people's wooings,
But only give a bust of marriages ;

For no one cares for matrimonial cooings,
There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss.

Think you if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,

He would have written sonnets all his life ?

IX.

All tragedies are finish'd by a death,

All comedies are ended by a marriage ;
The future states of both are left to faith,

For authors fear description might disparage
The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath,

And then both worlds would punish their miscarriage ;
So leaving each their priest and prayer-book ready
They say no more of Death or of the Lad v.

96 DON JUAU.

X.

The only two that in my recollection

Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage are

Dante and Milton, and of both the affection
Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar

Of fault or temper ruin'd the connection

(Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to mar) ;

But Dante's Beatrice, and Milton's Eve

Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive*

XI.

Some persons say that Dante meant theology

By Beatrice, and not a mistress — I,
Although my opinion may require apology,

Deem this a commentator's phantasy,
Unless indeed it -was from his own knowledge he

Decided thus, and show'd good reason why ;
I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics
Meant to personify the mathematics.

XII.

Haidee and Juan were not married, hut
The fault was theirs, not mine : it is not fair,

Chaste reader, then, in any way to put
The blame on me, unless you wish they were ;

Then if you'd have them wedded, please to shut
The book which treats of this erroneous pair,

Before the consequences grow too awful ;

'Tis dangerous to read of loves unlawful.

XIII.

Yet they were happy, — happy in the illicit
Indulgence of their innocent desires ;

But more imprudent grown with every visit,
Haidee forgot the island was her sire's ;

When we have what we like 'tis hard to miss it,
At least in the beginning, ere one tires ;

Thus she came often, not a moment losing,

Whilst her piratical papa was cruising

XIV.

Let not his mode of rising cash seem strange,
Although he fleeced the flags of every nation,

For into a prime minister but change
His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation ;

But he, more modest, took an humbler range
Of life, and in an honester vocation

Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey,

And merely practised as a sea-attorney.

DON JUAN.

The good old gentleman had been detainM

By winds and waves, and some important capture* ;
And, in the hope of more, at sea remain'd

Although a squall or two had damp'd his raptures^
By swamping one of the prizes ; he had chain'd

His prisoners, dividing them like chapters,
In number'd lots ; they all had cuffs and collars,
And averaged each from ten to a hundred dollars.

XYI.

Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan,

Among his friends the Mainots ; some he sold

To his Tunis correspondents, save one man
Toss'd overboard unsaleable (being old) ;

The rest — save here and th$re some richer one,
Reserved for future ransom in the hold,

Were link'd alike, as for the common people he

Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli.

xni.

The merchandise was served in the same way,
Pieced out for different marts in the Levant,

Except some certain portions of the prey,
Light classic articles of female want,

French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toothpicks, teapot, tray»
Guitars and castanets from Alicimt,

All which selected from the spoil he gathers,

Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers.

xvni.
A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw,

Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens
He chose from several animals he saw —

A terrier, too, which once had been a Briton's,
Who dying on the coast of Ithaca,

The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance.
These to secure in this strong blowing weather,
He caged in one huge hamper all together.

Then having settled his marine affairs,
Despatching single cruisers here and there,

His vessel having need of some repairs,

He shaped his course to where his daughter fair

Continued still her hospitable cares ;

But that part of the coast being shoal and bare

And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile,

His port lay on the other side o' the isle.

10

BM DON JVAIT.

'.-•

XX.

And there he went ashore without delay,
Haying no custom-house nor quarantine

To ask him awkward questions on the way,
About the time and place where he had been :

He left his ship to be hove down next day,
With orders to the people to careen ;

So that all hands were busy beyond measure,

In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treasure.

XXI.

Arriving at the summit of a hill

Which overlook'd the white walls of his home
He stopp'd. — What singular emotions fill

Their bosoms who have been induced to roam I
With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill —

With love for many, and with fears for some ;
All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost,
And bring our hearts back to their starting-post.

XXII.

The approach of home to husbands and to sires
After long travelling by land or water,

Most naturally some small doubt inspires-
A female family's a serious matter ;

(None trust the sex more, or so much admires —
But they hate flattery, so I never flatter ;)

Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,

And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.

XXIII.

An honest gentleman at his return

May not have the good fortune of Ulysses ;
Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn,

Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses ;
The odds are that he finds a handsome urn

To his memory — and two or three young misses
Born to some friend, who holds his wife and riches—-
And that Aw Argus bites him by — the breeches.

xxir.
If single, probably his plighted fair

Has in his absence wedded some rich miser ;
But all the better, for the happy pair

May quarrel, and the lady growing wiser,
He may resume his amatory care

As cavalier cervente, or despise her ;
And that his sorrow may not be a dumb one,
Writes odes on the Inconstancy of Woman.

XXV.

And oh ! ye gentlemen who have already

Some chaste liaison of the kind — I mean
An honest friendship with a married lady —

The only thing of this sort ever seen
To last — of all connections the most steady,

And the true Hymen (the first's but a screen) —
Yet for all that keep not too long away,
I've known the absent wrong'd four times a day.

XXVI.

Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had
Much less experience of dry land than ocean,

On seeing his own chimney-smoke, felt glad
But not knowing metaphysics, had no notion

Of the true reason of his not being sad,
Or that of any other strong emotion ;

He loved his child, and would have wept the loss of her,

But knew the cause no more than a philosopher.

XXVII.

He saw his white walls shining in the sun,

His garden trees all shadowy and green ;
He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run,

The distant dog-bark ; and perceived between
The umbrage of the wood so cool and dun

The moving figures, and the sparkling sheen
Of arms (in the East all arm) — and various dyes
Of colour *d garbs, as bright as butterflies.

XXVIII.

And as tne spot where they appear he nears,
Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling,

He hears — alas ! no music of the spheres,
But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling !

A melody which made him doubt his ears

The cause being past his guessing or unriddling ;

A pipe, too; and a drum, and shortly after,

A most unoriental roar of laughter.

XXIX.

And still more nearly to the place advancing,

Descending rather quickly the declivity,
Through the waved branches, o'er the green sward glancing,

'Midst other indications of festivity
Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing

Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he
Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial,
To which the Levantines are very partial.

100 DOM JOAN.

XXX.

And further on a troop of Grecian girls,
The first and tallest her whito kerchief waving,

Were strung together like a row of pearls,
Link'd hand in haud, and dancing ; each too having

Down her white neck long floating auburn curls —
(The least of which would set ten poets raving) ;

Their leader sang — and bounded to her song,

With choral step and voice, the virgin throng.

XXXI.

And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their tray*
Small social parties just began to dine ;

Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze,
And flasks of Samiau and of Chi an wine,

And sherbet cooling in the porous vase ;
Above them their dessert grew on its vine ;

The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er

Droop'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow store.

XXXII.

A band of children* round a snow-white ram,
There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers ;

While peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb,
The patriach of the flock all gently cowers

His sober head, majestically tamo,
Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers

His brow, as if in act to butt, and then

Yielding to their small hands, draws back again.

XXXIII.

Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses,
Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks,

Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses.
The gesture which enchants, the eyo that speaks,

The innocence which happy childhood bl
Made quite a picture of these little Greeks ;

So that the philosophical beholder

Sigh'd for their sakcs — that they should e'er grow older.

- XXXIT.

Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales

To a sedate grey circle of old smokers
Of secret treasures found in hidden vales,

Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers,
Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails.

Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers,
Of magic ladies who, by one solo act,
Transforin'd their lords to beasts Imt that's a fact) .

DOM JUAJJ. 101

XXXV.

Here was no lock of innocent diversion

For the im:ii;iii.itiHii or the senses,
Song, dance, wnu>, music, stories, from the Persian,

All pretty pastimes in wlmh no offence is;
Hut l..iiii!irn saw all these things with aversion,

Perceiving in his absence such expenses,
Dreading that climax of all human ills,
The inilammatiou of his weekly bills.

xxxvr.
Ah ! what is man? what perils still environ

The happiest mortals even after dinner —
A day of gold from out an age of iron

Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner ;
Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least) 's a siren,

That lures, to flay alive, the young beginner ;
Lambro's reception at his people's banquet
Was such as lire accords to a wet blanket.

XXXVII.

He — being a man who seldom used a word
Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise

(In general he surprised men with the sword)
His daughter — had not sent before to advise

Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd ;
And long he paused to re-assure his eyes,

In fact much more astonish'd than delighted,

'I'n find so much good company invited.

XXXVIII.

He did not know ('alas ! how men will lie)

That a report (especially the Greeks)
Avouch'd his death (such people never dir)

And put his house in mourning several weeks,—
Dut now their eyes and also lips were dry ;

The bloom, too, had return'd to HaidcVs cheeks.
Her tears, too, being returu'd into their fount,
She now kept house upon her own account.

XXXIX.

I l.-nn- all this rice, meat, dancing, wine, and fiddling,
Winch tura'd tlio isle into a place of pleasure,

The servants all were getting drunk or idling,
A life which made them happy beyond measure.

!!••! lather's hospitality seem'd middling,
Compared with what liaiduo did with his treasure -,

Twas wonderful how things went on improving.

\Vhilu she had not one hour to spare from Living.
10*

103 DOM JUAN.

XL.

Perhaps you think in stumbling on this feast

He flew into a passion, and in fact
There was no mighty reason to be pleased

Perhaps you prophesy some sudden act,
The whip, the rack, or dungeon at the least,

. To teach his people to be more exact,
And that, proceeding at a very high rate,
He showed the royal penchants of a pirate.

XLI.
You're wrong. — He was the mildest manner'd man

That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat,
With such true breeding of a gentleman,

You never could divine his real thought ;
No courtier could, and scarcely woman can

Gird more deceit within a petticoat :
Pity he loved adventurous life's variety,
He was so great a loss to good society.

XLII.
Advancing to the nearest dinner-tray,

Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest,
With a peculiar smile, which, by the way,

Boded no good, whatever it express'd.
He ask'd the meaning of this holiday ;

The vinous Greek to whom he had address'd
His question, much too merry to divine
The questioner, fill'd up a glass of wine,

X1III.

And without turning his facetious head,

Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air,
Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said,

" Talking's dry work, I have no time to spare."
A second hiccup'd, " Our old master's dead,

You'd better ask our mistress who's his heir."
" Our mistress !" quoth a third : " Our mistress ! — pooh !-
You mean our master — not the old, but new."

XLIV.
These rascals, being new comers, knew not whom

They thus address'd — and Lambro's visage fell—-
And o'er his eye a momentary gloom

Pass'd, but he strove quite courteously to quell
The expression, and endeavouring to resume

His smile, requested one of them to tell
The name and quality of his new patron,
Who seem'd to have turn'd Haidee into a matron.

DON JCAN. .03

xtv.

" I know not ' quoth the fellow, " who or what
He is, nor whence he came — and little care ;

But this I know, that this roast capon's fat,

And that good wine ne'er wash'd down better fare

And if you are not satisfied with that,

Direct your questions to my neighbour there ;

He'll answer all for better or for worse,

For none likes more to hear himself converse."

I said that Lambro was a man of patience,
And certainly he show'd the best of breeding,

Which scarce even France, the paragon of nations,
E'er saw her most polite of sons exceeding ;

He bore these sneers against his near relations,
His own anxiety, his heart, too, bleeding,

The insults, too, of every servile glutton,

Who all the time was eating up his mutton.

XLVII.

Now in a person used to much command —

To bid men come, and go, and come again —
To see his orders done, too, out of hand —

Whether the word was death, or but the chain-
It may seem strange to find his manners bland ;
Yet such things are, which I can not explain.
Though doubtless he who can command himself
Is good to govern — almost as a Guelf.

XLVIII.
Not that he was not sometimes rash or so,

But never in his real and serious mood ;
Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow,

He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood ;
With him it never was a word and blow,

His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood,
But in his.silence thefe was much to rue,
And his one blow left little work for two,

XLIX.
He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded

On to the house, but by a private way,
So that the few who met him hardly heeded,

So little they expected him that day ;
If love paternal in his bosom pleaded

For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say,
But certainly to one deem'd dead returning,
This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning.

104 DON JUAN.

L.

If all the dead could now return to life,

(Which God forbid !) or some, or a great many,

For instance, if a husband or his wife
(Nuptial examples are as good as any),

No doubt whate'er might be their former strife.
The present weather would be much more raiay —

Tears shed into the grave of the connection

Would share most probably its resurrection.

LI.
He enter'd in the house no more his home,

A thing to human feelings the most trying,
And harder for the heart to overcome,

Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying ;
To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb,

And round its once warm precincts palely lying
The ashes of our hopes is a deep grief,
Beyond a single gentleman's belief.

LII.

He enter'd in the house — his home no more,
For without hearts there is no home : and felt

The solitude of passing his own door

Without a welcome : there he long had dwelt,

There his few peaceful days Time had swept oe'r,
There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt

Over the innocence of that sweet child,

His only shrine of feelings undented.

LIII.
He was a man of a strange temperament,

Of mild demeanour though of savage mood,
Moderate in all his habits, and content

With temperance in pleasure, as in food,
Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and meant

For something better, if not wholly good ;
His country's wrongs and his despair to save her
Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver.

LIV.

The love of power, and rapid gain of gold,
The hardness by long habitude produced,

The dangerous life in which he had grown old
The mercy he had granted oft abused,

The sights he was accustom'd to behold,

The wild seas, and wild men with whom he cruised,

Had cost his enemies a long repentance,

And made him a good friend, but bad acquaintance.

DON JCAN. 105

LV.

But something of the spirit of old Greece

Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays,
Such as lit onward to the Golden Fleece-

His predecessors in the Colchian days ;
T is true he had no ardent love for peace —

Alas ! his country show'd no path to praise :
Hate to the world and war with every nation
He waged, in vengeance of her degradation.

IVI.

Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime

Shed its Ionian elegance, which show'd
Its power unconsciously full many a time, —

A taste seen in the choice of his abode,
A love of music and of scenes sublime,

A pleasure in the gentle s-tream that flow'd
Past him in crystal, and a joy in flowers,
Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours.

LVII.

But whatsoe'er he had of love reposed

On that beloved daughter ; she had been
The only thing which kept his heart unclosed

Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen,
A lonely pure affection unopposed :

There wanted but the loss of this to wean
His feelings from all milk of human kindness,
And turn him lite the Cj clops mad with blindness.

The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock ;

The ocean when its yeasty war is waging
Is awful to the vessel near the rock ;

But violent things will sooner bear assuaging.
Their fury being spent by its own shock,

Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire

Of a strong human heart, and in a sire.

LIX.
It is a hard although a common case

To find our children running restive — they
In whom our brightest days we would retrace,

Our little selves re-formed ia finer clay,
Just as old age is creeping on apace,

And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day,
They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,
But in good company — the gout or stone.

106 DO

LX.

Yet a fine family is a fine thing

(Provided they don't come in after dinner) :
"T is beautiful to see a matron bring

Her children up (if nursing them don't thin her),
Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling

To the fire-side (a sight to touch a sinner) .
A lady •with her daughters or her nieces
Shine like a guinea and seven-shilling pieces

LXI.
Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate,

And stood within his hall at eventide ;
Meantime the lady and her lover sate

At wassail in their beauty and their pride :
An ivory inlaid table spread with state

Before them, and fair slaves on every side ;
Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly,
Mother of pearl and coral the less costly.

LXII.
The dinner made about a hundred dishes ;

Lamb and pistachio nuts — in short all meats,
And saffron soups, and sweetbreads ; and the fishes

Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets,
Drest to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes ;

The beverage was various sherbets
Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice,
Squeezed through the rind, which makes it best for use.

LXIII.
These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer,

And fruits and date-bread loaves closed the repast,
And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure,

In small fine China cups, came in at last ;
Gold cups of filigree made to secure

The hand from burning underneath them placed,
Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd
Up with the coffee, which (I thnk) they spoil d.

LXIV.

The hangings of the room were tapestry, made

Of velvet panels, each of different hue,
And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid ;

And round them ran a yellow border too ;
The upper border, richly wrought, display'd,

Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue,
Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters,
From poets, or the moralists their betters.

DOM JUAK. 07

1XV.

These Oriental writings on the wall,

Quite common in those countries, are a kind

Of monitors adapted to recall,
Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the mind

The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall,
And took his kingdom from him : you will find,

Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure,

There is no sterner moralist than Pleasure.

txvi.

A beanty at the season's close grown hectic,
A genius who has drunk himself to death,

A rake turn'd methodistic, or Eclectic —

(For that's the name they like to pray beneath)-—

But most, an alderman struck apoplectic,
Are things that really take away the breath, —

And show that late hours, wine, and love are able

To do not much less damage than the table.

txvii.
Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet

On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue ;
Their sofa occupied three parts complete

Of the apartment — and appear'd quite new ;
The velvet cushions (for a throne more meet) —

Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew
A sun emboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue,
Meridan-like, were seen all light to issue.

LXVTII.

Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain,
Had done their work of splendour ; Indian mats

And Persian carpets, which the heart bled to stain,
Over the floors were spread ; gazelles and cats,

And dwarfs and blacks, and such like things, that gain
Their bread as ministers and favourites — (that's

To say, by degradation) — mingled there

As plentiful as in a court, or fair.

LXIX.

There was no want of lofty mirrors, and

The tables, most of ebony inlaid
With mother of pearl or ivory, stood at hand,

Or were of tortoise-shell or rare woods made,
Fretted with gold or silver : — by command,

The greater part of these were ready spread
With viands and sherbets in ice — and wine-^
Kept for all comers, at all hours to dine.

108 DON JtJAS.

Of all the dresses I select Haidee's :

She wore two jelicks — one was of pale yellow ;

Of azure, pink, and white was her chemise —

'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow ;

With buttons formed of pearls as large as peas,
All gold and crimson shone her j click's fellow,

And the striped white gauze baracan that bound her,

Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow'd round her.

LXXI.
One large gold bracelet clasp'd each lovely arm,

Lockless — so pliable from the pure gold
That the hand stretch'd and shut it without harm,

The limb wllich it adorn'd its only mould
So beautiful — its very shape would charm,

And clinging as if loath to lose its hold,
The purest ore enclosed the whitest skin
That e'er by precious metal was held in.

LXXII.
Around, as princess of her father's land»

A like gold bar above her instep roll'd,
Announced her rank ; twelve rings were on her hand ;

Her hair was starr'd with gems ; her veil's fine fold
Below her breast was fasten'd with a band

Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told ;
Her orange silk full Turkish trousers furl'd
Above the prettiest anMe in the world.

LXXIII.

Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel
Flow'd like an Alpine torrent which the sun

Dyes with his morning light — and would conceal
Her person if allow'd at large to run

And still they seem resentfully to feel

The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun

Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught began

To offer his young pinion as her fan.

Round her she made an atmosphere of life,
The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes,

They were so soft and beautiful, and rife
With all we can imagine of the skies,

And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife —
Too pure even for the purest human ties ;

Her overpowering presence made you feel

It would not be idolatry to kneel.

UOJJ JUAN, 109

LXXV.

Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were tinged

(It is the country's custom), but in vain ;
For those large black eyes were so blackly fringed,

The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain,
And in their native beauty stood avenged :

Her nails were touch'd with henna ; but again
The power of art was turn'd to nothing, for
They could not look more rosy than before.

LXXVI.

The henna_should be deeply dyed to make
The skin relieved appear more fairly fair ;

She had no need of this, day ne'er will break

On mountain tops more heavenly white than her;

The eye might doubt if it were well awake
She was so like a vision ; I might err,

But Shakspeare also says, "t is very silly

" To gild refined gold, or paint the lily."

LXXVH.

Juan had on a shawl of black and gold

But a white baracan, and so transparent
The sparkling gems beneath you might behold,

Like small stars through the milky-way apparent l
His turban, furl'd in many a graceful fold,

An emerald aigrette with Haidee's hair in "t
Surmounted as its clasp, a glowing crescent,
Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant.

LXXVIII.
And now they were diverted by their suite,

Dwarfs, dancing girls, black eunuchs, and a poet.
Which made their new establishment complete ;

The last was of great fame, and liked to show it :
His verses rarely wanted their due feet —

And for his theme — he seldom sung below it,
He being paid to satirise or flatter,
As the psalm says, " inditing a good matter."

LXXIX.
He praised the present, and abused the past,

Reversing the good custom of old days,
An Eastern anti-jacobin at last

He turn'd, preferring pudding to no praise —
For some few years his lot had been o'ercast

By his seeming independent in his lays,
But now he sung the Sultan and the Pacha
With truth like Southey, and with verse like Crashaw.
11

LXXX.

He was a man who had seen many changes,
And always changed as true as any needle ;

His polar star being one which rather ranges,
And not the fix'd — he knew the way to wheedle :

So vile he 'scaped the doom which oft avenges;
And being fluent (save indeed when fee'd ill),

He lied with such a fervour of intention —

There was no doubt he earn'd his laureate pension.

ixxxi.
But he had genius, — when a turn-coat has it, ,

The " Vates irritabilis" takes care
That without notice few full moons shall pass it ;

Even good men like to make the public stare : — •
But to my subject — let me see — what was it ? —

Oh ! — the third canto — and the pretty pair —
Their loves, and feasts, and house, and dress, and mode
Of living in their insular abode.

txxxn. ,
Their poet, a sad trimmer, but no less

In company a very pleasant fellow,
Had been the favourite of full many a mess

Of men, and made them speeches when half mellow ;
And though his meaning they could rarely guess,

Yet still they deign'd to hiccup or to bellow
The glorious meed of popular applause
Of which the first ne'er knows the second cause.

IJCXXIII.

But now being lifted into high society,
And having pick'd up several odds and ends

Of free thoughts in his travels for variety,
He deem'd, being in a lone isle among friends,

That without any danger of a riot, he

Might for long lying make himself amends ;

And singing as he sung in his warm youth,

Agree to a short armistice with truth.

LXXXIV.
He had travell'd 'mongst the Arabs, Turks, and Franca,

And knew the self-loves of the different nations :
And having lived with people of all ranks,

Had something ready upon most occasions —
Which got him a few presents and some thanks.

He varied with some skill his adulations ;
To " do at Rome as Romans do," a piece
Of conduct was which he observed in Greece.

DON JUAN. Ill

LXXXV.

Thus, usually when he was ask'd to sing,

He gave the different nations something national ;

'Twas all the same to him — " God save the king,1'
Or " Ca ira," according to the fashion all :

His muse made increment of any thing,

From the high lyric down to the low rational ;

If Pindar sang horse-races, what should hinder

Himself from being as pliable as Pindar ?

LXXXVI.

In France, for instance, he would write a chanson ;

In England, a six canto quarto tale ;
In Spain, he'd make a ballad or romance on
. The last war — much the same in Portugal ;
In Germany, the Pegasus he'd prance on

Would be old Goethe's — (see what says Do Stael) ;
In Italy, he'd ape the " Trecentisti ;"
In Greece, he'd sing some sort of hymn like this t'ye

1.

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!

Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace, —

Where Delos rose, and Phosbus sprung .
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

2.

The Scian and the Teiaii muse,

The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
HaVe found the fame your shores refuse ;

Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest."

3.

The mountains look on Marathon—-
And Marathon looks on the sea ;

And musing there an hour alone,

I dream'd that Greece might still be free ;

For standing on the Persians' grave,

1 could not deem myself a slave.

4.

A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salami* ;

And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations ; — all were his '

112 DON JUAN.

He counted them at break of day —
And when the sun set where were they ?

5.

And where are they ? and where art thoo,
My country ? On thy voiceless shore

The heroic lay is tuneless now —
The heroic bosom beats no more !

And must thy lyre, so long divine,

Degenerate into hands like mine ?

6.

Tis something in the dearth of fame,
Though link'd among a fetter'd race,

To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face ;

For what is left the poet here ?

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear.

7.

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ?

Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled.
Earth ! render back from out thy breast

A remnant of our Spartan dead !
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae !

8.

What, silent still ? and silent all ?

Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

And answer, " Let one living head,
But one arise, — we come, we come !"
Tis but the living who are dumb.

9.

In vain — in vain, strike other chords :
Fill high the cup with Samian wine !

Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine !

Hark ! rising to the ignoble call

How answers each bold Bacchanal ?

10.

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
- „ Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ?

Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one ?
You have the letters Cadmus gave —
Think ye he meant them for a slave?

DON JUAN. 119

11.

Ffll high the bowl with Samian wine !

We M '11 not think of themes like these '
It made . nacreon's song divine :

He sen 1 — but served Polycrates —
A tyrant ; ut our masters then
Were still i least, our countrymen.

12.

The tyrant of the Chersonese
Was freedom's best and bravest friend ;

That tyrant was Mi lades !
Oh ! that the prest t hour would lend

Another despot of the *nd !

Such chains as his we. sure to bind.

13.

Fill high the bowl with Sanaan wine

On Suli's rock, and Parga'i shore,
Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore
And there, perhaps, some seed is &
The Heracleidan blood might own.

14.

Trust not for freedom to the Franks—
They have a king who buys and sells .

In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells ;

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,

Would break your shield, however broad.

15.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine
Our virgins dance beneath the shade—

I see their glorious black eyes shine ;
But gazing on each glowing maid,

My own the burning tear-drop laves,

To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

16.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,

Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ;

There, swan-like, let me sing and die;
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine —
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine !
11*

)U WON JUAN.

LXXXVII.

Thus sung or would, or could, or should have sung,

The modern Greek, in tolerable verse ;
If not like Orpheus quite, when Greece was young,

Yet in these times he might have done much worse ;
His strain display 'd some feeling — right or wrong

And feeling, in a poet, is the source
Of others' feeling ; but they are such liars,
And take all colours— like the hands of dyers.

LXXXVIII.
But words are things, and a small drop of infc,

Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think ;

Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses
Instead of speech, may form a lasting link

Of ages ; to what straits old Time reduces
Frail man, when paper— even a rag like this,
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his.

LXXXIX.

And when his bones are dust, his grave a blank
His station, generation, even his nation,

Become a thing, or nothing, save to rank
In chronological commemoration,

Some dull MS. oblivion long has sank,
Or graven stone found in a barrack's station

In digging the foundation of a closet,

May turn his name up as a rare deposit.

xc.
And glory long has made the sages smile ;

T is something, nothing, words, illusion, wind —
Depending more upon the historian's style

Than on the name a person leaves behind ;
Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle :

The present century was growing blind
To the great Marlborough's skill in giving knocks,
Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe.

xci.
Milton's the prince of poets — so we say ;

A little heavy, but no less divine ;
An independent being in his day —

Learn 'd, pious, temperate in love and wine ;
But his life falling into Johnson's way,

We're told this great high-priest of all the Nine
Was whipt at college — a harsh sire — odd spouse,
For^the first Mrs. Milton left his house.

BOH JUAN. 115

XCII.

All these are, certes, entertaining facts,

Like Shakspere's stealing deer, Lord Bacon's bribes ;
Like Titus' youth, and Caesar's earliest acts ;

Like Burns (whom Doctor Currie well describes) ;
Like Cromwell's pranks ; — but although truth exacts

These amiable descriptions from the scribes,
As most essential to their hero's story,
They do not much cent ribute to his glory.

XCIII.

All are not moralists, like Southey, when
He prated to the world of " Pantisocrasy ; ** *

Or Wordsworth unexcised, unhired, who then
Season'd his pedlar poems with democracy ;

Or Coleridge, long before his flighty pen
Let to the Morning Post its aristocracy ;

When he and Southey, following the same path,

Espoused two partners (milliners of Bath).

xoiv.
Such names at present cut%a convict figure,

The very Botany Bay in moral geography ;
Their loyal treason, renegado rigour,

Are good manure for their more bare biography •
Wordsworth's last quarto, by the way, is bigger

Than any since the birthday of typography ;
A drowsy frowzy poem call'd the " Excursion,"
Writ in a manner which is my aversion.

xcv.
He there builds up a formidable dyke

Between his own and others' intellect ;
But Wordsworth's poems, and his followers, like

Johanna Southcote's Shiloh, and her sect,
Are things which in this century don't strike

The public mind — so few are the elect ;
And the new births of both their stale virginities
Have proved but dropsies, taken for divinities.

xcvi.
But let me to my story : I must own,

If I have any fault, it is digression —
Leaving my people to proceed alone,

While I soliloquise beyond expression ;
But these are my addresses from the throne,

Which put off business to the ensuing session :
Forgetting each omission is a loss to
The world, not quite so great as Ariosto.

XCV1I.

] know that what our neighbours call " longueurs?

We've not so good a word, but have the thing,
In that complete perfection which ensures

An epic from Bob Southey every spring — )
Form not the true temptation which allures

The reader ; but 't would not be hard to brin/
Some fine examples of the epopee
To prove its grand ingredient is ennui.

xcnn.
We learn from Horace, " Homer sometimes sleeps ; "

We feel without him, Wordsworth sometimes wakes,—
To show with what complacency he creeps,

With his dear " Waggoners" around his lakes.
He wishes for " a boat " to sail the deeps —

Of ocean ? — No, of air ; and then he makes
Another outcry for " a little boat,"
And drivels seas to set it well afloat.

xcix.
If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain,

And Pegasus runs restive in his " Waggon,"
Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain ?

Or pray Medea for a single dragon ?
Or if too classic for his vulgar brain,

He fear'd his neck to vent Jre such a nag on,
And he must needs mount nearer to the moon.
Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon ?

c.
" Pedlars," and " Boats," and " Waggons ! " Oh ! ye shades

Of Pope and Dryden, are we come to this ?
That trash of such sort not alone evades

Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss
Floats scumlike uppermost, and these Jack Cades

Of sense and song above your graves may hiss —
The " little boatman " and his " Peter Bell "
Can sneer at him who drew " Achitophel ! "

ci.

Tour tale — The feast was over, the slaves gone,
The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired ;

The Arab lore and poet's song were done,
And every sound of revelry expired ;

The lady and her lover, left alone,

The rosy flood of twilight's sky admired ; —

Ave Maria ! o'er the earth and sea,

That heavenliest hour of heaven is worthiest thee!

DON JUAN. ll

C1I.

Ave Maria! blessed be the hoar,

The time, the clime, the spot, where I so soffc
Have felt that moment in its fullest power

Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,

Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft,
And not a breath crept through the rosy air,
And yet the forest leaves seemed stirr'd with prayer.

cm.
Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of prayer !

Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love I
Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare

Look up to thine and to thy Son's above !
Ave Maria ! oh that face so fair !

Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove —
What though 'tis but a pictured image? — strike —
That painting is no idol, — 'tis too like.

civ.

Some kinder casuists are pleased to say,
In nameless print — that I have no devotion ;

But set those persons down with me to pray,
And you shall see who has the properest notion

Of getting into heaven the shortest way ;
My altars are the mountains and the ocean,

Earth, air, stars — all that springs from the great Whole^

Who hath produced, and will receive the soul.

cv. ,

Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude

Of the pine forest, and the silent shore
Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,

Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er,
To where the last Czesarean fortress stood,

Evergreen forest ! which Boccaccio's lore
And Drydeb's lay made haunted ground to me,
How have I loved the twilight hour and th.ee i

cvi.
The shrill cicalas, people of the pine,

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song,
Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine,

And vesper bell's that rose the boughs along ;
The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line,

His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng
Which learn'd from this example not to fly
From a true lover — shadow'd my mind'* eye.

118 x DON JUAJi.

CVII.

Oh, Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things —
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,

To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer ;

Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings,
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,

Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest ;

Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.

CVIII.

Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart
Of those who sail the seas, on the first day

When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ;
Or fills with IOTC the pilgrim on his way

As the far bell of vesper makes him start,
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay ;

Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ?

Ah ! surely nothing dies but something mourns

cix..
When Nero perish'd by the justest doom

Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd,
Amidst the roar of liberated Rome,

Of nations freed, and the world overjoy'd,
Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb :

Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void
Of feeling for some kindness done, when power
Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour.

» ex.

But I'm digressing ; what on earth has Nero,

Or any such like sovereign buffoons,
To do with the transactions of my hero,

More than such madmen's fellow man — the moon's ?
Sure my invention must be down at zero,

And I grown one of many " wooden spoons"
Of verse (the name with which we Cantabs please
To dub the last of honours in degrees),

CXI.

I feel this tediousness will never do —
'Tis being too epic, and I must cut down

(In copying) this long canto into two ;
They'll never find it out, unless I own

The fact, excepting some experienced few ;

And then as an improvement 'twill be shown ;

I'll prove that such the opinion of the critic is

From Aristotle passim. — See

Sunn.

OANTO THE FOURTH.

I.

NOTHING so difficult as a beginning

In poesy, unless perhaps the end ;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning

The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning ;

Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
Till our own weakness shows us what we are.

n.
But Time, which brings all beings to their level,

And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
Man, — and as we would hope, — perhaps the devil,

That neither of their intellects are vast :
While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,

We know not this — the blood flows on too fast ;
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.

in.

As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow,

And wish'd that others held the same opinion :

They took it up when my days grew more mellow,
And other minds acknowledged my dominion :

Now my sere fancy " falls into the yellow
Leaf," and Imagination droops her pinion,

And the sad .truth which hovers o'er my desk •

Turns what was once romantic to burlesque.

IV.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep ; and if I weep,

Tis that our nature cannot always bring
Itself to apathy, for we must steep

Our hearts first in the depths of Lethe's spring
Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep ;

Thetis baptised her mortal son in Styx ;

A mortal mother would on Lethe fix.

120 DON JUAN.

V.

Some have accused me of a strange design
Against the creed and morals of the laud,

And trace it in this poem every line :
I don't pretend that I quite understand

My own meaning when I would be very fine ;
But the fact is, that I have nothing plann'd,

Unless it were to be a moment merry,

A novel word in my vocabulary

VI.

To the kind reader of our sober clime

This way of writing will appear exotic ;
Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme,

Who sang when chivalry was more Quixotic,
And revelled in the fancies of the time,

True knights, chaste dames, huge giants, kings despotic ;
But all these, save the last, being obsolete,
I chose a modern subject as more meet.

VII.

How I have treated it, I do not know ;

Perhaps no better than they have treated me,
Who have imputed such designs as show

Not what they saw, but what they wish'd to see :
But if it gives them pleasure, be it so ;

This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free :
Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear,
And tells me to resume my story here.

VIII.

Young Juan and his lady-love were left

To their own hearts' most sweet society
Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft

With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms, he,
Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft,

Though foe to love ; and yet they could not be
Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring,
Before one charm or hope had taken wing.

IX.

Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their

Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail i

Tlie blank grey was not made to blast their hair,
But like the climes that know nor snow nor hail

They were all summer : lightning might assail
And shiver them to ashes, but to trail

A long and snake-like life of dull decay

Was not for them — they had too little clay.

*• 1

181

They were alone once more ; for them to be
Thus was another Eden : they were never

Weary, unless when separate : the tree
Cut from its forest root of years — the river

Damm'd from its fountain — the child from the knca
And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever, —

Would wither less than these two torn apart ;

Alas ! there is no instinct like the heart —

XI.

The heart — which may be broken : happy they !

Thrice fortunate ! who of that fragile mould,
The precious porcelain of human clay,

Break with the first fall ; they can ne'er behold
The long year link'd with heavy day on day,

And all which must be borne, and never told ;
While life's strange principle will often lie

Deepest in those who long the most to die.

XII.

" Whom the gods love die young," was said of ycre,
And many deaths do they escape by this :

The death of friends, and that which slays even more—
The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is,

Except mere breath ; and since the silent shore
Awaits at last even those who longest miss

The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave

Which men weep over may be meant to save.

XIII.

Haidee and Juan thought not of the dead.

The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made for them :
They found no fault with Time, save that he fled ;

They saw not in themselves aught to condemn •
Each was the other's mirror, and but read

Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem,
And knew such brightness was but the reflection
Of their exchanging glances of affection.

XIV.

The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,
The least glance better understood than words,

Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much ;
A language, too, but like to that of birds,

Known but to them, at least appearing such,
As but to lovers a true sense affords ;

Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd

To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard :

a

122 . DON JUAS.

XV.

All these were theirs, for they Trere children still,
And children still they should have ever been ;

They were not made in the real world to fill
A busy character in the dull scene,

But like two beings born from cut a rill,
A nymph ana her beloved, all unseen

To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers,

And never know the weight of human hours.

' xvi.

Moons changing had roll'd on, and changeless found
Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys

As rarely they beheld throughout their round ;
And these were not of the vain kind which cloys,

For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound
By the mere senses ; and that which destroys

Most love, possession, unto them appear'd

A thing which each each endearment more endear'd.

XVII.

Oh beautiful ! and rare as beautiful .

But theirs was love in which the mind delights
To lose itself, when the old world grows dull,

And we are sick of its back sounds and sights,
Intrigues, adventures of the common school,

Its petty passions, marriages, and flights,
Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet more,
Whose husband only knows her not a wh — re.

xvm.
Hard words ; harsh truth ; a truth which many know

Enough. — The faithful and the fairy pair,
Who never found a single hour to slow,

What was it made them thus exempt from care ?
Young innate feelings all have felt below,

Which perish in the rest, but in them were
Inherent ; what we mortals call romantic,
And always envy, though we deem it frantic.

XIX.

This is in others a factitious state,

An opium dream of too much youth and reading,
But was in them their nature or their fate :

No novels e'er had set their young hearts bleeding,
For Haidee's knowledge was by no means great,

And Juan was a boy of saintly breeding ;
So that there was no reason for their loves
More than for those of nightingales or doves.

DON JUAN. 1?3

They gazed upon the sunset ; 't is an hour

Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
For it had made them what they were : the power

Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies,
When happiness had been their only dower,

And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties ;
Chajrm'd with each other, all things charm'd that brought
The past still welcome as the present thought.

XXI.

I know not why, hut in that hour to-bight,
Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came,

'And swept, as 't were across their hearts' delight,
Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame,

When one is shook in sound, and one in sight ;

And thus some boding flash' d through either frame,

And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh,

While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye.

XXII.

That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate

And follow far the disappearing sun,
As if their last day of a happy date

Witk his broad, bright, and drooping orb were gone ;
Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate —

He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none,
His glance inquired of hers for some excuse
For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse.

XXIII.

She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort
Which makes not others smile ; then turn'd aside :

Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,
And master'd by her wisdom or her pride ;

When Juan spoke, too — it might be in sport-
ed this their mutual feeling, she replied —

" If it should be so, — but — it cannot be—

Or I at least shall not survive to see."

XXIV.

Juan would question further, but she press'd
His lip to hers, and silenced him with this,

And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast,
Defying augury with that fond kiss ;

And no doubt of all methods 't is the best:
Some people prefer wine — 't is not amiss ;

I have tried both ; so those who would a part take,

May choose between the headache and the heartache.

12-1 DON JUAN.

XXV.

One of the two, according to your choice,
Woman or wine, you'll have to undergo ;

Both maladies are taxes on our joys :
But which to choose I really hardly know ;

And if I had to give a casting voice,

For both sides I could many reasons show,

And then decide, without great wrong to either,

It were much better to have both than neither.

XXVI.

Joan and Haidee gazed upon each other

With swimming looks of speechless tenderness,

Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother,
All that the best can mingle and express

When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another,
And love too much, and yet can not love less ;

But almost sanctify the sweet excess

By the immortal wish and power to bless.

Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart,
Why did they not then die?— they had lived too long

Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart
Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong •

The world was not for them, nor the world's art
For beings passionate as Sappho's song ;

Love was born with them, in them, so intense,

It was their very spirit — not a sense.

XXVIII.

They should have lived together deep in woods,
Unseen as sings the nightingale ; they were

Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes
Call'd social, haunts of Hate, and Vice and Care :

How lonely every freeborn creature broods !
The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair ;

The eagle soars alone ; the gull and crow

Flock o'er their carrion, just like men below.

XXIX.

Now pillow d cheek to cheek, in loving sleep,

Haidee and Juan their siesta took,
A gentle slumber, but it was not deep,

For ever and anon a something shook
Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep ;

And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd like a brook,
A wordless m usic, and her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air

DON JUAN. 125

XXX.

Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream

Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind
Walks o'er it, was she shaken by the dream,

The mystical usurper of the mind —
O'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem

Good to the soul which we no more can bind ;
Strange state of being ! (for 'tis still to be)
Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see.

XXXI.

She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore,
Chain'd to a rock ; she knew not how, but stir

She could not from the spot, and the loud roar

Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her ;

And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour

Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were,

Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high —

Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.

XXXII.

Anon — she was released, and then she stray'd
O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet,

And stumbled almost every step she made :
And something roll'd before her in a sheet,

Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid :
"T was white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet

Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasp'd,

And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd.

XXXIII.

The dream changed : — in a cave she stood, its walls

Were hung with marble icicles ; the work
Of ages on its water-fretted halls,

Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk;
Her hair was dripping, and the very balls

Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and mirk
The sharp r~ocks look'd below each drop they caught,
Which froze to marble as it fell, — she thought.

xxxiv.
And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet,

Pale as the foam that froth'd on his dead brow,
Which she essay "d in vaiu to clear, how sweet

Were once her cares, how idle seem'd they now !)
Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat

Of his quench'd heart ; and the sea dirges low
Bang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song,
And that brief dream appear'd a life too long.
12*

126 DON JTUS.

XXXV.

And gazing on the dead, she thought his face

Faded, or alter'd into something new —
Like to her father's features, till each trace

More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew —
With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace ;

And starting, she awoke, and what to view ?
Oh ! powers of Heaven ! what dark eye meets she there i
'Tis — 'tis her father's — fiz'd upon the pair !

XXXVI.

Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell,
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see

Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell
The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be

Perchance the death of one she loved too well :
Dear as her father had been to Haidee,

It was a moment of that awful kind —

I have seen such — but must not call to mind.

XXXVII.

Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek ,
And caught her falling, and from off the wall

Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak
Vengeance on him who was the cause of all :

Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak,
Smiled scornfully, and said, " Within my cal),

A thousand scimitars await tl-e word ;

Put up, young man, put up your silly sword."

XXXVIII.

And Haidee clung around him ; " Juan, 'tis —
Tis Lambro — 't is my father ! Kneel with me- -

He will forgive us — yes — it must be — yes.
Oh ! dearest father, in this agony

Of pleasure and of pain — even while I kiss
Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be

That doubt should mingle with my filial joy ?

Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy."

XXXIX.

High and inscrutable the old man stood,

Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye —

Not always signs with him of calmest mood :
He look'd upon her, but gave no reply ;

Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood
Oft came and went, as there resolved to die ;

In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring

On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring.

• ^ DON JUAN. 12'

XL.

•* Young man, your sword ; " so Larabro once more said :
Juan replied, " Not while this arm is free,"

The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with diread,
And drawing from his belt a pistol, he

Replied, " Your blood be then on your own head."
Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see

T was fresh — for he had lately used the lock—

And next proceeded quietly to cock.

XLI.
It has a strange quick Jar upon the ear,

That cocking of a pistol, when you know
A moment more will bring the sight to bear

Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so ;
A gentlemanly distance, not too near,

If you have got a former friend for foe ;
But after being fired at once or twice,
The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.

XLII.
Lambro presented, and one instant more

Had stopp'd this Canto, and Don Juan's breath,
When Haidee threw herself her boy before ;

Stern as her sire : " On me, " she cried, " let death
Descend — the fault is mine ; this fatal shore

He found — but sought not. I have pledged my faith
I love him — I will die with him : I knew
Your nature's firmness — know your daughter's too."

XLIII.

A minute past and she had been all tears,

And tenderness, and infancy ; but now
She stood as one who champion'd human fears —

Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the blow ;
And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers,

She drew up to her height, as if to show
A fairer mark ; and with a fix'd eye scann'd
Her father's face — but never stopp'd his hand

XLIV.
He gazed on her, and she on him ; 'twas strange

How like they look'd ! the expression was the bame ;
Serenely savage, with a little change

In the large dark eye's mutual-darted flame;
For she, too, was as one who could avenge,

If cause should be — a lioness, though tame,
Her father's blood before her father's face
Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race.

128 DON JTJAN.

' XLV.

I said they were alike, their features and
Their stature, differing, but in sex and years ;

Even to the delicacy of their hand

There was resemblance, such as true blood wears ;

And now to see them, thus divided, stand
In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears,

And sweet sensations, should have welcomed both.

Show what the passions are in their full growth.

XLVI.
The father paused a moment, then withdrew

His weapon, and replaced it ; but stood still,
And looking on her, as to look her through,

" Not /," he said, " have sought this stranger's ill ,
Not / have made this desolation : few

Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill ;
But I must do my duty — how thou hast
Done thine, the present vouches for the past.

XLVII.
" Let him disarm ; or by my father's head,

His own shall roll before you like a ball !"
He raised his whistle, as the word he said,

And blew, another answer 'd to the call,
And rushing in disorderly, though led, »

And arm'd from boot to turban, one and all,
Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank ;
He gave the word, — " Arrest or slay the Frank."

XLVIII .
Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew

His daughter ; while compress'd within her clasp,
Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew ;

In vain she struggled in her father's grasp —
His arms were like a serpent's coil : then flew

Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp,
The file of pirates ; save the foremost, who
Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through.

XLIX.
The second had his cheek laid open ; but

The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took,
The blows upon his cutlass, and then put

His own well in ; so well, ere you could look
His man was floor'd, and helpless at his foot,

With the blood running like a little brook
From two smart sabre gashes, deep and red —
One on the arm, the other on the head.

L.

And then they bound him where he fell, and bore
Juan from the apartment : with a sign

Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore,
Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine.

They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar

Until they reach 'd some galliots, placed in line ;

On board of one of these, and under hatches,

They stow'd him, with strict orders to the watches.

LI.

The world is full of strange vicissitudes,
And here was one exceedingly unpleasant :

A gentleman so rich in the world's goods

Handsome and young, enjoying all the present,

Just at the very time when he least broods
On such a thing is suddenly to sea sent,

Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot more,

And all because a lady fell in love.

LII.
Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic,

Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea!
Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic ;

Fpr if my pure libations exceed three,
I feel my heart become so sympathetic,

That I must have recourse to black Bohea :
Tis pity wine should be so deleterious,
For tea and coffee leave us much more serious.

LIII.
Unless when qualified with thee, Cogniac!

Sweet N a'iad of the PLlegethontic rill !
Ah ! why the liver wilt thou thus attack,

And maice, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill ?
I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack

(In each sense of the word), whene'er I fill
My mild and midnight beakers to the brim,
Wakes me next morning with its synonym.

LIV.
I leave Don Juan for the present, safe —

Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded ;
Tet could his corporal pangs amount to half

Of those with which his Haidee's bosom bounded
She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe,

And then give way, subdued because surrounded ;
Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez,
Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.

J30 DON JUAN.

LV.

There the large olive rains its amber store

In marble fonts ; there grain, and flower, and fruit,

Gush from the earth until the land ruiis o'er ;
But there, too, many a poison-tree has root,

And midnight listens to the lion's roar,

And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot,

Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan ;

And as the soil is, so the heart of man.

ivi.
Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth

Her human clay is kindled ; full of power
For good or evil, burning from its birth,

The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour,
And like the soil beneath it will bring forth ;

Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower ;
But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force,
Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

LVII
Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,

Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair,
Till slowly charged with thunder they display

Terror to earth, and tempest to the air,
Had held till now her soft and milky way ,

But overwrought with passion and despair,
The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains

LVIII.
The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,

And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down ;
His blood was running on the very floor

Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own ;
Thus much she view'd an instant and no more, —

Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan ;
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.

LIX.
A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes

Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er ;
And her head droop'd as when the lily lies

O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd hand-maids bora
Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes ;

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store,
But she defied all means they could employ,
lake one life could not hold, nor death destroy.

DON JUAN. 131

LX.

Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill-~
With nothing livid, still her lips were red ;

She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still ;
No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead ;

Corruption came not in each mind to kill
All hope ; to look upon her sweet face bred

New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul —

She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

LXI.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows

When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there,
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws

O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair ;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,

And ever-dying Gladiator's air,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.—

1XII.

She woke at length, hut not as sleepers wake,
Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,

A strange sensation which she must partake
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view

Struck not her memory, though a heavy ache
Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true

Brought back the sense of pain without the cause.

For, for a while, the furies made a pause.

LXIII. »

She look'd on many a face with vacant eye,

On many a token without knowing what
She saw them watch her without asking why ;

And reck'd not who around her pillow sat ;
Not speechless, though she spoke not ; not a sigh

Relieved her thoughts ; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served ; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

LXIT.

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not ;

Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away ;
She recognised no being, and no spot,

However dear or cherish'd in their day ;
They changed from room to room, but all forgot,

Gentle, but without memory she lay ;
At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning
Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning.

133 DON JUAH.

LXV.

And then a slave bethought her of a harp ;

The harper came, and tuned his instrument ;
At the first notes, irregular and sharp,

On him her flashing eyes a moment bent,
Then to the wall she turn'd as if to warp

Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-feat j
And he begun a long low island song
Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.

LXVI.
Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall

In time to his old tune ; he changed the theme,
And sung of love ; the fierce name struck through all

Her recollection, on her flash'd the dream
Of what she was, and is, if ye could call

To be so being ; in a gushing stream
The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain,
Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.

LXVII.
Short solace, vain relief ! — thought came too quick,

And whirl'd her brain to madness ; she arose
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,

And flew at all she met, as on her foes ;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,

Although her paroxysm drew towards its close ; —
Hers was a frenzy which disdain'd to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.

*Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense ;

Nothing could make her meet her father's face.
Though on all other things with looks intense

She gazed, but none she ever could retrace ;
Food she refused, and raiment ; no pretence

Avail'd for either ; neither change of place,
Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her
Senses to sleep — the power seem'd gone for ever.

Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus ; at last :
Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show

A parting pang, the spirit from her past :

And they who watch'd her nearest could not know

The very instant, till the change that cast
Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow,

Glazed o'er her eyes — the beautiful, the black —

Oh ! to possess such lustre — and then lack !

DON JUAN. 13)

1XX.

She died, but not alone ; she held within

A second principle of life, which might
Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin ;

But closed its little being without light,
And went down to the grave unborn, wherein

Blossom and bough lie wither 'd with one blight ;
In vain the dews of Heaven descend above
The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.

teas.

Thus lived — thus died she ; never more on her
Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not mado

Through years or moons the inner weight to bear,
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid

By age in earth : her days and pleasures were
Brief, but delightful — such as had not staid

Long with her destiny ; but she sleeps well

By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.

LXXII.

That isle is now all desolate and bare,

Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away

None but her own and father's grave is there,
And nothing outward tells of human clay ;

Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair,
No stone is there to show, no tongue to say

What was ; no dirge, except the hollow sea's,

Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

LXXIII.

But many a Greek maid in a loving song
Sighs o'er her name ; and many an islander

With her sire's story makes the night less long ;
Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her :

If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong —
A heavy price must all pay who thus err,

In some shape ; let none think to fly the danger,

For soon or late Love is his own avenger.

LXXIV.

But let me change this theme, which grows too sad,
And lay this sheet of sorrows on the shelf ;

I don't much like describing people mad,
For fear of seeming rather touch'd myself —

Besides, I're no more on this head to add ;
And as my Muse is a capricious elf,

We'll put about, and try another tack

With Juan, left half-kill'd some stanzas back.

13

134 DON JUAN.

LXXV.

Wounded and fetter'd, " cabin'd, cribb'd, confined/
Some days and nights elapsed before that he

Gould altogether call the past to mind ;
And when he did, he found himself at sea,

Sailing six knots an hour before the wind ;
The shores of Ilion lay beneath their lee —

Another time he might have liked to see 'em,

But now was not much pleased with Cape Sigseurn.

LXXYI.

There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is

(Flank'd by the Hellespont, and by the sea)
Entomb'd the bravest of the brave Achilles ;

They say so — (Bryant says the contrary) :
And further downward, tall and towering still, is

The tumulus — of whom ? Heaven knows ; 't may be
Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus ;

All heroes, who if living still would slay us.

IXXVII.

High barrows, without marble, or a name,
A vast, untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain,

And Ida in the distance, still the same,
And old Scamander, (if 't is he) remain ;

The situation seems still form'd for fame —
A hundred thousand men might fight again

With ease ; bnt where I sought for Ilion's walls

The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls ;

LXXVIII.
Troops of untended horses ; here and there

Some little hamlets, with new names uncouth ;
Some shepherds, (unlike Paris) led to stare

A moment at the European youth
Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings bear ;

A Turk, with beads in hand, and pipe in mouth.
Extremely taken with his own religion,
Are what I found there — but the devil a Phrygian,

• LXXIX.

Don Juan, here permitted to emerge

From his dull cabin, found himself a slave ;

Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge,
O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's grave ;

Weak still with loss of blood, he scarce could urge
A few brief questions ; and the answers gave

No Tery satisfactory information

About his 'past or present situation.

JX)N JUAN. 1SS

LXXX.

He saw some fellow captives, who appear'd

To be Italians, as they were in fact ;
From them at least, ttieir destiny be heard,

Which was an odd one ; a troop going to act
In Sicily — all singers, duly rear'd

In their vocation ; had not been attack'd
In sailing from Livorno by the pirate,
But sold by the impresario at no high rate.

1XXXI.

By one of these, the buffo of the party,

Juan was told about their curious case ;
For although destined to the Turkish mart, he

Still kept his spirits up — at least his face ;
The little fellow really look'd quite hearty,

And bore him with some gaiety and grace,
Showing a much more reconciled demeanour,
Than did the prima donna and the tenor.

LXXXII.
In a few words he told their hapless story,

Saying, " Our Machiavelian impresario,
Making a signal off some promontory,

Hail'd a strange brig ; Corpo di Caio Mario!
We were transferr'd on board her in a hurry,

Without a single scudo of salario ;
But if the sultan has a taste for song,
We will revive our fortunes before long.

LXXXIII.

*' The prima donna, though a little old,

And haggard with a dissipated life,
And subject when the house is thin, to cold,

Has some good notes ; and then the tenor's wife,
With no great voice, is pleasing to behold ;

Last carnival she made a deal of strife
By carryiflg off Count Cesare Cicogna
From an old Roman princess at Bologna.

ixxxiv.
*' And then there are the dancers ; there's the Nin%

With more than one profession gains by all ;
Then there's that laughing slut the Pelegrini,

She, too, was fortunate last carnival,
And made at least five hundred good zecchini,

But spends so fast, she has not now a paul ;
And then there's the Grotesca — such a dancer !
Where men have souls or bodies she must answer.

138

DOS JUAS.

LXXXV.

" As for the figuranti, they are like
The rest of all that tribe ; with here and there

A pretty person, which perhaps may strike,
The rest are hardly fitted for a fair ;

There's one, though tall and stiffer than a pike,
Yet has a sentimental kind of air

Which might go far, but she don't dance with vigoct :

The more's the pity, with her face and figure.

LXXXTI.

" As for the men, they are a middling set ;

The mnsico is but a crack'd old basin,
But being qualified in one way yet,

May the seraglio do to set his face in,
And as a servant some preferment get ;

His singing I no further trust can place in.
From all the Pope makes yearly 't would perplex
To find three perfect pipes of the third sex.

LXXXVII.

" The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,
And for the bass, the beast can only bellow ;

In fact, he had no singing education,
An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow,

But being the prima donna's near relation,

Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow,

They hired him, though to hear him you'd believe

An ass was practising recitative.

1XXXVIII.

" Twould not become myself to dwell upon
My own merits, and though young, — I see, Sir — y<m

Have got a travell'd air, which speaks you one
To whom the opera is by no means new :

You've heard of Raucocanti? — I'm the man ;
The time may come when you may hear me too :

You was not last year at the fair of Lugo,

But next, when I'm engaged to sing there— do go.

LXXXIX.
" Our baritone I almost had forgot,

A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit :
With graceful action, science not a jot,

A voice of not great compass, and not sweet,
He always is complaining of his lot,

Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street ;
In lovers' parts his passion more to breathe,
Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."

DOS JUAjr. Ii7

xc.
Here Raucocanti's eloquent recital

Was interrupted by the pirate crew,
Who came at stated moments to invite all

The captives back to their sad berths ; each threw
A rueful glance upon the waves, (which bright all

From the blue skies derived a double blue,
Dancing all free and happy in the sun),
And then went down the hatchway one by one.

xci.
They heard next day — that in the Dardanelles,

Waiting for his Sublimity's firman,
The most imperative of sovereign spells,

Which everybody does without who can
More to secure them in their naval cells,

Lady to lady, well as man to man,
Were to be chain'd and lotted out per couple,
For the slave market of Constantinople.

xcn.
It seems when this allotment was made out,

There chanced to be an odd male, and odd female,
Who (after some discussion and some doubt,

If the soprano might be deem'd to be male,
They placed him o'er the women as a scout)

Were link'd together, and it happen'd the male
Was Juan, — who, an awkward thing aj, his age,
Pair'd off with a Bacchante blooming visage.

XCIII.
With Raucocanti lucklessly was chain'd

The tenor ; these two hated with a hate
Found only on the stage, and each more -pain'd

With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate ;
Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grain "d,

Instead of bearing up without debate,
That each: pull'd different ways with many an oath,
" Arcades ambo," id est — blackguards both.

xciv.
Juan's companion was a Romagnole,

But bred within the march of old Ancona,
With eyes that look'd into the very soul

(And other chief points of a " bella donna"),
Bright — and as black and burning as a coal ;

And through her clear brunette complexion shone a
Great wish to please — a most attractive dower,
Especially when added to the power.
13*

138 DON JUAS

xcv.
But all that power was wasted upon him,

For sorrow o'er each sense held stern command ;
Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim ;

And though thus chain'd, as natural her hand
Touch'd his, nor that — nor any handsome limb

(And she had some not easy to withstand)
Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel brittle,
Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little,

xcvi.
No matter ; we should ne'er too much inquire,

But facts are facts : no knight could be mori true,
And firmer faith no ladye-love desire ;

We will omit the proofs, save one or two :
Tis said no one in hand " can hold a fire

By thought of frosty Caucasus ;" but few,
I really think: yet Juan's then ordeal
Was more triumphant, and not much less real.

xcvu.

Here I might enter on a chaste description,
• Having withstood temptation in my youth,
But hear that several people take exception

At the first two books having too much truth ;
Therefore I'll make Don Juan leave the ship soon,

Because the publisher declares, in sooth,
Through needles' ejes it easier for the camel is
To pass, than those two cantos juto families.

XCVIII.

Tis all the same to me : I'm fond of yielding,
And therefore leave them to the purer page

Of Smollett, Prior, Ariosto, Fielding,
Who say strange things for so correct an age ;

I once had great alacrity in wielding
My pen, and liked poetic war to wage,

And recollect the time when all this caut

Would have provoked remarks which now it shan't.

xcix.
As boys love rows, my boyhood liked a squabble ;

But at this hour I wish to part in peace,
Leaving such to the literary rabble,

Whether my verse's fame be doom'd to cease,
While the right hand which wrote it still is able,

Or of some centuries to take a lease ;
The grass upon my grave will grow as long,
And sigh to midnight winds, but not to song.

DON JUAN. 139

0.

Of poets who come down to us through distance
Of time and tongues, the foster-babes of Fame,

Life seems the smallest portion of existence ;
Where twenty ages gather o'er a name,

Tis as a snowball which derives assistance
From every flake, and yet rolls on the same,

Even till an iceberg it may chance to grow

But, after all, 'tis nothing but cold snow.

ci.

And so great names are nothing more than nominal,

And love of glory's but an airy lust,
Too often in its fury overcoming all

Who would as 'twere identify their dust
From out the wide destruction, which entombing all,

Leaves nothing till " the coming of the just" —
Save change : I've stood upon Achilles' tomb,
And heard Troy doubted ; time will doubt of Rome.

en.

The very generations of the dead

Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb,
Until the memory of an age is fled,

\nd, buried, sinks beneath its offspring's doom :
Where are the epitaphs our fathers read '(

Save a few glean'd from the sepulchral gloom
Which once-named myriads nameless lie beneath,
And lose their own in universal death.

S

cm.
I canter by the spot each afternoon

Where perish'd in his fame the hero-boy,
Who lived too long for men, but died too soon

For human vanity, the young De Foix !
A broken pillar, nor uncouthly hewn,

But which neglect is hastening to destroy,
Records Ra-venna's carnage on its face,
While weeds and ordure rankle round the base.

civ.
I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid :

A little cupola, more neat than solemn,
Protects his dust, but reverence here is paid

To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's column :
The time must come, when both alike decay 'd,

The chieftian's trophy, and the poet's volume,
Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth,
Before Pelides* death, or Homer's birth.

140 DON JUAN.

CV.

With human blood that column was cemented,
With human filth that column is defiled,

As if the peasant's coarse contempt, were vented
To show his loathing of the spot he soil'd :

Thus is the trophy used, and thus lamented

Should ever be those bloodhounds, from whose wild

Instinct of gore and glory earth has known

Those sufferings Dante saw in hell alone.

en.

Yet there will still be hards : though fame is smoke,
Its fumes are frankincense to human thought ;

And the unquiet feelings, which first woke

Song in the world, will seek what then they sought ;

As on the beach the waves at last are broke,
Thus to their extreme verge the passions brought

Dash into poetry, which is but passion,

Or at least was so ere it grew a passion.

cvn.
If in the course of such a life as was

At once adventurous and contemplative,
Men who partake all passions as they pass,

Acquire the deep and bitter power to give
Their images again as in a glass,

And in such colours that they seem to live ;
You may do right forbidding them to show 'em,
But spoil (I think) a very pretty poem.

CVIII.
Oh ! ye, who make the fortunes of all books !

Benign Ceruleans of the second sex !
Who advertise new poems by your looks,

Your " imprimatur" will ye not annex ?
What ! must I go to the oblivious cooks ?

Those Cornish plunderers of Parnassian wrecks ?
Ah ! must I then the only minstrel be,
Proscribed from tasting your Castalian tea !

CIX.

What ! can I prove " a lion" then no more ?

A ball-room bard, a foolscap, hot-press darling ?
To bear the compliments of many a bore,

And sigh, " I can't get out," like Yorick's starling ;
Why then I'll swear, as poet Wordy swore,

(Because the world won't read him, always snarling)
That taste is gone, that fame is but a lottery,
Drawn by the blue-coat misses of a coterie.

DON JUAN 141

CX.

Oh ! " darkly," deeply, beautifully blue,"
As some one somewhere sings about the sky,

And I, ye learned ladies, say of you ;

They say your stockings are so — (Heaven knows why,

I have examined few pair of that hue) ;
Blue as the garters which serenely lie

Round the Patrician left-legs, which adorn

The festal midnight, and the levee morn.

CXI.

Yet some of you are most seraphic creatures —
But times are alter'd since, a rhyming lover,

You read my stanzas, and I read your features :
And — but no matter, all those things are over ;

Still I have no dislike to learned natures,
For sometimes such a world of virtues cover ;

I knew one woman of that purple school,

The loveliest, chastest, best, but — quite a fool.

XII.

Humboldt, "the first of travellers," but not

The last, if late accounts be accurate,
Invented, by some name I have forgot,

As well as the sublime discovery's date,
An airy instrument, with which he sought

To ascertain the atmospheric state,
By measuring " the intensity of blue ;"
Oh, Lady Daphne ! let me measure you !

CXIII.

But to the narrative : — The vessel bound

With slaves to sell off in the capital,
After the usual process, might be found « „

At anchor under the seraglio wall ;
Her cargo, from the plague being safe and sound,

Were landed in the market, one and all,
And there with Georgians, Russians, and Circassians,
Bought up for different purposes and passions.

cxiv.
Some went off dearly ; fifteen hundred dollars

For one Circassian, a sweet girl, were given,
Warranted virgin ; beauty's brightest colours

Had deck'd her out in all the hues of heaven :
Her sale sent home some disappointed bawlers,

Who bade on till the hundreds reach'd eleven ;
But when the offer went beyond, they knew
'Twas for the Sultan, and at once withdrew.

142 DON JDAS.

CXV.

Twelve negresses from Nubia brought a price

Which the West Indian market scarce could bring ;

Though Wilberforce, at last, has made it twice
What t'was ere Abolition ; and the thing

Need not seem very wonderful, for vice

Is always much more splendid than a king :

The virtues, even the most exalted, Charity,

Are saving — vice spares nothing for a rarity.

cxvi.
But for the destiny of this young troop,

How some were bought by pachas, some by Jews,
How some to burdens were obliged to stoop,

And others rose to the command of crews
As renegadoes ; while in hapless group,

Hoping no very old vizier might choose,
The females stood, as one by one they pick'd 'em,
To make a mistress, or fourth wife, or victim :

cxvn.
All this must be reserved for further song ;

Also our hero's lot, howe'er unpleasant,
(Because this Canto has become too long),

Must be postponed discreetly for the present ;
I'm sensible redundancy is wrong,

But could not for the muse of me put less in t:
And now delay the progress of Don Juan,
Till what is call'd ia Ossian the fifth Duari.

Snn Stun.

CAKTO THE FIFTH.

I.

WHEN amatory poets sing their loves

In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her dovea,

They little think what mischief is in hand ;
The greater their success the worst it proves,

As Ovid's verse may give to understand ;
Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity.
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

«•

I therefore do denounce all amorous writing,
Except in «uch a way as not to attract ;

Plain — simple— short, and by no means inviting,
But with a moral to each error tack'd,

Form'd rather for instructing than delighting,
And with all passions in their turn attack a ;

Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill,

This poem will become a moral model.

in.
The European with the Asian shore

Sprinkled with palaces ; the ocean stream
Here and there studded with a seventy-four ;

Sophia's Cupola with golden gleam ;
The cypress groves ; Olympus high and hoar,

The twelve isles, and the more than I could dreanl»
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu

IV.

I have a passion for the name of " Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me ;

And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be ;

All feelings changed, but this was last to vary,
A spell from which even yet I am not quite fteS'

But I grow sad — and let a tale grow cold,

Which must not be pathetically told.

144 DON JUA5.

V.

The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades ;

'Tis a grand sight from off " the Giant's Grave"
To watch the progress of those rolling seas

Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease ;

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,

Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

VI.

'Twas a raw day of Autumn's bleak beginning,
When nights are equal, but not so the days ;

The Parcse then cut short the further spinning
Of seamen's fates, and the loud tempests raise

The waters, and repentance for past sinning
In all, who o'er the great deep take their ways :

They vow to amend their lives, and yet they don't ;

Because if drown'd, they can't — if spared, they won't.

A crowd of shivering slaves of every nation,
And age, and sex, were in the market ranged ;

Each bevy with the merchant in his station :

Poor creatures ! their good looks were sadly changed.

All save the blacks seem 'd jaded with vexation,

From friends, and home, and freedom far estranged ;

The negroes more philosophy display'd, —

Used to it, no doubt, as eels are to be flay'd.

VIII.

Juan was juvenile, and thus was full,

As most at his age are, of hope, and health ;

Yet I must own, he look'd a little dull,

And now and then a tear stole down by stealth ;

Perhaps his recent loss of blood might pull
His spirit down ; and then the loss of wealth,

A mistress, and such comfortable quarters,

To be put up for auction amongst Tartars,
fc

IX.

Were things to shake a stoic ; ne'ertheless,
Upon the whole his carriage was serene :

His figure, and the splendour of his dress,

Of which some gilded remnants still were seen,

Drew all eyes on him, giving them to guess
He was above the vulgar by his mien ;

And then, though pale, he was so very handsome :

And then — they calculated on his ransom.

DOTS JUAN. 145

X.

Like a backgammon board the place was dotted
With whites and blacks, in groups on show for sale,

Though rather more irregularly spotted ;

Some bought the jet, while others chose the pale.

It chanced amongst the other people lotted,
A man of thirty, rather stout and hale,

With resolution in his dark grey eye,

Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy.

XI.

He had an English look ; that is, was square
In make, of a complexion white and ruddy,

Good teeth, with curling rather dark brown hair,
And, it might be from thought, or toil, or study,

An open brow a little mark'd with care :
One arm had on a bandage rather bloody ;

And there he stood with such sang-froid, that greater

Could scarce be shown even by a mere spectator.

XII.

But seeing at his elbow a mere lad,

Of a high spirit evidently, though
At present weigh'd down by a doom which had

O'erthrown even men, he soon began to show
A kind of blunt compassion for the sad

Lot of so young a partner in the woe,
Which for himself he seem'd to deem no worse
Than any other scrape, a thing of course.

XIII.

" My boy !** — said he, " amidst this motley crew
Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and what not,

All ragamuffins differing but in hue,
With whom it is our luck to cast our lot,

The only gentlemen seem I and you ;
So let us be acquainted, as we ought

If I could yield you any consolation,

'Twould give me pleasure. — Pray, what is your nation T

XIT.
When Juan answer'd — " Spanish !" ie replied,

" I thought, in fact, you could not be a Greek ;
Those servile dogs are not so proudly eyed :

Fortune has play'd you here a pretty freak,
But that's her way with all men, till they're tried ;

But never mind, — she'll turn, perhaps, next week;
She has served me also much the same as you,
Except that I have found it nothing new."

146 DON JUAN.

iV.

" Pray, sir," said Juan, " if I may presume,

What brought you here ?" — " Oh ! nothing very rare-
Six Tartars and a drag-chain " — " To this doom

But what conducted, if the question's fair,
Is that which I would learn." — «' I served for some
Months with the Russian army here and ther^?
And taking lately, by Suwarrow's bidding,
A town, was ta'en myself instead of Widdin."

XVI.

" Have yon no friends?" — " I had — but, by God's blessing,
Have not been troubled with them lately. Now

I have answer'd all your questions without pressing,
And you an equal courtesy should shorw."

" Alas !" said Juan, " 'twere a tale distressing,
And long besides." — " Oh ! if 't is really so,

You're right on both accounts to hold your tongue ;

A sad tale saddens doubly, when 't is long.

xni.
" But droop not : Fortune at your time of life,

Although a female moderately fickle,
Will hardly leave you (as she's not your wife)

For any length of days in such a pickle,
To strive, too, with our fate were such a strife

As if the corn-sheaf should oppose the sickle :
Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men."

XVIII.

" T is not," said Juan, " for my present doom
I mourn, but for the past ; — I loved a maid :" —

He paused, and his dark eye grew full of gloom ;
A single tear upon his eyelash staid

A moment, and then dropp'd ; " but to resume,
T is not my present lot, as I have said,

Which I deplore so much ; for I have borne

Hardships which have the hardiest overworn,

XIX.

" On the rough deep. But this last blow — " and here
He stopp'd again, and turn'd away his face.

"Ay," quoth his friend, " I thought it would appear
That there had been a lady in the case ;

Aad these are things which ask a tender tear,
Such as I, too, would shed if in your place :

I cried upon my first wife's dying day,

And also when my second ran away :

DON JUAN. 147

XX.

"My third " — "Your third!" quoth Juan, turning round ;

" You scarcely can be thirty : have you three ?"
" No — only two at present above ground :

Surely 'tis nothing wonderful to see
One person thrice in holy wedlock bound !"

" Well then, your third," said Juan ; " what did she ?
She did not run away, too, — did she, sir ?"
" No, faith." — " What then ?" — " I ran away from her."

XXI.

," You take things coolly, sir," said Juan. " Why,*
Replied the other, " what can a man do ?

There still are many rainbows in your sky,

But mine have vanish'd. All, when life is new,

Commence with feelings warm, and prospects high ;
But time strips our illusions of their hue, ,

And one by one in turn, some grand mistake

Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

XXII.

" Tis true, it gets another bright and fresh,

Or fresher, brighter ; but the year gone through,

This skin must go the way too, of all flesh,

Or sometimes only wear a week or two ; — *

Love's the first net which spreads its deadly mesh ;
Ambition, Avarice, Vengeance, Glory, glue

The glittering lime-twigs of our latter days,

Where still we flutter on for pence or praise."

XXIII.

" All this is very fine, and may be true,"

Said Juan ; " but I really don't see how
It betters present times with me or you."

" No ?" quoth the other ; " yet you will allow
By setting things in their right point of view,

Knowledge, at least, is gain'd ; for instance, now,
We know what slavery is, and our disasters
May teach us better to behave when masters."

XXIV.

' Would we were masters now, if but to try
Their present lessons on our Pagan friends here,"

Said Juan, — swallowing a heart-burning sigh *

" Heaven help the scholar whom his fortune sends here!'

" Perhaps we shall be one day, by and by,"

Rejoin'd the other, " when our bad luck mends here ;

Meantime (yon old black eunuch seems to eye us)

J wish to G — d that somebody would buy us.

148 DON JUAN.

XXV.

'• But after all, what is our present state ?

"Tis bad, and may be better — all men's lot :
Most men are slaves, none more so than the gres*,

To their own whims and passions, and what not ;
Society itself, which should create

Kindness, destroys what little we had got :
To feel for none is the true social art
Of the world's stoics — men without a heart."

XXVI.

Just now a black old neutral personage
Of the third sex stept up, and peering over

The captives seem'd to mark their looks and age,
And capabilities, as to discover

If they were fitted for the purposed cage :
No lady e'er is ogled by a lover,

Horse by a blackleg, broadcloth by a tailor,

Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailor,

As is a slave by his intended bidder.

T is pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures ;
And all are to be sold, if you consider

Their passions, and are dext'rous ; some by feature*
Are bought up, others by a warlike leader,

Some by a place — as tend their years or natures ;
if The most by ready cash — but all have prices,. ^
{ From crowns to kicks, according to their vices. <

XXVIII.

The eunuch having eyed them o'er with care,
Turn'd to the merchant, and begun to bid

First but for one, and after for the pair ;
They haggled, wrangled, swore, too — so they did !

As though they were in a mere Christian fair
Cheapening an ox, an ass, a lamb, or kid ;

So that their bargain sounded like a battle

For this superior yoke of human cattle.

XXIX.

At last they settled into simple grumbling,
And pulling out reluctant purses, and

Turning eacn piece of silver o'er, and tumbling
Some down, and weighing others in their hand,

And by mistake sequins with paras jumbling,
Until the sum was accurately scann'd,

And then the merchant giving change, and signing

Receipts in full, began to think of dining.

CON JUAN. 149

XXX.

I wonder if his appetite was good ?

Or, if it were, if also his digestion ?
Methinks at meals some odd thoughts might intrude,

And conscience ask a curious sort of question,
About the right divine how far we should

Sell ffcsh and blood. When dinner has opprest one,
I think rt is perhaps the gloomiest hour
Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four.

xxxr.
Voltaire says " No ;" he tells you that Candida

Found life most tolerable after meals ;
He's wrong — unless man were a pig, indeed,

Repletion rather adds to what he feels,
U less he's drunk, and then no doubt he's freed

From his own brain's oppression while it reels.
Of food I think with Philip's son, or rather
Ammon's (ill pleased with one world and one father) ;

XXXII.

I think with Alexander, that the act

Of eating, with another act or two,
Makes us feel our mortality in fact

Redoubled ; when a roast and a ragout,
And fish, and soup, by some side dishes back'd,

Can give us either pain or pleasure, who
Would pique himself on intellects, whose use
Deoends so much upon the gastric juice ?

xxxni.

The -other evening ft was on Friday last) —

This is a fact, and no poetic fable —
Just as my great coat was about me cast,

My hat and gloves still lying on the table,
I heard a shot — 't was eight o'clock scarce past —

And, running out as fast as I was able,
I found the-military commandant
Stretch'd in the street, and able scarce to pant.

XXXIT.

Poor fellow ! for some reason, surely bad,

They had slain him with five slugs ; and left him there
To perish on the pavement : so I had

Him borne into the house and up the stair,
And stripp'd, and look'd to, But why should I add

More circumstances ? vain was every care ;
The man was gone : in some Italian quarrel
Kill'd by five bullets from an old gun-barrel.

150 DOX JtJAU.

XXXV.

I gazed upon him, for I knew him well ;

And though I have seen many corpses, never
Saw one, whom such an accident befell, [liver,

So calm ; though pierced through stomach, heart, and
He seem'd to sleep, — for you could scarcely tell

(As he bled inwardly, no hideous river
Of gore divulged the cause) that he was dead :
So as I gazed on him, I thought or said —

xxxvi.

" Can this be death ? then what is life or death ?

Speak !" but he spoke not : " wake !" but still he slept :—
" But yesterday and who had mightier breath ?

A thousand warriors by his word were kept
In awe : he said, as the centurion saith,

' Go,' and he goeth ; ' come, and forth he stepp'd.
The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb—
And now nought left him but the muffled drum."

xxx ni.
And they who waited once and worshipp'd — they

With their rough faces throng'd about the bed
To gaze once more on the commanding clay

Which for the last, though not the first, time bled :
And such an end ! that he who many a day

Had faced Napoleon's foes until they fled, —
The foremost in the charge or in the sally,
Should now be butcher 'd in a civic alley.

XXXVIII.

The scars of his old wounds were near his new,
Those honourable scars which brought him fame ;

And horrid was the contrast to the view —

But let me quit the theme ; as such things claim

Perhaps even more attention than is due

From me : I gazed (as oft I have gazed the same)

To try if I could wrench aught out of death

Which should confirm, or shake, or make a faith ;

XXXIX.

But it was all a mystery. Here we are,

And there we go — but where ? five bits of lead,

Or three, or two, or one, send very far !

And is this blood, then, form'd but to be shed ?

Can every element our elements mat ?
And air — earth — water — fire live — and we dead ?

We, whose minds comprehend all things ? No more •

But let us to the story as before.

DON JUAH. 151

XI.

The purchaser of Juan and acquaintance

Bore off his bargains to a gilded boat,
Embark'd himself and them, and off they went thence

As fast as oars could pull and water float ;
They look'd like persons being led to sentence,

Wondering what nest, till the caique was brought
Up in a little creek below a wall
O'ertopp'd with cypresses, dark-green and tall.

XM.

Here their conductor tapping at the wicket

Of a small iron door, 'twas open'd, and
He led them onward, first through a low thicket

Flank'd by large groves, which tower'd on either hand :
They almost lost their way, and had to pick it —

For night was closing ere they came to land.
The eunuch made a sign to those on board,
Who row'd off, leaving them without a word.

XLII.
As they were plodding on their winding way

Through orange bowers, and jasmine, and so forth :
(Of which I might have a good deal to say,

There being no such profusion in the North
Of oriental plants, " et cetera,"

But that of late your scribblers think it worth
Their while to rear whoh hotbeds in their works,
Because one poet travell'd 'mongst the Turks :)

XLIII.

As they were threading on their way, there came
Into Don J uau's head a thought, which he

Whisper'd to his companion : — 'twas the same
Which might have then occurr'd to you or me.

•' Methinks," — said he, — " it would be no great shame
If we should strike a stroke to set us free ;

Let's knock that old black fellow on the head,

And march away — 'twere easier done than said."

XLIV.
" Yes," said the other, " aud when done, what then?

How get out ? how the devil got we in ?
And when we once were fairly out, and when

From Saint Bartholomew we have saved our skin,
To-morrow'd see us in some other den,
> And worse off than we hitherto have been ;
Besides, I'm hungry, and just now would take,
Like Esau, for my birthright a beef-steak.

152 DON JUAN.

XLV.

" We must be near some place of man's abode ;-—
For the old negro's confidence in creeping,

With his two captives, by so queer a road,

Shows that he thinks his friends have not been sleeping;

A single cry would bring them all abroad :
Tis therefore better looking before leaping —

And there, you see, this turn has brought us through,

By Jove, a noble palace ! — lighted too."

XLVI.

It was indeed a wide extensive building

Which open'd on their view, and o'er the front

There seem'd to be besprent a deal of gilding
And various hues, as is the Turkish wont.—

A gaudy taste ; for they are little skill'd in

The arts of which these lands were once the fount :

Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen

New painted, or a pretty opera-scene.

XLVII.
And nearer as they came, a genial savour

Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus,
Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour,

Made Juan in his harsh intentions pause,
And put himself upon his good behaviour :

His friend, too, added a new saving clause,
Said, a In Heaven's name let's get some supper now,
And then I'm with you, if you're for a row."

XLVIII.
Some talk of an appeal unto some passion,

Some to men's feelings, others to their reason ;
The last of these was never much the fashion,

For reason thinks all reasoning out of season.
Some speakers whine, and others lay the lash on,

But more or less continue still to tease on,
With arguments according to their " forte ;"
But no one ever dreams of being short. —

XLIX.
But T digress : of all appeals, — although

I grant the power of pathos, and of gold,
Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling, — no

Method's more sure at moments to take hold
Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow

More tender, as we every day behold,
Than that all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul- -the dinner-bell

168

L.

Turkey contains no bells, and yet men dino,
And Juan and his friend, albeit they heard

No Christian knoll to table, saw no line
Of lackeys usher to the feast prepared,

Yet smelt roast-meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion -with their clean arms bared,

And gazed around them to the left and right,

With the prophetic eye,,of appetite.

And giving up all notions of resistance,
They follow'd close behind their sable guide,

Who little thought that his own crack'd existence
Was on the point of being set aside :

He motion'd them to stop at some small distance,
And knocking at the gate, 'twas open'd wide,

And a magnificent large hall display'd

The Asian pomp of Ottoman parade.

III.

I won't describe ; description is my forte,
But every fool describes in these bright days

His wondrous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise —

Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport ;

While Nature, tortured twenty thousand ways,

Resigns herself with exemplary patience

To guide-books, rhymes, tours, sketches, illustrations.

LI II.

Along this hall, and up and down, some, squatted
Upon their hams, were occupied at chess ;

Others in monosyllable talk chatted,

And some seem'd much in love with their own dress,

And some smoked superb pipes decorated
With amber mouths of greater price or less ;

And several strutted, others slept, and some

Prepared for supper with a glass of rum.

LIV.
As the black eunuch enter *d with his brace

Of purchased Infidels, some raised their eyes
A moment without slackening from their pace ;

But those who sate, ne'er stirr'd in any wise :
One or two stared the captives in the face,

Just as one views a horse to guess his price ;
Some nodded to the negro from their station,
But no one troubled him with conversation.

144 DON JUAN.

LV.

He leads them through the hall, and, without stopping,
On through a farther range of goodly rooms,

Splendid but silent, save in one, where, dropping,
A marble fountain echoes through the glooms

Of night, which robe the chamber, or where popping
Some female head most curiously presumes

To thrust its black eyes through the door or lattice,

As wondering what the devil noise that is.

ivi.
Some faint lamps gleaming from the lofty walls

Gave light enough to hint their farther way,
But not enough to show the imperial halls

In all the flashing of their full array ;
Perhaps there's nothing — I'll not say appals,

But saddens more by night as well as day,
Than an enormous room without a soul
To break the lifeless splendour of the whole.

LVII.

Two or three seem so little, one seems nothing ;

In deserts, forests, crowds, or by the shore,
There solitude, we know, has her full growth in

The spots which were her realms for evermore ;
But in a mighty hall or gallery, both in

More modern buildings and those built of yore,
A kind of death comes o'er us all alone,
Seeing what's meant for many with but one.

1VJII.

A neat, snug study on a winter's night,

A book, friend, single lady, or a glass
Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite,

Are things which make an English evening pass ;
Though certea by no means so grand a sight

As is a theatre lit up by gas.
I pass my evenings in long galleries solely ;
And that's the reason I'm so melancholy.

LIX.
Alas! man makes that great which makes him little?

I grant you in a church 'tis very well ;
What speaks of Heaven should by no means be brittle,

But strong and lasting, tijl no tongue can tell
Their names who rear'd it ; but huge houses fit ill —

And huge tombs worse — mankind, since Adam fell :
Methinks the story of the tower of Babel
Might teach them this much better than I'm able.

DON JUAN. 145

DC.

Babel was Nimrod's hunting-box, and then
A town of gardens, walls, and wealth amazing,

Where Nebuchadonosor, king of men,
Reign'd, till one summer's day he took to grazing ;

And Daniel tamed the lions in their den,
The people's awe and admiration raisingj

Twas famous, too, for Thisbe and for Pyramus,

And the caluminated queen Semiramis —

1X1.

That injured Queen, by chroniclers so coarse
Has been accused (I doubt not by conspiracy)

Of an improper friendship for her horse

(Love, like religion, sometimes runs to heresy) :

This monstrous talo had probably its source
(For such exaggerations here and there I see)

In writing " Courser " by mistake for " Courier :"

I wish the case could come before a jury here.

LXII.
But to resume, — should there be (what may not

Be in these days ?) some infidels, who don't,
Because they can't find out the very spot

Of that same Babel, or because they won't
(Though Claudius Ilich, Esquire, some bricks has got,

And written lately two memoirs upon *t,)
Believe the Jews, those unbelievers, who
Must be believed, though they believe not you.

LXIII.
Tet let them think that Horace has exprest

Shortly and sweetly the masonic folly
Of those, forgetting the great place of rest

Who give themselves to architecture wholly ;
„ We know where things and men must end at best :

A moral (like all morals) melancholy,
And " Et sepulchri immemor struis domos "
Shows that we build when we should but entomb us.

LXIV.
At last they reach'd a quarter most retired,

Where echo woke as if from a long slumber ;
Though full of all things which could be desired,

One wonder'd what to do with such a number
Of articles which nobody required ;

Here wealth had done its utmost to encumber
With furniture and exquisite apartment,
Which puzzled Nature much to know what Art meant

J56 DON JUAK.

1XV.

It seem'd, however, but to open on

A range of suite of further chambers, •which

Might lead to heaven knows where ; but in this one
The moveables were prodigally rich :

Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon,

So costly were they ; carpet every stitch

Of workmanship so rare, they made you wish

You could glide o'er them like a golden fish.

ZXTI.
The black, however, without hardly deigning

A glance at that which wrapt the slaves in wonder»
Trampled what they scarce trod for fear of staining,

As if the milky way their feet was under
With all its stars ; and with a stretch attaining

A certain press or cupboard niched in yonder—-
In that remote recess which you may see—
Or if you don't the fault is not in me, —

irm.
I wish to be perspicuous ; and the black,

I say, unlocking the recess, pull'd forth
A quantity of clothes fit for the back

Of any Mussulman, whate'er his worth ;
And of variety there was no lack —

And yet, though I have said there was no dearth,—
He chose himself to point out what he thought
Most proper for the Christians he had bought.

LXVIII.

The suit he thought most suitable to each
Was, for the elder and the stouter, first

A Candiote cloak, which to the knee night reach
And trousers not so tight that they would burst,

But such as fit an Asiatic breech ;

A shawl, whose folds in Cashmire had been nurst,

Slippers of saffron, dagger rich and handy,;

In short, all things which form a Turkish Dandy.

LXIX.

While he was dressing, Baba, their black friend,
Hinted the vast advantages which they

Might probably attain both in the end, •
If they would but pursue the proper way

Which Fortune plainly seem'd to recommend ;
And then he added that he needs must say,

" 'Twould greatly tend to better their condition,

If they would condescend to circumcision.

DON JUAN. 167

LXX.

" For his own part, he really should rejoice

To see them true believers, but no less
Would leave his proposition to their choice."

The other, thanking him for this excess
Of goodness, in thus leaving them a voice

In such a trifle, scarcely could express •
" Sufficiently " (he said) " his approbation
Of all the customs of this polish'd nation.

LXXI.

" For his own share — he saw but small objection

To so respectable an ancient rite ;
And, after swallowing down a slight refection,

For which he own'd a present appetite,
He doubted not a few hours of reflection

Would reconcile him to the business quite."
" Will it ? " said Juan, sharply : " Strike me dead,

But they as soon shall circumcise my head !

1XXII.

" Cut off a thousand heads, before " — " Now, pray,"

Replied the other, " do not interrupt ;
You put me out in what I had to say.

Sir ! — as I said, as soon as I have supt,
I shall perpend if your proposal may

Be such as I can properly accept ;
Provided always your great goodness still
Remits the matter to our own free-will."

LXXIII
Baba eyed Juan, and said, " Be so good

As dress yourself — " and pointed out a suit
In which a Princess with great pleasure would

Array her limbs : but Juan standing mute,
As not being in a masquerading mood,

Gave it a. slight kick with his Christian foot ;
And when the old negro told him to " Get ready,"
Replied, " Old gentleman, I'm not a lady."

1XXIV.

" What you may be, I neither know nor care,"

Said Baba ; " but pray do as I desire ;
I have no more time nor many words to spare."

" At least," said Juan, " sure I may inquire
The cause of this odd travesty?" — " Forbear,"

Said Baba, " to be curious ; 'twill transpire,
No doubt, in proper place, and time, and season :
I have no authority to tell the reason."

158 DON JUAN.

LXXV.

" Then if I do," said Juan, " 111 be " — " Hold ! "

Rejoin'd the negro, " pray be not provoking ;

This spirit's well, but it may wax too bold,
And you will find us not too fond of joking.

" What sir," said Juan, " shall it e'er be told
That I unsex'd my dress ? " But Baba stroking

The things down, said, " Incense me, and I call

Those who will leave you of no sex at all.

LXXVI.

** I offer you a handsome suit of clothes :

A woman's, true ; but then there is a cause [loathes.*
Why you should wear them." — " What, though my soul

The effeminate garb ? " — thus, after a short pause,
Sigh'd Juan, muttering also some slight oaths,

" What the devil shall I do with all this gauze ? " •
Thus he profanely term'd the finest lace
Which e'er set off a marriage-morning face.

LXXVJI.

And then he swore ; and, sighing, on he slipp'd

A pair of trousers of flesh-colour *d silk ;
Next with a virgin zone he was equipp'd,

Which girt a slight chemise as white as milk ;
By tugging on his petticoat, he tripp'd,

Which — as we say — or, as the Scotch say, whilk,
(The rhyme obliges me to this ; sometimes
Monarchs are less imperative than rhymes) —

LXXVIII.

Whilk, which (or what you please), was owing to
His garment's novelty, and his being awkward :

And yet at last he managed to get through
His toilet, though no doubt a little backward :

The negro Baba help'd a little too,

When some untoward part of raiment stuck hard ;

And, wrestling both his arms into a gown,

He paused, and took a survey up and down.

One difficulty still remain'd — his hair

Was hardly long enough ; but Baba found

So many false long tresses all to spare,
That soon his head was most completely crown'd,

And the manner then in fashion there ;

And this addition with such gems was bound

As suited the ensmtble of his toilet,

While Baba made him comb his head and oil it.

DON JUAH. 139

LXXX.

And now being femininely all array'd,

With some small aid from scissors, paint, and tweezers,
He look'd in almost all respects a maid,

And Baba smilingly exclaim'd, " You see,
A perfect transformation here display'd :

And now, then, you must come along with me, sirs,
That is — the Lady : "—clapping his hands twice,
Four blacks were at his elbow in a trice.

LXXXI.
" You, sir,1* said Baba, nodding to the one,

" Will please to accompany those gentlemen
To cupper ; but you, worthy Christian nun,

Will follow me : no trifling, sir ; for when
I say a thing, it must at once be done.

What fear you ? think you this a lion's den ?
Why, 'tis a palace : where the truly wise
Anticipate the Prophet's paradise.

LXXXII.
" You fool ! I tell you no one means you harm."

" So much the better," Juan said, " for them ;
Else they shall feel the weight of this my arm,

Which is not quite so light as you may deem.
I yield thus far ; but soon will break the charm

If any take me for that which I seem :
So that I trust for every body's sake,
That this disguise may lead to no mistake."

LXXXJII.

" Blockhead ! come on, and see," quoth Baba ; while

Don Juan, turning to his comrade, who
Though somewhat grieved, could scarce forbear a smile

Upon the metamorphosis in view, —
" Farewell ! " they mutually exclaim'd : this soil

Seems fertile in adventures strange and new ;
One's turii'd" half Mussulman, and one a maid,
By this old black enchanter's unsought aid.

LXXXI V.

" Farewell ! " said Juan : " should we meet no more,
I wish you a good appetite." — " Farewell ! "

Replied the other ; though it grieves me sore ;
When we next meet, we'll have a tale to tell :

We needs must follow when Fate puts from shore,
Keep your good name ; though Eve herself once fell."

" Nay," quoth the maid, " the Sultan's self shan't carry nWj

Unless his Highness promises to marry me."

160 DON JUAN.

LXXXV.

And thus they parted, each by separate doors ;

Baba led Juan onward room by room
Through glittering galleries, and o'er marble floors,

Till a gigantic portal through the gloom,
Haughty and huge, along the distance lowers ;

And wafted far arose a rich perfume :
It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine,
For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine.

LXXXVI.

The giant door was broad, and bright, and high,
Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious guise ;

Warriors thereon were battling furiously ;

Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish 'd lies ;

There captives led in triumph droop the eye,
And in perspective many a squadron flies ;

It seems the work of times before the line

Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantino.

LXXXVII.

This massy portal stood at the wide close
Of a huge hall, and on its either side

Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose,
Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied

In mockery to the enormous gate which rose
O'er them in almost pyramidic pride :

The gate so splendid was in all its features,

You never thought about those little creatures,

ixxxvm.

Until you nearly trod on them, and then
You started back in horror to survey

The wondrous hideousness of those small men,
Whose colour was not black, nor white, nor grey

But an extraneous mixture, which no pen
Can trace, although perhaps thf pencil may !

They were mis-shapen pigmies, deaf and dumb —

Monsters, who cost a no less monstrous sum.

LXXXIX.

Their duty was — for they were strong, and though
They look'd so little, did strong things at times —

To ope this door, which they could really do,
The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes ;

And now and then, with tough strings of the bow,
As is the custom of those Eastern climes,

To give some rebel Pacha a cravat

For mutis are generally used for that.

DON JUAN. 161

XC.

They spoke by signs — that is, not spoke at all ;

And looking like two incubi, they glared
As Baba with his fingers made them fall

To hearing back the portal folds : it scared
Juan a moment, as this pair so small,

With shrinking serpent optics on him stared ;
It was as if their little looks could poison
Or fascinate whome'er they fix'd their eyes on.

xci.
Before they enter'd, Baba paused to hint

To Juan some slight lessons as his guide :
" If you could just contrive," he said " to stint

That somewhat manly majesty of stride,
'Twould be as well, and, — (though there's not much in't)

To swing a little less from side to side,
What has at times an aspect of the oddest ; —
And also could you look a little modest,

xcn.
" Twould be convenient, for these mutes have eyes

Like needles, which may pierce those petticoats ;
And if they should discover your disguise,

You know how near us the deep Bosphorus floats ;
And you and I may chance, ere morning rise,

To find our way to Marmora without boats,
Stitch'd up in sacks — a mode of navigation
A good deal practised here upon occasion."

XCIII.
With this encouragement, he led the way

Into a room still nobler than the last ;
A rich confusion forui'd a disarray

In such sort, that the eye along it cast
Could hardly carry anything away,

Object on object flash'd so bright and fast ;
A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter,
Magnificently mingled in a litter.

* XCIY.

Wealth had done wonders — taste not nmch ; such thing!

Occur in Orient palaces, and even
In the more chasten'd domes of Western kings

(Of which I have also seen some six or seven)
Where I can't say or gold or diamond flings

Great lustre, there is much to be forgiven ;
Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs, and pictures,
On which I cannot pause t<i make my strictures.

Ifc2 DON JOAN.

XCV.

In this imperial hall, at distance lay

Under a canopy, and there reclined
Quite in a confidential queenly way,

A lady ; Baba stopp'd, and kneeling sign'd
To Juan, who though not much used ro pray,

Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind
What all this meant : while Baba bow'd and bended.
His head until the ceremony ended.

xcvi.
The lady rising up with such an air

As Venus rose with from the wave, on them
Bent like an Antelope a Paphian pair

Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem ;
And raising up an arm as moonlight fair,

She sign'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem
Of her deep purple robe, and speaking low,
Pointed to Juan, who remain'd below.

XCVII.

Her presence was as lofty as her state ;

Her beauty of that overpowering kind,
Whose force description only would abate :

I'd rather leave it much to your own mind,
Than lessen it by what I could relate

Of forms and features ; it would strike you blind
Could I do justice to the full detail ;
So, luckily for both, my phrases fail.

XCVIII.

Thus much however I may add, — her years

Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs,

But there are forms which Time to touch forbears,
And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things,

Such as was Mary's Queen of Scots ; true — tears
And love destroy : and sapping sorrow wrings

Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow

Ugly ; for instance — Ninon de 1'Enclos.

xcix.
She spake some words to her attendants, who

Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen,
And were all clad alike ; like Juan, too,

Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen ;
They form'd a very nymph-like looking crew,

Which might have call'd Diana's chorus " cousin,'
As far as outward show may correspond ;
I won't be bail for anything beyond.

DON JOAN. 163

C. *

They bow'd obeisance and withdrew, retiring,
But not by the same door through which came iu

Bab a and Juan, which last stood admiring,
At some small distance, all he saw within

This strange saloon,«much fitted for inspiring
Marvel and praise ; for both or none things win ;

And I must say, I ne'er could see the very

Great happiness of the " Nil Admirari."

cr.
" Not to admire is all the art I know

(Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech)
To make men happy, or to keep them so ;"

(So take it in the very words of Creech) :
Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago ; '

And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach
From his translation ; but had none admired,
Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired ?

en.

Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn,

Motion'd to Juan to approach, and then
A second time desired him to kneel down,

And kiss the lady's foot ; which maxim when
He heard repeated, Juan with a frown

Drew himself up to his full height again,
And said, " It grieved him, but he could not stoop
To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope."

GUI'.

Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride,

Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat

He mutter'd (but the last was given aside)
About a bow-string — quite in vain; not yet

Would Juan bend, though 'twere to Mahomet's bride:
There's nothing in the world like etiquette

In kingly chambers or imperial halls,

As also at the race and county balls.

civ.
He stood like Atlas, with a world of words

About his ears, and nathless would not bend ;
The blood of all his line's Castilian lords

Boil'd in his veins, and rather than descend
To stain his pedigree, a thousand swords

A thousand times of him had made an end ;
At length perceiving the "foot" could not stand,
Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand.

164 PON JUAN.

Here was an honourable compromise,

A half-way house of diplomatic rest,
Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise ;

And Juan now his willingness exprest,
To use all fit and proper courtesies, •

Adding, that this was commonest and best,
For through the South, the custom still commands
The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

cvi.

And he advanced, though with but a bad grace,
Though on more ihorough-bred or fairer fingers

No lips e'er left their transitory trace :
On such as these the lip too fondly lingers

And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace,
As you will see, if she you love shall bring hers

In contact ; and sometimes even a fair stranger's

An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers.

cvn.
The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade

Baba retire, which he obey'd in style,
As if well used to the retreating trade ;

And taking hints in good part all the while,
He whisper'd Juan not to be afraid,

And looking on him with a sort of smile,
Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction,
As good men wear who have done a virtuous action.

CVIII.

When he was gone, there was a sudden change ;

I know not what might be the lady's thought,
But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult strange,

And into her clear cheek the blood was brought,
Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range

The verge of heaven ; and in her large eyes wrought
A mixture of sensations, might be scann'd,
Of half voluptuousness and half command.

cix.
Her form had all the softness of her sex,

Her features all the sweetness of the devil.
When he put on the cherub to perplex

Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil ;
The sun himself was scarce more free from specks

Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil ;
i'tt, somehow, there was something somewhere wanting,
A.< if she rather order'd than was y ranting. —

165

ex.
Something imperial, or imperious, threw

A chain o'er all she did ; that is, a chain
Was thrown as 'twere about the neck of you —

And rapture's self will seem almost a pain
With aught which looks like despotism in view :

Our souls at least are free, and 'tis in vain
We would against them make the flesh obey —
The spirit in the end will have its way.

CXI.

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet ;

Her very nod was not an inclination ;
There was a self-will even in her small feet,

As though they were quite conscious of her station—
They trod as upon necks ; and to complete

Her state (it is the custom of her nation),
A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign
She was a sultan's bride, thank Heaven, not mine !)

cxn.
" To hear and to obey" had been from birth

The law of all around her : to fulfil
All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth,

Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her will ;
Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of earth ;

Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood still ;
Had she but been a Christian, I've a notion
We should have found out the " perpetual motion."

CXIII.
Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought ;

Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed
It might be seen, with diligence was sought,

And when 'twas found straightway the bargain closed :
There was no end unto the things she bought,

Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused ;
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardon'd all except her face.

cxiv.
Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught

Her eye hi passing on his way to sale ;
She order'd him directly to be bought,

And Baba, who had ne'er been known to fail
In any kind of mischief to be wrought,

At all such auctions knew how to prevail :
She had no prudence, but he had ; and this
Explains the garb which Juan took amiss.

166 DON JOAN.

CXV.

His youth and features favour'd the disguise,
And, should you ask how she, a sultan's bride-.

Could risk or compass such strange phantasies
This I must leave sultanas to decide ;

Emperors are only husbands in wives' eyes,
And kings and consorts oft are mystified,

As we may ascertain with due precision,

Some by experience, others by tradition.

CXVI.

But to the main point, where we have been tending :—

She now conceived all difficulties past,
And deem'd herself extremely condescending

When, being made her property at last,
Without more preface, in her blue eyes blending

Passion and power, a glance on him she cast,
And merely saying, " Christian, canst thou love ?"
Conceived that phrase was quite enough to move.

CXVI I.

And so it was, in proper time and place ;

But Juan, who had still his mind o'erflowing
With Haidee's isle and soft Ionian face,

Felt the warm blood, which in his face was glowing,
Bush back upon his heart, which filled apace,

And left his cheeks as pale as snow-drops blowing :
These words went through his soul like Arab-spears,
So that he spoke not, but burst into tears.

CXVI II.

She was a good deal shock'd ; not shock'd at tears,
For women shed and use them at their liking ;

But there is something when man's eye appears
Wet, still more disagreeable and striking :

A woman's tear-drop melts, a man's half sears,
Like molten lead as if you thrust a pike in

His heart to force it out, for (to be shorter)

To them 'tis a relief, to us a torture.

cxix.
And she would have consoled, but knew not how :

Having no equals, nothing which had e'er
Infected her with sympathy till now,

And never having dreamt what 'twas to bear
Aught of a serious, sorrowing kind, although

There might arise some pouting petty care
To cross her brow, she wonder'd how so near
Her eye another's eyes could shed a tear.

1C7

cxx.

But nature teaches more than power can spoil,
And when a strong although a strange sensation

Moves — female hearts are such a genial soil
For kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation,

They naturally pour the " wine and oil,"
Samaritans in every situation ; .

And thus Gulbeyaz, though she knew not why,

Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye.

> cxxi.
But tears must stop like all things else ; and soon

Juan, who for an instant had been moved
To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone

Of one who dared to ask if " he had loved,"
Call'd back the stoic to his eyes, which shone

Bright with the very weakness he reproved ; -
And although sensitive to beauty, he
Felt most indignant still at not being free.

cxxn.
Gnlbeyaz, for the first time in her days,

Was much embarrass'd, never having met
In all her life with aught save prayers and praise ,

And as she also risk'd her life tb get
Him whom she meant to tutor in love's ways

Into a comfortable tete-a-tete,
To lose the hour would make her quite a martyr
And they had wasted now almost a quarter.

I also would suggest the fitting time,

To gentlemen in any such like case,
That is to say — in a meridian clime,

With us there is more law given to the chase,
But here a small delay forms a great crime:

So recollect that the extremest grace
Is just two. minutes for your declaration —
A moment more would hurt your reputation.

cxxiv.
Juan's was good ; and might have been still better.

But he had got Haidee into his .head :
However strange, he could not yet forget her,

Which made him seem exceedingly ill-bred.
Gulbeyaz, who look'd on him as her debtor

For having had him to her palace led,
Began to blush up to the eyes, and then
Grow deadly pale, and then blush back again.

J68 DON JUAK.

/

cxxv.

At length, in an imperial way, she laid
Her hand on his, and bending on him eyes,

Which needed not an empire to persuade,
Look'd into his for love, where none replies :

Her brow grew black, but she would not upbraid,
That being the last thing a proud woman tries ;

She rose, and pausing one chaste moment, threw

Herself upon his breast, and there she grew.

• cxxvi.

This was an- awkward test, as Juan found,

But he was steel'd by sorrow, wrath, and pride :

With gentle force her white arms he unwound,
And seated her all drooping by his side,

Then rising haughtily he glanced around,
And looking coldly in her face, he cried,

" The prison'd eagle will not pair, nor I

Serve a sultana's sensual phantasy.

CXXVII.

" Thou ask'st, if I can love ? be this the proof
How much I have loved — that I love not thee !

In this vile garb, the distoff, web, and woof,
Were fitter for me : Eove is for the free !

I am not dazzled by this splendid roof ;
Wliate'er thy power, and great it seems to be ;

Heads bow, knees bend, eyes watch around a throne,

Aad hands obey — our hearts are still our own."

CXXVIII.

This was a truth to us extremely trite ;

Not so to her, who ne'er had heard such things :
She deem'd her least command must yield delight,

Earth being only made for queens and kings.
If hearts lay on the left side or the right

She hardly knew, to such perfection brings
Legitimacy its born votaries, when
Aware of their due royal rights o'er men.

• cxxix. ,

Besides, as has been said, she was so fair

As even in a much humbler lot had made
A kingdom or confusion any where,

And also, as m^y be presumed, she laid
Some stress, on charms, which seldom are, if e'er,

By their possessors thrown into the shade :
She thought hers gave a double " right divine :"
And half of that opinion's also mine.

DON JtAH.
CXXX.

Ilemember, or (if you can not) imagine,

Ye ! who have kept your chastity when young,

While some more desperate dowager has been waging
Love with you, and been in the dog-days stung

By your refusal, recollect her raging T -
Or recollect all that was said or sung

On such a subject ; then suppose the face

Of a young downright beauty in this case.

cxxxr.

Suppose, — but you already have supposed,
The spouse of PotSphar, the Lady Booby,

Phecdra, and all which story has disclosed
Of good examples ; pity that so few by

Poets and private tutors are exposed,

To educate — ye youth of Europe — you by !

But when you have supposed the few we know,

You can't suppose Gulbeyaz* angry brow.

A tigress robb'd of young, a lioness,

Or any interesting beast of prey,
Are similes at hand for the distress

Of ladies who can not have their own way ;
But though my turn will not be served -with less,

These don't express one half what I should say ;
For what is stealing young ones, few or many,
To cutting short their hopes of having any ?

CXXXIII.

The love of offspring's nature's general law,

From tigresses and cubs to ducks and ducklings :

There's nothing whets the beak, or arms the claw
Like an invasion of their babes and sucklings ;

And all who have seen a human nursery, saw

How mothers love their children's squalls and chuckling* ;

This strong" extreme effect (to tire no longer

Your patience) shows the cause must still be stronger.

cxxxiv.
If I said fire flash'd from Gulbeyaz* eyes,

Twere nothing — for her eyes flash'd always fire ;
Or said her cheeks assumed the deepest dyes

I should but bring disgrace upon the dyer,
So supernatural was her passion's rise ; .

For ne'er till now she knew a check'd desire :
Even ye who know what a check'd womau is
(Enough, God knows !) would much fall short of this.
16

"i?0 DON JUA*.

cxxxv.

Her rage was but a minute's, and 'twas well- ...

A moment's more had slain her ; but the whil*
It lasted 'twas like a short glimpse of hell :

Nought's more sublime than energetic bile,
Though horrible to see yet grand to teH,

Like ocean warring 'gainst a rocky isle ;
And the deep passions flashing through her form
Made her a beautiful embodied storm.

CXXXVI.

A vulgar tempest 'twere to a typhoon
To match a common fury with her rage.

And yet she did not want to reach the moon,
Like moderate Hotspur on the immortal page ;

Her anger pitch'd into a lower tune,
Perhaps the fault of her soft sex and age —

Her wish was but to " kill, kill, kill," like Lear's,

And then her thirst of blood was quench'd in tears.

CXXXVII.

A storm it raged, and like the storm it pass'd,
Pass'd without words — in fact she could not speak ;

And then her sex's shame broke in at last,
A sentiment till then in her but weak,

But now it flow'd in natural and fast,
As water through an unexpected leak,

For she felt humbled — and humiliation

Is sometimes good for people in her station.

CXXXTIII.

It teaches them that they are flesh and blood»
It also gently hints to them that others,

Although of clay, are yet not quite of mud ;
That urns and pipkins are but fragile brothers^

And works of the same pottery, bad or good,
Though not all born of the same sires and mothers :

It teaches — Heaven knows only what it teaches»

But sometimes it may mend, and often reaches.

cxxxix.

Her first thought was to cut off Juan's head ;

Her second, to cut only his — acquaintance ;
Her third, to ask him where he had been bred ;

Her fourth, to rally him into repentance ;
Her fifth, to call her maids and go to bed ;

Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventa, to semeae*
The lash to Baba: — but her grand resource
Was to sit down again, and cry of course.

171

CXL.

She thought to stab herself, but then she had
The dagger close at hand, which made it awkward ;

For Eastern stays are little made to pad,
So that a poniard pierces if 't is stuck hard :

She thought of killing Juan — but, poor lad !

Though he deserved it well for being so backward,

The cutting off his head was not the art

Most likely to attain her aim — his heart.

CXLI.
Juan was moved : he had made up his mind

To be impaled, or quarter'd as a dish
For dogs, or to be slain with pangs refined,

Or thrown to lions, or made baits for fish,
And thus heroically stood resign'd,

Rather than sin — except to his own wish :
But all his great preparatives for dying
Dissolved like snow before a woman crying.

CXLII.

As through his palms Bob Acres' valour oozed,
So Juan's virtue ebb'd, I know not how ;

And first he wonder'd why he had refused :
And then, if matters could be made up now ;

And next his savage virtue he accused,
Just as a friar may accuse his TOW,

Or as a dame repents her of her oath,

Which mostly ends in some small breach of both.

CXLIII.

So he began to stammer some excuses :

But words are not enough in such a matter,

Although you borrow'd all that e'er the muses
Have sung, or even a Dandy's dandiest chatter

Or all the figures Castlereagh abuses ;
Just as a languid smile began to natter

His peace was making, but before he ventured

Further, old Baba rather briskly enter'd.

OXLIV.
" Bride of the Sun ! and Sister of the Moon !"

('T was thus he spake,) " and Empress of the Earth!
Whose frown would put the spheres all out of tune,

Whose smile makes all the planets dance with mirth,
Your slave brings tidings — he hopes not too soon —

Which your sublime attention may be worth :
The Sun himself has sent me like a ray,
To hint that he is coming up this way." .

J72 DOS JUAN.

*' Is it," exclaim'd Gulbeyaz, " as you say ?

I wish to heaven he would not shine till morning ?
But bid my women form the milky way.

Hence, my old comet ! give the stars due warning —
And, Christian ! mingle with them as you may,

And as you'd have me pardon your past scorning **
Here they were interrupted by a humming
Sound, and then by a cry, " The Sultan's coming !"

CXLVI.
First came her damsels, a decorous file,

And then his Highness' eunuchs, black and white ;
The train might reach a quarter of a mile :

His majesty was always so polite
As to announce his visits a longe while

Before he came, especially at night ;
For being the last wife of the Emperour,
She was of course the favourite of the four.

CXLVII.
His Highness was a man of solemn port,

Shawl'd to the nose, and bearded to the eyes,
Snatched from a prison to preside at court,

His lately bowstrung brother caused his rise ;
He was as good a sovereign of the sort

As any mention'd in the histories
Of Cantemir, or Knolles, where few shine
Save Solyinan the glory of their line.

CXLVHI.

He went to mosque in state, and said his prayers
With more than " Oriental scrupulosity ;"

He left to his vizier all state affairs,
And show'd but little royal curiosity ;

I know not if he had domestic cares —
No process proved connubial animosity ;

Four wives and twice five hundred maids, unseen,

Were ruled as calmly as a Christian queen.

If now and then there happen'd a slight slip,
Little was heard of criminal or crime ;

The story scarcely pass'd a single lip —
The sack and sea had settled all in time,

From which the secret nobody could rip :

The public knew no more than does this rhyme ;

No scandals made the daily press a curse—^

Morals were better, and the fish no worse.

. > DON JUAN. *?3

CL.

He saw with his own eyes the moon was round,
Was also certain that the earth was square,

Because he had journey 'd fifty miles, and found
No sign that it was circular any where ;

His empire also KOS without a bound :
'T is true, a little troubled here and there,

By rebel pachas, and encroaching giaours,

But then they never came to " the Seven Towers ;"

Bit.

Except in shape of envoys, who were sent
To lodge there when a war broke out, according

To the true law of nations, which ne'er meant
Those scoundrels, who have never had a word in

Their dirty diplomatic hands, to vent
Their spleen in making strife, and safely wording

Their lies, yclep'd despatches, without risk or

The singeing of a single inky whisker.

CLII.
He had fifty daughters and four dozen sons,

Of whom all such as came of age were stow'd,
The former in a palace, where like nuns

They li ved till some Bashaw was sent abroad,
When she, whose turn it was, was wed at once,

Sometimes at six years old — though this seems odd,
'T is true ; the reason is, that the Bashaw
Must make a present to his sire in law.

CLIII.
His sons were kept in prison, till they grew

Of years to fill a bowstring or the throne,
One or the other, but which of the two

Could yet be known unto the fates alone ;
Meantime the education they went through

Was princely, as the proofs have always shown :
So that the heir apparent still was found
No less deserving to be hang'd than crown'd.

CLIV.
His Majesty saluted his fourth spouse

With all the ceremonies of his rank,
Who clear'd her sparkling eyes and smooth'd her brow«,

As suits a matron who has play'd a prank ;
These must seem doubly mindful of their vows,

To save the credit of their breaking bank :
To no men are such cordial greetings given,
As those whose wives have made them fit for heaven.
16*

.74 DON JUAN.

CLV.

His Highness cast around his great black eyes,
And looking, as he always look'd, perceived

Juan amongst the damsels in disguise,

At which he seem'd no whit surprised nor grieved,

But just remark'd with air sedate and wise,
While still a fluttering sigh Gulbeyaz neaved,

" I see you've bought another girl ; 't is pity

That a mere Christian should be half so pretty."

CLVI.
This compliment, which drew all eyes upon

The new-bought virgin, made her blush and shake ;
Her comrades, also, thought themselves undone ;

Oh! Mahomet! that his Majesty should take,
Such notice of a giaour, while scarce to one

Of them his lips imperial ever spake !
There was a general whisper, toss, and wriggle,
But etiquette forbade them all to giggle.

CLVIl.

The Turks do well to shut — at least, sometimes —
The women up — because, in sad reality,

Tbcir chastity in these unhappy climes
Is not a thing of that astringent quality,

Which in the North, prevents precocious crimes,
And makes our snow less pure than our morality ;

The sun, which yearly melts the polar ice,

Has quite the contrary effect on vice.

CLVIII.

Thus in the East they are extremely strict,

And wedlock and a padlock mean the same ;
Excepting only when the former's pick'd
. It ne'er can be replaced in proper frame ;
Spoilt, as a pipe of claret is when prick'd.

But then their own polygamy's to blame ;
Why don't they knead two virtuous souls for life
Into that moral centaur, man and wife?

CLIX.

Thus far our chronicle ; and now we pause,
Though not for want of matter ; but 't is time,

According to the ancient epic laws,

To slacken sail, and anchor with our rhyme.

Let this fifth canto meet with due applause,
The sixth shall have a touch of the sublime ;

Meanwhile, as Homer sometimes sleeps, perhaps

You'll pardon to my muse a few short naps.

San 3tmn,

PREFACE TO CANTOS VI. VII. AND VIII.

THE details of the siege of Ismail in two of the following
cantos (i. e. the seventh and eighth) are taken from the
French Work, entitled " Histoire de la Nouvelle Russie."
Some of the incidents attributed to Don Juan really oc-
curred, particularly the circumstance of his saving the
infant, which was the actual case of the late Due de
Richelieu, then a young volunteer in the Russian service,
and afterward the founder and benefactor of Odessa, where
his name and memory can never cease to be regarded with
reverence.

In the course of these cantos, a stanza or two will be
found relative to the late Marquis of Londonderry, but
written some time before his decease. Had that person's
oligarchy died with him, they would have been suppressed ;
as it is, I am aware of nothing in the manner of his death
or of his life to prevent the free expression of the opinions
of all whom his whole existence was consumed in endea-
vouring to enslave. That he was an amiable man in
private life, may or may not be true ; but with this the
public have nothing to do ; and as to lamenting his death,
it will be time enough when Ireland has ceased to mourn
for his birth. As a minister, I, for one of millions, looked
upon him as the most despotic in intention, and the
weakest in intellect, that ever tyrannised over a country.
It is the first time indeed since the Normans that Eng-
land has been insulted by a minister (at least) who could
not speak English, and that Parliament permitted itself
to be dictated to in the language of Mrs. Malaprop.

Of the manner of his death little need be said, except
that if a poor radical, such as Waddington or Watson had
cut his throat, he would have been buried in a cross-road,
with the usual appurtenances of the stake and mallet. But
the minister was an elegant lunatic — a sentimental suicide
— he merely cut the " carotid artery," (blessings on their
learning !) and lo ! the pageant, and the Abbey ! and
" the syllables of dolour yelled forth " by the newspapty s
— arid the harangue of the Coroner in .a eulogy over the .
bleeding' body of the deceased — (an Anthony worthy of
such a Csesar) — and the nauseous and atrocious cant of a
degraded crew of conspirators against all that is sincere
and honourable. In his death he was necessarily one of
two things by the law— a felon or a madman — and ill

176 DON JUAN.

either case no great subject for panegyric. la his life lie
Was — what all the world knows, and half of it will feel for
years to come, unless his death prove a "moral lesson" tc
the surviving Sejani of Europe. It may at least serve as
some consolation to the nations, that their oppressors are
not happy, and in some instances judge so justly of their
own actions as to anticipate the sentence of mankind. Let
ns hear no more of this man ; and let Ireland remove the
ashes of her Grattan from the sanctuary of Westminster.
Shall the patriot of humanity repose by the Werther of
politics ! ! !

With regard to the objections which have been made on
another score to the already published cantos of this poem,
1 shall content myself with two quotations from Voltairej
— " La pudeur s'est enfuite des cceurs, et s'est refugiee sur
les levres " . . . " Plus les mceurs sont depraves, plus
les expressions deviennent mesurees ; on croit regagner
en langage ce qu'on a perdu en vertu."

This is the real fact, as applicable to the degraded and
hypocritical mass which leavens the present English gene-
ration, and is the only answer they deserve. The hack-
neyed and lavished title of Blasphemer — which, with
Radical, Liberal, Jacobin, Reformer, &c. are the changes
which the hirelings are daily ringing in the ears of those
who will listen — should be welcome to all who recollect on
whom it was originally bestowed. Socrates and Jesus
Christ were put to death publicly as blasphemers, and so
have been and may be many who dare to oppose the most
notorious abuses of the name of God and the mind of man.
But persecution is not refutation, nor even triumph : the
" wretched infidel," as he is called, is probably happier in
his prison than the proudest of his assailants. With his
opinions I have nothing to do — they may be right or wrong
— but he has suffered for them, and that very suffering for
conscience' sake will make more proselytes to deism than
the example of heterodox, Prelates to Christianity, suicide
statesmen to oppression, or overpensioned homicides to the
impious alliance which insults the world with the name
of " Holy ! " 1 have no wish to trample on the dishonoured
or the .dead ; but it would be well if the adherents to the
classes from whence those persons sprung should abate a
little of the cant which is the crying sin of this double-
dealing and false-speaking time of selfish spoilers, and —
but enough for the present.

Pisa, July, 1822.

DON JUAN.

CANTO THE SIXTH.

" THERE is a tide in the affairs of men

Which, — taken at the flood," — you know the rest,
And most of us have found it now and then :

At least we think so, though but few have guess'd
The moment, till too late to come again.

But no doubt every thing is for the best—-
Of which the surest sign is in the end :
When things are at the worst they sometimes mend. \

II.

There is a tide in the affairs of women

Which, taken at the flood, leads — God knows where:
Those navigators must be able seamen

Whose charts lay down its current to a hair ;
Not all the reveries of Jacob Behmen

With its strange whirls and eddies cap " •• wu« ».
Men with their heads reflect on this at •••»•. ^-
But women with their hearts on heaveu Knows what.

And yet a headlong, headstrong, downright she,
Young, beautiful, and daring — who would risk

A throne, the world, the universe, to be
Beloved in her own way, and rather whisk

The stars from out the sky, than not be free
As are the billows when the breeze is brisk —

Though such a she's a devil (if that there be one),

Yet she would make full many a Manichean.

IV.

'rones, worlds, et cetera, are so oft upset

By commonest ambition, that when passion
O'erthrows the same, we readily forget,

Or at the least forgive, the loving rash one.
If Anthony be well remember 'd yet,

'Tis net his conquests keep his name in fashion,
But Actium, lost for Cleopatra's eyes,
Outbalances all Caesar's victories.

178 DON JUAS.

V.

He died at fifty for a queen of forty ;

I wish their years had been fifteen and twenty
For then wealth, kingdoms, worlds are but a sport — I

Remember when, though I had no great plenty
Of worlds to lose, yet still, to pay my court, 1

Gave what I had — a heart : as the world weat, I
Gave what was worth a world ; for worlds could never
Restore me those pure feelings, gone for ever.

n.
Twas the boy's " mite," and like the " widow's," may

Perhaps he weigh'd hereafter, if not now ;
But whether such things do or do not weigh,

All who have loved, or love, will still allow
Life has nought like it. God is love, they say,

And Love's a God, or was before the brow
Of earth was wrinkled by the sins and tears
Of — but Chronology best knows the years.

VII.

We left our hero and third heroine in
A kind of state more awkward than uncommon,

For gentlemen must sometimes risk their skin
For that sad tempter, a forbidden woman :

Sultans too much abhor this sort of sin,
And don't agree at all with the wise Roman,

Heroic, stoic Cato, the sententious,

Who lent his lady to his friend Hortensius.

VIII.
I know Gulbeyaz was extremely wrong ;

I own it, I deplore it, I condemn it ;
But I detest all fiction even in song,

And so must tell the truth, howe'er you blame it.
Her reason being weak, her passions strong

She thought that her lord's heart (even could she claim h)
Was scarce enough ; for he had fifty-nine
Years, and a fifteen-hundredth concubine.

IX.

I am not, like Cassio, " an arithmetician,"

But by " the bookish theoric " it appears,
If 'tis summ'd up in feminine precision,

That, adding to the account his Highness' years,
The fair Sultana err'd from inanition ;

For, were the Sultan just to all his dears,
She could but claim the fifteen-hundredth part
Of what should be monopoly — the heart.

DON JO AS. 179

X.

It is obserred that ladles are litigious

Upon all legal objects of possession,
And not the least so when they are religious,

Which doubles what they think of the transgression ;
With suits and prosecutions they besiege us,

As the tribunals show through many a session,
When they suspect that any one goes shares
In that to which the law makes them sole heirs.

XI.

Now, if this holds good hi a Christian land,
The heathen also, though with lesser latitude,

Are apt to carry things with a high hand,

And take, what kings call " an imposing attitude ;"

And for their rights connubial make a stand,

When their liege husbands treat them with ingratitude ;

And as four wives must have quadruple claims

The Tigris hath its jealousies like Thames*

XII.

Gulbeyaz was the fourth, and (as I said)
The favourite ; but what's favour amongst four ?

Polygamy may well be held in dread,
Not only as a sin, but as a bore :

Most wise men with one moderate woman wed»
Will scarcely find philosophy for more ;

And all (except Mahometans) forbear

To make the nuptial couch a " Bed of Ware."

XIII.

His Highness» the sublimest of mankind,—*

So styled according to the usual forms
Of every monarch, till they are consign'd

To those sad hungry jabobins the worms,
#Who on the very loftiest kings have dined,—*

His Highness gazed upon Gulbeyaz' charmsj
Expecting all the welcome of a lover
(A " Highland welcome" all the wide world over).

XIV.

Ncrw, here we should distinguish ; for howe'er
Kisses, sweet words, embraces, and all that*

May look like what is — ^neither here nor there^
They are put on as easily as a hat,

Or rather bonnet, which the fair sex wear,
Trimm'd either heads or hearts to decorate*

Which form an ornament, but no more part

Of heads, than their caresses of the heart.

180 DON JUAX.

XV.

Afclight blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind
Of gentle feminine delight, and shown

More in the eyelids than the eyes, resign'd
Bather to hide what pleases most unknown^

Are the best tokens (to a modest mind)
Of love, when seated on the loveliest throne

A sincere -woman's breast, — for over- warm

Or over-cold annihilates the charm.

XVI.

For over-warmth, if false, is worse than truth ;

If true, 'tis no great lease of its own fire ;
For no one, save in very «arly youth,

Would like (I think) to trust all to desire,
Which is but a precarious bond, in sooth,

And apt to be transferr'd to the first buyer
At a sad discount : while your over chilly
Women, on t'other hand, seem somewhat silly.

XVII.

That is, we cannot pardon their bad taste4
For sO it seems to lovers swift or slow,

Who fain would have a mutual flame confess'd>
And see a sentimental passion glow,

Even were St. Francis* paramour their guest,
In his monastic concubine of snow ; —

tn short, the maxim for the amorous tribe IB

Horatian, " Medio tu tutissimus ibis."

XVII.

The "tu "'& too much, — but let it stand, — the verse
Bequires it, that's to say, the English rhyme,

And not the pink of old hexameters ;

But, after all, there's neither tune nor time

Tn the last line, which cannot well be worse,
And was thrust in to close the octave's chime :

I own no prosody can ever rate it

As a rule, but truth may, if you translate it.

XIX.

If fair Golbeyaz overdid her part,
I know not — it succeeded, and success

ts much in most things, not less in the heart
Than other articles of female dress.

Self-love in man, too, beats all female art ;
They lie, we lie, all lie, but love no less :

And no one virtue yet, except starvation,

Could stop that worst of vices — propagation

IBl

xx.

We leave this royal couple to repose :
A bed is not a throne, and they may sleep

Whate'er their dreams be, if of joys or woes :
Yet disappointed joys are woes as deep

As any man's clay mixture undergoes.
Our least of sorrows are such as we weep ;

'Tis the vile daily drop on drop which wears

The soul out (like the stone) with petty cares.

xxr.

A scolding wife, a sullen son, a bill

To pay, unpaid, protested, or discounted

At a per-centage ; a child cross, dog ill,
A favourite horse fallen lame just as he's mounted*

A bad old woman making a worse will,
Which leaves you minus of the cash you counted

As certain ; these are paltry things, and yet

I've rarely seen the man they did not fret.

XXII.

I'm a philosopher ; confound them all !

Bills, beasts, and men, and — no ! not womankind I
With one good hearty curse I vent my gall,

And then my stoicism leaves nought behind
Which it can either pain or evil call,

And I can give my whole soul up to mind ;
Though what is soul or mind, their birth or growth,
Is more than I know— rthe deuce take them both !

XXIII.

So now all things are d — n'd one feels at ease,

As after reading Athanasius' curse,
Which doth your true believer so much please :

I doubt if any now could make it worse
O'er his worst enemy when at his knees,

Tis so sententious, positive, and terse,
And decorates the book of Common Prayer,
As doth a rainbow the just clearing air.

XXIV.

Gulbeyaz and her lord were sleeping, or

At least one of them ! — Oh, the heavy night,
When wicked wives, who love some bachelor,

Lie down in dudgeon to sigh for the light
Of the grey morning, and look vainly for

Its twinkle through the lattice dusky quite—-
To toss, to tumble, doze, revive, and quake
Lest their too lawful bed-fellow should wake !
17

182 DON JUAN.

XXV.

These are beneath the canopy of heaven,

Also beneath the canopy of beds,
Four-posted and rich cortain'd, which are given

For nch men and their brides to lay their head*
Upon, in sheets white as what bards call " driven

Snow." Well ! 'tis all hap-hazard when one wed*.
Gulbeyaz was an empress, but had been
Perhaps as wretched if a peasants qtiean.

XXVI.

Don Juan in his feminine disguise,

With all the damsels in their long array,

Had bow'd themselves before th' imperial eyes>
And at the usual signal ta'en their way

Back to their chambers, those long galleries
In the seraglio, where the ladies lay

Their delicate limbs ; a thousand bosoms there

Beating for love, as the caged bird 's for air

XXVII.

I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse
The tyrant's wish, " that mankind only had

One neck, which he with one fell stroke might pieretf :*"'
My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad,

And much more tender on the whole than fierce ;
It being (not now, but only while a lad)

That womankind had but one rosy mouth,

To kiss them all at once from North to South.

xxvni.
Oh, enviable Briareus ; with thy hands

And heads, if thou hadst all things multiplied
In such proportion ! — But my Muse withstand*

The giant thought of being a Titan's bride,
Or travelling in Patagonian lands ;

So let us back to Lilliput, and guide
Our hero through the labyrinth of love,
In which we left him several lines above.

XXIX.

He went forth with the lovely Odalisques,
At the given signal join'd to their array ;

And though he certainly ran many risks,
Yet he could not at times keep, by the way,

(Although the consequences of such frisks
Are worse than the worst damages men pay

In moral England, where the thing's a tax,)

From ogling all their charms from breasts to back*.

DON JUAN. 183

XXX.

Still he forgot not his disguise : — along

The galleries from room to room they walk'd,

A virgin-like and edifying throng,

By eunuchs flank'd ; while at their head there ttalk'd

A dame who kept up discipline among

The female ranks, so that none stirr'd or talk'd,

Without her sanction on their she-parades :

Her title was " the Mother of the Maids."

Whether she was a " mother," I know not,

Or whether they were " maids" who cail'd her mother;
But this is her seraglio title, got

I know not how, but good as any other ;
So Cantemir can tell you, or De Tott ;

Her office was to keep aloof or smother
All bad propensities in fifteen hundred
Young women, and correct them when they blunder 'd.

XXXII.

A goodly sinecure no doubt ! but made

More easy by the absence of all men —
Except his majesty, — who, with her aid,

And guards, and bolts, and walls, and now and then
A slight example, just to cast a shade

Along the rest, contrived to keep this den
Of beauties cool as an Italian convent,
Where all the passions have, alas ! but one vent.

. xxxin.

And what is that ? Devotion, doubtless — how
Could you ask such a question 1 — but we will

Continue. As I said, this goodly row
Of ladies of all countries at the will

Of one good man, with stately march and slow,
Like water-lilies floating down a rill —

Or rather lake — for rills do not run slowly, — '•

Paced on most maiden-like and melancholy.

xxxiv.
But when they reach'd their own apartments, there,

Like birds, or boys, or bedlamites broke loose,
Waves at spring-tide, or women any where

"\Yhen freed from bonds (which are of no great use
After all), or like Irish at a fair,

Their guards being gone, and as it were a truce
Establish'd between them and bondage, they
Began to sing, dance, chatter, smile, and play.

184 BON JUAS.

XXXV.

Their talk, of course, ran most on the new comer :
Her shape, her hair, her air, her everything :

Some thought her dress did not so much become her,
Or wonder'd at her ears without a ring ;

Some said her years were getting nigh their summer,
Others contended they were but in spring ;

Some thought her rather masculine in height,

While others wish'd that she had been so quite.

XXXVI.

But no one doubted on the whole, that she
Was what her dress bespoke, a damsel fair,

And fresh, and " beautiful exceedingly,"
Who with the brightest Georgians might compare :

They wonder'd how Gulbeyaz, too, could be
So silly as to buy slaves who might share

(If that his Highness wearied of his bride) '

Her throne and power, and every thing beside.

XXVII.

But what was strangest in this virgin crew,
Although her beauty was enough to vex,

After the first investigating view,
They all found out as few, or fewer, specks

In the fair form of their companion new,
Than is the custom of the gentle sex,

When they survey, with Christian eyes or Heathen,

In a new face, "the ugliest creature breathing."

XXXVIII.

And yet they had their little jealousies,
Like all the rest ; but upon this occasion,

Whether there are such things as sympathies
Without our knowledge or our approbation,

Although they could not see through his disguise,
All felt a soft kind of concatenation,

Like magnetism, or devilism, or what

You please — we will not quarrel about that.

xxxix.
But certain 't is they all felt for their new

Companion something newer still, as "t were
A sentimental friendship through and through,

Extremely pure, which made them all concur
In wishing her their sister, save a few

Who wish'd they had a brother just like her,
Whom, if they were at home in sweet Circassia,
They would prefer to Padisha or Pacha.

DON JUAN. 185

XL.

Of those who had most genius for .this sort
Of sentimental friendship, there were three,

Lolah, Katinka, and Dudu : in short,
(To save description) fair as fair can be

Were they, according to the best report,
Though differing in stature and degree,

And clime and time, and country and complexion ;

They all alike admired their new connection.

XI.I.

Lolah was dusk as India and as warm ;

Katinka was a Georgian, white and red,
With great blue eyes, a lovely hand and arm,

And feet so small they scarce seem'd made to tread,
But rather skim the earth ; while Dudu's form

Look'd more adapted to be put to bed,
Being somewhat large, and languishing, and lazy,
Yet of a beauty tbat would drive you crazy.

XLII.
A kind of sleepy Venus seem'd Dudu,

Yet very fit to " murder sleep " in those
Who gazed upon her cheek's transcendent hue,

Her Attic forehead, and her Phidian nose:
Few angles were there in her form, 't is true,

Thinner she might have been, and yet scarce lose ;
Yet, after all, 't would puzzle to say where
It would not spoil some separate charm to pare.

XLIII.
She was not violently lively, but

Stole on your spirit like a If ay -day breaking ;
Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half-shut,

They put beholders in a tender taking ;
She look'd (this simile's quite new) just cut

From marble, like Pygmalion's statue waking,
The mortal and the marble still at strife,
And timidly expanding into life.

XLIV.

Lolah demanded the new damsel's name —
" Juanna." — Well, a pretty name enough.

Katinka ask'd her also whence she came — [such stuff,
"From Spain." — " But where is Spain ?" — " Don't ask

Nor show your Georgian ignorance — for shame !"
Said Lolah, with an accent rather rough,

To poor Katinka : " Spain's an island near

Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier."
17*

186 DON JUAN. ,

XLV.

Dudu said nothing, but sat down beside

Juanna, playing with her veil or hair ;
And looking at her steadfastly, she sigh'd.

As if she pitied her for being there,
A pretty stranger without friend or guide,

And all abash'd, too, at the general stare
Which welcomes hapless strangers in all places,
With kind remarks upon their mien and faces.

XLVI.

But here the Mother of the Maids drew near,

With " Ladies, it is time to go to rest.
I'm puzzled what to do with you, my dear,"'

She added to Juanna, their new guest :
" Your coming has been unexpected here,

And every couch is occupied ; you had best
Partake of mine ; but by to-morrow early
We will have all things settled for you fairly."

XLVII.

Here Lolah interposed — " Mamma, you know
Yon don't sleep soundly, and I cannot bear

That any body should disturb you so ;
I'll take Juanna ; we're a slenderer pair

Than you would make the half of ; — don't say no ;
And I of your young charge will take due care."

But here Katinka interfered, and said,

" She also had compassion and a bed."

XLVIII.

" Besides, I hate to sleep alone," quoth she.

The matron frown'd: "Why so?" — "For fear of ghosts,"
Replied Katinka ; " I am sure I see

A phantom upon each of the four posts ;
And then I have the worst dreams that can be,

Guebres, Giaours, and Ginns, and Gouls in hosts."
The dame replied, " Between your dreams and you
I fear Juanna's dreams would be but few.

xux.
" You, Lolah, must continue still to lie

Alone, for reasons which don't matter ; you
The same, Katinka, until by and by ;

And I shall place Juanna with Dudu,
Who's quiet, inoffensive, silent, shy,

And will not toss and chatter the night through
What say you, child ?" — Dudu said nothing, as
Her talents were of the more silent class ;

DON JUAN. 187

L.

But she rose up, and kiss'd the matron's brow
Between the eyes, and Lolah on both cheeks,

Katinka, too ; and with a gentle bow

(Curt'sies are ne.itb.er used by Turks nor Greeks)

She took Juanua by the hand to show

Their place of rest, and left to both their piques,

The others pouting at the matron's preference

Of Dudu, though they held their tongues horn deference.

LI.

It was a spacious chamber (Oda is

The Turkish title), and ranged round the wall

Were couches, toilets — and much more than this
I might describe, as I have seen it all,

But it suffices — little was amiss :

Twas on the whole a nobly furnish'd hall,

With all things ladies want, save one or two,

And even those were nearer than they knew.

'in.

Dudu, as has been said, was a sweet creature,
Not very dashing, but extremely winning,

With the most regulated charms of feature,
Which painters cannot catch like faces sinning

Against proportion — the wild strokes of nature
»Vrhich they hit off at once in the beginning,

Full of expression, right or wrong, that strike,

And pleasing, or unpleasing, still are like.

LIII.
But she was a soft landscape of mild earth,

Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet,
Luxuriant, budding ; cheerful without mirth,

Which, if not happiness, is much more nigh it
Than are your mighty passions and so forth,

Which, some call " the sublime :" I wish they'd try it :
I've seen .your stormy seas and stormy women,
And pity lovers rather more than seamen.

• LIV.

But she was pensive more than melancholy,

And serious more than pensive, and serene,
It may be, more than either — not unholy

Her thoughts, at least till now, appear to have been.
The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly

Unconscious, albeit turn'd of quick seventeen,
That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall ;
She never thought about herself at all.

188 DON JUAN.

LV.

And therefore was she kind and gentle as

The Age of Gold (when gold was yet unknown,

By which its nomenclature came to pass ;
Thus most appropriately has been shown

*' Lucus a non lucendo," not what was,

But what was not ; a sort of style that's grown

Extremely common in this age, whose metal

The devil mayjlecompose, but never settle:

LVI.

I think it may be of " Corinthian Brass,"
Which was a mixture of all metals, but

The brazen uppermost). Kind reader ! pass
This long parenthesis : I could not shut

It sooner for the soul of me, and class

My faults even with your own : which meanetli, Pa

A kind construction upon them and me :

But that you won't — then don't— I am not less free.
\

LVII.

Tis time we should return to plain narration,
, And thus my narrative proceeds : — Dudu,
With every kindness short of ostentation,

Show'd Juan, or Juanna, through and through
This labyrinth of females, and each station

Described — what's strange — in words extremely few;
I have but one simile, and that's a blunder,
For wordless woman, which is silent thunder.

LVIII.
And next she gave her (I say her, because

The gender still was epicene, at least
In outward show, which is a saving clause)

An outline of the customs of the East,
With all their chaste integrity of laws,

By which the more a harem is increased,
The "stricter doubtless grow the vestal duties
Of any supernumerary beauties.

LIX.

And then she gave Juanna a chaste kiss :
Dudu was fond of kissing — which I'm sure

That nobody can ever take amiss.

Because 'tis pleasant, so that it be pure,

And between females means no more than this—
That they have nothing better near, or newer.

" Kiss" rhymes to " bliss" in fact as well as verse —

I wish it never led to something worse.

DON JUAN. H9

LX.

In perfect innocence she then unmade

Her toilet, which cost little, for she was
A child of Nature, carelessly array'd :

If fond of a chance ogle at her glass,
'Twas like the fawn, which, in the lake display'd,

Beholds her own shy, shadowy image pass,
When first she starts, and then returns to peep,
Admiring this new native of the deep.

LXI.

And one by one her articles of dress

Were laid aside ; but not before she offer'd

Her aid to fair Juanna, whose excess

Of modesty declined the assistance proffer'd :

Which pass'd well off — as she could do no less ;
Though by this politesse she rather suffer'd,

Pricking her fingers with those cursed pins

Which surely were" in vented for our sins, —

Making a woman like a porcupine,

Not to be rashly touch'd. But still more dread,
Oh ye ! whose fate it is as once 'twas mine,

In early youth, to turn a lady's maid ; —
I did my very boyish best to shine

In tricking her out for a masquerade :
The pins were placed sufficiently, but not
Stuck all exactly in the proper spot.

LXIII.
But these are foolish things to all the wise,

And I love wisdom more than she loves me ;
My tendency is to philosophise

On most things, from a tyrant to a tree ;
But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies.

What are we ? and whence came we? what shall be
Our ultimate existence ? what's our present ?
Are questions answerless, and yet incessant.

LXIV.
There was deep silence in the chamber : dim

And distant from each other burn'd the lights,
And slumber hover'd o'er each lovely limb

Of the fair occupants : if there be sprites,
They should have walk'd there in their sprightliest trim,

By way of change from their sepulchral sites,
And shown themselves as ghosts of better taste
Than haunting some old ruin or wild waste.

190 DON JUAK.

LXV.

Many and beautiful lay those around,

Like flowers of different hue, and clime, and root,

In some exotic garden sometimes found,

With cost and care, and warmth induced to shoot.

One with her auburn tresses lightly bound,
And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit

Nods from the tree, was slumbering with soft breath,

And lips apart, which show'd the pearls beneath.

IX VI.

One with her flusb'd cheek laid on her white arm,
And raven ringlets gather'd in dark crowd

Above her brow, lay dreaming soft and warm ;

And smiling through her dream, as through a cloud

The moon breaks, half unveil'd each further charm,
As, slightly stirring in her snowy shroud,

Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of night

All bashfully to struggle into light.

LXVII.
This is no bull, although it sounds so ; for

'Twas night, but there Were lamps, as hath been said.
A third's afl pallid aspect offer'd more

The traits of sleeping sorrow, and betray'd
Through the heaved breast the dream of some far shore

Beloved and deplored : while slowly stray'd
(As night-dew, on a cypress glittering, tinges
The black bough), tear-drops through her eyes' dark fringes.

LXVIII.
A fourth as marble, statue-like and still,

Lay in a breathless, hush'd, and stony sleep ;
White, cold, and pure, as looks a frozen rill,

Or the snow minaret on an Alpine steep,
Or Lot's wife done in salt, — or what you will ; —

My similes are gather'd in a heap,
So pick and choose — perhaps you'll be content
With a carved lady on a monument.

•HE,

And lo ! a fifth appears ; — and what is she ?

A lady of a " certain age," which means
Certainly aged — what her years might be

I know not, never counting past their teens ;
But there she slept, not quite so fair to see,

As ere that awful period intervenes
Which lays both men and women on the shelf,
To meditate upon their sins and self.

DON JtJAH. 191

LXX.

Bat all this time how slept, or dream'd, Dodu ?

With strict inquiry I could ne'er discover,
And scorn to add a syllable untrue ;

But ere the middle watch was hardly over,
Just when the fading lamps waned dim and blue,

And phantoms hover'd, or might seem to horer,
To those who like their company, about
The apartment, on a sudden she scream'd out :

LXXI.
And that BO loudly, that upstarted all

The Oda, in a general commotion :
Matron and maids, and those whom you may call

Neither, came crowding like the wares of ocean,
One on the other, throughout the whole hall,

All trembling, wondering, without the least notion
More than I have myself of what could make
The calm Uudu so turbulently wake.

LXXII.
But wide awake she was, and round ber bed,

With floating draperies and with flying hair,
With eager eyes, and tight but hurried tread,

And bosoms, arms, and ankles glancing bare,
And bright as any meteor ever bred

By the North Pole, — they sought her cause of caw,
For she geem'd agitated, flush'd, and frighten'd,
Her eye dilated and her cekmr heighten d.

&XXHI.

But what is strange— and a strong proof how great

A blessing is sound sleep — Juanua lay
As fast as ever husband by his mate

In holy matrimony snores away.
Not all the clamour broke her happy state

Of slumber, ere they shook her, — so they say
At least, — and then she, too, unelosed her eyes
And yawn'd a good deal with discreet surprise

LXXIT.

And now commenced a strict investigation,

Whkh, as all spoke at once, and more than one*

Conjecturing, wondering, asking a narration,
Alike might puzzle either wit or dunce

To answer in a very clear oration.

Dudu had never pass'd for wanting sense,

But, being, " no orator as Brutus is,"

Could not at first expound what was amiss

192 DON JUAH.

LXXV.

At length she said, that in a slumber sound
She dream'd a dream, of •walking in a wood— -

A " wood obscure," like that where Dante found
Himself in at the age when all grow good ;

Life's half-way house, where dames with virtue crown'd
Run much less risk of lovers turning rude ;

And that this wood was full of pleasant fruits,

And trees of goodly growth and spreading roots ; —

LXXVI.

And in the midst a golden apple grew,— -

A most prodigious pippin — but it hung
Bather too high and distant ; that she threw

Her glances on it, and then longing, flung
Stones and whatever she could pick up, to

Bring down the fruit, which still perversely clung
To its own bough, and dangled yet in sight,
But always at a most provoking height ; —

LXXVII.

That on a sudden, when she least had hope,

It fell down of its own accord before
Her feet ; that her first movement was to stoop

And pick it up, and bite it to the core ;
That just as her young lip began to ope

Upon the golden fruit the vision bore,
A bee flew out, and stung her to the heart,
And so— she awoke with a great scream and start.

LXXVIII.

All this she told with some confusion and
Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams

Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand
To expound their vain and visionary gleams.

I've known some odd ones which seem'd really plaun'd
Prophetically, or that which one deems

A " strange coincidence," to use a phrase

By which such things are settled now-a-days.

XXIX.

The damsels, who had thoughts of some great harm,

Began, as is the consequence of fear,
To scold a little at the false alarm

That broke for nothing on their sleeping ear.
The matron, too, was wroth to leave her warm

Bed for the dream she had been obliged to hear,
And chafed at poor Dudii, who only sigh'd,
And said, that she was sorry she had cried.

BON JUAN. 193

LXXX.

" I've heard of stories of a cock and bull ;

Bat visions of an apple and a bee,
To take us from our natural rest, and pull

The whole Oda from their beds at half-past three.
Would make us think the moon is at its full.

You surely are unwell, child ! we must see»
To-morrow, what his Highness's physician
Will say to this hysteric of a vision.

LXXXI.

" And poor Juanna, too, the child's first night

Within these walls, to be broke in upon
With such a clamour — I had thought it right

That the young stranger should not lie alone,
And, as the quietest of all, she might

With you, Dudu, a good night's rest have known ;
But now I must transfer her to the charge
Of Lolah — though her couch is not so large."

1XXXII.

Lolah's eyes sparkled at the proposition ;

But poor Dudu, with large drops in her own,
Resulting from the scolding or the vision,

Implored that present pardon might be shown
For this first fault, and that on no condition

(She added in a soft and piteous tone)
Juanna should be taken from her, and
Her future dreams should all be kept in hand.

LXXXIII.
She promised never more to have a dream,

At least to dream so loudly as just now ;
She wonder'd at herself how she could scream—

'Twas foolish, nervous, as she must allow ,
A fond hallucination, and a theme

For laughter — but she felt her spirits low,
And begg'd they would excuse her ; she'd get over
This weakness in a few hours, and recover.

LXXXIV.
And here Juanna kindly interposed,

And said she felt herself extremely well
Where she then was, as her sound sleep disclosed.

When all around rang like a tocsin bell ;
She did not find herself the least disposed

To quit her gentle partner, and to dwell
Apart from one who had no sin to show,
Save that of dreaming once " mal-A-propos.' '
16

184 DON JUAH.

LXXXV.

As thus Juanna spoke, Dudu turn'd round
And hid her face within Juanna's breast ;

Her neck alone was seen, but that was found
The colour of a budding rose's crest.

I can't tell why she blush'd, nor can expound
The mystery of this rupture of their rest ;

All that I know is, that the facts I state

Are true as truth has ever been of late.

LXXXVI.
And so good night to them, — or if you will,

Good morrow — for the cock had crown, and light
Began to clothe each Asiatk hill,

And the mosque crescent struggled into sight
Of the long caravan, which in the chill

Of dewy dawn wound slowly round each height,
That stretches to the stony belt, which girds
Asia, where Kaff looks down upon the Kurds.

1XXXYII.

With the first ray, or rather grey of morn,
Gulbeyaz rose from restlessness ; and pale

As Passion rises, with its bosom worn,

Array'd herself with mantle, gem, and veil.

The nightingale that sings with the deep thorn,
Which fable places in her breast of wail,

Is lighter far of heart and voice than those

Whose headlong passions form their proper woes.

LXXXVIII.

And that's the moral of this composition,
If people would but see its real drift ;-

But that they will not do without suspicion,
Because all gentle readers have the gift

Of closing "gainst the light their orbs of vision ;
While gentle writers also love to lift

Their voices 'gainst each other, w hich is natural,

The numbers are too great for them to flatter all.

LXXXIX.

Hose the sultana from a bed of splendour,
Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried

Aloud because his feelings were too tender
To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side. —

So beautiful that art could little mend her,
Though pale with conflicts between love and pride ;

So agitated was she with her error,

She d id not even look into the mirror.

DON JUAN.
XC.

Also arose about the self-same time,

Perhaps a little later, her great lord,
Master of thirty kingdoms so sublime,

And of a wife by whom he was abhorr'd ;
A thing of much less import in that clime-

At least to those of incomes which afford
The filling up their whole connubial cargo —
Than where two wives are under an embargo.

XOT.

He did not think much on the matter, nor

Indeed on any other ; as a man
He liked to hare a handsome paramour

At hand, as one may like to have a fan,
And therefore of Circassians 'had good store,

As an amusement after the Divan ;
Though an unusual fit of love, or duty,
Had made him lately bask in his bride's beauty.

xcn.
And now he rose ; and after due ablutions

Exacted by the customs of the East,
And prayers and other pious evolutions,

He drank six cups of coffee at the least,
And then withdrew to hear about the Russians,

Whose victories had recently increased
In Catherine's reign, whom glory still adores,
As greatest of all sovereigns and w s.

XCIII.

But oh, thou grand legitimate Alexander !

Her son's son, let not this last phrase offend
Thine ear, if it should reach — and now rhymes wander

Almost as far as Fetersburgh, and lend
A dreadful impulse to each loud meander

Of murmuring Liberty's wide waves, which blend
Their roar even with the Baltic's — so you be
Your father's son, 'tis quite enough for me.

xciv.
To call men love-begotten, or proclaim

Their mothers as the antipodes of Timon,
That hater of mankind, would be a shame,

A libel, or whate'er you please to rhyme on •
But people's ancestors are history's game ;

And if one lady's slip could leave a crime on %

All generations, I should like to know
What pedigree the best would have to show ?

J96 DON JUAN.

XCV.

Had Catherine and the sultan understood

Their own true interests, which kings rarely know,

Until 'tis taught by lessons rather rude,

There was a way to end their strife, although

Perhaps precarious, had they but thought good,
Without the aid of prince or plenipo ^

She to dismiss her guards and he his harem,

And for their other matters, meet and share 'em.

xcn.
But as it was, his Highness had to hold

His daily council upon ways and means
How to encounter with this martial scold,

This modern Amazon and queen of queans ;
And the perplexity could not be told

Of all the pillars of the state, which leans
Sometimes a little heavy on the backs
Of those who cannot lay on a new tax.

XCVII.

Meantime Gulbeyaz, when her king was gone,
Retired into her boudoir, a sweet place

For love or breakfast ; private, pleasing, lone,
And rich with all contrivances which grace

Those gay recesses : — many a precious stone
Sparkled along its roof, and many a vase

Of porcelain held in the fetter'd flowers,

Those captive soothers of a captive's hours.

xcnii.
Mother of pearl, and porphyry, and marble,

Vied with each other on this costly spot ;
And singing birds without were heard to warble ;

And the stain'd glass which lighted this fair grot
Varied each ray ; but all descriptions garble

The true effect, and so we had better not
Be too minute ; an outline is the best, —
A lively reader's fancy does the rest.

xcix.
And here she summon'd Baba, and required

Don Juan at his hands, and information
Of what had pass'd since all the slaves retired,

And whether he had occupied their station ;
If matters had been managed as desired.

And his disguise with due consideration
Kept up ; and above all, the where and how
He had pass'd the night, was what she wish'd to know.

DON JCAN. 197

C.
Baba, with some embarrass rent, replied

To this long catechism of questions, ask'd
More easily than answer'd, — that he had tried

His best to obey in what he had been task'd ;
But there seem'd something that he wish'd to hide,

Which hesitation more betray'd than mask'd ;
He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource
To which embarrass'd people have recourse.

ci.
Gulbeyaz was no model of true patience,

Nor much disposed to wait in word or deed ;
She liked quick answers in all conversations ;

And when she saw him stumbling like a steed
In his replies, she puzzled him for fresh ones ;

And as his speech grew still more broken-kneed,
Her cheek began to flush, her eyes to sparkle.
And her proud brow's blue veins to swell and darkle.

CII.
When Baba saw these symptoms, which he knew

To bode him no great good, he deprecated
Her anger, and beseech'd she'd hear him through —

He could not help the thing which he related :
Then out it came at length, that to Dudu

Juan was given in charge, as hath been stated ;
But not by Baba's fault, he said, and swore ou
The holy camel's hump, besides the Koran.

cm.
The chief dame of the Oda, upon whom

The discipline of the whole harem bore,
As soon as they*re-enter*d their own room,

For Baba's function stopt short at the door,'
Had settled all ; nor could he then presume

(The aforesaid Baba) just then to do more,
Without exciting such suspicion as
Might make the matter still worse than it was.

civ.
He hoped, indeed he thought, he could be sure

Juan had not betray'd himself ; in fact
'Twas certain that his conduct had been pure,

Because a foolish or imprudent act
Would not alone have made him insecure,

But ended in his being found out and saeKd.
And thrown into the sea. — Thus Baba spoke
Of all save Dudu's dream, which was no joke.
18 «

198 DON JUAN.

CV.

This he discreetly kept in the back ground,

And talk'd away — and might have talk'd till now'

For any further answer that he found,
So deep an anguish wrung Gulbeyaz' brow :

Her cheek turn'd ashes, ears rung, brain whirl'd round,
As if she had received a sudden blow,

And the heart's dew of pain sprang fast and cnilly

O'er her fair front, like Morning's on a lilv

cvi.

Although she was not of the fainting sort,

13 aba thought she would faint, but there he err'd —

It was but a convulsion, which though short
Can never be described ; we all have heard,

And some of us have felt thus " all amort,"
When things beyond the common have occurr'd ; —

Gulbeyaz proved in that brief agony

'What she could ne'er express — then how should I ?

cvn.

She stood a moment as a Pythoness
Stands on her tripod, agonised, and full

Of inspiration gather'd from distress,
When all the heart-strings like wild horses pull

The heart asunder ; — then, as more or less
Their speed abated or their strength grew dull,

She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees,

And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling knees.

CVIII.

Her face declined and was unseen ; her hair
Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow,

Sweeping the marble underneath her chair,
Or rather sofa, (for it was all pillow,

A low, soft ottoman,) and black despair

Stirr'd up and down her bosom like a billow,

Which rushes to some- shore whose shingles check

Its farther course, but must receive its wreck.

cix.
Her head hung down, and her long hair in stooping

Conceal'd her features better than a veil ;
And one hand o'er the ottoman lay drooping,

White, waxen, and as alabaster pale :
Would that I were a painter ! to be grouping

All that a poet drags into detail !
Oh that my words were colours ! but their tints
May serve perhaps as outlines or slight hints.

199

ex.

Baba, who knew by experience when to talk
And when to hold his tongue, now held it till

This passion might blow o'er, nor dared to balk
Gulbeyaz' taciturn or speaking will.

At length she rose up, and began to walk
Slowly along the room, but silent still,

And her brow clear'd, but not her troubled eye ;

The wind was down, but still the sea ran high.

cxi.
She stopp'd, and raised her head to sp«ak — but paused,

And then moved on again with rapid pace;
Then slacken'd it, which is the march most caused

By deep emotion : — you may sometimes trace
A feeling in each footstep, as disclosed

By Sallust in his Catiline, who, chased
By all the demons of all passions, show'd
Their work even byv the way in which he trode.

CXII.

Gulbeyaz stopp'd and beckon'd Baba : — " Slave !
Bring the -two slaves !" she said in a low tone,
But one which Baba did not like to brave,

-And yet he shudder'd, and seem'd rather prone
To prove reluctant, and begg'd leave to crave

(Though he well knew the meaning) to be shown
What slaves her highness wish'd to indicate,
For fear of any error, like the late.

CXIII.

" The Georgian and her paramour," replied
The imperial bride — and added, " Let the boat

Be ready by the secret portal's side.

You know the rest." The words stuck in her throat,

Despite her injured love and fiery pride ;
And of this Baba willingly took note,

And begg'd T>y every hair of Mahomet's beard,

She would revoke the order he had heard.

cxiv.
" To hear is to obey," he said ; " but still ; %

Sultana, think upon the consequence ;
It is not that I shall not all fulfil

Your orders, even in their severest sense ;
But such precipitation may end ill,

Even at your own imperative expense :
I do not mean destruction and exposure,
In case of any premature disclosure :

200 DON JUAN.

CXV.

" But your own feelings. Even should all the rest
Be hidden by the rolling waves, which hide

Already many a once love-beaten breast
Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide —

You love this boyish, new, seraglio guest,
And if this violent remedy be tried —

Excuse my freedom, when I here assure you,

That killing him is not the way to cure you."

cxvi.
" What dost thou know of love or feeling ? — Wretch >

Begone " she cried, with kindling eyes — " and do
My bidding ! " Baba vanish'd, for to stretch

His own remonstrance further he well knew
Might end in acting as his own " Jack Ketch ; "

And though he wish'd extremely to get through
This awkward business without harm to others,
He still preferr'd his own neck to another's.

cxvu.
Away he went then upon his commission,

Growling and grumbling in good Turkish phrase
Against all women of whate'er condition,

Especially sultanas and their ways ;
Their obstinacy, "pride, and indecision,

Their never knowing their own mind two days,
The trouble that they gave, their immorality,
Which made him daily bless his own neutrality.

cxvm.
And then he call'd his brethren to his aid,

And sent one on a summons to the pair, ,
That they must instantly be well array *d,

And above all be comb'd even to a hair,
And brought before the empress, who had made

Inquiries after them with kindest care ;
At which Dudu look'd strange, and Juan silly ;
But go they must at once, and will I — nill 1.

cxix.
And here I leave them at their preparation

For the Imperial presence, wherein whether
Gulbeyaz show'd them both commiseration,

Or got rid of the parties altogether,
Like other angry ladies of her nation, —

Are things the turning of a hair or feather
May settle : but far be "t from me to anticipate
In what way feminine caprice may dissipate.

201

cxx.

I leave tnem for the present with good wishes.
Though doubts of their well doing, to arrange

Another part of history ; for the dishes

Of this our banquet we must sometimes change ;

And trusting Juan may escape the fishes,
Although his situation now seems strange,

And scarce secure, as such digressions are fair,

The Muse will take a little touch at warfare.

inn

CANTO THE SEVENTH.

0 LOVE ! 0 Glory i what are ye -who tiy
Around us ever, rarely to alight ?

There's not a meteor in the polar sky
Of such transcendent and more fleeting flight.

Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on high
Our eyes in search of either lovely light ;

A thousand and a thousand colours they

Assume, then leave us on our freezing way.

n.

And such as they are, such my present tale is,
A non-descript and ever-varying rhyme,

A versified Aurora Borealis,

Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime.

When we know what all are, we must bewail us,
But ne'ertheless I hope it is no crime

To laugh at all things — for I wish to know

What, after all, are all things — but a show ?

in.

They accuse me — Me — the present writer of
The present poem— of — I know not what —

A tendency to under-rate and scoff

At human power and virtue, and all that ;

A nd this they say in language rather rough.
Good God ! I wonder what they should be at I

1 say no more than hath been said in Dante's
Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes ;

IV.

By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault,,
By Fenelon, by Luther, and by Plato ;

By Tillotson, and Wesley, and B,ousseau,
Who knew this life was not woth a potatoe.

Tis not their fauit, nor mine, if this be so—
For my part, I pretend not to be Cato,

Nor even Diogenes. — We live and die.

But which is best, you know no more than I.

DON JUAK. 903

V.

Socrates said, our only knowledge was

" To know that nothing could be known ; " a plawant
Science enough, which levels to an ass

Each man of wisdom, future, past, or present.
Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas !

Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent,
That he himself felt only " like a youth

Picking up shells by the great ocean — Truth."

VI.

Ecclesiastes said, " that all is vanity " —
Most modern preachers say the same, or show it

By their examples of true Christianity :

In short, all know, or very soon may know it ;

And in this scene of all-confess'd inanity,
By saint, by sage, by preacher, and by poet,

Must I restrain me, through the fear of strife,

From holding up the nothingness of life ?

VII.

Dogs, or men ! — for I flatter you in saying
That ye are dogs — your betters far — ye may

Bead, or read not, what I am now essaying
To show ye what ye are in every way.

As little as the moon stops for the baying
Of wolves, will the bright muse withdraw one ray

From out her skies — then bowl your idle wrath !

While she still silvers o'er your gloomy path.

VIII.

" Fierce loves and faithless wars " — I am not sure
If this be the right reading — 'tis no matter ;

The fact's about the same, I am secure :
I sing them both, and am about to batter

A town which did a famous siege endure,
And was beleaguer'd both by land and water

By Souvaroff, or Anglice Suwarrow,

Who loved blood as an alderman loves marrow.

IX.

The fortress is call'J Ismail, and is placed
Upon the Danube's left branch and left bank,

With buildings in the Oriental taste,
But still a fortress of the foremost rank,

Or was at least, unless 'tis since defaced,
Which with your conquerors is a common prank,

It stands some eighty versts from the high sea,

And measures round of toises thousand three

804 DON

x.
Within the extent of this fortification

A borough is comprised along the height
Upon the left, which from its loftier station

Commands the city, and upon its site
A Greek had raised around this elevation

A quantity of palisades upright,
So placed as to impede the fire of those
Who held the place, and to assist the foe's.

XI.

This circumstance may serve to give a notion
Of the high talents of this new Vauban :

But the town ditch below was deep as ocean,
The rampart higher than you'd wish to hang :

But then there was a great want of precaution
(Prithee, excuse this engineering slang),

Nor work advanced, nor cover'd way was there,

To hint at least " Hefe is no thoroughfare."

xn.
But a stone bastion, with a narrow gorge.

And walls as thick as most sculls born as yet ;
Two batteries, cap-a-pie, as our St. George,

Case-mated one, and t'other " a barbette,"
Of Danube's bank took formidable charge ;

While two and twenty cannon duly set
Rose over the town's right side, in bristling tier,
Forty feet high, upon a cavalier.

XIII.

But from the river the town's open quite,
Because the Turks could never be persuaded

A Russian1 vessel e'er would heave in sight ;
And such their creed was, till they were invaded,

When it grew rather late to set things right.
But as the Danube could not well be waded,

They look'd upon the Muscovite flotilla,

And only shouted, " Allah ! " and " Bis Millah ! **

XIV.

The Russians now were ready to attack ;

But oh, ye goddesses of war and glory,
How shall I spoil the name of each Cossacque

Who were immortal, could one tell their story ?
Alas ! what to their memory can lack ?

Achilles' self was not more grim and gory
Than thousands of this new and polish'd nation,
Whose names want nothing but — pronunciation.

DON JUAN. 205

XV.

Still I'll record a few, if but to increase

Our euphony : there Was Strongenoff, and Strokonoff,
Meknop, Serge Low, Arsniew of modern Greece,

And Tschitsshakoff, and Roguenoff, and Chokenoff,
And others of twelve consonants apiece;

And more might be found out, if I could poke enough
Into gazettes ; but Fame (capricious strumpet),
It seems, has got an ear as well as trumpet,

XVI.

And cannot tune those discords of narration,
Which may be names at Moscow, into rhyme :

Yet there were several worth commemoration,
As e'er was virgin of a nuptial chime ;

Soft words, too, fitted for the peroration
Of Londonderry drawling against time,

Ending in " ischskin," " ousckin," " iffskchy," " ouski,"

Of whom we can insert but Rousamouski,

XVII.

Scherematoff, and Chrematoff, Koklophti,
Koclobski, Kourakin, and Mouskin Pouskin,

All proper men of weapons, as e'er scoff d high
Against a foe, or ran a sabre through skin :

Little cared they for Mahomet or Mufti,

Unless to make their kettle-drums a new skin

Out of their hides, if parchment had grown dear,

And no more handy substitute been near.

XVIII.

Then there were foreigners of much renown,

Of various nations, and all volunteers ;
Not fighting for their country or its crown,

But wishing to be one day brigadiers :
Also to have the sacking of a town ;

A pleasant thing to young men at their years.
'Mongst them were several Englishmen of pith,
Sixteen call'd Thomson, and nineteen named Smith.

XIX.

Tack Thomson and Bill Thomson ; — all the rest
Had been call'd " Jemmy" after the great bard ;

I don't know whether they had arms or crest,
But such a godfather's as good a card .

Three of the Smiths were Peters ; but the best
Amongst them all, hard blows to inflict or ward,

Was Ae, since to renown'd "in country quarters

At Halifax ; " but now he served the Tartars.
19

206 r-os JUAN.

XX.

The rest were Jacks and Jills and Wills and Billr,
But when I've added that the elder Jack Smith

Was born in Cumberland among the hills,
And that his father was an honest blacksmith,

I've said all / know of a name that fills
Three lines of the despatch in taking " Shcmacksmith,'

A village of Moldavia's waste, wherein

He fell, immortal in a bulletin.

I wonder (although Mars no doubt *s a god I

Praise) if a man's name in a bulletin
May make up for a bullet in his body ?

I hope this little question is no sin,
Because, though I am but a simple noddy,

I think one Shakspeare puts the same thought in
The moucn of some one in his plays so doting,
Which many people pass for wits by quoting.

XXII.

Then there were Frenchmen, gallant, young, and gay :

But I'm too great a patriot to record
Their Gallic names upon a glorious day ;

I'd rather tell ten lies than say a word
Of truth ; — such truths are treason ; they betray

Their country ; and as traitors are abhorr'd
Who name the French in English, save to show
How Peace should make John Bull the Frenchman's fo«.

XXIII.

The Russians, having built two batteries on
An isle near Ismail, had two ends in view ;

The first was to bombard it, and knock down
The public buildings and the private too,

No matter what poor souls might be undone.
The city's shape suggested this, 'tis true ;

Form'd like an amphitheatre, each dwelling

Presented a fine mark to throw a shell in.

XXIV.

The second object was to profit by

The moment of the general consternation,

To attack the Turks' flotilla, which lay nigh
Extremely tranquil, anchor'd at its station :

But a third motive was as probably
To frighten them into capitulation ;

A phantasy which sometimes seizes warriors,

Unless they are game as bull-dogs and fox terriers-

DON JUAN. 207

XXV.

A habit rather blameable, which is

That of despising those we combat wit'i,
Common in many cases, was in this

The cause of killing Tchitchitzkoff and Smhh ;
One of the valorous " Smiths " whom we shall miss

Out of those nineteen who late rhymed to " pith ;"
But 't is a name so spread o'er "Sir" and " Madam,"
That one would think the first who bore it " Adam."

XXVI.

The Russian batteries were incomplete,
Because they were constructed in a hurry ;

Thus the same cause which makes a verse want feet,
And throws a cloud o'er Longman and John Murray,

When the sale of new books is not so fleet
As they who print them think it necessary,

May likewise put off for a time what story

Sometimes calls "murder,'' and at others "glory."

xxvii.
Whether it was their engineer's stupidity,

Their haste or waste, I neither know nor care,
Or some contractor's personal cupidity,

Saving his soul by cheating in the ware
Of homicide, but there was no solidity

In the new batteries erected there ;
They either miss'd, or they were never miss'd,
And added greatly to the missing list.

XXVIII.

A sad miscalculation about distance

Made all their naval matters incorrect ;
Three fireships lost their amiable existence

Before they reach'd a spot to take effect :
The match was lit too soon, and no assistance

Could remedy this lubberly defect ;
They blew up in the middle of the river,
While, though 't was dawn, the Turks slept fast as ever.

XXIX.

At seven they rose, however, and survey'd

The Euss flotilla getting under way ;
'T was nine, when still advancing undismay'd,

Within a cable's length their vessels lay
Off Ismail, and commenced a cannonade,

Which was return'd with interest I may say,
And by a fire of musketry and grape,
And sheik and shot of every size and shape.

208

For six hours bore they without intermission
The Turkish fire, and, aided by their own

Land batteries, work'd their guns with great precision i
At length they found mere cannonade alone

By no means would produce the town's submission,
And made a signal to retreat at one.

One bark blew up, a second near the works

Running aground, was taken by the Turks.

XXXI.

The Moslem, too, had lost both ships and men;

But when they saw the enemy retire,
Their Delhis mann'd some boats, and sail'd again,

And gall'd the Russians with a heavy fire,
And tried to make a landing on the main ;

But here the effect fell short of their desire :
Count Damas drove them back into the water
Pell-mell, and with a whole gazette of slaughter.

XXXII.

" If " (says the historian here) " I could report
All that the Russians did upon this day,

I think that several volumes would fall short,
And I should still have many things to say ;"

And so he says no more — but pays his court •
To some distinguished strangers in that fray ;

The Prince de Ligne, and Langeron, and Damas,

Names great as any that the roll of Fame has.

xxxlii.
This being the case, may show us what Fame is ,

For out of these three "preux Chevaliers," how
Many of common readers give a guess

That such existed ? (Jfcd they may live now
For aught we know.) Renown's all hit or miss ;

There's fortune even in fame, we must allow.
'T is true, the Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne
Have half withdrawn from him oblivion's screen.

xxxiv.

But here are men who fought in gallant actions

As gallantly as ever heroes fought,
But buried in the heap of such transactions

Their names are rarely found, nor often sought,
Thus even good fame may suffer sad contractions,

And is extinguish'd sooner than she ought :
Of all our modern battles, I will bet
You can't repeat nine names from each Gazette.

XXXV.

In short, this last attack, though rich in glory,

Show'd that somewhere, somehow, there was a fault,

And AJmiral Ilibas (known in Russian story)
Most strongly recommended an assault ;

In which he was opposed by young and hoary,
Which made a long debate ; but I must halt,

For if I wrote down every warrior's speech,

I doubt few readers e'er would mount the breach.

xxxvi.
There was a man, if that he was a man,

Not that his manhood could be called in question,
For had he not been Hercules, his span

Had bee"n as short in youth as indigestion
Made his last illness, when, all worn and wan,

He died beneath a tree, as much unblest on
The soil of the green province he had wasted,
As e'er was locust on the land it blasted.

XXXVII.

This was Potemkin— a great thing in days
When homicide and harlotry made great ;

If stars and titles could entail long praise,
His glory might half equal his estate.

This fellow, being six foot high, could raise
A kind of phantasy proportionate

In the then sovereign of the Russian people,

Who measured men as you would do a steeple.

XXXVIII.

While things were hi abeyance, Ribas sent
A courior to the prince, and he succeeded

In ordering matters after his own bent ;
I cannot tell the way in which he pleaded,

But shortly he had cause to be content,
In the meantime, the batteries proceeded,

And fourscore cannon on the Danube's border

Were briskly fired and answer 'd in due order.

XXXIX.

But on the thirteenth, when already part

Of the troops were embark'd, the siege to raise,

A courier on the spur inspired new heart
Into all panters for newspaper praise,

As well as dilettanti in war's art,

By his despatches couch'd in pithy phrase;

Announcing the appointment of that lover of

Battles to the command, Field-Marshal Suvaroff
19*

210 DON JUAN.

XL.

The letter of the prince to the same marshal
Was worthy of a Spartan, had the cause

Been one to which a good heart could be partial —
Defence of freedom, country, or of laws ;

But as it was mere lust of power to ffer-arch all
With its proud brow, it merits sfisht applause,

Save for its style, which said, all in a trice

You will take Ismail at whatever price."

XII.

" Let there be light ! said God, and there was light !"
" Let there be blood !" says man, and there's a sea !

The fiat of this spoil'd child of the Night
(For Day ne'er saw his merits) could decree

More evil in an hour, than thirty bright

Summers could renovate, though they should be

Lovely as those which ripen'd Eden's fruit ;

For war cats up not only branch, but root.

XLII.
Our friends the Turks, who with loud "Allahs" now

Began to signalise the Russ retreat,
Were damnably mistaken ; few are slow

In thinking that their enemy is beat,
(Or beaten, if you insist on grammar, though

I never think about it in a heat,)
But here I say the Turks were much mistaken,
Who hating hogs, yet wish'd to save their bacon.

XLIII.
For, on the sixteenth, at full gallop, drew

In sight two horsemen, who were deem'd Cossac<pes
For some time, till they came in nearer view.

They had but little baggage at their backs,
For there were but three shirts between the two ;

But on they rode upon two Ukraine hacks,
Till, in approaching, were at length descried
In this plain pair, Suwarrow and his guide.

XLIV.
" Great joy to London now !" says some great fool,

When London had a grand illumination,
Which to that bottle- conjuror, John Bull,

Is of all dreams the first hallucination ;
So that the streets of colour 'd lamps are full,

That sage (said J ohn) surrenders at discretion
His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his nonsense,
To gratify, like a huge moth, this one sense.

DON JUAN. 211

XLV.

'tis strange that he should farther "damn his eyes,"
For they arc danm'd ; that once all-famous oath

Is to the devil now no farther prize,

Since John has lately lost' the use of both.

Debt he calls wealth, and taxes Paradise ;

And Famine, with her gaunt and bony growth,

Which stare him in the face, he won't examine,

Or swears that Ceres hath begotten Famine.

XLV I.

But to the tale ; — great joy unto the camp

To Russian, Tartar, English, French, Cossacque,

O'er whom Suwarrow shone like a gas lamp,
Presaging a most luminous attack ;

Or like a wisp along the marsh so damp,
Which leads beholders on a boggy walk

He flitted to and fro a dancing light,

Which all who saw it follow'd, wrong or right

XLVII

But certes matters took a different face ;

There was enthusiasm and much applause,
The fleet and camp saluted with great grace,

And all presaged good fortune to their cause
Within a cannon-shot length of the place

They drew, constructed ladders, repair'd flaws
In former works, made new, prepared fascines,
And all kinds of benevolent machines.

XLVHI.
'Tis thus the spirit of a single mind

Makes that of multitudes take one direction,
As roll the waters to the breathing wind,

Or roams the herd beneath the bull's protection ;
Or as a little dog will lead the blind,

Or a bell-wether form the flock's connection
By tinkling sounds, when they go forth to victual ;
Such is the sway of your great men o'er little.

XLIX.
The whole camp rung with joy ; you would have thought

That they were going to a marriage feast
(This metaphor, I think holds good as aught

Since there is discord after both at least) :
There was not now a luggage boy but sought

Danger and spoil with ardour much increased ;
And why ? because a little — odd — old man,
Stript to his shirt, was come to lead'tlie van.

21:2 DON JUAN.

L.

But so it was ; and every preparation

Was made with all alacrity : the first
Detachment of three columns took its station,

And waited but the signal's voice to burst
Upon the foe: the second's ordination

Was also in three columns, with a thirst
For glory gaping o'er a sea of slaughter :
The third, in columns two, attack'! by water.

LI.
New batteries were erected, and was held

A general council, in which unanimity,
That stranger to most councils, here prevail'd,

As sometimes happens in a great extremity ;
And every difficulty being dispell'd,

Glory began to dawn with due sublimity,
While Souvaroff, determined to obtain it,
Was teaching his recruits to use the bayonet.

LII.
It is an actual fact, that he, commander

In chief, in proper person deign'd to drill
The awkward sqilad, and could afford to squander

His time, a corporal's duty to fulfil ;
Just as you'd break a sucking salamander

To swallow flame, and never take it ill :
He show'd them how to mount a ladder (which
Was not like'Jacob's) or to cross a ditch.

LIII.
Also he dress'd up, for the nonce, fascines

Like men with turbans, scimitars, and dirks,
And made them charge with bayonet these machines,

By way of lesson against actual Turks,
And when well practised in these mimic scenes,

He judged them proper to assail the works ;
At which your wise men sneer 'd in phrases witty :
He made no answer ; but he took the city.

irv.
Most things were in this posture on the eve

Of the assault, and all the camp was in
A stern repose ; which you would scarce conceive ;

Yet men resolved to dash through thick and thin
Are very silent when they once believe

That all is settled : — there was little din,
For some were thinking of their home and friends
And others of themselves and latter ends.

DON JUAU. 213

LV.

Suwarrow chiefly was on the alert,

Surveying, drilling, ordering, jesting, pondering :
For the man was, we safely may assert,

A thing to wonder at beyond most wondering ;
Hero, buffoon, half-demon, and half-dirt,

Praying, instructing, desolating, plundering ;
Now Mars, now Momus ; and when bent to storm
A fortress, Harlequin in uniform.

LVI.

The day before the assault, while upon drill —
For this great conqueror play'd the corporal —

Some Cossacques, hovering like hawks round a hill,
Had met a party towards the twilight's fall,

One of whom spoke their tongue — or well or ill,
'Twas much that he was understood at all ;

But whether from his voice, or speech, or manner,

They found that he had fought beneath their banner.

Lvn.

Whereon immediately at his request

They brought him and his comrades to head-quarters
Their dress were Moslem, hut you might have guess'd

That these were merely masquerading Tartars,
And that beneath each Turkish-fashion'd vest

Lurk'd Christianity ; which sometimes barters
Her inward grace for outward show, and makes.
It difficult to shun some strange mistakes.

LVIII.
Suwarrow, who was standing in his shir6

Before a company of Calmucks, drilling,
Exclaiming, fooling, swearing at the inert,

And lecturing on the noble art of killing, —
For deeming human clay but common dirt,

This great philosopher was thus instilling
His maxims, which to martial comprehension
Proved death in battle equal to a pension ; —

LIX.
Suwarrow, when he saw this company

Of Cossacques and their prey, turn'd round and cast
Upon them his slow brow and piercing eye : —

" Whence come ye ?' — " From Constantinople last,
Captives just now escaped, ' was the reply.

" What are ye ?" — " What you see us." Briefly passM
This dialogue ; for he who answer'd knew
To whom he spoke, and made his words but few.

814 DON JUAN.

LX.

•« Your names?" — "Mine's Johnson,and my comrade's Juan-

The other two are women, and the third
Is neither man nor woman." The chief threw on

The party a slight glance, then said, " I have heard
Your name before, the second is a new one :

To bring the other three here was absurd :
But let that pass : I think I have heard your name
In the Nikolaiew regiment ?" — " The same."

LXI.

" You served at Widdin ?" — "Yes."—" You led the attack ?"
" I did." — " What next ?" " I really hardly know."

" You were the first i' the breach ?" — " I was not slack
At least to follow those who might be so."

" What follow'd ?" — " A shot laid me on my back,
And I became a prisoner to the foe."

" You shall have vengeance, for the town surrounded

Is twice as strong as that where you were wounded.

ixn.
" Where will you serve ?" — "Where'er you please. " — "I know

You like to be the hope of the forlorn,
And doubtless would be foremost on the foe

After the hardships you've already borne.
And this young fellow — say what can he do ?

He with the beardless chin and garments torn ?"
" Why, general, if he hath no greater fault
In war than love, he had better lead the assault."

LXIII.
" He shall if that ne dare." Here Juan bow'd

Low as the compliment deserved. Suwarrow
Continued : " Your old regiment's allow'd,

By special providence, to lead to-morrow,
Or it may be to-night, the assault : I have vow'd

To several saints, that shortly plough or harrow
Shall pass o'er what was Ismail, and its tusk
Be unimpeded by the proudest mosque.

ixiv.

" So now, my lads, for glory !" — Here he turn'd
And drill'd away in the most classic Russian,

Until each high, heroic bosom burn'd

For cash and conquest, as if from a cushion

A preacher had held forth (who nobly spurn'd

All earthly goods save tithes) and bade them push on

To slay the Pagans who resisted, battering

The armies of the Christian Empress Catherine.

214

LXV.

Johnson, who knew by this long colloquy
Himself a favourite, ventured to address

Suwarrow, though engaged with accents high
In his resumed amusement. " I confess

My debt in being thus allow'd to die

Among the foremost ; but if you'd express

Explicitly our several posts, my friend

And self would know what duty to attend."

LXVI.

" Right : I was busy, and forgot. Why, you
Will join your former regiment, which should b«

Now under arms. Ho! Katskoff, take him to —
(Here he call'd up a Polish orderly)

His post, I mean the regiment Nikolaiew :
The stranger stripling may remain with me :

He's a fine boy. The women may be sent,

To the other baggage, or to the sick tent."

LXVII.

But here a sort of scene began to ensue :
The ladies, — who by no means had been bred

To be disposed of in a way so new,
Although their harem education led

Doubtless to that of doctrines the most true,
Passive obedience, — now raised up the head,

With flashing eyes and starting tears, and flung

Their arms, as hens their wings about their young,

LXY1II

O'er the pronsoted couple of brave men,

Who were thus honour'd by the greatest chief

That ever peopled hell with heroes slain,
Or plunged a province or a realm in grief.

Oh, foolish mortals ! Always taught in vain !
Oh, glorious laurel ! since for one sole leaf

Of thine imaginary deathless tree,

Of blood and tears must flow the unebbing sea.

LXIX.

Suwarrow, who had small regard for tears,
And not much sympathy for blood, survey'd

The women with their hair about their ears
And natural agonies-, with a slight shade

Of feeling : for however habit sears
Men's hearts against whole millions, when their trad*

Is, butchery, sometimes a single sorrow

Will touch even heroes — and such was Suwarrow.

216 DON JUAN.

LXX.

He said, — and in the kindest Calmuck tone, —
"Why, Johnson, -what the devil do you mean

By bringing women here ? They shall be shown
All the attention possible, and seen

In safety to the waggons, where alone

In fact they can be safe. You should have been

Aware this kind of baggage never thrives :

Save wed a year, I hate recruits with wives."

" May it please your excellency," thus replied

Our British friend, " these are the wives of others,

And not out own. I am too qualified
By service with my military brothers

To break the rules by bringing one's own bride
Into a camp : I know that nought so bothers

The hearts of the heroic on a charge,

As leaving a small Family at large.

LXXII.
" But these are but two Turkish ladies, who

With their attendant aided our escape,
And afterwards accompanied us through

A thousand perils in this dubious shape.
To me this kind of life is not so new ;

To them poor things, it is an awkward scrape.
I therefore, if you wish me to fight freely,
Request that they may both be used genteely."

LXXIII.
Meantime these two poor girls, with swimming eyes,

Look'd on as if in doubt if they could trust
Their own protectors ; nor was their surprise

Less than their grief (and truly not less just)
To see an old man, rather wild than wise

In aspect, plainly clad, besmear'd with dust,
Stript to his waistcoat, and that not too clean,
More fear'd than all the sultans ever seen.

IXXIY.

For every thing seem'd resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,

Who were accustom'd, as a sort of god,
To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,

Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad
(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,

With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt

How power could condescend to do without.

DON JUAN. 217

LXXV.

John Johnson, seeing their extreme dismay,

Though little versed in feelings oriental,
Suggested seme slight comfort in his way :

Don Juan, who was much more sentimental,
Swore they should see him by the dawn of day,

Or that the Russian army should repent all :
And, strange to say, they found some consolation
In this— for females like exaggeration.

ixxvi.
And then with tears, and sighs, and some slight kisses,

They parted for the present — these to await,
According to the artillery's hits or misses,

What sages call Chance, Providence, or Fate — -
(Uncertainty is one of many blisses,

A mortgage on Humanity's estate) —
While their oeloved friends began to arm,
To burn a town whidh never did them harm.

LXXVII.
Suwarrow, — who but saw things in the gross,

Being much too gross to see them in detail,
Who calculated life as so much dross,

And as the wind a widow'd nation's wail,
And cared as little for his army's loss

(So that their efforts should at length prevail ;
As wife and friends did for the boils of Job, —
What was 't to him to hear two women sob ?

ixxvm.
Nothing. — The work of glory still went on

In preparations for a cannonade
As terrible as that of Ilion,

If Homer had found mortars ready made ;
But now, instead of slaying Priam's son,

We only can but talk of eccalade,

Bombs, drums, guns, bastions, batteries, bayonets, bullets ;
Hard words, which stick in the soft Muses' gullets.

ixxix.
Oh, thou eternal Homer ; who couldst charm

All ears, though long; all ages, though so shirt
By merely wielding with poetic arm

Arms to which men will never more resort,
Unless gunpowder should be found to harm

Much less than is the hope of every court,
Which now is leagued young Freedom to annoy ;
But they will not find Liberty a Troy :—
20

918 DON JUAN.

LXXX.

Oh, thou eternal Homer ; I have now

To paint a siege, wherein more men were slain,

With deadlier engines and a speedier blow,
Than in thy Greek gazette of that campaign ;

And yet, like all men else, I must allow,
To vie with thee would be about as vain

As for a brook to cope with ocean's flood ;

But still we moderns equal you in blood ;

Lxxxr.

If not in poetry, at least in fact ;

And fact is truth, the grand desideratum !
Of which, howe'er the Muse describes each act,

There should be ne'ertheless a slight substratum.
But now the town is going to be attack'd ;

Great deeds are doing — how shall I relate 'em ?
Souls of immortal generals ! Phcebus watches
To colour up his rays from your despatches.

LXXX1I.

Oh, ye great bulletins of Bonaparte !

Oh, ye less grand long lists of kill'd and wounded !
Shade of Leonidas, who fought so hearty,

When my poor Greece was once, as now, surrounded ;
Oh, Caesar's Commentaries ! now impart, ye

Shadows of glory ! (lest I be confounded)
A portion of your fading twilight hues.,
So beautiful, so fleeting, to the Muse.

LXXXIII.

When I call " fading" martial immortality,

I mean, that every age and every year,
And almost every day, in sad reality,

Some sucking hero is compell'd to rear,
Who, when we come to sum up the totality

Of deeds to human happiness most dear,
Turns out to be a butcher in great business,
Afflicting young folks with a sort of dizziness,

1XXXIV.

Medals, rank, ribands, lace, embroidery, scarlet,

Are things immortal to immortal man,
As purple to the Babylonian harlot :

An uniform to boys is like a fan
To women ; there is scarce a crimson varlet

But deems himself the first in Glory's van.
But Glory's glory ; and if you would find
What that is — ask the pig who sees the wind

319

LXXXV.

At least he feds it, and some say be sees,

Because he runs before it like a pig ;
Or, if that simple sentence should displease.

Say, that he scuds before it like a brig,
A schooner, or — but it is time to ease

This Canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue:
The next shall ring a peal to shake all people,
Like a bob-major from a village steeple.

LXXXVI.
Hark ! through the silence of the cold, dull night

The hum of armies gathering rank on rank:
Lo ! dusky masses steal in dubious sight

Along the leaguer'd wall and bristling bank
Of the arm' J river, while with straggling light

The stars peep through the vapours dim and dank,
Which curl in curious wreaths : — how soon the smoke
Of Hell shall pall them in a deeper cloak.

, LXXXVII.

Here pause we for the present — as even then

That awful pause, dividing life from death,
Struck for an instant on the hearts of men,

Thousands of whom were drawing their last breath !
A moment — and all will be Lfe again !

The march ! the charge ! the shouts of either faith I
Hurra ! and Allah! and — one moment more —
The death-cry drowning in the battle's roar.

Bnn 3mur.

CANTO THE EIGHTH.

I.

OH blood and thunder ! and oh blood and wounds!

These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem,
Too gentle reader ! and most shocking sounds :

And so they are ; yet this is Glory's dream
Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds

At present such things, since they are her theme,
So be they her inspirers ! Call them Mars,
Bellona, what you will — they mean but wars.

ii. .

All was prepared — the fire, the sword, the men

To wield them in their terrible array.
The army, like a lion from his den,

March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay,—-
A human Hydra, issuing from its fen

To breathe destruction on its winding way,
Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vain,
Immediately in others grew again.

II T.

History can only take things in the gross ;

But could we know them in detail, perchance
In balancing the profit and the loss,

War's merit it by no means might enhance,
To waste so much gold for a little dross,

As hath been done, mere conquest to advance.
The drying up a single tear nas more
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.

And why ? because it brings self-approbation ;

Whereas the other, after all its glare,
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation,

Which (it may be) has not much left to spare,
A higher title, or a loftier station,

Though they may make Corruption gape or stare,
Yet, in the end, except in Freedom's battles,
Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles.

DON JUAN. 221

V.

And such they are — and such they will be found :

Not so Leonidas and Washington,
Whose every battle-field is holy ground,

Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone.
How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound !

While the mere victor's may appal or stun
The servile and the vain, such names will be
A watchward till the future shall be free.

VI.

The night was dark, and the thick mist allow'd
Nought to be seen save the artillery's flame,

Which arch'd the horizon like a fiery cloud,
And in the Danube's waters shone the same —

A mirror'd hell ! the volleying roar, and loud
Long booming of each peal on peal, o'ercame

The ear far more than thunder ; for Heavens flashes

Spare, or smite rarely — man's make millions ashes !

VII.

The column order'd on the assault scarce pass'd
Beyond the Russian batteries a few toises,

When up the bristling Moslem rose at last,

Answering the Christian thunders with like voices :

Then one vast fire, air, earth, and stream embraced,
Which rock'd as 'twere beneath the mighty noises ;

While the whole rampart blazed like Etna, when

The restless Titan hiccups in his den.

VIII.

And one enormous shout of " Allah !" rose
In the same moment, loud as even the roar

Of war's most mortal engines, to their foes
Hurling defiance : city, stream, and shore

Resounded " Allah !" and the clouds which close
With thickening canopy the conflict o'er,

Vibrate to the Eternal name Hark ! through

All sounds it pierceth " Allah ! Allah ! Hu !'?

IX.

The columns were in movement one and all,
But of the portion which attack'd by water,

Thicker than leaves the lives began to fall,
Though led by Arseniew, that great son of slaughter,

As brave as ever faced both bomb and ball.

"Carnage" (so Wordsworth tells you) "is God's daughter:**

If he speak truth, she is Christ's sister, and

Just now behaved as in the Holv Land.
20»

222 DON JUAN.

X.

The Prince de Ligue was wounded in the knee ;

Count Chapeau-Bras, too, had a ball betweea
His cap and head, which proves the head to be

Aristocratic as was ever seen
Because it then received no injury

More than the cap ; in fact, the ball could mean
No harm unto a right legitimate head :
" Ashes to ashes " — why not lead to lead?

XI.

Also the General Markow, Brigadier,

Insisting on removal of the prince
Amidst some groaning thousands dying near, —

All common fellows, who might writhe and wince,
And shriek for water into a deaf ear, —

The General Markow, who could thus evince
His sympathy for rank, by the same token,
To teach him greater, had his own leg broken.

XII.

Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic,
And thirty thousand muskets flung their pills

Like hail, to make a bloody diuretic.

Mortality ! thou hast thy monthly bills ;

Thy plagues, thy famines, thy physicians, yet tick,
Like the death-watch, within our ears the ills

Past, present, and to come ; — but all may yield

To the true portrait of one battle-field.

XIII

There the still varying pangs, which multiply
Until their very number makes men hard

By the infinities of agony,

Which meet the gaze, whate'er it may regard —

The groan, the roll in dust, the all-white eye
Turn'd back within its socket, — these reward

Your rank and file by thousands, while the rest

May win perhaps a riband at the breast !

XIV.

Yet I love glory ; — glory's a great thing —
Think what it is to be in your old age

Maintain'd at the expense of your good king :
A moderate pension shakes full many a sage,

And heroes are but made for bards to sing,
Which is still better ; thus in verse to wage

Your wars eternally, besides enjoying

Half-pay for life, make mankind worth destroying.

DON JUAN. 2

XV.

The troops, already disembark'd, push'd on
To. take a battery on the right ; the others,

Who landed lower down, their landing done,
Had set to work as briskly as their brothers :

Being grenadiers, they mounted one by one
Cheerful as children climb the breasts of mothers,

O'er the entrenchment and the pallisade,

Quite orderly, as if upon parade.

xvr.
And this was admirable ; for so hot

The fire was, that were red Vesuvius loaded
Besides its lava, with all sorts of shot

And shells or hells, it could not more have goaded.
Of officers a third fell on the spot,

A thing which victory by no means boded
To gentlemen engaged in the assault ;
Hounds, when the huntsman tumbles, are at fault.

XVII.

But here I leave the general concern,

To track our hero on his path of fame :
He must his laurels separately earn ;

For fifty thousand heroes, name by name,
Though all deserving equally to turn

A couplet, or an elegy to claim,
Would form a lengthy lexicon of glory,
And what is worse still, a much longer story.

XVIII.

And therefore we must give the greater number
To the Gazette — which doubtless fairly dealt

By the deceased, who lie in famous slumber
Jn ditches, fields, or where'er they felt

Their clay for the last time their souls encumber ; —
Thrice haj>py he whose name has been well spelt

In the despatch : I knew a man whose loss

Was printed Grove, although his name was Grose.

XIX.

Juan and Johnson join'd a certain corps,

And fought away with might and main, not knowing
The way which they had never trod before,

And still less guessing where they might be going ;
But on they march'd, dead bodies trampling o'er,

Firing, and thrusting, slashing, sweating, glowing,
But fighting thoughtlessly enough to win,
To their two selves, one whole bright bulletin.

224 DOS JUAIT.

XX.

Thus on they wallow "d in the bloody mire

Of dead and dying thousands, — sometimes gaining

A yard or two of ground, which brought them nigher
To some odd angle, for which all were straining ;

At other times, repulsed by the close fire,

Which really pour'd as if all hell were raining

Instead of heaven, they stumbled backwards o'er

A wounded comrade, sprawling in his gore.

XXI.

Though 'twas Don Juan's first of fields, and though
The nightly muster and the silent march

In the chill dark, when courage does not glow
So much as under a triumphal arch,

Perhaps might make him shiver, yawn, or throw
A glance on the dull clouds (as thick as starch,

Which stiffen'd heaven) as if he wish'd for day ; —

5Tet for all this he did not run away.

XXII.

Indeed he could not. But what if he had ?

There have been and are heroes who begun
With something not much better, or as bad :

Frederick the Great from Molwitz deign'd vo run
For the first and last time ; for, like a pad.

Or hawk, or bride, most mortals after orr
Warm bout are broken into their new trk«
And fight like fiends for pay or politics.

XXIII.

JJe was what Erin calls, in her sublime
Old Erse or Irish, or it may be — Pv** ;

(The antiquarians who can settle iiroe,
Which settles all things, Rcm'j), Greek, or Runic,

Swear that Pat's language frprir^ '^om the same clime
With Hannibal, and vzarz tUe / yrian tunic

Of Dido's alphabet ; ar.d '.ik is national

As any other notion, aid iot national) ! —

XXIV.

But Juan was ^nit'* " a broth of a boy,"

A thing of impulse and a child of song
Now swimming in the sentiment of joy,

Or the sensatum (if that phrase seem wrong),
And afterward, if he must needs destroy,

In such good company as always thron0
To battles, sieges, and that kind of pleasure,
No less delighted to employ his leisure ;

DON JUAN.
XXV.

But always without malice : if he wair'd
Or loved, it was with what we call " the best

Intentions," which form all mankind's trump card,
To be produced when brought up to the test.

The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer — ward
Off each attack, when people are in quest

Of their designs, by saying they meant well ;

*Tis pity " That such meaning should pave hell."

XXVI.

I almost lately have begun to doubt

Whether hell's pavement — if it be so paved —

Must not have latterly been quite worn out,
Not by the numbers good intent hath saved,

But by the mass who go below without

Those ancient good intentions, which once shaved

And smooth'd the brimstone of that street of hell,

Which bears the greatest likeness to Fall Mall.

XXVII.

Juan, by some strange chance, which oft divides
Warrior from warrior in their grim career,

Like chastest wives from constant husbands' sides
Just at the close of the first bridal year.

By one of those odd turns of Fortune's tides,
Was on a sudden rather puzzled here,

When after a good deal of heavy firing,

He found himself alone, and friends retiring.

XXVIII.

I don't know how the thing occurr'd — it might
Be that the greater part were kill'd or wounded,

And that the rest had faced unto the right
About ; a circumstance which has confounded

Caesar himself, who, in the very sight

Of his whole army, which so much abounded

In courage, was obliged to snatch a shield,

And rally back his Romans to the field.

XXIX.

Juan, who had no shield to snatch, and was
No Caesar, but a fine young lad, who fought,

He knew not why, arriving at this pass,
Stopp'd for a minute, as perhaps he ought

For a much longer time ; then, like an ass —

(Start not, kind reader, since great Homer thought

This simile enough for Ajax, Juan

Perhaps may find it better than a new one) :—

T26 DON JUAN. .

XXX.

Then, like an ass he went upon his way,
And, what was stranger, never look'd behind ;

But seeing, flashing forward, like the day
Over the hills, a fire enough to blind

Those who dislike to look upon a fray,
He stumbled on, to try if he could find

A path, to add his own slight arm and forces

To corps, the greater part of which were corses.

XXXI.

Perceiving then no more the commandant
Of his own corps, nor even the corps, which had

Quite disappear *d — the gods know how ! (I can't
Account for everything which may look bad

In history ; but we at least may grant
It was not marvellous that a mere lad,

In search of glory, should look on before,

Nor care a pinch of snuff about his corps :) —

XXXII.

Perceiving nor commander nor commanded,
And left at large, like a young heir, to make

His way to — where he knew not — single handed ;
As travellers follow over bog and brake

An " ignis fatuus ;" or as sailors stranded
Unto the nearest hut themselves betake ;

So Juan, following honour and his nose,

Rush'd where the thickest fire announced most foes

XXXIII.

He knew not where he was, nor greatly cared,
For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins

Fill'd as with lightning — for his spirit shared
The hour, as is the case with lively brains ;

And where the hottest fire was seen and heard,
And the loud cannon peal'd his hoarsest strains

He rush'd, while earth and air were sadly shaken

By thy humane discovery, Friar Bacon !

XXXIV. •••

And as he rush'd along, it came to pass he
Fell in with what was late the second column

Under the orders of the General Lascy,
But now reduced, as is a bulky volume

Into an elegant extract (much less massy)
Of heroism, and took his place with solemn

Air "midst the rest, who kept their valiant faces

And levell'd weapons still against the glacis.

xxxv.

Just at this crisis up came Johnson too,

Who had " retreated," as the phrase is when

Men run away much rather than go through
Destruction's jaws into the devil's den ;

But Johnson was a clever fellow, who
Knew when and how " to cut and come again,"

And never ran away, except when running

Was nothing but a valorous kind of cunniag.

xxxvi.
And so when all his corps were dead or dying,

Except Don Juan, a mere novice, whose
More virgin valour never dreamt of flying,

From ignorance of danger, which indues
Its votaries, like innocence relying

On its own strength, with careless nerves and thews,--
Johnson retired a little, just to rally
Those who catch cold in " shadows of Death's valley."

XXXTTI.

And there, a little shelter'd from the shot,
Which rain'd from bastion, battery, parapet,

fiampart, wall, casement, house — for there was not
In this extensive city, sore beset

By Christian soldiery, a single spot
Which did not combat like the devil, as yet. — •

He found a number of Chasseurs, all scatter'd

By the resistance of the chase they batter'd.

XXXVIII.

And these he call'd on ; and, what's strange, they cams

Unto his call, nnlike " the spirits from
The Tasty deep," to whom you may exclaim,

Says Hotspur, long ere they will leave their home.
Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame

At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb,
And that odd impulse, which in wars or creeds
Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads.

xxxix.
By Jove ! he was a noble fellow, Johnson,

And though his name, than Ajax or Achilles,
Sounds less harmonious, under the sun soon

We shall not see his likeness ; he could kill his
Man quite as quietly as blows the monsoon

Her steady breath (which some months the same ttiil is) :
Seldom he varied feature, hue or muscle
And could be very busy without bustle ;

228 DON JtJAN.

XL.

And therefore when he ran away, he did so
Upon reflection, knowing that behimd

He would find others who would fain be rid so
Of idle apprehensions, which like wind

Trouble heroic stomachs. Though their lids so
Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind,

But when they light upon immediate death,

Betire a little, merely to take breath.

XM.
But Johnson only ran off, to return

With many other warriors, as we said,
Unto that rather somewhat misty bourn,

Which Hamlet tells us is a pass of dread.
To Jack, howe'er, this gave but slight concern :

His soul (like galvanism upon the dead)
Acted upon the living as on wire,
And led them back into the heaviest fire.

Egad ! they found the second time what they
The first time thought quite terrible enough

To fly from, malgre all which people say
Of glory, and all that immortal stuff

Which fills a regiment (besides their pay,

That daily shilling which makes warriors tough)-—

They found on their return the self-same welcome,

Which made some think, and others know a hell come

They fell as thick as harvests beneath hail,
Grass before scythes, or corn below the sickle,

Proving that trite old truth, that life's as frail,
As any other boon for which men stickle.

The Turkish batteries thrash'd them like a flail,
Or a good boxer, into a sad pickle,

Putting the very bravest, who were knock'd

Upon the head, before their guns were cock'd.

XLIV.
The Turks behind the traverses and flanks

Of the next bastion, fired away like devils,
And swept, as gales sweep foam away, whole ranks .

However, Heaven knows how, the Fate who levels
Towns, nations, worlds, in her revolving pranks,

So order'd it, amidst these sulphury revels,
That Johnson and some few who had not scamper'd,
Beach'd the interior talus of the rampart.

DON JUAN. 229

XLV .

first one or two, then fi e, six, and a dozen
Came mounting quickly up, for it was now

All neck or nothing, as, like pitch or rosin,

Flame was shower'd forth above, as well's below,

So that you scarce could say who best had chosen,
The gentlemen that were the first to show

Their martial faces on the parapet,

Or thos« who thought it b rave to wait as yet.

xivi.
But those we scaled, found out that their advance

Was favour'd by an accident or blunder :
The Greek or Turkish Cohorn's ignorance

Had pallisado'd in a way you'd wonder
To see in forts of Netherlands or France —

(Though these to our Gibraltar must knock under)-^
Right in the middle of the parapet
Just named, these palisades were primly set :

XiVII.

So that on either side some nine or ten

Paces were left, whereon you could contrive

To march ; a great convenience to our men,
At least to all those who were left alive,

Who thus could form a line and fight again ;
And that which farther aided them to strive

Was, that they could kick down the palisades,

Which scarcely rose much higher than grass blades.

XLVIII.

Among the first, — I will not say the first,

For such precedence upon such occasions
Will oftentimes make deadly quarrels burst

Out between friends as well as allied nations :
The Briton must be bold who really durst

Put to such, trial John Bull's partial patie ncc.
As say that Wellington at Waterloo
Was beaten, though the Prussians say so too ; —

XLIX.
And that if Blucher, Bulow, Gneisenau,

And God knows who besides in " au" and " oir,"
Had not come up in time to cast an awe

Into the hearts of those who fought till now
As tigers combat with an empty craw,

The Duke of Wellington had ceased to show
His orders, also to receive his pensions :
Which are the heaviest that our history mentions.
81

330 DON JCAX.

L.

But never mind ; — " God save the king !" and kings '
For if he don't, I doubt if men will longer —

I think I hear a little bird, who sings
The people by and by will be the stronger :

The veriest jade will wince whose harness wrings
So much into the raw as quite to wrong her

Beyond the rules of posting, — and the mob

At last fall skk of imitating Job.

LI.

At first it grumbles, then it swears, and then,
Like David, flings smooth pebbles 'gainst a giant ;

At last it takes to weapons such as men

Snatch when despair makes human hearts less pliant.

Then comes " the tug of war ;" — 't will come again,
I rather doubt ; and I would fain say " fie on 't,"

If I had not perceived that revolution

Alone can save the earth from hell's pollution.

LIT..

But to continue : — I say not the first,

But of the first, our little friend Don Juan

Walk'd o'er the walls of Ismail, as if nursed

Amidst such scenes — though this was quite a new one

To him, and I should hope to most. The thirst

Of glory, which so pierces through and through one,

Pervaded him, — although a generous creature,

As warm in heart as feminine in feature.

LIII.
And here he was — who upon woman's breast,

Even from a child, felt like a child ; howe'er
The man in all the rest might be confest,

To him it was Elysium to be there ;
And he could even withstand that awkward test

Which Rousseau points out to the dubious fair,
" Observe your lover when he leaves your arms ;"
But Juan never left them, while they had charms,

LIT.

Unless compell'd by fate, or wave, or wind,
Or near relations, who are much the same.

But here he was ! — where each tie that can bind
Humanity must yield to steel and flame :

And he whose very body was all mind,

Flung here by fate or circumstance, which tamo

The loftiest, hurried by the time and place,

Dash'd on like a spurr'd blood-horse in a race.

231

LV.

So was his blood stirr'd while he found resistance,

As is the hunter's at the five-bar gate,
Or double post and rail, where the existence

Of Britain's youth depends upon their weight,
The lightest being the safest : at a distance

He hated cruelty, as all men hate
Blood until heated — and even there his own
At times would curdle o'er some heavy groan.

LVI.
The General Lascy, who had been hard prest,

Seeing arrive an aid so opportune
As were some hundred youngsters all abreast,

Who came as if just dropp'd down from the moon,
To Juan, who was nearest him, address'd

His thanks, and hopes to take the city soon,
Not reckoning him to be a " base Bezonian,"
(As Pistol calls it) but a young Livonian.

LVII.
Juan, to whom he spoke in German, knew

As much of German as of Sanscrit, and
In answer made an inclination to

The General who held him in command ;
For seeing one with ribands, black and blue,

Stars, medals, and a bloody sword in hand,
Addressing him in tones which seem'd to thank,
He recognised an officer of rank.

LVIII.

Short speeches pass between two men who speak
No common language ; and besides, in time

Of war and taking towns, when many a shriek
Rings o'er the dialogue, and many a crime

Is perpetrated ere a word can break

Upon the ear, and sounds of horror chime

In like church bells, with sigh, howl, groan, yell, j«rayer,

There cannot be much conversation there.

LIX.

And therefore all we have related in

Two long octaves, passed in a little minute ;

But in the same small minute, every sin
Contrived to get itself comprised within it :

The very cannon, deafen'd by the din,

Grew dumb, for you might almost hear a linne:,

As soon as thunder, 'midst the general noi&e

Of human nature's agonizing voice !

232 DON JUAN.

LX.

The town was enter'd. Oh Eternity ! —

" God made the country, and man made the town,"
So Cowper says — and I begin to be

Of his opinion, when T see cast down
Home, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh,

All walls men know, and many never known ;
And pondering on the present and the past,
To deem the woods shall be our home at last : —

LXI.
Of all men, saving Sylla the Man-slayer,

Who passes for in life and death most lucky,
Of the great names which in our faces stare,

The General Boon, backwoodsman of Kentucky,
Was happiest amongst mortals any where ;

For killing nothing but a bear or buck, lie
Enjoy'd the lonely, vigorous, harmless days
Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze.

1XII.

Crime came not near him — she is not the child
Of solitude ; health shrank not from him — for

Her home is in the rarely-trodden wild,

Where if men seek her not, and death be more

Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguiled
By habit to what their own hearts abhor —

In cities caged. The present case in point I

Cite is, that Boon lived hunting up to ninety ;

LXIII.
And what's still stranger, left behind a name

For which men vainly decimate the throng,
Not only famous, but of that good fame,

Without which glory's but a tavern song —
Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame,

Which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with wrong ;
An active hermit, even in age the child
Of nature, or the Man of Boss run wild.

ixiv.

T is true he shrank from men even of his nation,
When they built up unto his darling trees, —

He moved some hundred miles off, for a station
Where there were fewer houses and more ease ;

The inconvenience of civilisation

Is, that you neither can be pleased nor please ;

But where he met the individual man,

He show'd himself as kind as mortal can.

233

ixv.

He was not all alone : around him grew

A sylvan tribe of children of the chase,
Whose young, unwaken'd world was ever new,

Nor sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace
On her unwrinkled brow, nor could you view

A frown on Nature's or on human face ; —
The free-born forest found and kept them free,
And fresh as is a torrent or a tree.

LXVI.

And tall, and strong, and swift of foot were they,
Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions,

Because their thoughts had never been the prey
Of care or gain ; the green woods were their porticos

N» sinking spirits told them they grew gray,
No fashion made them apes of her distortions :

Simple they were, not savage ; and their rifles,

Though very true, were not yet used for trifles.

LXVII.
Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers,

And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil ;
Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers ;

Corruption could not make their hearts her soil ;
The lust whi«h stings, the splendour which encumbers,

With the free foresters divide no spoil :
Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes •
Of this unsighing people of the woods.

1XVI1I.

So much for nature : — by way of variety,
Now back to thy great joys, civilisation .

And the sweet consequences of large society
War, pestilence, the despot's desolation,

The kingly scourge, the lust of notoriety,

The millipns slain by soldiers for their ration,

The scenes like Catherine's boudofr at three score,

With Ismail's storm to soften it the more.

LXIX.
The town was enter'd : first one column made

Its sanguinary way good — then another ;
The reeking bayonet and the flashing blade

Clash'd 'gainst the scimitar, and babe and mother
With distant shrieks were heard Heaven to upbraid ;—

Still closer sulphury clouds began to smother
The breath of morn and man, where foot by foot
The madden'd Turks their city still dispute.
SI*

LXX.

Koutousow, he who afterward beat back

(With some assistance from the frost and snow)

Napoleon on his bold and bloody track,
It happen'd was himself beat back just now

He was a jolly fellow, and could crack
His jest alike in face of friend or foe,

Though life, and death, and victory were at stake ;

But here it seem'd his jokes had ceased to take.

LXXI.

For having thrown himself into a ditch,
Follow'd in haste by various grenadiers,

Whose blood the puddle greatly did enrich,
He climb'd to where the parapet appears ;

But there his project reach'd its utmost pitch
('Mongst other deaths the General Ribaupierre's

Was much regretted, for the Moslem men

Threw them all down into the ditch again.

LXXII.

And had it not been for some stray troops landing
They knew not where, being carried by the stream

To some spot, where they lost their understanding,
And wander'd up and down as in a dream,

Until they reach'd, as daybreak was expanding,
That which a portal to their eyes did seem, —

That great and gay Koutousow might have lain

Where three parts of his column yet remain.

LXXIII.
And scrambling round the rampart, these same troops.

After the taking of the "Cavalier,"
Just as Koutousow's most " forlorn " of " hopes "

Took, like chameleons, some slight tinge of fear,
Open'd the gate call'd " Kilia," to the groups

Of baffled heroes, who stood shyly near, »
Sliding knee-deep in lately frozen mud,
Now thaw'd into a marsh of human blood.

LXXIV.

The Kozacks, or, if so yon please, Cossacques —
(I don't much pique myself upon orthography,

So that I do not grossly err in facts,

Statistics, tactics, politics, and geography) —

Having been used to serve on horses' backs,
And no great dilettanti in topography

Of fortresses, but fighting where it pleases

Their chiefs to order, — were all cut to pieces

DON JUAN. 235

LXXV.

Dieir column, through the Turkish batteries thunder'd
Upon them, ne'ertheless iad reach 'd the rampart,

And naturally thought they could have plunder 'd
The city, without being farther hamper'd ;

But as it happens to brave men, they blunder'd —
The Turks at first pretended to have scamper'd

Only to draw them 'twixt two bastion corners,

From whence they sallied on those Christian scorners.

LXXVI.

Then being taken by the tail — a taking

Fatal to bishops as to soldiers — these
Cossacques were all cut off as day was breaking,

And found their lives were let at a short lease —
But perish'd without shivering or shaking.

Leaving as ladders their heap'd carcasse.s,
O'er which Lieutenant-Colonel Yesouskoi
March'd with the brave battalion of Polouzki. —

LXXVII.

This valiant man kill'd all the Turks he met,
But could not eat them, being in his turn

Slain by some Mussulmans, who would not yet,
Without resistance, see their city burn.

The walls were won, but 'twas an even bet
Which of the armies would have cause to mourn : »

Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,

For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch.

LXXVIII.

Another column also suffer 'd much :

And here we may remark with the historian,

You should but give few cartridges to such
Troops as are meant to march with greatest glory on :

When matters must be carried by the touch

Of the bright bayonet, and they all should hurry on,

They sometimes, with a hankering for existence,

Keep merely firing at a foolish distance.

LXXIX.

A junction of the General Meknop's men

(Without the General, who had fallen some time

Before, being badly seconded just then)
Was made at length with those who dared to climb

The death disgorging rampart once again ;

And though the Turk's resistance was sublime,

They took the bastion, which the Seraskier

Defended at a price extremely dear.

236 DOH JUAN.

LXXX.

Juan and Johnson, and some volunteers

Among the foremost, offer'd him good quarter,

A word which little suits with Seraskiers,
Or at least suited not this valiant Tartar.

He died, deserving well his country's tears,
A savage sort of military martyr.

An English naval officer, who wish'd

To make him prisoner, was also dish'd :

ixxxi.
For all the answer to his proposition

W as from a pistol-shot that laid him dead ;
On which the rest, without more intermission,

Began to lay about with steel and lead —
The pious metals most in requisition

On such occasions ; not a single head
Was spared ; — three thousand Moslems perish'd here,
And sixteen bayonets pierced the Seraskier.

LXXXII.

The city's taken — only part by part —

And Death is drunk with gore : there's not a street
Where fights not to the last some desperate heart,

For those for whom it soon shall cease to beat.
Here War forgot his own destructive art

In more destroying Nature ; and the heat
Of carnage, like the Nile's sun-sodden slime,

Engender 'd monstrous shapes of every crime.

LXXXIII.

A Russian officer, in martial tread '

Over a heap of bodies, felt his heel
Seized fast, as if 'twere by the serpent's head „

Whose fangs Eve taught her human seed to feel ;
In vain he kick'd, and swore, and writhed, and bled,

And howl'd for help as wolves do for a meal —
The teeth still kept their gratifying hold,
As do the subtle snakes described of old.

LXXXIV.

A dying Moslem, who had felt the foot
Of a foe o'er him, snatch'd at it, and bit

The very tendon which is most acute —

(That which some ancient Muse or modern wit

Jsamed after thee, Achilles) and quite through *t
He made the teeth meet, nor relinquish'd it

Even with his life — for (but they lie) 'tis said

To the live leg still clung the sever'd head.

237

LXXXV.

However this may be, 'tis pretty sure
Th.e Russian officer for life was lamed,

For the Turk's teeth stuck faster than a skewer.
And left him 'midst the invalid and maim'd :

The regimental surgeon could not cure
His patient, and perhaps was to be blamed

More than the head of the inveterate foe,

Which was cut off, and scarce even then let go.

LXXXVI.

But then the fact's a fact — and 'tis the part

Of a true poet to escape from fiction
Whene'er he can ; for there is little art

In leaving verse more free from the restriction
Of truth than prose, unless to suit the mart

For what is sometimes called poetic diction,
And that outrageous appetite for lies
Which Satan angles with for souls, like flies.

LXXXVII.

The city's taken, but not render'd ! — No !

There's not a Moslem that hath yielded sword :
The blood may gush out, as the Danube's flow

Rolls by the city wall ; but deed nor word
Acknowledge aught of dread of death or foe :

In vain the yell of victory is roar'd
By the advancing Muscovite — the groan
Of the last foe is echoed by his own.

LXXXVIII.
The bayonet pierces and the sabre cleaves,

And human lives are lavish'd every where,
As the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves

When the stripp'd forest bows to the bleak air,
And groans ; and thus the peopled city grieves,

Shorn of its best and loveliest, and left bare,
But still it falls in vast and awful splinters,
As oaks blow down with all their thousand winters.

It is an awful topic — but 'tis not
My cue for any time to be terrific,

For checker'd as is seen our human lot
With good, and bad, and worse, alike prolific

Of melancholy merriment, to quote
Too much of one sort would be soporific ; —

Without, or with, offence to friends or foes,

I sketch your world exactly as it goes.

838 DON JUAN.

XC.

And one good action in the midst of crimes
Is " quite refreshing," in the affected phrase

Of these ambrosial, Pharisaic times,

With all their pretty milk-and-water ways,

And may serre therefore to bedew these rhymes,
A little scorch'd at present with the blaze

Of conquest and its consequences, which

Make epic poesy so rare and rich.

xci.
Upon a taken bastion, where there lay

Thousands of slaughter'd men, a yet warm group
Of murder'd women, who bod found their way

To this vain refuge, made the good heart droop
And shudder ; while, as beautiful as May,

A female child of ten years tried to stoop
And hide her little palpitating breast
Amidst the bodies lull' J in bloody rest.

xcn.
Two villanous Cossacques pursued the child

With flashing eyes and weapons : match'd with them,
The rudest brute that roams Siberia's wild

Has feelings pure and polish'd as a gem, —
The bear is civilised, the wolf is mild :

And whom for this at last must we condemn ?
Their natures ? or their sovereigns, who employ
All arts to teach their subjects to destroy?

xcin.

Their sabres glitter'd o'er her little head

Whence her fair hair rose twining wit*1 affright,

Her bidden face was plunged amidst the dead :
When Juan caught a glimpse of this sad sight,

I shall not say exactly what he said

Because it might not solace " ears polite ;"

But what he did, was to lay on their backs,

The readiest way of reasoning with Cossacques

xciv.
One's hip he slash'd, and split the other's shoulder,

And drove them with their brutal yells to seek,
If there might be chirurgeons who could solder

The wounds they richly merited, and shriek
Their baffled rage and pain ; while waxing colder '

As he turn'd o'er each pale and gory cheek,
Don Juan raised his little captive from
The heap a moment more had made her tomb.

DON JUA3. 239

xcv.
And she was chill as they, and on her face

A slender streak of blood announced how near
Her fate had been to that of all her race ;

For the same blow which laid her mother here
Had scarr'd her brow, and left its crimson trace,

As the last link with all she had held dear ;
But else unhurt, she open'd her large eyes,
And gazed on Juan with a wild surprise.

xcvi.
Just at this instant, while their eyes were fix'd

Upon each other, with dilated glance,
In Juan's look, pain, pleasure, hope, fear, mix'd

With joy to save, and dread of some mischance
Unto his protegee ; while hers, transfix'd

With infant terrors, glared as from a trance,
A pure, transparent, pale, yet radiant face,
Like to a lighted alabaster vase ;—

xovn.
Up came John Johnson (I will not say "Jack"

For that were vulgar, cold, and common-place
On great occasions, such as an attack

On cities, as hath been the present case) :
Up Johnson came, with hundreds at his back,

Exclaiming : — " Juan ! Juan ! On boy ! brace
Tour arm, and I'll bet Moscow to a dollar,
That you and I will win St. George's collar .

XCVIII.

" The Seraskier is knock'd upon the head;

But the stone bastion still remains, wherein
The old Pacha sits among some hundreds dead,

Smoking his pipe quite calmly 'midst the din
Of our artillery and his own : 'tis said

Our kill'd, already piled up to the chin,
Lie round the battery ; but still it batters,
And grape in volleys, like a vineyard, scatters

xctx.
" Then up with me !" — But Juan answer'd, " Look

Upon this child — I saved her — must not leave
Her life to chance ; but point me out some nook

Of safety, where she less may shrink and grieve,
And I am with you." — Whereon Johnson took

A glance around — and shrugg'd, and twitch'd his sleeve
And black silk neckcloth — and replied, " You're right ,
Poor thing ! what's to be done ? I'm puzzled quite."

940 DON JUAN.

0.

Said Juan — " Whatsoever is to be

Done, I'll not quit her till she seems secure

Of present life a good deal more than we." —
Quoth Johnson — " Neither will I quite ensure ;

But at the least you may die gloriously." —
Juan replied — " At least I will endure

Whate'er is to be borne — but not resign

This child, who is parentless, and therefore mine."

ci.

Johnson said — " Juan, we've no time to lose ;

The child's a pretty child — a very pretty —
I never saw such eyes — but hark ! now choose

Between your fame and feelings, pride and pity ;-
Hark ! how the roar increases! — no excuse

Will serve when there is plunder in a city ; —
I should be loath to march without you, but,
By God ! we'll be too late for the first cut."

en.

But Juan was immoveable ; until
Johnson, who really loved him in his way,

Pick'd out amongst his followers with some skill
Such as he thought the least given up to prey;

And swearing if the infant came to ill

That they should all be shot on the next day ;

But if she were deliver'd safe and sound,

They should at least have fifty rubles round,

cm.
And all allowances besides of plunder,

In fair proportion with their comrades ; — then
Juan consented to march on through thunder,

Which thinn'd at every step their ranks of men;
And yet the rest rush'd eagerly — no wonder

For they were heated by the hope of gain,
A thing which happens every where each day —
No hero trusteth wholly to half pay.

civ.

And such is victory, and such is man !

At least nine-tenths of what we call so ;— God
May have another name for half we scan

As human beings, or his ways are odd.
But to our subject : a brave Tartar khan —

Or " sultan," as the author (to whose nod
In prose I bend my humble verse) doth call
This chieftain— somehow would not yield at all :

241

0V.

But flank'd "by five brave sons (such is polygamy,
That she spawns warriors by the score, where nono

Are prosecuted for that false crime bigamy,)
He never would believe the city won

While courage clung but to a single twig. — Am 1
Describing Priam's, Peleus', or Jove's son ?

Neither — but a good, plain, old, temperate man,

Who fought with his five children in the van.

cn.

To take him was the point. — The truly brave,
When they behold the brave oppress'd with odds*

Are touch'd with a desire to shield and save ;
A mixture of wild beasts and demi-gods

Are they — now furious as the sweeping wave,
Now moved with pity : even as sometimes nods

The rugged tree unto the summer wind,

Compassion breathes along the savage mind.

cvn.

But he would not be taken, and replied

To all the propositions of surrender
By mowing Christians down on every side,

As obstinate as Swedish Charles at Bender,
His five brave boys no less the foe defied ;

Whereon the Russian pathos grew less tender,
As being a virtue, like terrestial patience,
Apt to wear out on trifling provocations.

CVIII.

And spite of Johnson and of Juan, who
Expended all their Eastern phraseology

In begging him, for God's sake, just to show
So much less fight as might form an apology

For them in saving such a desperate foe —
He hew'd away, like doctors of theology

When they dispute with sceptics ; and with curse*

Struck at his friends, Jte babies beat their nurses.

cix.

Nay, he had wounded, though but slightly, both
Juan and Johnson ; whereupon they fell,

The first with sighs, the second with an oath.
Upon his angry sultanship, pell-mell,

And all around were grown exceeding wroth
At such a pertinacious infidel,

And pour'd upon him and his sons like rain,

Which they resisted like a sandy plain
32

342 • DON JUAN.

CX.

That drinks and still is dry. At last they perish'd— »

His second son was levell'd by a shot ;
His third was sabred ; and the fourth, most cherish'd

Of all the five, on bayonets met his lot ;
The fifth, who, by a Christian mother nourish'd,

Had been neglected, ill-used, and what not,
Because deform'd, yet died all game and bottom*
To Bare a sire who blush'd that he begot him.

cxi.

The eldest was a true and tameless Tartar,

As great a scorner of the Nazarene
As ever Mahomet pick'd out for a martyr,

Who only saw the black-eyed girls in green,
Who make the beds of those who won't take quarter

On earths in Paradise ; and when once seen,
Those houris, like all other pretty creatures,
Do just whate'er they please, by dint of features.

cxn.
And what they pleased to do with the young khan

In heaven I know not, nor pretend to guess ;
But doubtless they prefer a fine young man

To tough old heroes, and can do no less ;
And that's the cause no doubt why, if we scan

A field of battle's ghastly wilderness,
For one rough, weather-beaten, veteran body,
You'll find ten thousand handsome coxcombs bloody.

CXIII.

Your houris also have a natural pleasure
In lopping off your lately married men,

Before the bridal hours have danced their measure,
And the sad, second moon grows dim again,

Or dull repentance hath had dreary leisure
To wish him back a bachelor now and then.

And thus your houri, (it may be) disputes

Of these brief blossoms the immediate fruits.

cxiv.
Thus the young khan, with houris in his sight,

Thought not upon the charms of four young bride*
But bravely rush'd on -his first heavenly night.

In short, howe'er our better faith derides,
These black-eyed virgins make the Moslems fight,

As though there were one heaven and none besides,-
Whereas, if all be true we hear of heaven
And hell, there must at least be six or seven.

DON JUAN. 243

CSV.

So fully flash'd the phantom on his eyes,
That when the very lance was in his heart,

He shouted " Allah !" and saw Paradise
With all its veil of mystery drawn apart,

And bright eternity without disguise

On his soul, like a ceaseless sunrise, dart : —

With prophets, houris, angels, saints, descried

In one voluptuous blaze, — and then he died :

But with a heavenly rapture on his face,

The good old khan, who long had ceased to see

Houris, or aught except his florid race

Who grew like cedars round him gloriously —

When he beheld his latest hero grace

The earth, which he became like a fell'd tree,

Paused for a moment from the fight, and cast

A glance on that slain son, his first and last.

CXVII.

The soldiers, who beheld him drop his point,
Stopp'd as if once more willing to concede

Quarter, in case he bade them not " aroynt !"
As he before had done. He did not heed

Their pause nor signs : his heart was out of joint,
And shook (till now unshaken) like a reed,

As he look'd down upon his children gone,

And felt — though done with life — he was alone.

CXV1II.
But 'twas a transient tremor : — with a spring

Upon the Russian steel his breast he flung,
As carelessly as hurls the moth her wing

Against the light wherein she dies ; he clung
Closer, that all the deadlier they might wring,

Unto the bayonets which had pierced his young ;
And throwing back a dim look on his sons,
In one wide wound pour'd forth his soul at once.

cxix.

Tis strange enough — the rough, tough soldiers, who
Spared neither sex nor age in their career

Of carnage, when this old man was pierced through,
And lay before them with his children near,

Touch'd by the heroism of him they slew,
Were melted for a moment : though no tear

Flow'd from their bloodshot eyes, all red with strife,

They honour'd such determined scorn of life.

244 DON JUAN.

cxx.
But the stone bastion still kept up its fire,

Where the chief pacha calmly held his post •
Some twenty times he made the Russ retire,

And baffled the assaults of all their host :
At length he condescended to inquire

If yet the city's rest were won or lost ;
And being%)ld the latter, sent a bey
To answer Bibas' summons to give way.

cxxi.
In the mean time, cross-legg'd with great sangfroid,

Among the scorching ruins he sat smoking
Tobacco on a little carpet ; — Troy

Saw nothing like the scene around ; — yet looking
With martial stoicism, nought seem'd to annoy

His stern philosophy ; but gently stroking
His beard, he puff'd his pipe's ambrosial gales,
As if he had three lives, as well as tails.

CXXII.

The town was taken — whether he might yield

Himself or bastion, little matter'<l now :
His stubborn valour was no future shield.

Ismail's no more ! The crescent's silver bow
Sunk, and the crimson cross glared o'er the field,

But with no red redeeming gore : the glow
Of burning streets, like moonlight on the water,
Was imaged back in blood, the sea of slaughter.

CXXIII.

All that the mind would shrink from of excesses :

All that the body perpetrates of bad ;
All that we read, hear, dream, of man's distresses :

All that the devil would do if run stark mad ;
All that defies the worst which pen expresses ;

All by which hell is, peopled, or as sad
As hell — mere mortals who their power abuse —
Was here (as heretofore and since) let loose.

cxxiv.

I there and there some transient trait of pity
Was shown, and some more ribble heart broke through

Its bloody bond, and saved, perhaps, some pretty
Child, or an aged, helpless man or two —

What's this in one annihilated city,

Where thousand loves, and ties, and duties grew ?

Cockneys of London ! Muscadins of Paris !

Just ponder what a pious pastime war is.

DON JUAN. 245

cxxv.
Think how the joys of reading a Gazette

Are purchased by all agonies and crimes :
Or if these do not move you, don't forget

Such doom may be your own in after-times,
Meantime the Taxes, Castlereagh, and Debt,

Are hints as good as sermons, or as rhymes.
Read your own hearts and Ireland's present story
Then feed her famine fat with Welleslcy's glory.

cxxvi.
But still there is unto a patriot nation,

Which loves so well its country and its king,
A subject of sublimest exultation —

Bear it, ye Muses, on your brightest wing !
Howe'er the mighty locust, Desolation,

Strip your green fields, and to your harvests cling,
Gaunt famine never shall approach the throne —
Though Ireland starve, great George weighs twenty stone.

cxxvu.
But let me put an end unto my theme :

There was an end of Ismail — hapless town !
Far flash'd her burning towers o'er Danube's stream,

And redly ran his blushing waters down.
The horrid war-whoop and the shriller scream

Rose still ; but fainter were the thunders grown :
Of forty thousand who had mann'd the wall,
Some hundreds breathed — the rest were wlent all !

CXXVIII.

In one thing ne'ertheless 'tis fit to praise

The Russian army upon this occasion,
A virtue much in fashion now a-days,

And therefore worthy of commemoration :
The topic's tender, so shall be my phrase —

Perhaps the season's chill, and their long station
In winter's depth, or want of rest and victual,
Had made them chaste ; — they ravish'd very little.

CXXIX.

Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less
Might here and there occur some violation

In the other line : — but not to such excess
As when the French, that dissipated nation,

Take towns by storm : no causes can I guess,
Except cold weather and commiseration :

But all the ladies, save some twenty score,

Were almost as much virgins as before.
22*

246 DON JUAJf.

cxxx.

Some odd mistakes, too, happen 'd in the dark,
Which show'd a want of lanterns, or of taste —

Indeed the smoke was such they scarce could mark

Their friends from foes, — besides such things from haste

Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark
Of light to save the venerably chaste :

But six old damsels, each of seventy years,

Were all deflower'd by different grenadiers.

CXXXI.

But on the whole their continence was great ;

So that some disappointment there ensued
To those who had felt the inconvenient state

Of " single blessedness," and thought it good
(Since it was not their fault, hnt only fate,

To bear these crosses) for each waning prude
To make a Roman sort of Sabine wedding,
Without the expense and the suspense of bedding.

cxxxn.
Some voices of the buxom middle-aged

Were also heard to wonder in the din
(Widows of forty were these birds long caged)

" Wherefore the ravishing did not begin !"
But while the thirst for gore and plunder raged,

There was small leisure for superfluous sin ;
But whether they escaped or no, lies hid
In darkness — I can only hope they did.

CXXXIII.

Suwarrow now was conqueror — a match

For Timour or Zinghis in his trade.
While mosques and streets, beneath his eyes, like thatch

Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce allay'd
With bloody hands he wrote his first despatch ;

And here exactly follows what he said : —
" Glory to God and to the Empress ! (Powers
Eternal ! such names mingled!) " Ismail's ours "

cxxxir.

Methinks these are the most tremendous words,
Since " Mene, Mene, Tekel," and " Upharsin,"

Which hands or pens have ever traced of swords.
Heaven help me ! I'm but little of a parson !

What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord's,
Severe, sublime ! the prophet wrote no farce on

The fate of nations : — but this Russ so witty

Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a blazing city.

247

cxxxv.

He wrote this Polar melody, and set it,
Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans,

Which few will sing, I trust, but none forget it —
For I will teach, if possible, the stones

To rise against earth's tyrants. Never let it
Be said that we still truckle unto thrones ; —

But ye — our children's children ! think how we

Show'd what things were before the world was free !

cxxxvi.
That hour is not for us, but 'tis for you :

And as, in the great joy of your millennium,
You hardly will believe such things were true

As now occur, I thought that I would pen you 'em ;
But may their very memory perish too ! —

Yet if perchance remember'd, still disdain you *em
More than you scorn the savages of yore,
Who painted their bare limbs, but not with gore.

CXXXVII.

And when you hear historians talk of thrones,
And those that sate upon them, let it be

As we now gaze upon the mammoth's bones,

And: wonder what old world such things could see,

Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones,
The pleasant riddles of futurity —

Guessing at what shall happily be hid,

As the real purpose of a pyramid.

cxxxvin.
Reader ! I have kept my word, — as least so far

As the first Canto promised. You have now
Had sketches of love, tempest, travel, war —

All very accurate, you must allow,
And epic, if plain truth should prove no bar ;

For I have drawn much less with a long bow
Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing,
But Phoebus lends me now and then a string,

cxxxix.
With which I still can harp, and carp, and fiddle,

What farther hath befallen or may befall
The hero of this grand poetic riddle,

I by and by may tell you, if at all :
But now I choose to break off in the middle,

Worn out with battering Ismail's stubborn wall,
While Juan is sent off with the despatch,
For which all Petersburgh is on the watch.

248 DON JUAN.

CXL.

This special honour was conferr'd, because
He had behaved with courage and humanity^

Which last men like, when they have time to pause
From their ferocities produced by vanity.

His little captive gain'd him some applause
For saving her amidst the wild insanity

Of carnage, — and I think he was more glad in her

Safety, than his new order of St. Vladimir.

CXLI.
The Moslem orphan went with her protector,

For she was homeless, houseless, helpless ; all
Her friends, like the sad family of Hector,

Had perish'd on the field or by the wall,
Her very place of birth was but a spectre

Of what it had been; there the Muezzin's call
To prayer was heard no more ! — and Juan wept,
And made a vow to shield her, which he kept.

San

CANTO THE NINTH.

OH, Wellington ! (or " Villainton "—for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways ;

France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase —

Beating or beaten she will laugh the same,)

You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise :

Glory like yours should any dare gainsay,

Humanity would rise, and thunder " Nay ! "

n.
I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well

In Marinet's affair — in fact, 'twas shabby,
And like some other things won't do to tell

Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey.
Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell,

Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby ;
But though your years as man tend fast to zero,

In fact your grace is still but a young hero.

in.
Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,

Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more :
You have repair'd Legitimacy's crutch,

A prop not quite so certain as before :
The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch,

Have seen, and felt, how strongly you rettore ;
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better).

IV.

You are " the best of cut-throats :** — do not start ;

The phrase is Shakespeare's, and not misapplied :—
War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art,

Unless her cause by right be sanctified.
If you have acted once a generous part,

The world, not the world's masters, will decide,
And I shall be delighted to learn who,
Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo ?

V»0 DOH JUAK.

V.

I am no flatterer — you've supp'd full of flattery :
They say you like it too — 'tis no great wonder,

He whose whole life has been assault and battery,
At last may get a little tired of thunder ;

And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he
May like being praised for every lucky blunder.

Call'd " Saviour of the Nations " — not yet saved,

And " Europe's Liberator " — still enslaved.

vr.
I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate

Presented by the Prince of the Brazils,
And send the sentinel before your gate

A slice or two from your luxurious meals :
He fought, but has not fed so well of late.

Some hunger, too, they say the people feels :
There is no doubt that you deserve your ration,
But pray give back a little to the nation.

vn.
I don't mean to reflect — a man so great as

You, my lord duke ! is far above reflection :
The high Roman fashion, too, of Cincinnatus,

With modern history has but small connection :
Though as an Irishman you love potatoes,

You need not take them under your direction ;
And half a million for your Sabine farm
Is rather dear ! — I'm sure I mean no harm.

VIII.

Great men have always scorn'd great recompences :

Epaminondas saved his Thebes, and died,
Not leaving even his funeral expenses :

George Washington had thanks and nought beside
Except the all-cloudless glory (which few men's is)

To free his country : Pitt too had his pride,
ind as a hign-soul'd minister of state is
Renown'd for ruining Great Britain gratis.

IX.

Never had mortal man such opportunity,

Except Napoleon, or abused it more :
You might have freed fallen Europe from the unity

Of tyrants, and been blest from shore to shore :
And now — what is your fame ? Shall the Muse tune it yet.

Now — that the rabble's first vain shouts are o'er ?
Go ! hear it in your famish'd country's cries !
Behold the world ! and curse your victories ;

DOM JUAN. 251

X.

As these new cantos touch on warlike feats,
To you the unflattering Muse deigns to inscribe

Truths, that you will not read in the Gazettes,
But which 'tis time to teach the hireling tribe

Who fatten on their country's gore, and debts,
Must be recited, and — without a bribe.

You did great things ; but not being great in mind

Hare left undone the greatett — and mankind.

XI.

Death laughs — Go ponder o'er the skeleton

With which men image out the unknown thing
That hides the past world, like to a set sun

Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter spring-
Death laughs at all you weep for : — look upon

This hourly dread of all ! whose thr eaten' d sting
Turns life to terror, even though in its sheath :
Hark ! how its lipless mouth grins without breath 1

XII.

Hark ! how it laughs and scorns at all you are .

And yet was what you are : from ear to ear
It lavghs not — there is now no fleshy bar

So call'd ; the Antic long hath ceased to hear,
But still he smiles ; and whether near or far,

He strips from man that mantle (far more dear
Than even the tailors), his incarnate skin,
White, black, or copper — the dead bones will grin.

XIII.
And thus Death laughs, — it is sad merrimenti

But still it is so ; and with such example
Why should not Life be equally content

With his superior, in a smile to trample
Upon the nothings which are daily spent

Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample
Than the eternal deluge, which devours
Suns as rays — worlds like atoms — years like hours 1

XIV.

*' To be, or not to be ? that is the question,"

Says Shakspeare, who just now is much in fashion.

I am neither Alexander nor Hephsestion,
Nor ever had for abstract fame much passion ;

But would much rather have a sound digestion
Than Buonaparte's cancer : could I dash on

Through fifty victories to shame or fame,

Without a stomach — what were a good name?

»2 DON JUAJf.

XV.

" Oh dura ilia messorum ! " — " Oh

Te rigid guts of reapers ! " I translate
For the great benefit of those who know

What indigestion is — that inward fate
Which makes all Styx through one small liver flotr

A peasant's sweat is worth his lord's estate :
Let this one toil for bread — that rack for rent, {
He who sleeps best may be the most content. /

XVI.

" To be, or not to be ? " — Ere I decide,
I should be glad to know that which is being.

'Tis true we speculate both far and wide,
And deem, because we see, we are all-seeing :

For my part, I'll enlist on neither side,
Until I see both sides for once agreeing.

For me, I sometimes think that life is death,

Bather than life a mere affair of breath.

xvir.
" Quo scais-je ? " was the motto of Montaigne,

As algo of the first academicians ;
That all is dubious which man may attain,

Was one of their most favourite positions.
There's no such thing as certainty, that's plain

As any of Mortality's conditions ;
So little do we know what we're about in
This world, I doubt if doubt itself be doubting.

XVIII.

It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float,

Like Pyrrho, on a sea of speculation ;
But what if carrying sail capsize the boat?

Your wise men don't know much of navigation {
And swimming long in the abyss of thought

Is apt to tire : a calm and shallow station
Well nigh the shore, where one stoops down and gather*
Some pretty shell, is best for moderate bathers.

XIX.

" But heaven," as Cassio says, " is above all —
No more of this, then, — let us pray ! " We have

Souls to save, since Eve's slip and Adam's fall,
Which tumbled all mankind into the grave,

Besides fish, beasts, and birds. " The sparrow's fall
Is special providence," though how it gave

Offence, we know not ; probably it perch'd

Upon the tree which Eve so fondly search'd.

DON JOAN. 253

I

XX.

Oh ! ye immortal Gods ! what is theogony ?

Oh ! thou, too, mortal man ! what is philanthropy ?
Oh ! world, which was and is, what is cosmogony?

Some people have accused me of misanthropy ;
And yet I know no more than the mahogany

That forms this desk, of what they mean ; lykanthropy
I comprehend, for without transformation •

Men become wolves on any slight occasion.

XXI.

But I, the mildest, meekest of mankind,
Like Moses, or Melancthon, who have ne'er

Done anything exceedingly unkind, —
And (though I could not now and then forbear

Following the bent of body or of mind)
Have always had a tendency to spare, —

Why do they call me misanthrope ? Because

They hate me, not I them : — and here we'll pause.

XXII.

Tis time we should proceed with onr good poem, —

For I maintain that it is really good,
Not only in the body but the proem,

However little both are understood
Just now, — but by and by the Truth will show 'em

Herself in her sublimest attitude :
And till she doth, I fain must be content
To share her beauty and her banishment.

XXIII.

Our hero (and, I trust, kind reader ! yours — ;

Was left upon his way to the chief city
Of the immortal Peter's polish'd boors,

Who still have shown themselves more brave than witty.
I know its mighty empire now allures

Much flattery — even Voltaire's, and that's a pity,
For me, I deem an absolute autocrat
Not a barbarian, but much worse than that.

XXIV.

And I will war, at least in words (and— should
My chance so happen— deeds), with all who war

With Thought ;— and of Thought's foes by far most rude,
Tyrants and sycophants have been and are.

I know not who may conquer : if I could
Have such a prescience, it should be no bar

To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation

Of every despotism in every nation.
28

154 DOS JUAN.

XXV.

It is not that I adulate the people :

Without me, there are demagogues enough,

And infidels, to pull down every steeple,
And set up in their stead some proper stuff.

Whether they may sow scepticism to reap hell,
As is the Christian dogma rather rough,

I.do not know ; — I wish men to be free

As much from mobs as kings — from you as me;

XXVI.

The consequence is, being of no party,
I shall offend all parties : — never mind !

My words, at least, are more sincere aad hearty
Than if I sought to sail before the wind.

He who has nought to gain can have small art : he
Who neither wishes to be bound or bind,

May still expatiate freely, as will I,

If or give my voice to slavery's jackall cry.

That's an appropriate simile, that jackall, —
I've heard them in the Ephesian ruins howl

By night, as do that mercenary pack all,

Power's base purveyors, who for pickings prowl.

And scent the prey their masters would attack alt
However, the poor jackalls are less foul

(As being the brave lion's keen providers)

Than human insects, catering for spiders.

XXVIII.

Raise but an arm ! 'twill brush their web awayr
And without that, their poison and their claws

Are useless. Mind, good people ! what I say —
(Or rather peoples) — go on without pause !

The web of these tarantulas each day

Increases, till you shall make common cause ;

Done, save the Spanish fly and Attic bee,

As yet are strongly stinging to be free.

XXIX.

Don Juan, who had shone in the late slaughter,
Was left upon his way with the despatch,

Where blood was talk'd of as we would of water ;
And carcasses that lay as thick as thatch

0 er silenced cities, merely served to flatter

Fair Catherine's pastime — who look'd on the match

Between thosa nations as a main of cocks.

Wherein she liked her own to stand like rocks.

DON JUAN. 25

XXX.

And there in a kibitka he roll'd on
(A cursed sort of carriage without springs,

Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole bone,}
Pondering on glory, chivalry, and kings,

And orders, and on all that he had done —
And wishing that post-horses had the wings

Of Pegasus, or at the least post-chaises

Had feathers, when a traveller on deep "ways is.

XXXI.

At every jolt — and they were many — still
He turn'd his eyes upon his little charge,

As if he wish'd that she should fare less ill
Than he, in these sad highways left at large

To ruts, and flints, and lovely Nature's skill,
Who is no paviour, nor admits a barge

On her canals, where God takes sea and land,

Fishery and farm, both into his own hand.

XXXII.

At last he pays no rent, and has best right

To be the first of what we used to call
" Gentlemen farmers " — a race worn out quite,

Since lately there have been no rents at all,
And " gentlemen " are hi a piteous plight,

And " farmers " can't raise Ceres from her fall :
She fell with Buonaparte — What strange thoughts
Arise, when we see emperors fall with oats !

XXXIII.

But Juan turn'd his eyes on the sweet child

Whom he had saved from slaughter — what a trophy *

Oh ! ye who build up monuments, denied
With gore, like Nadir Shah, that costive sophy,

Who after leaving Hindostan a wild,
And scarce to the Mogul a cup of coffee

To soothe his woes withal, was slain, the sinner !

Because he could no more digest his dinner :

xxxiv.
Oh ye .' or we ! or he ! or she ! reflect,

That one life saved, especially if young
Or pretty, is a thing to recollect

Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung
From the manure of human clay, though deck'd

With all the praises ever said or sung :
Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within
Your heart joins chorus, Fame is but a din.

25C DON JUAN.

XXXV.

Oh ! ye great authors luminous, voluminous !

Ye twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes !
Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers, illumine us !

Whether you're paid by government in bribes,
To prove the public debt is not consuming us —

Or roughly treading on the " courtier's kibes,"
With clownish heel, your popular circulation
Feeds you by printing half the realm's starvation ! —

Oh, ye great authors ! — " Apropos des bottes," —
I have forgotten what I meant te say,

As sometimes have been greater sages' lots ; —
'Twas something calculated to allay

All wrath in barracks, palaces, or cots :
Certes it would have been but thrown away,

And that's one comfort for my lost advice,

Although no doubt it was beyond all price.

xxx vn.

But let it go : — it will one day be found
With other relics of " a former world,"

When this world shall be/omer, underground,
Thrown topsy-turvy, twisted, crisp'd and curl'd,

Baked, fried, or burnt, turn'd inside out, or drown'd,
Lake all the worlds before, which have been hurl'd

First out of, and then back again to chaos,

The superstratum which will overlay us.

XXXVIII.

So Cuvier says ; — and then shall come again

Unto the new creation rising out
From our old crash, some mystic, ancient strain

Of things destroy'd and left in airy doubt ;
Like to the notions we now entertain
• Of Titans, giants, fellows of about
Some hundred feet in height, not to say miles,
And mammoths, and your winged crocodiles.

KKXIX.

Ihink if then George the Fourth should be dug up !

How the new worldlings of the then new East
Will wonder where such animals could sup !

(For they themselves will be but of the least :
Even worlds miscarry, when too oft they pup,

And every new creation hath decreased
In size, from overworking the material —
Men are but maggots of some huge Earth's burial.)

257

How will — to these young people, just thrust out
From some fresh Paradise, and set to plough,

And dig, and sweat, and turn themselves about
And plant, and reap, and spin, and grind, and sow

Till all the arts at length are brought about,
Especially of war and taxing — how,

I say, will these great relics, when they see "em,

Look like the monsters of a new museum ?

But I am apt to grow too metaphysical :
" The time is out of joint," and so am I ;

I quite forget this poem's merely quizzical,
And deviate into matters rather dry,

I ne'er decide what I shall say, and this I call
Much too poetical : men should know why

They write, and for what end ; but note or text,

I never know the word which will come next.

XLII.
So on I ramble, now and then narrating,

Now pondering ; — it is time we should narrate.
I left Don Juan, with his horses baiting —

Now we'll get o'er the ground at a great rate.
I shall not be particular in stating

His journey, we've so many tours of late :
Suppose him then at Petersburgh ; suppose
That pleasant capital of painted snows ;

XLIII.
Suppose him in a handsome uniform ;

A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume,
Waving, like sails new shiver'd in a storm,

Over a cock'd hat in a crowded room,
And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn Gorme,

Of yellow" casimire we may presume
White stockings drawn uncurdled as new milk
O'er linfbs whose symmetry set off the silk ;

XLIV.
Suppose him sword by side, and hat in hand,

Made up by youth, fame, and an army tailor —
That great enchanter, at whose rod's command

Beauty springs forth, and Nature's self turns paler,
Seeing how Art can make her work more grand

When she don't pin men's limbs in like a gaoler), —
Behold him placed as if upon a pillar ! He
Seems Love turn'd a lieutenant of artillery.
23*

Jj8 DON JUAH.

XLV.

His bandage slipp'd down iuto a cravat ;

His wings subdued to epaulettes ; his quiver
Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at

His side as a small sword, but sharp as ever ;
His bow converted into a cock'd hat \

But still so like, that Psyche were more clever
Than some wines (who make blunders no less stupid),
If she had not mistaken him for Cupid.

XLVI.

The courtiers stared, the ladies whisper'd, and

The empress smiled : the reigning favourite frown'd-

I quite forget which of them was in hand
Just then ; as they are rather numerous found,

Who took by turns that difficult command,
Since first her majesty was singly crown 'd :

But they were mostly nervous six-foot fellows,

All fit to make a Patagonian jealous.

XLVII.
Juan was none of these, but slight and slim,

Blushing and beardless ; and yet ne'ertheless
There was a something in his turn of limb,

And still more in his eye, which seem'd to express,
That though he look'd like one of the seraphim,

There lurk'd a man beneath the spirit's dress. i
Besides, the empress sometimes liked a boy,
And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.

XLVII.

No wonder then that Yermoloff, or Momonoff,

Or Scherbatoff, or any other off
Or on, might dread her majesty had not room enough

Within her bosom (which was not too tough)
For a new flame ; a thought to cast of gloom enough

Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough,
Of him who, in the language of his station,
Then held that " high official situation."

0, gentle ladies ! should you seek to know
The import of this diplomatic phrase,

Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess show

His parts of speech ; and in the strange displays

Of that odd string of words, all in a row,
Which none divine, and every one obeys,

Perhaps you may pick out some queer no meaning,

Of that weak wordy harvest the sole gleaning.

DON JUAN. 259

L.

I tnmk I can explain myself without

'Chat sad inexplicable beast of prey —
That Sphinx, whose words would ever be a doubt,

Did not his deeds unriddle them each day —
That monstrous hieroglyphic — that long spout

Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh !
And here I must an anecdote relate,
But luckily of no great length or weight.

LI.
An English lady ask'd of an Italian,

What were the actual and official duties
Of the strange thing, some women set a value on,

Which hovers oft about some married beauties.
Called " Cavalier servente ?" a Pygmalion

Whose statues warm (I fear, alas ! too true 't is)
Beneath his art. The dame, press'd to disclose them,
Said — " Lady, I beseech you to suppose them."

LII.

And thus I supplicate your supposition,

And mildest, matron-like interpretation,
Of the imperial favourite's condition.

'Twas a high place, the highest in the nation
In fact, if not in rank ; and the suspicion

Of any one's attaining to his station,
No doubt gave pain, where each new pair of shoulders,
If rather broad, made stocks rise and their holders.

LIII.
Juan, I said, was a most beauteous boy,

And had retain'd his boyish look beyond
The usual hirsute seasons which destroy,

With beards and whiskers, and the like, the fond
Parisian aspect, which upset old Troy,

And founded Doctors' Commons : — I have conn'd
The history of divorces, which, though chequer'd,
Calls Ilion's the first damages on record.

nv.

And Catherine, who loved all things, (save her lord.

Who was gone to his place,) and pass'd for much
Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorr'd)

Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch
Of sentiment ; and he she most adored

Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such
A lover as had cost her many a tear,
And yet but made a middling grenadier.

260 DON JUAN.

LV.

Oh thou "teterrima causa" of all "belli" —
Thou gate of life and death — thou nondescript !

Whence is our exit and our entrance, — well I
May pause in pondering how all souls are dipt

In thy perennial fountain : how man fell, I

Know not, since knowledge saw her branches stript

Of her first fruit ; but how he falls and rises

Since, thou hast settled beyond all surmises.

LVI.

Some call thee " the worst cause of war," but 1
Maintain thou art the best : for after all

From thee we come, to thee we go, and why
To get at thee not batter down a wall,

Or waste a world ? since no one can deny

Thou dost replenish worlds both great and small :

With, or without thee, all things at a stand

Are, or would be, thou sea of life's dry land !

LVII.
Catherine, who was the grand epitome

Of that great cause of war, or peace, or what
You please (it causes all the things which be,

So you may take your choice of this or that) —
Catherine, I say, was very glad to see

The handsome herald, on whose plumage sat
Victory ; and, pausing as she saw him kneel
With his despatch, forgot to break the seal.

LYIII.

Then recollecting the whole empress, nor

Forgetting quite the woman (which composed

At least three parts of this great whole) , she tore
The letter open with an air which posed

The court, that watch'd each look her visage wore,
Until a royal smile at length disclosed

Fair weather for the day. Though rather spacious

Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious.

LIX.

Great joy was hers, or rather joys : the first
Was a ta'en city, thirty thousand slain.

Glory and triumph o'er her aspect burst,
As an East Indian sunrise on the main.

These quench'd a moment her ambition's thirst — •
So Arab deserts drink in summer's rain :

In vain ! — As fall the dews on quenchless

Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands

DON JOAN. 261

LX.

Her next amusement was more fanciful ;

She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who threw
Into a Russian couplet rather dull

The whole gazette of thousands whom he slew.
Her third was feminine enough to annul

The shudder which runs naturally through
Our veins, when things call'd sovereigns think it best
To kill, and generals turn it into jest.

LXI.
The two first feelings ran their course complete,

And lighted first her eye, and then her mouth :
'Die whole court look'd immediately mosc sweet,

Like flowers well water'd after a long .drouth : —
But when on the lieutenant at her feet

Her mtjesty, who liked to gaze on youth
Almost as much as on a new despatch,
Glanced mildly, all the world was on the watch.

LXII.

Though somewhat large, exuberant, and truculent,
When wroth — while phased, she was as fine a figure

As those who like things rosy, ripe, and succulent,
Would wish to look on, while they are in vigour.

She could repay each amatory look you lent

With interest, and in turn was wont with rigour

To exact of Cupid's bills the full amount

At sight, nor would permit you to discount.

LXIII.
With her the latter, though at times convenient,

Was not so necessary ; f<Jr they tell
That she was handsome, and though fierce look'd lenient,

And always used her favourites too well.
If once beyond her boudoir's precincts in ye went,

Your " f$rtune " was in a fair way " to swell
A man " (as Giles says) ; for though she would widow all
Nations, she liked man as an individual.

LXIV.
What a strange thing is man ! and what a stranger

Is woman ! What a whirlwind is her head,
And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger

Is all the rest about her ! Whether wed,
Or widow, maid, or mother, she can change her

Mind like the wind : whatever she has said
Or done, is light to what she'll say or do ; —
The oldest thing on record, and yet new !

862 DON JUAN.

LXV.

Oh Catherine ! (for of all interjections,
To thee both oh ! and ah ! belong of right

In love and war) how odd are the connections
Of human thoughts, which jostle in their flight !

Just now yours were cut out in different sections :
First Ismail's capture caught your fancy quite ;

Next of new knights, the fresh and glorious batch :

And thirdly he who brought you the despatch !

LXVI.

Shakspeare talks of " the herald Mercury

New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ;"
And some such visions cross'd her majesty,

While her young herald knelt before her still.
Tis very true the hill seem'd rather high,

For a lieutenant to climb up ; but skill
Smooth'd even the Simplon's steep, and by God's blessing,
With youth and health all kisses are " heaven-kissing."

LXVII.
Her Majesty look'd down, the youth took'd up —

And so they fell in love ; — she with his face,
His grace, his God-knows-what : for Cupid's cup

With the first draught intoxicates apace,
A quintessential laudanum or '• black drop,"

Which makes one drunk at once, without the base
Expedient of full bumpers ; for the eye
In love drinks all life's fountains, (save tears) dry.

LXVIII.

He, on the other hand, if not on love,

Fell into that no less imperious passion,
Self-love — which, when some sort of thing above

Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion,
Or duchess, princess, empress, " deigns to prove '*

('T is Pope's phrase) a great longing, though a rash one,
For one especial person out of many,
Makes us believe ourselves as good as any.

LXIX.

besides, he was of that delighted age
Which makes all female ages equal — when

We don't much care with whom we may engage,
As bold as Daniel in the lion's den,

So that we can our native sun assuage

In the next ocean, which may flow just then,

To make a twilight in, just as Sol's heat is

Quench'd in the lap of the salt sea, or Thetis.

263

LXX.

And Catherine (we must say thus much for Catherine),
Though boid and bloody, was the kind of thing

Whose temporary passion was quite flattering,
Because each lover look'd a sort of king,

Made up upon an amatory pattern,
A royal husband in all save the ring —

Which being the damn'dest part of matrimony,

Scem'd taking out the sting to leave the honey.

LXXI.

And when yon add to this, her womanhood

In its meridian, her Hue eyes or gray —
(The last, if they have soul, are quite as good,

Or better, as the best examples say
Napoleon's, Mary's (queen of Scotland), should

Lend to that colour a transcendent ray ;
And Pallas also sanctions the same hue,
Too wise to look through optics black or bine)—

LXXII.

Her sweet smile, and her then majestic figure,
Her plumpness, her imperial condescension,
Her preference of a boy to men much bigger

(Fellows whom Messalina's self would pension)*
Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigour,

With other extras^ which we need not mention-
All these, or any one of these, explain
Enough to make a stripling very vain.

ixxm.
And that's enough, for love is vanity,

Selfish in its beginning as its end,
Except where 't is a mere insanity,

A maddening spirit which would strive to blend
Itself with beauty's frail inanity,

On which the passion's self seems to depend :
And hence some heathenish philosophers
Make lore the main-spring of the universe.

UHEIV.

Besides Platonic love, besides the love

Of God, the love of sentiment, the loving
Of faithful pairs — (I needs must rhyme with dofe,

That good old steam-boat which keeps verses moving:
'Gainst reason — Reason ne'er was hand-and-glove

With rhyme, bnt always leant less to improving-
The sound than sense) — besides all these pretences
To love, there are those things which words name nouses.:

264 DON JUAK.

LXXV.

Those movements, those improvements in our bodies
Which make all bodies anxious to get out

Of their own sand-pits, to mix with a goddess,
For such all women are at first no doubt.

How beautiful that moment ! and how odd is
That fever which precedes the languid rout

Of our sensations ! What a curious way

The whole thing is of clothing souls in clay !

LXXVI.
The noblest kind of love is love Platonical,

To end or to begin with ; the next grand
Is that which may be christen'd love canonical,

Because the clergy take the thing in hand ;
The third sort to be noted in our chronicle

As flourishing in every Christian land,
Is, when chaste matrons to their other ties
Add what may be call'd marriage in disguise.

LXXVII.

Well, we won't analyse — our story must
Tell for itself : the sovereign was smitten,

Juan much flatter'd by her love, or lust ; —
I cannot stop to alter words once written,

And the two are so mix'd with human dust,

That he who names one, both perchance may hit on;

But in such matters Russia's mighty empress

Behaved no better than a common sempstress.

LXXVII I

The whole court melted into one wide whisper,
And all lips were applied unto all ears !

The elder ladies' wrinkles curl'd much crisper
As they beheld ; the younger cast some leers

On one another, and each lovely lisper
Smiled as she talk'd the matter o'er ; but tears

Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye

Of all the standing army that stood by.

txxix.

All the ambassadors of all the powers
Inquired, Who was this very new young man,

Who promised to be great in some few hours ?
Which is full soon (though life is but a span).

Already they beheld the silver showers
Of rubles rain, as fast as specie can,

Upon his cabinet, besides the presents

Of several ribands, and some thousand peasants.

265

IXXX.

Catherine was generous, — all such ladies are :
Lore, that great opener of the heart and all

The ways that lead there, be they near or far,
Above, below, by turnpikes great or small,—

Love— (though she had a cursed taste for war,
And was not the best wife, unless we call

Such Clytemnestra, though perhaps 'tis better

That one should die, than two drag on the fetter)—

LXXXI.

Love had made Catherine make each lover's fortune,

Unlike our own half-chaste Elizabeth,
Whose avarice all disbursements did importune,

If history, the grand liar, ever saith
The truth ; and though grief her old age might shorten,

Because she put a favourite to death,
Her vile, ambiguous method of flirtation,
And stinginess, disgrace her sex and station.

LXXXII.

But when the levee rose, and all was bustle

In the dissolving circle, all the nations'
Ambassadors began as 'twere to hustle

Round the young man with their congratulation!.
Also the softer silks were heard to rustle

Of gentle dames, among whose recreations
It is to speculate on handsome faces,
Especially when such lead to high places.

LX XXIII.

Juan, who found himself, he knew not how,

A general object of attention, made
His answers with a very graceful bow,

As if born for the ministerial trade.
Though modest, on his unembarraas'd brow

Nature had \rritten " gentleman." He said
Little, but to the purpose ; and his manner
Flung hovering graces o'er him like a banner.

LXXXIT.
An order from her majesty consign'd

Our young lieutenant to the genial care
Of those in office : all the world look'd kind,

(As it will look sometimes with the first stare,
Which youth would not acl ill to keep in mind,)

As also did Miss Protasoff then ther',
Named from her mystic office " 1'Eprouveuse,"
A term inexplicable to the Muse.
M

LXXXV.

With her then, as in humble duty bound,
Juan retired, — and so will I, until

My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground."
We hare just lit on a " heaven-kissing Iu3

So lofty that I feel my brain turn round,
And all my fancies whirling like a mill \

Which is a signal to my nerves and brain,

To take a quiet ride in SOT™ green laa*.

CANTO THE TENTH.

I.

WHEN Newton saw an apple fall, he found
In that slight startle from his contemplation —

'Tis said (for I'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation) —

A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round
In a most natural whirl, call'd " gravitation ;"

And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,

Since Adam, with a fall, or with an apple.

ii.
Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,

If this be true ; for we must deem the mode
In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose

Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,
A thing to counterbalance human woes :

For ever since immortal man hath glow'd
With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon
Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.

in.

And wherefore this exordium ? — Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,

My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper :

And though so much inferior, as I know,

To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,

Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye,

I wish to do as much by poesy.

IV.

In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail ; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim ;

But at the least I've shunn'd the common shore,
And leaving land far out of sight, would skim

The ocean of eternity : the roar

Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,

But still sea- worthy skiff ; and she may float

Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.

DON JUAN.

T.

We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom

Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush ; —

And far be it from my Muses to presume
(For I have more than one Muse at a push)

To follow him beyond the drawing-room ;
It is enough that Fortune found him flush

Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those things

Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.

VI.

But soon they grow again and leave their nest.

" Oh !" saith the Psalmist, " that I had a dove's
Pinions to flee away, and be at rest !"

And who that recollects young years and loves, —
Though hoary now, and with a withering breast,

And palsied fancy, which no longer roves
Beyond its dimm'd eye's sphere, — but would much rather
Sigh like a son, than cough like his grandfather ?

VII.

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,

Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow,
So narrow as to shame their wintry brink,

Which threatens inundations deep and yellow !
Such difference doth a few months make. You'd think

Grief a rich field that never would lie fallow ;
No more it doth, its ploughs but change their boys,
Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys.

VIII.

But coughs will come when sighs depart — and now
And then before sighs cease ; for oft the one

Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow
Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun

Of life reach'd ten o'clock : and while a glow,
Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done,

O'erspreads tlie cheek which seems too pure for clay,

Thousands blaze, love, hope, die, — how happy they !—

IX.

But Juan was not meant to die so soon.

We left him in the focus of such glory
As may be won by favour of the moon

Or ladies' fancies — rather transitory
Perhaps : but who would scorn the month of June,

Because December, with his breath so hoary,
Must come ? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

DON JUAN. 269

X.

Besides, he had some qualities which fix
Middle-aged ladies even more than young :

The former know what's what ; while new-fledged chicks
Know little more of love than what is sung

In rhymes, or dreamt (for fancy will play tricks)
In visions of those skies from whence Love sprung.

Some reckon women by their suns or years,

I rather think the moon should date the dears.

XI.

And why ? because she's changeable and chaste.

I know no other reason, whatsoe'er
Suspicious people, who find fault in haste,

May choose to tax me with : which is not fair,
Nor flattering to " their temper or their taste,"

As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air
However, I forgive him, and I trust
He will forgive himself ; — if not, I must.

XII.

Old enemies who have become new friends
Should so continue — 'tis a point of honour,

And I know nothing which could make amends
For a return to hatred : I would shun her

Like garlic, howsoever she extends
Her hundred arms and legs, and fain outrun her

Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foes —

Converted foes should scorn to join with those.

XIII.

This were the worst desertion : — renegadoes,
Even shuffling Southey, that incarnate lie,

Would scarcely join again the " reformadoes,"
Whom he forsook to fill the laureate's sty ;

And honest men from Iceland to Barbadoes,
Whether in Caledon or Italy,

Should not veer round with every breath, nor seize

To pain, the moment when you cease to please.

XIV.

The lawyer and the critic but behold

The baser sides of literature and life,
And nought remains unseen, but much untold,

By those who scour those double vales of strife.
While common men grow ignorantly old,
. The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife,
Dissecting the whole inside of a question,
And with it all the process of digestion.
24* ,

270 DON JUAJT.

XV.

A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper,
And that's the reason he himself s so dirty

The endless soot bestows a tint far deeper
Than can be hid by altering his shirt ; he

Retains the sable stains of the dark creeper,
At least some twenty-nine do out of thirty,

In all their habits ; — not so you, I own ;

As Caesar wore his robe you wear your gown.

XVI.

And all our little feuds, at least all mine,

Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe
As far as rhyme and criticism combine
To make such puppets of us things below),

Are over : Here's a health to " Auld Lang Syne !'
I do not know you, and may never know

Your face — but you have acted on the whole

Most nobly, and I own it from my soul.

And when I use the phrase of " Auld Lang Syne !"
Tis not address'd to you — the more's the pity

For me, for I would rather take my wine
With you, than aught (save Scott) in your proud city.

But somehow, — it may seem a schoolboy's whine,
And yet I seek not to be grand nor witty,

But I am half a Scot by birth, and bred

A whole one, and my heart flies to my head), —

XVIII.

As " Auld Lang Syne" brings Scotland, one and all,
Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills, and clear
streams,

The Dee, the Don, Balgounie's brig's black wall,
All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams

Of what I then dreamt, clotlied in their own pall,
lake Banquo's offspring ; — floating past me seems

My childhood in this childishness of mine

I care not — 'tis a glimpse of " Auld Lang Syne."

XIX.

And though, as you remember, in a fit
Of wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and curly,

I rail'd at Scots to show my wrath and wit,
Which must be own'd, was sensitive and surly,

Yet 'tis in vain such sallies to permit,

They cannot quench young feelings fresh and early :

I " scotch d, not kill'd," the Scotchman in my blood

And love the land of " mountain and of flood."

DON JUAN. 271

XX.

Don Juan, who was real, or ideal, —

For both are much the same, since what men think;
Exists when the once thinkers are less real

Than what they thought, for mind can never sink,
And "gainst the body makes a strong appeal ;

And yet 'tis very puzzling on the brink
Of what is call'd eternity, to stare,
And know no more of what is here, than there ; —

XXI.

Don Juan grew a very polish'd Russian —
How we won't mention, why we need not say :

Few youthful minds can stand the strong concussion
Of any slight temptation in their way ;

But his just now were spread as is a cushion
Smooth'd for a monarch's seat of honour : gay

Damsels, and dances, revels, ready money,

Made ice seem paradise, and winter sunny.

XXII

The favour of the empress was agreeable ;

And though the duty wax'd a little hard,
Young people at his time of life should be able

To come off handsomely in that regard.
He was now growing up like a green tree, able

For love, war, or ambition, which reward
Their luckier votaries, till old age's tedium
Make some prefer the circulating medium.

XXIII.

About this time, as might have been anticipated,
Seduced by youth and dangerous examples,

Don Juan grew, I fear, a little dissipated ;
Which is a sad thing, and not only tramples

On our fresh feelings, but — as being participated
With all kinds of incorrigible samples

Of frail humanity — must make us selfish,

And shut our souls up in us like a shell-fish.

XXIV.

This we pass over. We will also pass

The usual progress of intrigues .between
Unequal matches, such as are, alas !

A young lieutenant's with a not old queen,
But one who is not so youthful as she was

In all the royalty of sweet seventeen.
Sovereigns may sway materials, but not matter,
And wrinkles, the d d democrats, won't fla-tter

272 DON JUAJJ.

XXV.

And Death, the sovereign's sovereign, though the great

Gracchus of all mortality, -who levels,
With his Agrarian laws, the high estate

Of him who feasts, and fights, and roars, and revels,
To one small grass-grown patch (which must await

Corruption for its crop) with the poor devils
Who never had a foot of land till now, —
Death's a reformer, all men must allow.

XXVI.

He lived (not Death, hut Juan) in a hurry

Of waste, and haste, and glare, and gloss, and glitter,

In this gay clime of bearskins black and furry, —
Which (though I hate to say a thing that's bitter)

Peep out sometimes, when things are in a flurry,
Through all the " purple and fine linen," fitter
.For Babylon's than Russia's royal harlot —

And neutralise her outward show of scarlet

xxvn.

And this same state we won't describe : we would
Perhaps from hearsay, or from recollection ;

But getting nigh grim Dante's " obscure wood,"
That horrid equinox, that hateful section

Of human years, that half-way house, that rude

Hut, whence wise travellers drive with circumspection

Life's sad post-horses o'er the dreary frontier,

Of age, and looking back to youth, give one tear ; —

XXVIII

I won't describe, — that is, if I can help
Description : and I won't reflect — that is,

If I can stave off thought, which — as a whelp
Clings to its teat — sticks to me through the abyss

Of this odd labyrinth ; or as the kelp
Holds by the rock ; or as a lover's kiss

Drains its first draught of lips : — but, as I said,

I won't philosophise, and will be read.

XXIX.

Juan, instead of courting courts, was courted, —
A thing which happens rarely : this he owed

Much to his youth, and much to his reported
Valour ; much also to the blood he show'd,

Like a race-horse ; much to each dress he sported,
Which set the beauty off in which he glow'd,

As purple clouds befringe the sun : but most

He owed to an old woman and his post.

.DON JUAN.
XXX.

He wrote to Spain : — and ail his near relations,

Perceiving he was in a handsome way
Of getting on himself, and finding stations

For cousins also, answer 'd the same day.
Several prepared themselves for emigrations :

And eating ices, were o'erheard to say,
That with the addition of a slight pelisse,
Madrid's and Moscow's climes were of a piece."

XXXI.

His mother, Donna Inez, finding, too,
That in the lieu of drawing on his banker,

Where his assets were waxing rather few,

He had brought his spending to a handsome anchor,

Replied, " that she was glad to see him through
Those pleasures after which wild youth will hanker;

As the sole sign of man's being in his senses

Is, learning to reduce his past expenses.

XXXII.

" She also recommended him to God,
And no less to God's Son, as well as Mother,

Warn'd him against Greek worship, which looks odd
In Catholic eyes ; but told him, too, to smother

Outward dislike, which don't look well abroad ;
Inform'd him that he had a little brother

Born in a second wedlock ; and above

All, praised the empress's maternal love.

XXXIII.

" She could not too much give her approbation
Unto an empress, who preferr'd young men

Whose age, and what was better still, whose nation
And climate, stopp'd all scandal (now and then) : —

At home it might have given her some vexation ;
But where thermometers sunk down to ten,

Or five, or one, or zero, she could never

Believe that virtue thaw'd before the river."

XXXIV.

Oh for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy ! Oh for a hymn

Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,
Not practise ! Oh for trumps of cherubim

Or the ear-trumpet of my good old aunt,
Who, though her spectacles at last grew dim,

Drew quiet consolation through its hint,

When she no more could read the pious print

274 DON JUAN.

XXXV.

She was no hypocrite at least, poor soul,
But went to heaven in as sincere a way

As any body on the elected roll,

Which portions out upon the judgment day

Heaven's freeholds, in a sort of doomsday scroll,
Such as the conqueror William did repay

His knights with, lotting others' properties

Into some sixty thousand new knights' fees.

XXXVI.

I can't complain, whose ancestors are there,
Erneis, Radulphus — eight-and-forty manors

(If that my memory doth not greatly err)
Were their reward for following Billy's banners ;

And though I can't help thinking 'twas scarce fair
To strip the Saxons of their hydes, like tanners ;

Yet as they founded churches with the produce,

You'll deem, no doubt, they put it to a good use.

XXXVII.

The gentle Juan flourish'd, though at times

He felt like other plants call'd sensitive,
Which shrink from touch, as monarchs do from rhymes,

Save such as Southey can afford to give.
Perhaps he long'd in bitter frosts for climes

In which the Neva's ice would cease to live
Before May-day : perhaps, despite his duty,
In royalty's vast arms he sigh'd for beauty :

XXXVIII.

Perhaps — but, sans perhaps, we need not seek
For causes young or old : the canker-worm

Will feed upon the fairest, freshest cheek,
As well as further drain the wither'd form :

Care, like a housekeeper, brings every week
His bills in, and however we may storm,

They must be paid ; though six days smoothly run,

The seventh will bring blue devils or a dun.

xxxix.

I don't know how it was, but he grew sick :
The empress was alarm'd, and her physician

(The same who physick'd Peter) found the tick
Of his fierce pulse betoken a condition

Which augur'd of the dead, however quick
Itself, and show'd a feverish disposition ;

At which the whole court was extremely troubled,

The sovereign shock'd, and all his medicines doubled.

DON JCAff. 371

XL.

Low were the whispers, manifold tho rumours :
Some said he had been poison'd by Potemkin ;

Others talk'd learnedly of certain tumours,
Exhaustion, or disorders of the same kin ;

Some said 'twas a concoction of the humours
Which with the blood too readily will claim kin ;

Others again were ready to maintain,

" Twas only the fatigue of last campaign.*'

XLI.

But here is one prescription out of many :

" Soda sulphat. 375. ^fs. Manna optim.
Aq. fervent, f. * ifs. Jij. tinct. Senna

Haustus " (And here the surgeon came and cupp'd hitt)
" B Pulv. Com. gr. iij. Ipecacuanha "

(With more beside if Juan had not stopp'd "em
" Bolus Potassa Sulphuret. sumendus,
£t haustus ter in die capiendus."

XLII.

This is the way physicians mend or end us,
Secundum artem : but although we sneer

In health — when ill, we call them to attend us,
Without the least propensity to jeer:

While that " hiatus maxime deflendus "
To be flll'd up by spade or mattocks near,

Instead of gliding graciously down Lethe,

We tease mild Baillie, or soft Abernethy.

XL1II.

Juan demurr'd at this first notice to

Quit ; and though death had threaten M an ejection*
His youth and constitution bore him through,

And sent the doctovs in a new direction.
But still his state was delicate : the hue

Of health hut flicker'd with a faint reflection
Along his wasted cheek, and seem'd to gravel
The faculty — who said that he must travel.

x

XLIV.

The climate was too cold, they said, for him,
Meridian-born, to bloom in. This opinion

Made the chaste Catherine look a little grim,
Who did not like at first to lose het minion :

But when she saw his dazzling eyo wax dim,
And drooping like an eagle's with dipt pinion.

She then resolved to send him on a mission,

But in a style becoming his condition.

arc DOM JUAN.

XLV.

There was just then a kind of a discussion,

A sort of treaty or negotiation,
Between the British cabinet and Russian,

Maintain'd with all the due prevarication .
With which great states such things are apt to push on ;

Something about the Baltic's navigation,
Hides, train-oil, tallow, and the rights of Thetis,
Which Britons deem their " uti possidetis."

XLVI.

Fo Catherine, who had a handsome way

Of fitting out her favourites, conferr'd
This secret charge on Juan, to display

At once her royal splendour, and reward
His services. He kiss'd hands the next day,

Received instructions how to play his card,
Was laden with all kinds of gifts and honours,
Which show*d what great discernment was the donor's.

XLVII.

But she was lucky, and luck's all. Tour queens

Are generally prosperous in reigning ;
Which puzzles us to know what Fortune means.

But to continue : though her years were waning,
Her climacteric teased her like her teens ;

And though her dignity brook'd no complaining,
So much did Juan's setting off distress her,
She could not find at first a fit successor.

XLVIII.
But time, the comforter, will come at last ;

And four-and-twenty hours, and twice that number
Of candidates requesting to be placed,

Made Catherine taste next night a quiet slumber :—
Not that she meant to fix again in haste,

Nor did she find the quantity encumber,
But always choosing with deliberation,
Kept the place open for their emulation.

xux.
While this high post of honour's in abeyance,

For one or two days, reader, we request
You'll mount with our young hero the conveyance

Which wafted him /rom Petersburgh : the best
Barouche, which had the glory to display once

The fair czarina's autocratic crest,
When, a new Iphigene, she went to Tauris,
Was given to her favourite, and now bore his.

877

L.

A bull-dog, and a bullfinch, and an ermine,
All private favourites of Don Juan ; — for

(Let deeper sages the true cause determine)
He had a kind of inclination, or

Weakness, for what most people deem mere vermin,
Live animals : an old maid of threescore

For cats and birds more penchant ne'er display'd,

Although he was not old, nor even a maid ; —

LI.

The animals aforesaid occupied

Their station : there were valets, secretaries,
In other vehicles ; but at his side

Sat little Leila, who survived the parries
He made 'gainst Cossacque sabres, in the wide

Slaughter of Ismail. Though my wild Muse varies
Her note, she don't forget the infant girl
Whom he preserved a pure and living pearl.

LII.

Poor little thing ! she was as fair as docile,

And with that gentle, serious character,
As rare in living beings as a fossile

Man, 'midst thy mouldy mammoths, " grand Cuvier ! '
111 fitted was her ignorance to jostle
__ With this o'erwhelming world, where all must err.
But she was yet but ten years old, and therefore
Was tranquil, though she knew not why or wherefore.

LIII.
Don Juan loved her, and she loved him, as

Nor brother, father, sister, daughter love.
I cannot tell exactly what it was ;

He was not yet quite old enough to prove
Parental feelings, and the other class,

Call'd brotherly affection, could not move
His bosom, for he never had a sister :
Ah ! if he had, how much he would have miss'd her !

And still less was it sensual ; for besides
That he was not an ancient debauchee,

(Who like sour fruit, to stir their veins' salt tides,
As acids rouse a dormant alkali,)

Although ('twill happen as our planet guides)
His youth was not the chastest that might be,

There was the purest Platonism at bottom

Of all his feelings — only he forgot "em.
25

t?8 DON JCAH.

LT.

Just now there was no peril of temptation ;

He loved the infant orphan he had saved,
As patriots (now and then) may love a nation ;

His pride, too, felt that she was not enslaved
Owing to him ; as also her salvation

Through his means and the church's might be paved.
But one thing's odd, which here must be inserted,
The little Turk refused to be converted.

LVI.

Twas strange enough she should retain the impression
Through such a scene of change, and dread, and slaughter ;

But though three bishops told her the transgression,
She show'd a great dislike to holy water :

She also had no passion for confession ;
Perhaps she had nothing to confess : — no matter

Whate'er the cause, the church made little of it—

She still held out that Mahomet was a prophet.

LVll.

In fact, the only Christian she could bear

Was Juan ; whom she seem'd to have selected

In place of what her home and friends once were.
He naturally loved what he protected :

And thus they form'd a rather curious pair,
A guardian green in years, a ward connected

In neither clime, time, blood, with her defender ;

And yet this want of ties made theirs more tender.

LVIII.

They journey'd on through Poland and through Warsaw,
Famous for mines of salt and yokes of iron :

Through Courland also, which that famous farce saw
Which gave her dukes the graceless name of " Biron."

Tis tue same landscape which the modern Mars saw,
Who march'd to Moscow, led by Fame, the siren

To lose by one month's frost some twenty yean

Of conquest, and his guard of grenadiers.

LIX.

Let this not seem an anti-climax : — " Oh !

My guard ! my old guard ! " exclaim'd that god of day.
Think of the Thunderer's falling down below

Carotid-artery-cutting Castlereagh :
Alas ! that glory should be chill'd by snow !

But should we wish to warm us on our way
Through Poland, there is Kosciusko's name
Might scatter fire through ice, like Heela's flame.

DON JUAN. 279

LX.

*• rom Poland, they came on through Prussia Proper,
And Konigsberg the capital, whose vaunt,

Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper,
Has lately been the great Professor Kant.

Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper -

About philosophy, pursued his jaunt

To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions

Have princes who spur more than their postilions.

IJU. •

And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the like,

Until he reach 'd the castellated Rhino: —
Ye glorious Gothic scenes ! how much ye strike

All phantasies, not even excepting mine ;
A grey wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,

Make my soul pass the equinoctial line
Between the present and past worlds, and hover
Upon their airy confine, half-seas over.

LXII.
But Juan posted on through Manheim, Bonn,

Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre
Of the good feudal times for ever gone,

On which I have not time just now to lecture.
From thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne,

A city which presents to the inspector
Eleven thousand maidenheads of bone,
The greatest number flesh hath ever known.

.

From thence to Holland's Hague and Helvoetsluyg,

The water- land of Dutchmen and of ditches,
Where juniper expresses its best juice,

The poor man's sparkling substitute for riches.
Senates and sages have condemn'd its use —

But to deny the mob a cordial, which is
Too often all the clothing, meat, or fuel,
Good government has left them, seems but cruel.

LXIV.
Here he embark'd, and with a flowing sail

Went bounding for the island of the free,
Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale :

High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in the sea,
And sea-sick passengers turn'd somewhat pale,

But Juan, season'd, as he well might be,
By former voyages, stood to watch the skiffs
" 'Which pass'd, or catch the first glimpse of the cliflk.

280 DOS JUAN. ,

1XV.

At length they rose, like a white wall along
The blue sea's border ; and Don Juan felt —

What even young strangers feel a little strong
At the first sight of Albion's chalky belt —

A kind of pride that he should be among
IThose haughty shopkeepers, who sternly dealt

Their goods and edicts out from pole to pol«{

And made the very billows pay them toll.

LXVI.
I've no great cause to love that spot of earth,

Which holds what might have been the noblest nation
But though I owe it little but my birth,

I feel a mix'd regret and veneration
For its decaying fame and former worth.

Seven years (the usual term of transportation)
Of absence lay one's old resentments level,
When a man's country's going to the devil.

LXVII.

Alas ! could she but fully, truly, know

How her great name is now throughout abhorr'd ;

How eager all the earth is for the blow
Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword ;

How all the nations deem her their worst foe,
That worst than worst of foes, the once adored

False friend, who held out freedom to mankind,

And now would chain them, to the very mind : —

LXVIII.
Would she be proud, or boast herself the free,

Who is but first of slaves ? The nations are
In prison, — but the gaoler, what is he ?

No less a victim to the bolt and bar.
In the poor privilege to turn the key

Upon the captive, freedom ? He's as far
Frora the enjoyment of the earth and air
Who watches o'er the chain, as they who wear.

LX1X.

Don Juan now saw Albion's earliest beauties,
Thy cliffs, dear Dover ! harbour, and hotel ;

Thy custom-house, with all its delicate duties •
Thy waiters running mucks at every bell ;

Thy packets, all whose passengers are booties
To those who upon land or water dwell ;

And last, not least, to strangers uninstructed,

Thy long, long bills, whence nothing is deducted.

DON JUAN 281

LXX.

Juan, though careless, young, and magnifique,
Aad rich in rubles, diamonds, cash, and credit,

Who did not limit much his bills per week,
Yet stared at this a. little, though he paid it, —

(His Maggior Duomo, a smart, subtle Greek,
Before him summ'd the awful scroll and read it :)

But doubtless as the air, though seldom sunny,

Is free, the respiration's worth the money.

LXXI.
On with the horses ! Off to Canterbury ! [puddle;

Tramp, tramp o'er pebble, and splash, splash through
Hurrah ! how swiftly speeds the post so merry !

Not like slow Germany, wherein they muddle
Along the road, as if they went to bury

^heir fare ; and also pause besides, to fuddle, [flucter,"
With "schnapps" — sad dogs ! whom " Hundsfot," or " Ver-
Affect no more than lightning a conductor.

LXXI I.

Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits,
Leavening his blood as cayenne doth a curry,

As going at full speed — no matter where its
Direction be, so 't is but hi a hurry,

And merely for the sake of its own merits ;
For the less cause there is for all this flurry,

The greater is the pleasure in arriving

At the great end of travel — which is driving.

LXXIII.
They saw at Canterbury 'the cathedral ;

Black Edward's helm, and Becket's bloody stone,
Were pointed out as usual by the bedral,

In the same quaint, uninterested tone : —
There's glory again for you, gentle reader ! All

Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone,
Half-solved into these soda or magnesias,
Which form that bitter draught, the human species.

txxiv.
The effect on Juan was of course sublime ;

He breathed a thousand Cressys, as he saw
That casque, which never stoop'd except to Time.

Even the bold Churchman's tomb excited awe,
Who died in the then great attempt to climb

O'er kings, who now at least must talk of law
Before they butcher. Little Leila gazed,
And asked why such a structure had been raised :
25*

282 DON JUAN.

LXXV.

And being told it was " God's house," she said
He was well lodged, but only wonder'd how

He suffer'd Infidels in his homestead,
The cruel Nazarenes, who had laid low

His holy temples in the lands which bred
The true Believers ; — and her infant brow

Was bent with grief that Mahomet should resign

A mosque so noble, flung like pearls to swine.

LXXVI.

On ! on ! through meadows, managed like a garden.

A paradise of hops and high production ;
For after years of travel, by a bard in

Countries of greater heat, but lesser suction,
A green field is a sight which makes him pardon

The absence of that more sublime construction ;
Which mixes up vines, olives, precipices,
Glaciers, volcanos, oranges, and ices.

LXXVII.

And when I think upon a pot of beer

But 1 won't weep ! — and so drive on, postillions !

As the smart boys spurr'd fast in their career,
Juan admired these highways of free millions ;

A country in all senses the most dear
To foreigner or native, save some silly ones,

Who " kick against the pricks " just at this juncture,

And for their pains get only a fresh puncture.

LXXVIII.

What a delightful thing 's a turnpike road !

So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving
The earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad

Air can accomplish, with his wide wings waving.
Had such been cut in Phaeton's time, the god

Had told his son to satisfy his craving
With the York mail ; — but onward as we roll,
" Surgit amari aliijuid" — the toll!

LXXIX.

Alas ! how deeply painful is all payment!

Take lives, take wives, take aught except men's purses.
As Machiavel shows those in purple raiment,

Such is the shortest way to general curses.
They hate a murderer much less than a claimant

On that sweet ore which every body nurses. —
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,
But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket ;

DOH JUAN. 288

LXXX.

So said the Florentine : ye monarchs, hearken
To your instructor. Juan now was borne,

Just as the day began to wane and darken,

O'er the high hill, which looks with pride or scorn

Toward the great city. — Ye who have a spark in
Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn

According as you take things well or ill ; —

Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's hill !

LXXXI.

The sun went down, the smoke rose up, as from

A half-unquench'd volcano, o'er a space
Which well beseem'd the " Devil's drawing-room,"

As some have qualified that wondrous place ;
But Juan felt, though not approaching home,

As one who; though he were not of the race,
Revered the soil, cf those true sons the mother,
Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied t'other.

. LXXXII,

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,

Dirty, and dusky, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping

In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts ; a wilderness of steeples peeping

On tip-toe through their sea-coal canopy ;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head — and there is London Town !

LXXXIII.
But Juan saw not this : each wreath of smoke

Appeared to him but as the magic vapour
Of some alchymic furnace, from whence broke

The wealth of worlds (a wealth of tax and paper) :
The gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke

Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper,
Were nothing \>ut the natural atmosphere.
Extremely wholesome, though but rarely clear.

1XXXIV.

He paused — and so will I ; as doth a crew
Before they give their broadside. By and by,

My gentle countrymen, we will renew

Our old acquaintance ; and at least I'll try

To tell you truths you will not take as true,
Because they are so ; — a male Mrs. Fry,

With a soft besom will I sweep your halls,

And brush a web or two from off the walls.

DON JUAN.

Oh Mrs. Fry ! Why go to Newgate ? Why
Preach to p^or nprues? And wherefore not begin

With Carlt-n, or with other houses ? Try
Your hand at harden'd and imperial sin.

To meiid the people "s an absurdity,
A jargon, a mere philanthropic din,

Unless you make your betters better : — Fy !

I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry.

ixxxvi.

Teach them the decencies of good threescore ;

Cure them of tours, hussar and highland dresses :
Tell them that youth once gone returns no more,

That hired huzzas redeem no land's distresses ;
Tell them Sir William Curtis is a bore,

Too dull even for the dullest of excesses,
The witless Falstaff of a hoary Hal,
A fool whose bells have ceased to ring at ah*.

1XXXVII.

Tell them, though it may be perhaps too late
On life's worn confine, jaded, bloated, sated,

To set up vain pretences of being great,
'T is not so to be good ; and be it stated,

The worthiest kings have ever loved least state ;

And tell them But you won't, and I have prated

Just now enough ; but by and by I'll prattle

Like Roland's horn in Roucesvalles' battle.

Snn Snail.

CANTO THE ELEVENTH.

I.

WHEN Bishop Berkeley said " there was no matter,''
And proved it — 't was no matter what he said :

They say his system 't ii in vain to batter,
Too subtle for the airiest human head ;

And yet who can believe it ? I would shatter
Gladly all matters down to stone or lead,

Of adamant, to find the world a spirit,

And wear my head, denying that I wear it.

n.

What a sublime discovery t'was to make the

Universe universal egotism,
That all 's ideal — all ourselves : I'll stake the

World (be it what you will) that that's no schism.
Oh Doubt ! — if thou be'st Doubt, for which some take thee,

But which I doubt extremely — thou sole prism
Of the Truth's rays, spoil not my draught of spirit !
Heaven's brandy, though our brain can hardly bear it.

in.
For ever and anon comes Indigestion,

(Not the most " dainty Ariel ") and perplexes
Our soarings with another sort of question :

And that which after all my spirit vexes,
Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on,

Without confusion of the sorts and sexes,
Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder,
The world, which at the worst's a glorious blunder —

IV.

If it be chance ; or if it be according

To the old text, still better : — lest it should

Turn out so, we'll say nothing 'gainst the wording,
As several people think such hazards rude.

They're right ; our days are too brief for affording
Space to dispute what no one ever could

Decide, and every body one day will

Know very clearly — or at least lie stilL

283 DON JUAH.

V.

And therefore will I leave off metaphysical
Discussion, which is neither here nor there:

If I agree that what is, is ; then this I call
Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair ;

The truth is, I've grown lately rather philosophical ;
I don't know what the reason is — the air

Perhaps ; but as I suffer from the shocks

Of illness, I grow much more orthodox.

VI.

The first attack at once proved the Divinity
(But that I never doubted, nor the Devil),

The next, the Virgin's mystical virginity ;
The third, the usual Origin of Evil ;

The fourth at once established the whole Trinity
On so uncontrovertible a level,

That I devoutly wish'd the three were four,

On purpose to believe so much the more.

VII.

To our theme. — The man who has stood on the Acropolii,

And look'd down over Attica ; or he
Who has sail'd where picturesque Constantinople is,

Or seen Timbuctoo, or hath taken tea
In small-eyed China's crockery-ware metropolis,
' Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh,
May not think much of London's first appearance —
But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence ?

VIII.

Don Juan had got out on Shooter's Hill ;

Sunset the time, the place the same declivity
Which looks along that vale of good and ill

Where London streets ferment in full activity ;
While every thing around was calm and still,

Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he
Heard, — and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum
Of cities, that boil over with their scum : —

IX.

I say, Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation,
Walk'd on behind his carriage, o'er the summit,

And lost in wonder of so great a nation,

Gave way to 't, since he could not overcome it.

*' And here," he cried " is Freedom's chosen station ;
Here peals the people's voice, nor can entomb it

Hacks, prisons, inquisitions ; resurrection

Awaits it, each new meeting or election

DOR JCAH. 297

X.

M Here are chaste wives, pure lives ; here people pay
But what they please ; and if that things be dear,

Tis fcnly that they love to throw away
Their cash, to show how much they have a-year.

Here laws are all inviolate ; none lay
Traps for the traveller ; every highway's clear :

Here — " he was interrupted by a knife,

With — "Damn your eyes! your money or your life!"—-

xi.

These freeborn sounds proceeded from four pads
In ambush laid, who had perceived him kiter

Behind his carriage ; and, like handy lads,
Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre,

In which the heedless gentleman who gads^
Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter,"

May find himself within that isle of of riches

Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches.

XII.

Juan, who did not understand a word

Of English, save their shibboleth, " God damn !"

And even that he had so rarely heard,

He sometimes thought 'twas only their " Salam."

Or " God be with you !" and 'tis not absurd
To think so: for half English as I am

(To my misfortune) never can I say

I heard them wish " God with you," save that way ;—

XIII.

Juan yet quickly understood their gesture,
And being somewhat choleric and sudden,

Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,
And fired it into one assailant's pudding —

Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture,

And roar'd out, as he writhed his native mud in,

Unto his nearest follower or henchman,

*• Oh Jack ! I'm floor'd by that 'ere bloody Frenchman P

XIT.

On which Jack and his train set off at speed,
And Juan's suite, late scatter'd at a distance,

Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,
And offering, as usual, late assistance.

Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed
As if his veins would pour out his existence,

Stood calling out for bandages and lint,

And wish'd he had been less hasty with his flint.

286 DON JUAN.

XV.

«• Perhaps," thought he, «« it is the country's wont
To welcome foreigners in this way : now

i recollect some innkeepers who don't
Differ, except in robbing With a bow,

In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front,
But what is to be done ? I can't allow

The fellow to lie groaning on the road :

So take him up ; I'll help you with the load."

XVI.

But ere they could perform this pious duty

The dying man cried, " Hold ! I've got my gruol !

Oh ! for a glass of max ! We've miss'd our booty ;
Let me die where I am !" And as the fuel

Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty

The drops fell from his death wound, and he drew ill

His breath, — he from his swelling throat untied

A kerchief, crying, " Give Sal that !" — and died.

XVII.

The cravat stain'd with bloody drops fell down
Before Don Juan's feet : he could not tell

Exactly why it was before him thrown,
Noi what the meaning of the man's farewell.

Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town
A thorough varmint, and a real swell,

Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled,

His pockets first and then his body riddled.

XVTII.

Don Juan, having done the best he could

In all the circumstances of the case,
As soon as " Crowner's quest" allow'd, pursued

His travels to the capital apace ; —
Esteeming it a little hard he should

In twelve hours' time, and very little space,
Have been obliged to slay a freeborn native
In self-defence : this made him meditative.

XIX.

He from the world had cut off a great man,
Who in his time had made heroic bustle.

Who in a row like Tom could lead the van,
Boose in the ken, or at the spellken hustle ?

Who queer a flat ? Who (spite of Bow-street's baa)
On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle ?

Who on a lark with black-eyed Sal (his blowing),

So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing ?

DON JUAN. 289

XX.

But Tom's no more— and so no more of Tort.

Heroes must die ; and by God's blessing 'tis
Not long before the most of them go home.

Hail ! Thamis, hail ! Upon thy verge it is
That Juan's chariot, rolling like a drum

In thunder, holds the way it can't well miss,
Through Kennington and all the other " tons,"
Which make us.wish ourselves in town at once :— *

XXI.

Through Groves, so call'd as being void of trees,

(Like lucus from no light) ; through prospects named

Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to please,
Nor much to climb ; through little boxes framed

Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease,
With " To be let," upon their doors proclaim'd :

Through " Rows " most modestly call'd " Paradise,

Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice ;—

XXII.

Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a whirl
Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion ;

Here taverns wooing to a pint of " purl,"
There mails fast flying off like a delusion :

There barbers' blocks with periwigs in curl
In windows ; here the lamplighter's infusion

Slowly distill'd into the glimmering glass

( For in those days we had not got to gas — ) ;

XXIII.
Through this, and much, and more, is the approach

Of travellers to mighty Babylon :
Whether they come by horse, or chaise, or coach,

With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one.
I could say more, but do not choose to encroach

Upon the Guide-book's privilege. The sun
Had set some time, and night was on the ridge
Of twilight, as the party cross'd the bridge.

XXIV.

That's rather fine, the gentle sound of Thamis —
Who vindicates a moment, too, his stream —

Though hardly heard through multifarious " damme's."
The lamps of Westminster's more regular gleam,

The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where fame is
A spectral resident — whose pallid beam

In shape of moonshine hovers o'er the pile—

Make this a sacred part of Albion's isle.
26

790 DOS JUAN.

XXV.

The Druids' groyes are gone — so much the better :
Stone-Henge is not — but what the devil k it ? —

But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter,
That madmen may not bite you on a visit ;

The Bench too seats or suits full many a debtor ;
The Mansion House too (though some people quiz it)

To me appears a stiff yet grand erection ;

But then the Abbey's worth the whole collection.

XXVI.

The line of lights too up to Charing Cross,
Pall Mallt and so forth, have a coruscation

Like gold as in comparison to dross,
Match'd with the Continent's illumination,

Whose cities Night by no means deigns to gloss.
The French were not yet a lamp-fighting nation,

And when they grow so — on their new-found lantern,

Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn.

XXVII.

A row of gentlemen along the streets

Suspended may illuminate mankind,
As also bonfires made of country seats ;

But the old way is best for the purblind :
The other looks like phosphorus on sheets,

A sort of ignis fatuus to the mind,
Which though 'tis certain to perplex and frighten,
Must burn more brightly ere it can enlighten.

XXVIII.

But London's so well lit, that if Diogenes
Could recommence to hunt his honest man,

And found him. not amidst the various progenies
Of this enormous city's spreading spawn,

'T were not for want of lamps to aid his dodging hi*
Yet undiscover'd treasure. What / can,

I've done to find the same throughout life's journey,

But see the world is only one attorney.

XXIX.

Over the stones still rattling, up Pall Mall,

Through crowds and carriages, but waxing thinner

As thunder 'd knockers broke the long seal'd spell
Of doors 'gainst duns, and to an early dinner

Admitted a small party as night fell, —
Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner,

Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels,

St. James's Palace, and St. James's " Hells."

DON JUAN. 291

XXX.

They reach'd the hotel : forth stream'd from tke front door

A tide of well-clad waiters, and around
The mob stood, and as usual several score

Of those pedestrian Paphians who abound
la decent London when the daylight's o'er ;

Commodious but immoral, they are found
Useful, like Malthus, in promoting marriage —
But Juan now is stepping from his carriage

XXXI.

Into one of the sweetest of hotels,

Especially for foreigners — and mostly
For those whom favour or whom fortune swells,

And cannot find a bill's small items costly.
There many an envoy either dwelt or dwells

(The den of many a diplomatic lost lie),
Until to some conspicuous square they pass,
And blazon o'er the door their names in brass.

XXXII.

Juan, whose was a delicate commission,

Private, though publiclj important, bore
No title to point out with due precision

The exact affair on which he was sent o'er.
'Twas merely known, that on a secret mission

A foreigner of rank had graced our shore,
Young, handsome, and accomplish'd, who was said
(In whispers) to have turn'd his sovereign's head.

XXXIII.

Some rumour also of some strange adventures
Had gone before him, and his wars and loves ;

And as romantic heads are pretty painters,
And, above all, an Englishwoman's roves

Into the excursive, breaking the indentures
Of sober reason, wheresoe'er it moves,

He found himself extremely in the fashion,

Which serves our thinking people for a passion

xxxiv.
I don't mean that they are passionless, but quite

The contrary ; but then 'tis in the head ;
Yet as the consequences are as bright

As if they acted with the heart instead,
What after all can signify the site

Of ladies' lucubrations ? So they lead
In safety to the place for which you start,
What matters if the road be head or heart?

292

Juan presented in the proper place,

To proper placemen, every Buss credential ;

And was received with all the due grimace,
By those who govern in the mood potential.

Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth face,
Thought (what in state affairs is most essential)

That they as easily might do the youngster,

As hawks may pounce upon the woodland songster.

xxxn.

They err'd, as aged men will do ; but by
And by we'll talk of that ; and if we don't,

'Twill be because our notion is not high
Of politicians and their double front,

Who live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie : —
Now what I love in woman is> they won't

Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it

So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.

XXXVII.

And, after all, what is a lie ? "f is but

The truth in masquerade ; and I defy
Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to put

A fact without some leaven of a lie.
The very shadow of true Truth would shut

Up annals, revelations, poesy,
And prophecy — except it should be dated
Some years before the incidents related.

XXXVIII.

Praised be all liars and all lies ! Who now
Can tax my mild Muse with misanthropy ?

She rings the world's " Te Deum," and her brow
Blushes for those who will not : — but to sigh

Is idle ; let us like most others bow,
Kiss hands, feet, any part of majesty,

After the good example of " Green Erin,"

Whose shamrock now seems rather worse for wearing.

XXXIX.

Don Juan was presented, and his dress
And mien excited general admiration —

I don't know which was more admired or less ;
One monstrous diamond drew much observation,

Which Catherine in a moment of " ivresse "
(In love or brandy's fervent fermentation)

Bestow'd upon him, as the public learn'd ;

And, to say truth, it had been fairly earn'd.

DON JUAN. 293

XL.

Besides the ministers and underlings,

Who must be courteous to the accredited
Diplomatists of rather wavering kings,

Until their royal riddle's fully read,
The very clerks, — those somewhat dirty springs

Of office, or the house of office, fed
By foul corruption into streams, — -even they
Were hardly rude enough to earn their pay :

XLI.
And insolence no doubt is what they are

Employ'd for, since it is their daily labour,
In the dear offices of peace or war ;

And should you doubt, pray ask of your next neighbour,
When for a passport, or some other bar

To freedom, he applied (a grief and a bore),
If he found not this spawn of taxborn riches,
Like lap-dogs, the least civil sous of b s.

XLII.
But Juan was received with much " empressement :" —

These phrases of refinement I must borrow
From our next neighbours' land, where, like a chessman

There is a move set down for joy or sorrow,
Not only in mere talking, but the press. Man

In islands is, it seems, downright and thorough,
More than on continents — as if the sea
(See Billingsgate) made even the tongue more free.

XLIII.
And yet the British " Damme" 's rather Attic,

Your continental oaths are but incontinent,
And turn on things which no aristocratic

Spirit would name, and therefore even I won't auent
This subject quote ; as it would be schismatic

In politesse, and have a sound affronting in't :
But " Damine" 's quite ethereal, though too daring —
Platonic blasphemy, the soul of swearing.

xtiv.
For downright rudeness, ye may stay at home ;

For true or false politeness (and scarce that
Now) you may cross the blue deep and white foam —

The first the emblem (rarely though) of what
You leave behind, the next of much you come

To meet. However 'tis no time to chat
On general topics : poets must confine
Themselves to unity, like this of mine.
28*

294

DOK JUAN.

XLV.

In the great world, — which, being interpreted,
Meaneth the west or worst end of a city,

And about twice two thousand people bred
By no means to be very wise or witty,

But to sit up while others lie in bed,
And look down on the universe with pity,—

Juan as an inveterate patrician,

Was well received by persons of condition.

XLVI.

He was a bachelor, which is a matter

Of import both to virgin and to bride,
The former's hymeneal hopes to flatter ;

And (should she not hold fast by love or pride)
*T is also of some moment to the latter ;

A rib's a thorn in a wed gallant's side,
Requires decorum, and is apt to double
The horrid sin— and what's still worse, the trouble.

XLV1I.

But Juan was a bachelor — of arts,

And parts, and hearts : he danced and sung, and had
An air as sentimental as Mozart's

Softest of melodies ; and could be sad
Or cheerful, without any " flaws or starts,"

Just at the proper time ; and though a lad,
Had seen the world — which is a curious sight,
And very much unlike what people write.

XLVIII.
Fair virgins blush'd upon him ; wedded dames

Bloom'd also in less transitory hues ;
For both commodities dwell by the Thames,

The painting and the painted ; youth, ceruse,
Against his heart preferr'd their usual claims,

Such as no gentleman can quite refuse :
Daughters admired his dress, and pious mothers
Inquired his income, and if he had brothers.

XLTX.
The milliners who furnish " drapery misses **

Throughout the season, upon speculation
Of payment ere the honey-moon's last kisses

Have waned into a crescent's coruscation,
Thought such an opportunity as this is,

Of a rich foreigner's initiation,
Not to be overlook'd — and gave such credit,
That future bridegrooms swore, and sigh'd, and paid in.

DON JUAN. 295

L.

The Blues, that tender tribe, who sigh o'er sonnets

And with the pages of the last Review
Like the interior of their heads or bonnets,

Advanced in all their azure's highest hue :
They talk'd bad French or Spanish, and upon its

Late authors ask'd him for a hint or two :
And which was softest, Russian or Castilian ?
And whether in his travels he saw Ilion ?

LI.
Juan, who was a little superficial,

And not in literature a great Drawcansir,
Examined by this learned and especial

Jury of matrons, scarce knew what to answer ;
His duties warlike, loving or official,

His steady application as a dancer,
Had kept him from the brink of Hippocrene,
Which now he found was blue instead of green.

LII.

However, he replied at hazard, with

A modest confidence and calm assurance,
Which lent his learned lucubrations pith,

And passed for arguments of good endurance.
That prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith

(Who at sixteen translated " Hercules Furens **•
Into as furious English, with her best look,
Set down his sayings in her common-place book.

LIII.
Juan knew several languages — as well

He might — and brought them up with skill, in time
To save his fame with each accomplish'd belle,

Who still regretted that he did not rhyme.
There wanted but this requisite to swell

His qualities (with them) into sublime :
Lady Fitz-Frisky, and Miss Msevia Mannish,
Both long'd extremely to be sung in Spanish.

LIV.
However, he did pretty well, and was

Admitted as an aspirant to all
The coteries, and, as in Banquo's glass,

At great assemblies or in parties small,
lie saw ten thousand living authors pass,

That being about their average numeral :
Also the eighty " greatest living poets,"
As every paltry magazine can show it's.

296 DON JUAN.

LV.

In twice five years the " greatest living poet,"

Like to the champion in the fisty ring,
Is call'd on to support his claim, or show it,

Although 'tis an imaginary thing.
Even I — albeit I'm sure I did not know it,

Nor sought of foolscap subjects to be king, —
Was reckon'd a considerable time,
The grand Napoleon of the realms of rhyme.

ivi.

But Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero

My Leipsic, and my Mount Saint Jean seems Cain .
" La Belle Alliance " of dunces down at zero,

Now that the Lion's fall'n, may rise again ;
But I will fall at least as fell my hero ;

Nor reign at all, or as a monarch reign ;
Or to some lonely isle of gaolers go,
With turncoat Southey for my turnkey Lowe.

1TII.

Sir Walter reign'd before me ; Moore and Campbell
Before and after ; but now grown more holy,

The Muses upon Sion's hill must ramble
With poets almost Clergymen, or wholly :

And Pegasus has a psalmodic amble

Befliath the very Reverend Kowley Powley,

Who shoes the glorious animal with stilts,

A modern Ancient Pistol — by the hilts !

LVIII.
Still he excels that artificial hard

Labourer in the same vineyard, though the vine
Yields him but vinegar for his reward, —

That neutralised dull Dorus of the Nine :
That swarthy Sporus, neither man nor bard !

That ox of verse, who ploughs for every line : —
Cambyses' roaring Romans beat at least
The howling Hebrews of Cybele's priest.

LIX.
Then there's my gentle Euphues ; who, they say

Sets up for being a sort of moral me ;
He'll find it rather difficult some day

To turn out both, or either, it may be.
Some persons-think that Coleridge hath the sway ;

And Wordsworth has supporters, two or three :
And that deep-mouth'd Bosotian " Savage Landor *
Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's gander.

DON JL'AN. 2

IX.

John Keats, who was kill'd off by one critique.
Just as he really promised something great,

If not intelligible, without Greek
Contrived to talk about the gods of late,

Much as they might have been supposed to speak.
Poor fellow ! His was an untoward fate ;

'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,

Should let itself be snuff d out by an article.

LXI.
The list grows long of live and dead pretenders

To that which none will gain — or none will know
The conquerMtat least : who, ere Time renders

His last award, will have the long grass grow
Above his burnt-out brain, and sapless cinders

If I might augur, I should rate but low
Their chances : — they are too numerous, like the thirty
Mock tyrants, when Home's annals wax'd but dirty.

LXII.
This is the literary lower empire,

Where the praetorian bands take up the matter : —
A " dreadful trade," like his who " gathers samphire,"

The insolent soldiery to soothe and natter.
With the same feelings as you'd coax a vampire.

Now, were I once at home, and in good satire,
I'd try conclusions with those Janizaries,
And show them what an intellectual war is.

LXIII.

I think I know a trick or two, would turn

Their flanks : — but it is hardly worth my while,

With such small gear to give myself concern :
Indeed I've not the necessary bile ;

My natural temper's really aught but stern,
And even, my Muse's worst reproofs a smile ;

And then she drops a brief and modern curtsy

And glides away, assured she never hurts ye.

ixiv
My Juan, whom I left in deadly peril

Amongst live poets and blue ladies, past
With some small profit through that field so sterile.

Being tired in time, and neither least nor last,
Left it oefore he had been treated very ill ;

And henceforth found himself more gaily class'd
Amongst the higher spirits of the day,
The sun's true sou, no vapour, but a ray.

298 DOM JT7AX.

LXV.

His morns he pass'd in business — which dissected,
Was like all business, a laborious nothing

That leads to lassitude, the most infected
And Centaur Nessus garb of mortal clothing,

And on our sofas makes us lie dejected,
And talk in tender horrors of our loathing

All kinds of toil, save for our country's good —

Which grows no better, though 'tis time it should.

LXVI.
His afternoons he pass'd in visits, luncheons,

Lounging, and boxing ; and the twilight hoar
In riding round those vegetable puncheons _

Call'd " Parks," where there is neither frtnt nor flower,
Erfough to gratify a bee's slight munchings i

But after all it is the only " bower,"
(In Moor's phrase) where the fashionable fair
Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air.

LXVII.
Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the world !

Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, then roar
Through street and square fast flashing chariots hurl'd

Like harness'd meteors ; then along the floor
Chalk mimics painting ; then festoons are twirl'd ;

Then roll the brazen thunders of the door,
Which opens to the thousand happy few
And earthly paradise of " Or Molu."

LXVIII.

There stands the noble hostess, nor shall sink
With the three thousandth curtsy ; there the waltz,

The only dance which teaches girls to think,
Makes one in love even with its very faults,

Saloon, room, hall, o'erflow beyond their brink,
And long the latest of arrivals halts,

'Midst royal dukes, and dames condemn'd to climb,

And gain an inch of staircase at a time.

LXIX.
Thrice happy he who, after a survey

Of the good company, can win a corner,
A door that's in or boudoir out of the way,

Where he may fix himself like small "Jack Homer,"
And let the Babel round run as it may,

And look on as a mourner, or a scorner,
Or an approver, or a mere spectator,
Yawning a little as the night grows later.

'

DON JUAN. 299

LXX.

Bat this won't do, save by and by ; and he
Who like Don Juan, takes an active share,

Most steer with care through all that glittering sea
Of gems and plumes and pearls and silks to whera

He deems it is his proper place to be ;
Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air,

Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skill,

Where Science marshals forth her own quadrille.

ixxi.
Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views

Upon an heiress or his neighbour's bride,
Let him take care that that which he pursues

Is not at once too palpably described.
Full many an eager gentleman oft rues

His haste : impatience is a blundering guide,
Amongst a people famous for reflection,
Who like to play the fool with circumspection.

LXXII.

But, if you onn contrive, get next at supper ;

Or if, forestalled, get opposite and ogle :
Oh, ye ambrosial moments ! always upper

In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle..
Which sits for ever upon memory's crupper

The ghost of vanish'd pleasures once in vogue ! I'll
Can tender souls relate the rise and fall
Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball.

ixxiii.
But these precautionary hints can touch

Only the common run, who must pursue,
And watch, and ward ; whose plans a word too much

Or little overturns ; and not the few
Or many (for the number's sometimes Buch)

Whom a good mien, especially if new,
Or fame, or name, for wit, war, sense, or nonsense,
Permits whate'er they please, or did not long since.

LXXIV.

Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome,

Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger,
Like other slaves of course must pay his ransom,

Before he can escape from much danger
As will environ a conspicuous man. Some

Talk about poetry, and " rack and manger,"
And ugliness, disease, as toil and trouble ;—
I wish they knew the life of a young noble.

800 DON JUAN.

DBDT.

They are young, but know not youth— it is anticipated ;

Handsome but wasted, rich without a son ;
Their vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated ;

Their cash comes /rom, their wealth goes to a Jew ;
Both senates see their nightly votes particpated

Between the tyrant's and the tribunes' crew ;
And having voted, dined, drank, gamed, and whored,
The family vault receives another lord.

rxxvi.

" Where is the world?" cries Young, at eighty—" W here
The world in which a man was born ?" Alas !

Where is the world of eight years past ? 'Twos the re—*
I look for it — 'tis gone, a globe of glass !

Crack'd, shiver'd, vanish'd, scarcely gazed on, ere
A silent change dissolves the glittering mass.

Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, kings,

And dandies, all are gone on the wind's wings.

IXXVII.

Where is Napoleon the Grand ? God knows : „
Where little Castlereagh ? The devil can tell :

Where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all those
Who bound the bar or senate in their spell ?

Where is the unhappy Queen, with all her woes ?
And where the Daughter, whom the Isles loved well !

Where are those martyr'd saints the Five per Cents ?

And where — oh, where the devil are the Rents ?

LXXVIII.

Where's Brammel ? Dish'd. Where's Long Pole Welles-
ley ? Diddled. [Third ?

Where's Whitbfead ? Bomilly ? Where's George the
Where is his will ? (That's not so soon unriddled.)

And where is "" Fum" the Fourth, our " royal bird ?"
Gone down, it seems, to Scotland to be fiddled

Unto by Sawney's violin, we have heard :
" Caw me, caw thee" — for six months hath been hatching
This scene of royal itch and loyal scratching.

LXXIX.

Where is Lord This, and where my Lady That ?

The Honourable Mistresses and Misses ?
Some laid aside like an old Opera hat,

Married, unmarried, and remarried : (this is
An evolution oft perform'd of late,)

Where are the Dublin shouts — and London hisses?
Where are the Grenvilles ? Turn'd as usual. Where
My friends the Whigs ? Exactly where they were.

DOM JUAN. 301

LXXX.

Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses ?

Divorced or doing thereanent. Ye annals
So brilliant, where the list of routs an* dances is, —

Thou Morning Post, sole record of the panels
Broken in carriages, and all the phantasies

Of fashion, — saj what streams now fill those channels ?
Some die, some fly, some languish on the Continent,
Because the times have hardly left them one tenant.

IJCXXI.

Some who once set their caps at cautious dukes,
Have taken up at length with younger brothers :

Some heiresses have bit at sharpers' hooks :

Some maids have been made wives, some merely mothers ,

Others have lost their fresh and fairy looks :
In short, the list of alterations bothers,

There's little strange in this, but something strange is

The unusual quickness of these common changes.

IOCXXII.

Talk not of seventy years as age; in seven

I have seen more changes, down from monarchs to

The humblest individual under heaven,

Than might suffice a moderate century through.

I knew that nought was lasting, but now even
Change grows too changeable, without being new ;

Nought's permanent among the human race,

Except the Whigs not getting into place.

LXXXI1I.

I have seen Napoleon, who seem'd quite a Jupiter ;

Shrink to a Saturn. I have seen a Duke
(No matter which) turn politician stupider.

If that can well be, than his wooden look.
But it is time that I should hoist my " blue Peter."

And sail fo.r a new theme : — I have seen — and shook
To see it — the king hiss'd, and then carest ;
But don't pretend to settle which was best.

LXXXIV.
I have seen the Landholders without a rap —

I have seen Joanna Southcote — I have seen
The House of Commons turn'd to a tax-trap —

I have seen that sad affair of the late Queen —
I have seen crowns worn instead of a fool's cap —

I have seen a Congress, doing all that's mean —
I have seen some nations like o'erloaded asses,
Kick off their burthens — meaning the high classe*.
27

802 DON JUAS.

LXXXV.

I have seen small poets, and great prosers, and
Interminable — not eternal — speakers —

I have seen the funds at war with house and land—
I have se«n the country gentlemen turn squeakers—

I have seen the people ridden o'er like sand

By slaves on horseback — I have seen malt liquors

Exchanged for " thin potations " by John Bull

I have seen John half detect himself a fool.

LXXXVI.
But " carpe diem," Juan, " carpe, carpe . "

To-morrow sees another race as gay
And transient, and devour'd by the same harpy.

" Life's a poor player," — " then play out the play,
Te villains ! " and above all keep a sharp eye

Much less on what you do than what you say :
Be hypocritical, be cautious, be

Not what you seem, but always what you see.

LXXXVII.

But how shall I relate in other cantos

Of what befell our hero in the land,
Which 'tis the common cry and lie to vaunt at

A moral country ? But I hold my hand —
For I disdain to write an Atalantis ;

But 'tis as well at once to understand
Yo u are not a moral people, and you know it,
Without the aid of too sincere a poet.

LXXXVI i r.

What Juan saw and underwent shall be
My topic, with of course the due restriction

Which is required by propei courtesy ;
And recollect the work is only fiction,

And that I sing of neither mine nor me,

Though every scribe, in some slight turn of diction,

Will hint allusions never meant. Ne'er doubt

This — when I speak, I don't hint, but speak out.

LXXXIX.

Whether he married with the third or fourth

Offspring of some sage husband-hunting countess,

Or whether with some virgin of more worth
(I mean in Fortune's matrimonial bounties)

He took to regularly peopling Earth,

Of which your lawful awful wedlock fount is, —

Or whether he was taken in for damages,

For being too excursive in his homages, —

DON JUAK.
XC.

Is yet within the unread events of time.

Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will back
Against the same given quantity of rhyme,

For being as much the subject of attack.
As ever yet was any work sublime*

By those who love to say that white is black.
So much the better ! — I may stand alone,
Bat would not change my free thoughts for a throne.-

CANTO THE TWELFTH.

I.

Or all the barbarous middle ages, that
Which is most barbarous is the middle age

Of man : it is — I really scarce know what ;
Bnt when we hover between fool and sage,

And don't know justly what we would be at —
A period something like a printed page,

Black letter upon foolscap, while our hair

Grows grizzled, and we are not what we were ;—

ii. %

Too old for youth, — too young, at thirty-five,
To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore,—

I wonder people should be left alive ;

But since they are, that epoch is a bore ;

Love lingers still, although 'twere late to wive :
And as for other love, the illusion's o'er ;

And money, that most pure imagination,

Gleams only through the dawn of its creation.

in.
0 Gold ! Why call we misers miserable ?

Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall ;
Theirs is the best bower anchor, the chain cable

Which holds fast other pleasures great and small.
Ye who but see the saving man at table,

And scorn his temperate board, as none at all,
And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing,
Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring.

IV.

Love or lust makes man sick, and wine much sicker ;

Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss ;
But making money, slowly first, then quicker,

And adding still a little through each cross
(Which will come over things), beats love or liquor,

The gamester's counter, or the statesman's dross.
O Gold 1 I still prefer thee unto paper,
Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.

DON JUAN. 305

V.

Who hold the balance of the world ? Who reign

O'er congress, whether royalist or liberal
Whx» rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain ?

(That make old Europe's journals squeak and gibber all.)
Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain

Or pleasure ? Who make politics run glibber all?
The shade of Buonaparte's noble daring ? —
Jew Rothschild, and his fellow-Christian, Baring.

vr.

Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte,
Are the true lords of Europe. Every loan

Is not a merely speculative hit,

But seats a nation or upsets a throne.

Republics also get involved a bit ;

Columbia's stock hath holders not unknown

On "Change ; and even thy silver soil, Peru,

Must get itself discounted by a Jew.

VII.

Why call the miser miserable ? as

I said beiore : the frugal life is his
Which in a saint or cynic ever was

The theme of praise : a hermit would not miss
Canonization for the self-same cause

And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities ?
Because, you'll say, nought calls for such a trial ; —
Then there's more merit in his self-denial.

VIII.

He is your only poet ; — passion, pure,

And sparkling on from heap to heap, displays,

Possess'd, the ore, of which mere hopes allure,
Nations athwart the deep : the golden rays

Flash up in ingots from the mine obscure ;
On him the diamond pours its brilliant blaze ;

While the mild emerald's beam shades down the diet

Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes.

IX.

The lands on either side or his : the ship
From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay, unloads

For him the fragrant produce of each trip ;
Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the roads,

And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip ;
His very cellars might be kings' abodes ;

While he, despising every sensuai call,

Commands — the intellectual lord of all.
21*

306 DOK JTJAH.

X.

Perhaps he Lath great projects in his mind,

To build a college, or to fonnd a race,
A hospital, a church, — and leave behind

Some dome surmounted by his meagre face.
Perhaps he fain would liberate mankind

Even with the very ore which makes them base
Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation,
Or revel in the joys of calculation.

XI.

But whether all, or each, or none of these

May be the hoarder's principle of action,
The fool will call such mania's a disease : —

What is his own ? Go — look at each transaction
Wars, revels, loves — do these bring men more ease

Than the mere plodding through each " vulgar fraction ?
Or do they benefit mankind ? Lean miser !
Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours — who's wiser ?

XII.

How beauteous are rouleaus ! how charming chests

Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins
(Not of old victors, all whose heods and crests

Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines,
But) of fine unclipt gold, where dully rests

Some likeness, which the glittering cirque confines,
Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp : —
Yes ! ready money is Aladdin's lamp.

XIII.

" Love rules the camp, the court, the grove, — for love
Is heaven, and heaven is love : " — so sings the bard ;

Which it were rather difficult to prove
(A thing with poetry in general hard)

Perhaps there may be something in " the grove,"
At least it rhymes to " love : " but I'm prepared

To doubt (no less than landlords of their rental)

If " courts " and " camps " be quite so sentimental.

XIV.

But if Love don't, Cash does, and Cash alone :
Cash rules the grove, and fells it too besides ;

Without cash, camps were thin, and courts were none ;
Without cash, Malthus tells you — " take no brides."

So Cash rules Love the ruler, on his own

High ground, as virgin Cynthia sways the tides :

And as for " Heaven being Love," why not say honey

Iswai? Heaven is not Love, 'tis Matrimony.

DOS JUAN 307

XV.

Is not all love prohibited whatever,

Excepting marriage ? which is love, no doubt,

After a sort ; but somehow people never

With the same thought the two words have help'd out :

Love may exist with marriage, and should ever,
And marriage also may exist without :

"But love sans banns is both a sin and shame,

And ought to go by quite another name.

*

XVI.

Now if the " court," and camp," and " grove," be not

Recruited all with constant married men,
Who never coveted their neighbour's lot,

I say that line's a lapsus of the pen; —
Strange too in my '' buon camerado" Scott,

So celebrated for its morals, when
My Jeffrey held him up as an example
To me ; of which these morals are a sample.

XVII.

Well, if I don't succeed, I have succeeded,
And that's enough : succeeded in my youth,

The only time when much success is needed :
And my success produced what I, in sooth,

Cared most about ; it need not now be pleaded —
Whate'er it was, 'twas mine : I've paid, in truth,

Of late, the penalty of each success,

But have not learn'd to wish it any less.

XVIII.

That suit in Chancery, — which some persons plead

In an appeal to the unborn, whom they,
In the faith of their procreative creed,

Baptize posterity, or future clay, —
To me seems but a dubious kind of reed

To lean on for support in any way ;
Since odds are that posterity will know
No more of them, than they of her, I trow.

XIX.

Why, I'm posterity — and so are you ;

And whom do we remember ? Not a hundred
Were every memory written down all true,

The tenth or twentieth name would be but blunder'd ;
Even Plutarch's Lives have but pick'd out a few.

And 'gainst those few your annalists have thunder'd ;
And Mitford in the nineteenth century
Gives, with Greek truth, the good old Greek the lie

308 DON JUAN.

XX.

Good people all, of every degree,

Ye gentle readers and ungentle writers.

In this twelfth Canto 'tis my wish to be
As serious as if I had for iuditers

Mai thus and Wilberforce: — the last set free
The negroes, and is worth a million fighters ;

While Wellington has but enslaved the Whites,

And Malt bus does the thing 'gainst which he write*.

XXI.

I'm serious — so are all men upon paper :
And why should I not form my speculation,

And hold up to the sun my little taper ?
Mankind just now seem wrapt in meditation

On constitution and steam-boats of vapour ;
While sages Write against all procreation,

Unless a man can calculate his means

Of feeding brats the moment his wife weans.

XXII.

That's noble ! That's romantic ! For my part.

I think that " Philo-genitiveness" is—
(Now here's a word quite after my own heart.

Though there's a shorter a good deal than this,
If that politeness set it not apart ;

But I'm resolved to say nought that's amiss) —
I say, methinks that " Philo-genitiveness"
Might meet from men a little more forgiveness.

XXIII.

And now to business. — 0 my gentle Juan !

Thou art in London — in that pleasant place,
Where every kind of mischiefs daily brewing,

Which can await warm youth in its wild race.
Tis true, that thy career is not a new one ;

Thou art no novice in the headlong chase
Of early life ; but this is a new land,
Which foreigners can never understand.

XXIV.

Wnat with a small diversity of climate,

Of hot or cold, mercurial or sedate,
I could send forth my mandate like a prima

Upon the rest of Europe's social state ;
But thou art the most difficult to rhyme at,

Great Britain, which the muse may penetrate.
All countries have their " Lions," but in thee
There is but one superb menagerie.

DON JUAff. 309

XXV.

But I am sick of politics. Begin,

'•' Paulo Majora." Juan, undecided
Amongst the paths of being «' taken in,

Above the ice had like a skater glided :
When tired of play, he flirted without sin

With some of those fair creatures who have prided
Themselves on innocent tantalisation,
And hate all vice except its reputation.

XXVI.

But these are few, and in the end they make
Some devilish e scapade or stir, which shows

That even the purest people may mistake

Their way through virtue's primrose paths of snows ;

And then men stare, as if a new ass spake
To Balaam, and from tongue to ear o'erflows

Quicksilver small talk, ending (if you note it)

With the kind world's amen — "Who would have thought it ?"

XXVII.

The little Leila, with her orient eyes,

And taciturn Asiatic disposition,
(Which saw all western things with small surprise,

To the surprise of people of condition,
Who think that novelties are butterflies,

To be pursued as food for inanition),
Her charming figure and romantic history
Became a kind of fashionable mystery.

XXVIII.

The women much divided — as is usual
Amongst the sex in little things or great.

Think not, fair creatures, that I mean to abuse you all—
I have always liked you better than I state :

Since I've grown moral, still I must accuse you all
Of being apt to talk at a great rate,

And now there was a general sensation

Amongst you, about Lelia's education.

XXIX.

In one point only were you settled — and

You had reason ; 'twas that a young child of grace,

As beautiful as her own native land,
And far away, the last bud of her race,

H*»we'er our friend Don Juan might command
Himself for five, four, three, or two years' space,

Would be much better taught beneath the eye

Of peeresses whose follies had run dry.

31 0

DON JUAN.

XXX.

So first there was a generous emulation,
And then there was a general competition,

To undertake the orphan's education.
As Juan was a person of condition,

It had been an affront on this occasion
To talk of a subscription or petition ;

But sixteen dowagers, ten unwed she sages,

Whose tale belongs to " Hallam's Middle Ages,"

XXXI.

And one or two sad, separate wives, without
A fruit to bloom upon their withering bough —

Begged to bring up the little girl, and " out," —
For that's the phrase that settles all things now,

Meaning a virgin's first blush at a rout.

And all her points as thorough-bred to show ;

And I assure you, that like virgin honey

Tastes their first season (mostly if they have money).

XXXII.

How all the needy honourable misters,

Each out-at-elbow peer, or desperate dandy,

The watchful mothers, and the careful sisters,
(Who by the bye, when clever, are more handy

At making matches, where " 'tis gold that glisters,"
Than their he relatives), like flies o'er candy

Buzz round " the Fortune" with their busy battery,

To turn their head with waltzing and with flattery !

xxxin.
Each aunt, each cousin, hath her speculation ;

Nay, married dames will now and then discover
Such pure disinterestedness of passion,

I've known them court an heiress for their lover.
" Tantsene !" Such the virtues of high station,

Even in the hopeful Isle, whose outlet's " Dover !"
While the poor rich wretch, object of these cares,
Has cause to wish her sire had had male heirs.

xxxiv.
Some are soon bagg'd and some reject three dozen.

'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals
And wild dismay o'er every angry cousin

(Friends of the party), who begin accusals,
Such as — " Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosen

Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals
To his .billets ? Why waltz with him ? Why, I pray,
Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day ?

DON JUAN. 311

XXXV.

" Why?— Why ?— Besides, Fred really was atlach'd;

'Twas not her fortune — he has enough without :
The time will come she'll wish that she had snatch'd

So good an opportunity, no doubt : —
But, the old marchioness some plan had hatchM,

As I'll tell Aurea at to-morrow's rout :
And after all poor Frederick may do better —
Pray did you see her answer to his letter ?"

XXXVI.

Smart uniforms and sparkling coronets
Are spurn'd in turn, until her turn arrives,

After male loss of time, and hearts, and bets
Upon the sweepstakes for substantial wives ;

And when at last the pretty creature gets
Some gentleman who fights, or writes, or drives,

It soothes the awkward squad of the rejected

To find how very badly she selected.

XXXVII.

For sometimes they accept some long pursuer,

Worn out with importunity ; or fall
(But here perhaps the instances are fewer)

To the lot of him that scarce pursued at all
A hazy widower turh'd of forty's sure

(If 'tis not vain examples to recall)
To draw a high prize : now howe'er he got her, I
See nought more strange in this than t'other lottery.

XXXVIII.

I, for my part — (one " modern instance " more,

" True, 'tis a pity — pity 'tis, 'tis true ")
Was chosen from out an amatory score,

Albeit my years were less discreet than few ;
But though I also had reform'*! before

Those became one who soon were to be two,
I'll not gainsay the generous public's voice,
That the young lady made a monstrous choice.

XXXIX.

Oh, pardon my digression— or at least

Peruse ! 'Tis always with a moral end
That I dissert, like grace before a feast :

For like an aged aunt or tiresome friend,
A rigid guardian, or a zealous priest,

My Muse by exhortation means to mend
AH people, at all times, and in most pi ices,
Which put* my Pegasus to these grave paces,

1 12 DON JUAN.

XL.

But now I'm going to be immoral ; now
I mean to snow things really as they are,

Not as they ought to be : for I avow,

That till we see what's what in fact, we're far

From much improvement with that virtuous plough
Which skims the surface, leaving scarce a scar

Upon the black loam long manured by Vice,

Only to keep its corn at the old price.

XLI.
But first of little Leila we'll dispose ;

For like a day-dawn she was young and pure,
Or like the old comparison of snows,

Which are more pure than pleasant to be sure.
Like many people every body knows,

Don Juan was delighted to secure
A goodly guardian for his infant charge,
Who might not profit much by being at large,

XLII.
Besides, he had found out he was no tutor

(I wish that others would find out the same) ;
And rather wish'd in such things to stand neuter,

For silly wards will bring their guardians blam*
So when he saw each ancient dame a suitor

To make his little wild Asiatic tame,
Consulting " the Society for Vice
Suppression," Lady Pinchbeck was his choke

XLIII.
Olden she was — but had been very young ;

Virtuous she was — and had been, I believe ;
Although the world has such an evil tongue

That but my chaster ear will not receive

An echo of a syllable that's wrong:

In fact, there's nothing makes me so much grievo.
As that abominable tittle-tattle,
Which is the cud eschewM by human cattle.

XLIV.

Moreover, I've remark'd (and I was once

A slight observer in a modest way),
And so may every one except a dunce,

That ladies in their youth a little gay,
Besides their knowledge of the world, and sense

Of the sad consequence of going astray,
Are wiser in their warnings 'gainst the woe
Which the mere passionless can never know.

CON JUAN.
XLV.

While the harsh prude indemnifies her virtue
By railing at the unknown and envied passion,

Seeking far less to save you than to hurt you,

Or, what's still worse, to put you out of fashion,—

The kinder veteran with calm words will court you,
Entreating you to pause before you dash on ;

Expounding and illustrating the riddle

Of epic Love's beginning, end, and middle.

xtvi.
Now whether it be thus, or that they are stricter,

As better knowing why they should be so,
I think you'll find from many a family picture,

That daughters of such mothers as may know
The world by experience rather than by lecture,

Turn out much better for the Smithfield Show
Of vestals brought into the marriage mart,
Than those bred up by prudes without a heart.

XLVII.
I said that Lady Pinchbeck had been talk'd about—

As who has not, if female, young, and pretty ?
But now no more the ghost of scandal stalk'd about ;

She merely was deem'd amiable and witty,
And several of her best bon-mots were hawk'd about :

Then she was given to charity and pity,
And pass'd (at least the latter years of life)
For being a most exemplary wife.

XLVIII.
High in high circles, gentle in her own,

She was the mild reprover of the young,
Whenever — which means every day — they'd shown

An awkward inclination to go wrong,
The quantity of good she did's unknown,

Or at the least would lengthen out my song :
In brief, the little orphan of the East
Had raised an interest in her which increased.

XLIX.
Juan, too, was a sort of favourite with her

Because she thought him a good heart a bottom,
A little spoil'd, but not so altogether ;

Which was a wonder, if you think who got him,
And how he had been toss'd, he scarce knew whither :

Though this might ruin others, it did not him
At least entirely — for he had seen too many
Changes in youth, to be surprised at any.
28

314 DON JCA1T.

1.

And these vicissitudes tell best in youth ;

For when they happen at a riper age,
People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth,

And wonder Providence is not more sage
Adversity is the first path to truth :

He who hath proved war, storm, or woman's ragft,
Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty,
Hath won experience which is deem'd so weighty.

LI.

How far it profits is another matter. —

Oar hero gladly saw his little charge
Safe with a lady, whose last grown up daughter

Being long married, and thus set at large,
Had left all the accomplishments she taught her

To be transmitted, like the Lord Mayor's barge*
To the next comer ; or — as it will tell
More Muse-like — like to Cytherea's shell.

in.
I call such things transmission ; for there ia

A floating balance of accomplishment,
Which forms a pedigree from Miss to Miss

According as their minds or backs are bent.
Some waltz ; some draw ; some fathom the abyst

Of metaphysics ; others are content
With music ; the most moderate shine as wits ;
While others have a genius turn'd for fits.

L1I

But whether fits, or wits, or harpsichords^

Theology, fine arts, or finer stays,
May be the baits for gentlemen or lords

With regular descent, in these our days,
The last year to the new transfers its hoards ;

New vestals claim men's eyes with the same praiM
Of " elegant " et ctaem, in fresh batches —
All matchless creatures, and yet bent on matches.

LIT.
But now I will begin my poem. 'Tis

Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new»
That from the first of Cantos up to this

I've not begun what we have to go through.
These first twelve books are merely flourishes,

Preludios, trying just a string or two
Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure ;
And when so, you shall have the overture.

DON JUAN. 315

LV.

My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin

About what's call'd success, or not succeeding :

Such thoughts are quite below the strain they hare chosen :
Tis a " great moral lesson " they are reading

I thought, at setting off, about two dozen
Cantos would do ; but at Apollo's pleading,

If that my Pegasus should not be founder'd,

1 think to canter gently through a hundred.

LVI.

Don Juan saw that microcosm or stilts,
Yclept the Great World ; for it is the least,

Although the highest : but as swords have hilts
By which their power of mischief is increased,

When men in battle or in quarrel tilts,

Thus the low world, north, south, or west, or east,

Must still obey the high — which is their handle,

Their moon, their sun, their gas, their farthing candle.

cm.

He had many friends who had many wives, and was

Well look'd upon by both, to that extent
Of friendship which you may accept or pass,

It does nor good nor harm ; being merely meant
To keep the wheels going of the higher class,

And draw them nightly when a ticket's sent :
And what with masquerades, and fetes, and balls,
For the first season such a life scarce palls.

A young unmarried man, with a good name
And fortune, has an awkward part to play ;

For good society is but a game,
" The royal game of Goose," as I may say,

Where every body has some separate aim,
An end to answer, or a plan to lay —

The single ladies wishing to be double,

The married ones to save the virgins trouble.

MX.

I don't mean this as general, but particular
Examples may be found of such pursuits :

Though several also keep their perpendicular
Like poplars, with good principles for roots ;

Yet many have a method more reticular —
" Fishers for men," like sirens with soft lutes

For talk six times with the same single lady,

And you may get the wedding dresses ready.

918 DON JUAN.

LX.

Perhaps you'll have a letter from the mother,
To say her daughter's feelings are trepann'd ;

Perhaps you'll have a visit from the brother,
All strut, and stays, and whiskers, to demand

What " your intentions are ?" — One way or other
It seems the virgin's heart expects your hand :

And between pity for her case and yours,

You'll add to Matrimony's list of cures.

LXI.

I've known a dozen weddings made even thus,
And some of them high names : I have also known

Young men who — though they hated to discuss

Precensions which they never dream'd to have shown—

Yet neither frighten'd by a female fuss,
Nor by mustachios moved, were let alone,

And lived, as did the broken-hearted fair,

In happier plight than if they form'd a pair.

LXII.

There's also nightly, to the uninitiated,
A peril — not indeed like love or marriage,

But not the less for this to be depreciated :
It is — I meant and mean not to disparage

The show of virtue even in the vitiated —

It adds an outward grace unto their carriage —

But to denounce the amphibious sort of harlot,

" Couleur de rose," who's neither white or scarlet.

LXIII.
Such is your cold coquette, who can't say " No,"

And won't say " Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow —

Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
This works a world of sentimental woe,

And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin ;
But yet is merely innocent flirtation,
Not quite adultery, but adulteration.

LXIV.
" Ye gods, I grow a talker !" Let us prate.

The next of perils, though I place it sternest.
Is when, without regard to " church or state,"

A wife makes or takes love in upright earnest.
Abroad, such things decide few women's fate —

(Such, early traveller ! is the truth thou learnest) —
But in all England, when a young bride errs,
Poor thing ! Eve's was a trifling case to hers.

DON JUAN. 317

LXV.

For 'tis a low, newspaper, humdrum, lawsuit
Country, where a young couple of the same a^es

Can't form a friendship, but the world o'erawes it.
Then there's the vulgar trick of those d — d damages

A verdict — grievous foe to those who cause it !—
Form a sad climax to romantic homages :

Besides those soothing speeches of the pleaders,

And evidences which regale all readers.

*XVI.

But they who blunder thus are raw beginners :

A little genial sprinkling of hypocrisy
Has saved the fame of thousand splendid sinners,

The loveliest oligarchs of our gynocracy ;
You may see such at all the balls and dinners,

Among the proudest of our aristocracy,
So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste—
And all by having tact as well as taste.

LXVII.
Juan, who did not stand in the predicament

Of a mere novice, had one safeguard more ;
For he was sick — no, 'twas not the word sick I meant —

But he had seen so much good love before,
That he was not in heart so very weak ; — I meant

But thus much, and no sneer against the shore
Of white cliffs, white necks, blue eyes, bluer stockings,
Tithes, taxes, duns, and doors with double knockings.

IXVIII.

But coming young from lands and scenes romantic,
Where lives, not lawsuits, must be risk'd for Passion,

A Passion's self must have a spice of frantic,
Into a country where 'tis half a fashion,

Seem'd to him half commercial, half pedantic,
Howe'er he. might esteem this moral nation:

Besides (alas ! his taste — forgive and pity !)

At first he did nnt think the women pretty

LXIX.

I say &t first — for he found out at last,
But by degrees, that they were fairer far
han the more glowing dames whose lot is cast
Beneath the influence of the eastern star.
A further proof we should not judge in haste ;

Yet inexperience could not be his bar
To taste : — the truth is, if men would confess,
That novelties please less than they impras.

28*

318 DON JUAN.

LXX.

JThongh travell'd, I have never had the luck to
Trace up those shuffling negroes, Nile or Niger,

To that impracticable place, Timbuctoo,
Where Geography finds no one to oblige her

With such a chart as may be safely stuck to —
For Europe ploughs in Afric like " bos piger :"

But if I had been at Timbuctoo, there

No doubt I should be told that black is fair.

LXXTt.

It is. I will not swear that black .is white ;

But I suspect in fact that white is black,
And the whole matter rests upon eye-sight.

Ask a blind man, the best judge. You'll attack
Perhaps this new position — but I'm right ;

Or if I'm wrong, I'll not be ta'en aback : —
He hath no morn nor night, but all is dark
Within ; and what seest thou ? A dubious spark.

LXXII.

But I'm relapsing into metaphysics,
That labyrinth, whose clue is of the same

Construction as your cures for hectic phthisics,
Those bright moths fluttering round a dying flame ;

And this reflection brings me to plain physics,
And to the beauties of a foreign dame,

Compared with those of our pure pearls of price,

Those polar summers, all sun, and some ice.

LXXIII.

Or say they are like virtuous mermaids, whose
Beginnings are fair faces, ends mere fishes ; —

Not that there's not a quantity of those
Who have a due respect for their own wishes.

Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows
Are they, at bottom virtuous even when vicious :

They warm into a scrape, but keep of course,

As a reserve, a plunge into remorse.

LXXIV.
But this has nought to do with their outsides.

I said that Juan did not think them pretty
At the first blush ; for a fair Briton hides

Half her attractions — probably from pity—
And rather calmly into the heart glides.

Than storms it as a foe would take a city ;
But once there (if you doubt this, prithee try)
She keeps it for you like a true all".

% DON JUAtf. 319

LXXV.

She cannot step as does an Arab barb,
Or Andalusian girl from mass returning,

Nor wear as gracefully as Gauls her garb,
Nor in her eye Ausonia's glance is burning ;

Her voice; though sweet, is not so fit to warb-
le those bravuras (which I still am learning

To like, though I have been seven years in Italy,

And have, or had, an ear that served me prettily); —

LXZYI.

She cannot do these things, nor one or two
Others, in that off-hand and dashing style

Which takes so much — to give the devil his due ;
Nor is she quite so ready with her smile,

Nor settles all things in one interview.

(A thing approved as saving time and toil : —

But though the soil may give you time and trouble.

Well cultivated, it will render double.

LXXVII.

And if in fact she takes to a " grande passion,"

It is a very serious thing indeed :
Nine times in ten 'tis but caprice or fashion,

Coquetry, or a wish to take the lead,
The pride of a mere child with a new sash on,

Or wish to make a rival's bosom bleed :
But the tenth instance will be a tornado,
For there's no saying what they will or may do.

LXXVIII.
The reason's obvious : if there's an eclat,

They lose their caste at once, as do the Farias ;
And when the delicacies of the law

Have fill'd their papers with their comments various,
Society, that china without flaw,

(The hypocrite !) will banish them like Marius,
To sit amidst the ruins of their guilt :
For Fame's a Carthage not so soon rebuilt.

LXXIX.

Perhaps this is as it should be ; — it is

A comment on the Gospel's " Sin no more,

And be thy sins forgiven:" — but upon this
I leave the saints to settle their own score.

Abroad, though doubtless they do much amiss,
An erring woman finds an opener door

For her return to Virtue — as they call

That lady, who should be at home to all.

J20 »OH JUAH. .

LXXK.

For me, I leave the matter where I find it,

Knowing that such udeasy virtue leads
People some ten times less in fact to mind in,

And care but for discoveries and not deeds.
And as for chastity, you'll never bind it,

By all the laws the strictest lawyer pleads,
But aggravate the crime you have not prevented,
By rendering desperate those who had else repented.

txxxi.
But Juan was no casuist, nor had ponder'd

Upon the moral lessons of mankind :
Besides, he had not seen of several hundred

A lady altogether to his mind.
A little " blase" — 'tis not to be wonder'd

At, that his heart had got a tougher rind :
And though not vainer from his past success,
No doubt his sensibilities were less.

rxxxii.

He also had been busy seeing sights —
The Parliament and all the other houses ;

Had sat beneath the gallery at nights,
To hear debates whose thunder roused (not roused

The world to gaze upon those northern lights,
Which flash'd as far as where the musk-bull browses ;•

He had also stood at times behind the throne —

But Grey was not arrived, and Chatham gone.

LXXXI1I.

He saw, however, at the closing session,
That nable sight, when really free the nation,

A king in constitutional possession

Of such a throne as is the proudest station,

Though despots know it not — till the progression
Of freedom shall complete their education.

Tis not mere splendour makes the show august

To eye or heart — it is the people's trust.

LXXXIV.

There, too, he saw (whate'er he may be now)
A Prince, the prince of princes at the time,

With fascination in his very bow,

And full of promise, as the spring of prime.

Though royalty was written on his brow

He had then the grace, too, rare in every cliinfc,

Of being, without alloy of fop or beau,

A finish'd gentleman from top to toe.

DON JUAN. 321

LXXXV.

And Juan was received, as hath been said,

Into the best society : and there
Occurr'd what often happens, I'm afraid,

However disciplined and debonnaire : —
The talent and good humour he displayed,

Besides the mark'd distinction of his air,
Exposed him, as was natural, to temptation
Even though himself avoided the occasion.

LXXXVl.

But what, and where, with whom, and when, and why,

Is not to be put hastily together ;
And as my object is morality

(Whatever people say)4 I don't know whether
I'll leave a single reader's eyelid dry,

But harrow up his feelings, till they wither,
And hew out a huge monument of pathos,
As Philip's son proposed to do with Athos.

LXXXVII.

Here the twelfth canto of our introduction
Ends. When the body of the book's begun,

You'll find it of a different construction

From what some people say 'twill be when done :

The plan at present's simply in concoction.
I can't oblige you, reader to read on ;

That's your affair, not mine : a real spirit

Should neither court neglect, nor dread to bear it.

LXXXVIII.
And if my thunderbolt not always rattles,

Remember, reader ! you have had before,
The worst of tempests and the best of battles,

That e'er were brew'd from elements or gore,
Besides the most sublime of — Heaven knows what else :

An usurer could scarce expect much more —
But my best canto, save one on astronomy,
Will turn upon " political economy."

LXXXIX.
That is your present theme for popularity :

Now that the public hedge hath scarce a stake,
It grows an act of patriotic charity,

To show the people the best way to break.
My plan (but I, if but for singularity,

Reserve it) will be very sure to take.
Meantime, read all the national-debt sinkers,
And tell me what you think of our great tliinken

fan 3uan.

CANTO THE THIRTEENTH.

I.

I NOW mean to be serious ; — it is time,
Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.

A jest at Vice by Virtue's call'd a crime,
And critically held as deleterious :

Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime,
Although when long a little apt to weary us ;

And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn,

As an old temple dwindled to a column.

ii.

• The Lady Adeline Amundeville

(Tis an old Norman name, and to be found
In pedigrees, by those who wander still

Along the last fields of that Gothic ground)
Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will,

And beauteous, even where beauties most abound*
In Britain — which of course true patriots find
The goodliest soil of body and of mind.

in.

I'll not gainsay them ; it is not my cue ;

I'll leave them to their taste, no doubt the best :
An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue,

Is no great matter, so 'tis in request,
'Tis nonsense to dispute about a hue —

The kindest may be taken as a test.
The fair sex should be always fair ; and no man,
Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman,

IV.

And after that serene and somewhat dull
Epoch, that awkward corner turn'd for days

More quiet, when our moon's no more at full,
We may presume to criticise or praise ;

Because indifference begins to lull

Our passions, and we walk in wisdom's ways ;

Also because the figure and the face

Hint, that 'tis time to give the younger place.

Don JUAN. 323

v.

I know that some would fain postpone this era*

Reluctant as all placemen to resign
Their post ; but theirs is merely a chimera,

For they hare pass'd life's equinoctial line :
But then they have their claret and Madeira,

To irrigate the dryness of decline ;
And county meetings, and the parliament,
And debt, and what not, for their solace sent.

VI.

And is there not religion, and reform,

Peace, war, the taxes, and what's call'd the " Nation f
The struggle to be pilots in a storm ?

The landed and the monied speculation ?
The Joys of mutual hate to keep them warm,

Instead of love, that mere hallucination ?
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure ;
Men lore in haste, but they detest at leisure :

TIL,

Bough Johnson, the great moralist, profess'd,-
Right honestly, " he liked an honest hater !"—

The only truth that yet has been confest
Within these latest thousand years or later»

Perhaps the fine old fellow spoke in jest : —
For my part, I am but a mere spectator,

And gaze where'er the palace or hovel is,

Much in the mode of Goethe's Mephistopheles ;

VIII.

But neither love nor hate in much excess ;

Though 'twas not once so. If I sneer sometimes^
It is because I cannot well do less,

And now and then it also suits my rhymes
I should be very willing to redress

Men's wrongs, and rather check than punish crime*
Had not Cervantes, in that too true tale
Of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.

IX.

Of all tales 'tis the saddest — and more sad,
Because it makes us smile : his hero's right,

And still pursues the right ;— to curb the bad
Hi» only object, and 'gainst odds to fight

His guerdon : 'tis his virtue makes him mad •
But his adventures form a sorry sight ;—

A sorrier still is the great mortal taught

By that real epic unto all who have thought.

384 DON JUAK.

X.

Ecdressing injury, revenging wrong,
To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiff;

Opposing singly the united strong,

From foreign yoke to free the helpless native : —

Alas ! must noblest, views, like an old song,
Be for mere fancy's sport a theme creative,

A jest, a riddle, Fame through thick and thin sought !

And Socrates himself but Wisdom's Quixote ?

XI.

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away ;

A single laugh demolish'd the right arm
Of his own country ; — seldom since that day

Has Spain had heroes. While Romance could charm,
The world gave ground before her bright array ;

And therefore have his volumes done such harm
That all their glory, as a composition,
Was dearly purchased by this land's perdition.

XII.

I'm " at my old lunes " — digression, and forget

The Lady Adeline Amundeville :
The fair most fatal Juan ever met,

Although she was not evil nor meant ill :
But Destiny and Passion spread the net

(Fate is a good excuse for our own will),
And caught them ; — what do they not catch, methinks ?
But I'm not (Edipus, and Life's a Sphinx.

XIII.

I tell the tale as it is told, nor dare

To venture a solution : " Davus sum ! "
And now I will proceed upon the pair.

Sweet Adeline, amidst the gay world's hum,
Was the Queen-Bee, the glass of all that's fair :

Whose charms made all men speak, and women dumb.
The last's a miracle, and such was reckun'd,
And since that time there has not been a second.

XIV.

Chaste was she, to detraction's desperation.
And wedded unto one she had loved well —

A man known in the councils of the nation,
Cool, and quite English, imperturbable,

Though apt to act with fire upon occasion,
Proud of himself and her : the world could tell

Nought against either, and both seem'd secure-1"

She in her virtue, he in his hauteur.

DON JUAN. 325

XT.

It chanced some diplomatical relations,

Arising out of business, often brought
Himself and Juan in their mutual stations

Into close contact. Though reserved, nor caught
By specious seeming, Juan's youth, and patience,

And talent, on his haughty spirit wrought,
And form'd a basis of esteem, which ends
lu making men what courtesy calls friends.

XVI.

And thus Lord Henry, who was cautious as
Reserve and pride could make him, and full slow

In judging men — when once his judgment was
Determined, right or wrong, on friend or»foe,

Had all the pertinacity pride has,

Which knows no ebb to its imperious flow,

And loves or hates, disdaining to be guided,

Because its own good pleasure hath decided

XVII.

His friendships, therefore, and no less aversions,
Though oft well founded, which confirm'd but more

His prepossessions, like the laws of Persians
And Medes, would ne'er revoke what went before,

His feelings had not those strange fits, like tertians,
Of common likings, which make some deplore

What they should laugh at — the mere ague still

Of men's regard, the fever or the chill.

XVIII.

" 'Tis not in mortals to command success :
But do you more, Sempronius — don't deserve it,"

And take my word, yeu won't have any less.
Be wary, watch the time, and always serve it ;

Give gently way, when there's too great a press ;
And for your conscience, only learn to nerve it ;

For, like a racer, or a boxer training,

'Twill make, if proved, vast efforts without paining.

XIX.

Lord Henry also liked to be superior,

As most men do, the little or the great ;
The very lowest find out an inferior,

At least they think so, to exert their state
Upon : for there are very few things wearier

Than solitary Price's oppressive weight.
Which mortals generously would divide,
By bidding others carry while they ride.
29

326 DON JTJA5.

XX.

In birth, in rank, in fortune likewise equal,
O'er Juan he could no distinction claim ;

In years he had the advantage of time's sequel ;
And, as he thought, in country much the same—

Because bold Britons have a tongue and free quill,
At which all modern nations vainly aim ;

And the Lord Henry was a great debater,

So that few members kept the house up later.

XXI.

These were advantages : and then he thought —
It was his foible, but by no means sinister —

That few or none more than himself had caught
Court mysteries, having been himself a minister :

He liked to teach that which he had been taught,
And greatly shone whenever there had been a stir *,

And reconciled all qualities which grace man,

Always a patriot, and sometimes a placeman.

XXII.

He liked the gentle Spaniard for his gravity ;

He almost honour'd him for his docility,
Because, though young, he acquiesced with suavity,

Or contradicted but with proud humility,
He knew the world, and would not see depravity

In faults which sometimes show the soul's fertility,
If that the weeds o'erlive not the first crop —
For then they are rery difficult to stop.

XXIII.

And then he talk'd with him about Madrid,
Constantinople, and such distant places ;

Where people always did as they were bid,

Or did what they should not with foreign graces.

Of coursers always spake they : Henry rid
Well, like most Englishmen, and loved the races ;

And Juan, like a true-born Andalusian,

Could back a horse, as despots ride a Russian.

XXIV.

And thus acquaintance grew, at noble routs,

And diplomatic dinners, or at other —
For Juan stood well, both with Ins and Outs,

As in freemasonry a higher brother.
Upon his talent Henry had no doubts ;

His manner show'd him sprung from a high mother ;
And all men like to show their hospitality
To him whose breeding matches with his quality.

DON JUAN. 327

XXV.

A.t Blank-Blank Square ; — for we will break no squares,
By naming streets : since men are so censorious,

And apt to sow an author's wheat with tares,
Reaping allusions private and inglorious,

Where none were dreamt of, unto love's affairs,
Which were, or are, or are to be notorious,

That therefore do I previously declare,

Lord Henry's mansion was in Blank-Blank Square.

XXVI.

Also there bin another pious reason

For making squares and streets anonymous ;

Which is, that there is scarce a single season
Which doth not shake some very splendid house

With some slight heart-quake of domestic treason —
A topic scandal doth delight to rouse ;

Such I might stumble over unawares,

Unless I knew the very chastest squares.

xxvir,
Tis true, I might have chosen Piccadilly,

A place where peccadillos are unknown ;
But I have motives, whether wise or silly,

For letting that pure sanctuary alone.
Therefore 1 name not square, street, place, until I

Find one where nothing naughty can be shown,
A vestal shrine of innocence of heart :
Such are but I have lost the London Chart.

XXVIII.

At Henry's mansion then, in Blank-Blank Square,

Was Juan a recherche, welcome guest,
As many other noble scions were ;

And some who had but talent for their crest :
Or wealth, which is a passport every where ;

Or even mere fashion, which indeed's the best
Recommendation ; and to be well drest
Will very often supersede the rest.

XXIX.

And since " there's safety in a multitude

Of counsellors," as Solomon has said,
Or some one for him, in some sage, grave mood ;

Indeed we see the daily proof display'd
In senates, at the bar, in wordy feud,

Where'er collective wisdom can parade,
Which is the only cause that we can guess
Of Britain's present wealth and happiness ;—

S28 SON JUAN.

XXX.

But as " there 's safety " grafted in the number
" Of counsellors," for men, — thus for the sex

A large acquaintance lets not Virtue slumber ;
Or should it shake, the choice will more perplex —

Variety itself will more encumber.
'Midst many rocks we guard more against wrecks:

And thus with women : howsoe'er it shocks some's

Self love, there's safety in a crowd of coxcombs.

XXXI.

But Adeline had not the least occasion

For such a shield, which leaves but little merit

To virtue proper, or good education.

Her chief resource was in her own high spirit,

Which judged mankind at their due estimation ;
And for coquetry, she disdain'd to wear it :

Secure of admiration, its impression

Was faint, as of an-every-day possession.

XXXII.

To all she was polite without parade ;

To some she show'd attention of that kind
Which flatters, but is flattery convey'd

In such a sort as cannot leave behind
A trace unworthy either wife or maid ; —

A gentle, genial courtesy of mind,
To those who were, or pass'd for meritorious,
Just to console sad glory for being glorious ;

XXXIII.

Which is in all respects, save now and then,
A dull and desolate appendage. Gaze

Upon the shades of those distinguish'd men,
Who were or axe the puppet-shows of praise,

The praise of persecution. Gaze again

On the most favour'd*! and amidst the blaze

Of sunset halos o'er the laurel-brow'd,

What can ye recognise ? —a gilded cloud.

XXXIV.

There also was of course in Adeline
That calm patrician polish in the address,

Which ne'er can pass the equinoctial line
Of any thing which nature would express ;

Just as a mandarin finds nothing fine, —
At least his manner suffers net to guess,

That any thing he views can greatly please.

f'erhaps we have borrow'd this from the Chioese —

DON JOAN. 329

XXXV.

Perhaps from Horace : his " Nil Admirari "
Was what he call'd the " Art of Happiness ;"

An art on which the artists greatly vary,
And have not yet attain'd to much success

However 't is expedient to be wary ;

Indifference certes don't produce distress ;

And rash enthusiasm in good society

Were nothing but a moral inebriety.

XXXVI.

But Adeline was not indifferent : for

(Now for a common-place !) beneath the snow,

As a volcano holds the lava more

Within — et ccetera. Shall I go on ?— No !

I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor,
So let the often-used volcano go.

Poor thing ! How frequently, by me and others,

It hath been stirr'd up till its smoke quite smothers.

XXXVII.

I'll have another figure in a trice : —

What say you to a bottle of champagne ?
Frozen into a very vinous ice,

Which leaves few drops of that immortal rain,
Yet in the very centre, past all price,

About a liquid glassful will remain :
And this is stronger than the strongest grape
Could e'er express in its expanded shape :

XXXVIII.

'T is the whole spirit brought to a quintessence ;

And thus the chilliest aspects may concentre
A hidden nectar under a cold presence.

And such are many — though I only meant her
From whom I now deduce these moral lessons,

On which" the Muse has always sought to enter.
And your cold people are beyond all price,
When once you have broken their confounded ice.

XXXIX.

But after all they are a North- West Passage

Unto the glowing India of the soul !
And as the good ships sent upon that message

Have not exactly ascertain'd the Pole
(Though Parry's efforts look a lucky presage),

Thus gentlemen may run upon a shoal :
For if the Pole 's not open, but all frost
(A chance still), 't is a voyage or vessel lost.

S30 DON JUAN.

XL.

And young beginners may as well commence
With quiet cruising o'er thfl ocean woman ;

While those who are not beginners should have sense
Enough r%make for port, ere time shall summon

With his grey signal-flag : and the past tense,
The dreary " Fuimus " of all things human,

Must be declined, while life's thin thread 's spun out

Between the gaping heir and gnawing gout.

XLI.
But heaven must be diverted ; its diversion

Is sometimes truculent — but never mind :
The worjd upon the whole is worth the assertion

(If but for comfort) that all things are kind :
And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian,

Of the two principles, but leaves behind
As many doubts as any other doctrine
Has puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in.

XLI I.

The English winter — ending in July,

To recommence in August — now was done.

T is the postillion's paradise : wheels fly :

On roads, east, south, north, west, there is a run.

But for post-horses who finds sympathy ?
Man's pity 's for himself, or for his son,

Always premising that said son at college

Has not contracted much more debt than knowledge,

XL1II.

The London winter's ended in July —

Sometimes a little later. I don't err
In this : whatever other blunders lie

Upon my shoulders, here I must aver
My Muse a glass of weatherology ;

For parliament is our barometer :
Lot radicals its other acts attack,
Its sessions form our only almanack.

XLIV.
When its quicksilver 's down at zero, — lo !

Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage !
Wheels whirl from Carlton palace to Soho,

And happiest they who horses can engage :
The turnpikes glow with dust ; and Rotten Row

Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age :
And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces,
Bigh — as the postboys fasten on the fa-aces.

DOS JUAS. 331

XLV.

rhey and their bills, " Arcadians both," are left

To the Greek kalends of another session.
Alas ! to them of ready cash bereft,

What hope remains ? Of hope the full possession,
Or generous draft, conceded as a gift,

At a long date — till they can get a fresh one —
Hawk'd about at a discount, small or large ;
Alsc the solace of an overcharge.

XLVI.

But these are trifles. Downward flies my lord,

Nodding besides my lady in his carriage.
Away ! away ! " Fresh horses !" are the word,

And changed as quickly as hearts after marriage ;
The obsequious landlord hath the change restored ;

The postboys have no reason to disparage
Their fee ; but ere the water'd wheels may hiss hence,
The ostler pleads too for a reminiscence.

XLVI I.

T is granted ; and the valet mounts the dickey —

That gentleman of lords and gentlemen ;
Also my lady's gentlewoman, tricky,

Trick'd out, but modest more than poet's pen
Can paint, — " Cosi viaggino i JRicchi f

(Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then,
If but to show I've travelled ; and what 's travel,
Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil ?)

XLVI II.

The London winter and the country summer
Were well nigh over. 'T is perhaps a pity,

When nature wears the gown that doth become her
To lose those best months in a sweaty city,

And wait until the nightingale grows dumber,
Listening debates not very wise or witty,

Ere patriots their true country can remember ; —

But there's no shooting (save grouse) till September.

XLIX.
I've done witn my tirade. The world was gone ;

The twice two thousand, for whom earth was made.
Were vanish'd to be what they call alone —

That is, with thirty servants for parade,
As many guests, or more ; before whom groan

As many covers, duly, daily laid.
Let none accuse old England's hospitality —
Its quantity is but condensed to quality.

3?2 DON JUAH.

L.

Lord Henry and the Lady Adeline

Departed like the rest of their compeers,
The peerage, to a mansion very fine ;

The Gothic Babel of a thousand years.
None than themselves could boast a longer line,

Where time through heroes and through beauties steers ;
And oaks as olden as their pedigree
Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree.

LI.
A paragraph in every paper told

Of their departure : such is modern fame :
Tis pity that it takes no farther hold

Than an advertisement, or much the same :
When, ere the ink be dry, the sound grows cold.

The Morning Post was foremost to proclaim —
" Departure, for his country seat, to-day
Lord H. Amundeville and Lady A.

EH.

" We understand the splendid host intends

To entertain, this autumn, a select
And numerous party of noble friends :

Midst whom we have heard from sources quite correct,
The Duke of D the shooting season spends,

With many more by rank and fashion deck'd ;
Also a foreigner of high condition,
The envoy of the secret Russian mission."

LIII.
And thus we see — who doubts the Morning Post ?

(Whose articles are like the " Thirty-nine,"
Which those most swear to who believe them most) —

Our gay Russ Spaniard was ordain'd to shine,
Deck'd by the rays reflected from his host,

With those who, Pope says, " greatly daring dine."
Tis odd. but true, — last war the News abounded
More with these dinners than the kill'd or wounded ; —

uv.
As thus : " On Thursday there was a grand dinner ;

Present, Lords A. B. C." — Earls, dukes, by name
Announced with no less pomp than victory's winner :

Then underneath, and in the very same
Column ; date, " Falmouth. There has lately been here

The Slap-dash regiment, so well known to fame ;
Whose loss in the late action we regret :
The vacancies are fill'd up — see Gazette."

DON JUAM.
LV.

To Norman Abbey whirl'd the noble pair, —
An old, old monastery once, and now

St'ill older mansion, — of a rich and rare
Mix'd Gothic, such as artists all allow

Few specimens yet left us can compare
Withal : it lies perhaps a little low,

Because the monks preferr'd a hill behind,

To shelter their devotion from the wind.

It stood embosom'd in a happy valley,

. Crown'd by high woodlands, where the Druid oak
Stood like Caractacus in act to rally

His host, with broad arms 'gainst the thunder-stroke ;
And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally

The dappled foresters — as day awoke,
The branching stag swept down with all his herd,
To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird.

LVII.
Before the mansion lay a lucid lake,

Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed
By a river, which its soften'd way did take

In currents through the calmer water spread
Around : the wildfowl nestled in the brake

And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed :
The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stood
With their green faces fixed upon the flood.

LVIII.
Its outlet dash'd into a deep cascade,

Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding,
Its shrilling echoes — like an infant made

Quiet — sank into softer ripples, gliding
Into a rivulet ; and thus allay 'd,

Pursued its £ourse, now gleaming, and now hiding
Its windings through the woods : now clear, now blue,
According as the skies their shadows threw.

A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile

(While yet the church was Rome's) stood half apart,
In a grand arch, which once screen'd many an aisle.

These last had disappear'd — a loss to art :
The first yet frown'd superbly o'er the soil,

And kindled feelings in the roughest heart,
Which mourn'd the power of time's or tempest's march,
In gazing on that venerable arch.

334 DOS JVAN.

X.X.

Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle,

Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone

But these had fallen, not when the friars fell,

But in the war which struck Charles from his throne,

When each house was a fortalice — as tell
The annals of full many a line undone, —

The gallant cavaliers, who fought in vain

For those who knew not to resign or reign.

LXI.

But in a higher niche, alone, but crown'd,
The Virgin Mother of the God-born Child,

With her Son in her blessed arms, look'd round,
Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil'd ;

She made the earth below seem holy ground.
This may be superstition, weak or wild,

But even the faintest relics of a shrine

Of any worship wake some thoughts divine.

exit.

A mighty window, hollow in the centre,
Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings,

Through which the deepen'd glories once could enter,
Streaming from off the sun like seraph's wings

Now yawns all desolate : now loud, now fainter,
The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oft sings

The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire

Lie with their hallelujahs quench'd like fire.

LXIII.

But in the noontide of the moon, and when
The wind is winged from one point of heaven,

There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then
Is musical — a dying accent driven

Through the huge arch which soars and sinks again
Some deem it but the distant echo given

Back to the night wind by the waterfall,

And harmonised by the old choral wall ;

txiv.
Others, that some original shape, or form

Shaped by decay perchance, hath given the power
(Though less than that of Memnon's statue, warm

In Egypt's rays, to harp at a fix'd hour)
To this grey ruin, with a voice to charm

Sad, but serene, it sweeps over tree or tower ;
The cause I know not, nor can solve , but such
The fact : I've heard it — once perhaps too much.

DON JUAS.

835

Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play'd,
Symmetrical, but deck'd with carvings quaint —

Strange faces, like to men in masquerade,
And here perhaps a monster, there a saint :

The spring gush'd through grim months of granite made,
And sparkled into basins, where it spent

Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles,

Like man's vain glBry, and his vainer troubles.

LXVI.

The mansion's self was vast and venerable,
With more of the monastic than has been

Elsewhere preserved : the cloisters still were stable,
The cells, too, and refectory, I ween :

An exquisite small chapel had been able,
Still unimpair'd, to decorate the scene ;

The rest had been reform'd, replaced, or sunk,

And spoke more of the baron than the monk.

LXYII.

Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, join'd

By no quite lawful marriage of the arts,
Might shock a connoisseur ; but when combined,

Form'd a whole which, irregular in parts,
Tet left a grand impression on the mind,

At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts ;
We gaze upon a giant for his stature,
Nor judge at first if all bo, true to nature.

IX VIII.

Steel barons, molten the next generation

To silken tows of gay and garter'd earls,
Glanced from the walls in goodly preservation :

And Lady Marys blooming into girls,
With fair long locks, had also kept their station :

And countesses mature in robes and pearls :
Also some beanties of Sir Peter Lely,
Whose drapery hints we may admire them freely.

LXIX.

Judges in very formidable ermine

Were there, with brows that did not much invite
The accused to think their lordships would determine

His cause by leaning much from might to right :
Bishops, who had not left a single sermon ;

Attorneys-general, awful to the sight,
As hinting more (unless our judgments-warp us)
Of the " Star Chamber" than of " Habeas Corpus."

336 DON JUAM

LXX.

Generals, some all in armour, of the old
And iron time, ere lead had ta'en the lead ;

Others in wigs of Marlborough's martial fold,
Huger than twelve of our degenerate breed :

Lordlings, with staves of white or keys of gold :
Nimrods, whose canvass scarce contain'd the steed;

And here and there some stern high patriot stood,

Who could not get the place for which he sued.

LXXI

But ever and anon, to soothe your vision,

Fatigued with these hereditary glories,
There rose a Carlo Dolce or a Titian,

Or wilder group of savage Salvatore's :
Here danced Albano's boys, and here the sea shone

In Vernet's ocean lights ; and there the stories
Of martyrs awed, as Spagnoletto tainted
His brush with all the blood of all the sainted.

txxn.

Here sweetly spread a landscape of Lorraine :
There Rembrandt made his darkness equal light,

Or gloomy Caravaggio's gloomier stain

Bronzed o'er some lean and stoic anchorite :—

But, lo ! a Teniers woos, and not in vain,
Your eyes to revel in a lovelier sight :

His bell-mouth'd goblet makes me feel quite Danish

Or Dutch with thirst — What, ho? a flash of Rhenish.

LXXTII.

0 reader ! if that thou canst read, — and know,

'Tis enough to spell, or even to read,
To constitute a reader ; there must go

Virtues of which both you and I have need.
Firstly, begin with the beginning — (though

That clause is hard) ; and secondly, proceed ;
Thirdly, commence not with the end — or, sinning
In this sort, end at least with the beginning.

But, reader, thou hast patient been of late,
While I, without remorse of rhyme, or fear.

Have built and laid out ground at such a rate,
Dan Phoebus takes me for an auctioneer.

That poets were so from their earliest date,
By Homer's " catalogue of ships " is clear ;

But a mere modern must be moderate —

I spare you then the furniture and plate.

DON JUAN. 387

1XXV.

The mellow autumn came, and with it came

The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn is cut, the manor full of game ;

The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats
In russet jacket : lynx-like is his aim ;

Full grows his bag, and wonder/wZ his feats.
Ah, nutbrown partridges ! Ah, brilliant pheasants !
And ah, ye poachers ! — 'Tis no sport for peasants.

txxvi.

An English autumn, though it hath no vines,

Blushing with Bacchant coronals along
The paths, o'er which the far festoon entwines

The red grape in the sunny lands of song.
Hath yet a purchased choice of choicest wines ;

The claret light, and the Madeira strong.
If Britain mourn her bleakness, we can tell her,
The very best of vineyards is the cellar.

LXXVII.
Then, if she hath not that serene decline

Which makes the southern autumn's day appear
As if 'twould to a second spring resign

The season, rather than to winter drear, —
Of in-door comforts still she hath a mine, —

The sea-coal fires, the " earliest of the year ; "
Without doors, too, she may compete in mellow,
As what is lost in green is gain'd in yellow.

1XXVIII.

And for the effeminate vttleggiatura —

Rife with more horns than hounds — she hath the chase,
So animated that it might allure a

Saint from his beads to join the jocund race ;
Even Nimrod's self might leave the plains of Dura,

And wear the Melton jacket for a space :
If she hath no wild boars, she hath a tame
Preserve of bores, who ought to be made game.

txxix.

The noble guests, assembled at the Abbey

Consisted of — we give the sex the pas —
The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke ; the Countess Crabby ;

The Ladies Scilly, Busey ; — Miss Eclat,
Miss Bombazeen, Miss Mackstay, Miss O'Tabby,

And Mrs. Rabbi, the rich banker's squaw :
Also the honourable Mrs. Sleep,
Who look'd a white lamb, yet was a black sheep :
so

838 DON JUAN.

LXXX.

With other Countesses of Blank — but rank ;

At once the " lie " and the " elite " of crowds 5
Who pass like water filter'd in a tank,

All purged and pious from their native clouds ;
Or paper turn'd to money by the Bank :

No matter how or why, the passport shrouds
The " passee " and the past ; for good society
Is no less famed for tolerance than piety, —

LXXXI.

That is, up to a certain point ; which point
Forms the most difficult in punctuation.

Appearances appear to form the joint
On which it hinges to a higher station ;

And so that no explosion cry " Aroint

Thee, witch !" or each Medea has her Jason ;

Or (to the point with Horace and the Pulci)

" Omne tulit pttnctum, quae miscuit utile dulci"

LXXXII.
I can't exactly trace their rule of right,

Which hath a little leaning to a lottery.
I've seen a virtuous woman put down quite

By the mere combination of a coterie ;
Also a so-so matron boldly fight

Her way back to the world by dint of plottery,
And shine the very Siria of the spheres,
Escaping with a few slight, scarless sneers.

LXXXIII.
I have seen more than I'll say : — but we will sec

How our villeggiatura will get on.
The party might consist of thirty-three

Of highest caste — the Brahmins of the ton.
I have named a few, not foremost in degree,

But ta'en at hazard as the rhyme may run.
By way of sprinkling, scatter'd amongst these,
There also were some Irish absentees.

LXXXIV.
There was Parolles, too, the legal bully,

Who limits all his battles to the bar
And senate : when invited elsewhere, truly,

He shows more appetite for words than war.
There was the young bard Rackrhyme, who had newly

Come out and glimmer'd as a six weeks' star.
There was Lord Pyrrho, too, the great freethinker ;
And Sir John Pottledeep, the nrghty drinker.

DON JUAN. 339

LXXXV.

There was the Duke of Dash, who was a — duke,
41 Ay, every inch a" duke ; there were twelve peers

Like Charlemagne's — and all such peers in look
And intellect, that neither eyes nor ears.

For commoners had ever them mistook.
There were the six Miss Rawbolds — pretty dears !

All song and sentiment ; whose hearts were set

Less on a convent than a coronet.

LXXXVI.

There were four Honourable Misters, whose

Honour was more before their names than after :

There was the preux Chevalier de la Ruse,
Whom France and Fortune lately deign'd to waft here,

Whose chiefly harmless talent was to amuse ;
But the clubs found it rather serious laughter,

Because — such was his magic power to please —

The dice seem'd charm'd too, with his repartees.

LXXXVII.
There was Dick Dubious, the metaphysician,

Who loved philosophy and a good dinner ;
Angle, the soi-disant mathematician ;

Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner.
There was the Reverend llodoinont Precisian,

Who did not hate so much the sin as sinner ;
And Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet,
Good at all things, but better at a bet.

LXXXVIII.
There was Jack Jargon, the gigantic guardsman ;

And General Fireface, famous in the field,
A great tactician, and no less a swordsman.

Who ate, last war, more Yankees than he kill'd.
There was the waggish Welsh Judge, Jefferies Hardsman,

In his grave office so completely skill'd,
That when a culprit came for condemnation,
He had his judge's joke for consolation.

LXXXIX.

Good company's a chess-board — there are kings, [game ;

Queens, bishops, knights, rooks, pawns ; the world's a
Save that the puppets pull at their own strings,

Methinks gay Punch hath something of the same.
My Muse, the butterfly hath but her wings,

Not stings, and flits through either without aim,
Alighting rarely : — were she but a hornet,
Perhaps there might be vices which would mourn it.

340 DON JUAN.

xc.
I had forgotten — but must not forget —

An orator, the latest of the session,
Who had delivered well a very set

Smooth speech, his first and maidenly transgression
Upon debate : the papers echoed yet

With his debut, which made a strong impression,
And rank'd with what is every day display 'd —
" The best first speech that ever yet was made."

, xci.

Proud of his " Hear hims ! " proud, too, of his TO

And lost virginity of oratory,
Proud of his learning (just enough to quote),

He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory :
With memory excellent to get by rote,

With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story.
Graced with some merit, and with more effrontery,
" His country's pride," he came down to the country.

XCII.

There also were two wits by acclamation,

Longbow from Ireland, Strongbow from the Tweed,

Both lawyers and both men of education ;

But Strongbow*s wit was of more polish'd breed :

Longbow was rich in an imagination
As beautiful and bounding as a steed,

But sometimes stumbling over a potato —

While Strongbow's best things might have come from Cato.

XCIII.

Strongbow was like a new-turned harpsichord ;

But Longbow wild as an JSolian harp,
With which the winds of heaven can claim accord,

And make a music, whether flat or sharp.
Of Strongbow's talk you would not change a word :

At Longbow's phrases you might sometimes carp :
Both wits — one born so, and the other bred,
This by his heart — his rival by his head.

xciv.
If all these seem an heterogeneous mass

To be assembled at a country seat,
Yet think, a specimen of every class

Is better than a humdrum tete-a-tete.
The days of Comedy are gone, alas !

When Congreve's fool could vie with Moliere's bete ;
Society is smooth'd to that excess,
That manners hardly differ more than dress.

DON JUAN. 341

XCV.

Our ridicules are kept in the back-ground—

Ridiculous enough, but also dull ;
Professions, too, are no more to be found

Professional ; and there is nought to cull
Of folly's fruit : for though your fools abound,

They're barren, and not worth the pains to pull.
Society is now one polish'd horde
Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

xcvi.
But from being farmers, we turn gleaners, gleaning

The scanty but right- well thresh'd ears of truth ;
And, gentle reader ! when you gather meaning,

You may be Boaz, and I — modest Ruth.
Farther I'd quote, but Scripture intervening

Forbids. A great impression in my youth
Was made by Mrs. Adams, where she cries,
" That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies."

XCVII.

But what we can we glean in this vile age

Of chaff, although our gleanings be not grist.
I must not quite omit the talking sage,
- Kit-Cat, the famous Conversationist,
Who, in his common-place book, had a page

Prepared each morn for evenings. " List, oh list '** —
" Alas, poor ghost !" — What unexpected woes
Await those who have studied their bons-mots '.

XCVIII.

Firstly, they must allure the conversation*
By many windings to their clever clinch ;

And secondly, must let slip no occasion,
Nor bate (abate) their hearers of an inch,

But take an ell — and make a great sensation,
If possible ; and thirdly, never flinch

When some s'mart talker puts them to the test,

But seize the last word, which no doubt's the best.

xcix.
Lord Henry and his lady were the hosts ;

The party we have touch'd on were the guests.
Their table was a board to tempt even ghosts

To pass the Styx for more substantial feasts.
I will not dwell upon ragouts or roasts,

Albeit all human history attests
That happiness for man — the hungry sinner ! —
Since Eve ate apples much depends on dinner.
80»

342 DON JUA.V

c.
Witness the lands which " flow'd with milk and honey,"

Held out unto the hungry Israelites ;
To this we have added since, the love of money,

The only sort of pleasure which requites.
Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny ;

We tire of mistresses and parasites ;
But oh, ambrosial cash ! Ah ! who would lose thee ?
When we no more can use, or even abuse thee !

ci. .

The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot,

Or hunt : the young, because they liked the sport —
The first thing boys like, after play and fruit ;

The middle-aged, to make the day more short ;
For ennui is a growth of English root,

Though nameless in our language ! — we retort
The fact for words, and let the French translate
That awful yawn which sleep can not abate.

en.
The elderly walk"d through the library,

And tumbled books, or criticised the pictures,
Or saunter'd through the gardens piteously,

And made upon the hot-house several strictures,
Or rode a nag which trotted not too high,

Or on the morning papers read their lectures,
Or on the watch their longing eyes would fix
Longing at sixty for the hour of six.

cm.
But none were." gene :" the great hour of union

Was rung by dinner's knell ; till then all were
Masters of their own time — or in communion,

Or solitary, as they chose to bear
The hours, which how to pass is but to few known.

Each rose up at his own, and had to spare
What time he chose for dress, and broke his fast
When, where, and how he chose for that repast.

civ.
The ladies — some rouged, some a little pale —

Met the morn as they might. If fine, they rode,
Or walk'd ; if foul, they read, or told a tale,

Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad ;
Discuss'd the fashion which might next prevail,

And settled bonnets by the newest code,
Or cramm'd twelve sheets into one little letter,
To make ea*h correspondent a new debtor.

343

cv.
For some had absent lovers, al! bad friends.

The earth has nothing like a she epistle,
And hardly heaven— because it never ends.

I love the mystery of a female missal,
\Vhich, like a creed, ne'er says all it intends,

But full of cunning as Ulysses' whistle,
When he allured poor Dolou : — you had better
Take care what you reply to such a letter.

cvi.
Then there were billiards ; cards, too, but no dice ; —

Save in the clubs no man of honour plays ; —
Boats when 'twas water, skating when 'twas ice,

And the hard frost destroy 'd the scenting days :
And angling too, that solitary vice,

Whatever Izaak Walton sings or says ;
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.
•

CVII.

With evening came the banquet and the wine ;

The conversazione ; the duet,
Attuned by voices more or less divine

(My heart or head aches with the memory yet)
The four Miss Rawbolds in a glee would shine •

But the two youngest loved more to be set
Down to the harp — because to music's charms
They added graceful necks, white hands and arms.

cvm.
Sometimes a dance (though rarely on field days,

For then the gentlemen were rather tired)
Display 'd some sylph-like figures in its maze ;

Then there was small-talk ready when required
Flirtation — but decorous ; the mere praise

Of charms that should or should not be admired,
The hunters fought their fox-hunt o'er again,
And then retreated soberly — at ten.

cix.
The politicians, in a nook apart,

Discuss'd the world, and settled all the spheres :
The wits watch'd every loophole for their art,

To introduce a bon-mot head and ears ;
Small is the rest of those who would be smart,

A moment's good thing may have cost them years,
Before they find an hour to introduce it ;
And then, even then some bore may n ake them lose it.

344 DON JUAJt.

CX.

But all was gentle and aristocratic

In this our party ; polioh'd, smooth, and cold..

As Phidian forms cut out of marble Attic.
There now are no Squire Westerns as of old ;

And our Sophias are not so emphatic,
But fair as then, or fairer to behold.

We have no accomplish'd blackguards, like Tom Jones,

But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones.

CXI.

They separated at an early hour ;

That is, ere midnight — which is London's noon :
But in the country ladies seek their bower

A little earlier than the waning moon.
Peace to the slumbers of each folded flower —

May the rose call back its true colour soon !
Good hours of fair cheeks are the fairest tinters,
And lower the price of rouge — at least some winters.

inn 3nan.

CANTO THE FOURTEENTH.

IF from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,

Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss —
But then 'twould spoil much good philosophy.

One system eats another up, and this
Much as old Saturn ate his progeny ;

For when his pious consort gave him stones

In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.

U.

But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,
And eats her parents, albeit the digestion

Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you' make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question ?

Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.

Nothing more true than not to trust your senses,

And yet what are your other evidences ?

in.

For me, I know nought ; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn ; and what know you,

Ezcept perhaps that you were born to die ?
And both may after all turn out untrue.

An age may come, Font of Eternity,

When nothing shall be either old or new.

Death, so call'd, is a thing which makes men weep,

.And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.

IV.

A sleep without dreams, after a rough day
Of toil, is what we covet must ; and yet

How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay !
The very Suicide that pays his debt

At once without instalments (an old way
Of paying debts, which creditors regret)

Lets out impatiently his rushing breath,

Less from disgust of life than dread of death.

346 DON JUAN.

V.

'Tis round him, near him, here, there, everywhere ;

And there's a courage which grows out of fear,
Perhaps of all most desperate^ which will dare

The worst to know it : — when the mountains rear
Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there

Yon look down o'er the precipice, and drear
The gulf of rock yawns, — you can't gaze a minute,
Without an awful wish to plunge within it.

VI.

'Tis true, you don't — but, pale and struck with terror,
Betire : but look into your past impression.

And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror
Of your own thoughts, in all their self-confession,

The lurking bias, be it truth or error,
To the unknown ; a secret prepossession,

To plunge with all your fears — but where ? You know not,

And that's the reason why you do— or do not.

VII.

But what's this to the purpose ? you will say,
Gent, reader, nothing ; a mere speculation,

For which my sole excuse is — 'tis my way,

Sometimes with and sometimes without occasion.

I write what's uppermost without delay ;
This narrative is not meant for narration,

But a mere airy and fantastic basis,

To build up common things with common places.

VIII.

You know, or don't know, that great Bacon saith,

" Fling up a straw, 'twill show the way the wind blows ;"

And such a straw, borne on by human breath,
Is poesy, according as the mind glows ;

A paper kite which flies 'twixt life and death
A shadow which the onward soul behind throws :

And mine's a bubble, not blown up for praise,

But just to play with, as an infant plays.

IX.

The world is all before me — or behind ;

For I have seen a portion of that same
And quite enough for me to keep in mind ; —

Of passions, too, I have proved enough to blame,
To the great pleasure of our friends, mankind.

Who like to mix some slight alloy with fame ;
For I was rather famous in my time,
Until I fairly knock'd it up with rhyme.

DON JUAN. 347

X.

I hare brought this world about my ears, and eke
The other : that's to say, the clergy — who

Upon my head have bid their thunders break
In pious libels by no means a few.

And yet I can't help scribbling once a week,
Tiring old readers, nor discovering new.

In youth I wrote because my mind was full,

And now because I feel it growing dull.

XI.

But " why then publish ?" — There are no rewards
Of fame or profit when the world grows weary.

I ask in turn, — Why do you play at cards ?
Why drink? Why read? — To make some hour less dreary,

It occupies me to turn back regards

On what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cherry ;

And what I write I cast upon the stream,

To swim or sink — I have had at least my dream.

XII.

I think that were I certain of success,

I hardly could compose another line :
So long I've battled either more or less,

That no defeat can drive me from the Nine.
This feeling 'tis not easy to express,

And yet 'tis not affected I opine.
In play, there are two pleasures for your choosing—
The one is winning, and the other losing.

XIII.

Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction :

She gathers a repertory of facts,
Of course with some reserve and slight restriction,

But mostly sings of human things and acts —
And that's one cause she meets with contradiction ;

For too much truth, at first sight, ne'er attracts
And were her object only what's call'd glory,
With more ease too she'd tell a different story.

XIV.

Love, war, a tempest — surely there's variety ;

Also a seasoning slight of lucubration ;
A bird's eye view, too, of that wild, Society ;

A slight glance thrown on men of every station
If you have nought else, here's at least satiety,

Both in performance and in preparation ;
And though these lines should only line portmanteau*.
Trade will be all the better for these Cantos.

,148 DON JUAS.

XT.

The portion of this world which I at present
Have taken up to fill the following sermon,

Is one of which there's no description recent :
The reason why, is easy to determine :

Although it seems both prominent and pleasant,
There is a sameness in its gems and ermine,

A dull and family likeness through all ages,

Of no great promise for poetic pages.

XVI.

With much to excite, there's little to exalt ;

Nothing that speaks to all men and all times ;
A sort of varnish over every fault ;

A kind of common-place, even in their crimes ;
Factitious passions, wit without much salt,

A want of that true nature which sublimes
Whate'er it shows with truth ; a smooth monotony
Of character, in those at least who have got any.

XVII.

Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade,
They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill :

But then the roll-call draws them back afraid,
And they must be or seem what they were : still

Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade ;
But when of the first sight you have had your nil

It palls — at least it did so upon me,

This paradise of pleasure and ennui.

XVIII.

When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming,
Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, something more ;

With dandies dined ; heard senators declaiming
Seen beauties brought to market by the score,

Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming ;
There's little left but to be bored or bore.

Witness those " ci-devant jeunet homines " who stem

The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them.

XIX.

'Tis said — indeed a general complaint —

That no one has succeeded in describing
The monde, exactly as they ought to paint :

Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribing
The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint,

To furnish matter for their moral gibing
And that their books have but one style in common—-
My lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman.

DON JUAN. 349

XX.

But this can't well be true, just now ; for write™
Are grown of the beau monde a part potential ;

I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters,
Especially when young, for that's essential.

Why do their sketches fail them as inditers

Of what they deem themselves most consequential,

The real portrait of the highest tribe ?

"Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe.

" Hand ignara loquor ;" these are Nugae, " quarum
Pars parva/wt," but still art and part.

Now I could much more easily sketch a harem,
A battle wreck, or history of the heart,

Than these things ; and besides , I wish to spare 'em.
For reasons which I choose to keep apart.

" Vetabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgarit " —

Which means that vulgar people must not share it.

XXII.

And therefore what I throw off is ideal —

Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of freemasons ;

Which bears the same relation to the real,
As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's.

The grand arcanum's not for men to see all ;
My music has some mystic diapasons ;

And there is much which could not be appreciated

In any manner by the uninitiated.

XXIII.

Alas ! worlds fall — and women, since she fell'd
The world (as, since that history, less polite

Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held)
Has not yet given up the practice quite.

Poor thing of usages ! coerced, compell'd,

Victim when- wrong, and martyr oft when right.

Condemn'd to child-bed, as men for their sins

Have shaving too entail'd upon their chins, —

XXIV.

A daily plague, which in the aggregate
May average on the whole the parturition.

But as to women, who can penetrate
The real sufferings of their she condition ?

Man's very sympathy with their estate
Has much of selfishness, and mt>re suspicion.

Their love, their virtue, beauty, education,

But form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.
81

550 DOS JUAN.

XXV.

All this were very well, and can't be better ;

But even this is difficult, Heaven knows,
So many troubles from her birth beset her,

Such small distinction between friends and foes,
The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter,

That but ask any woman if she'd choose

(Take her at thirty, that is) to have been
Female or male ? a schoolboy or a queen ?

XXVI.

" Petticoat influence " is a great reproach,
Which even those who obey would fain be thought

To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach ;

But since beneath it upon earth we are brought,

By various joltings of life's hackney coach,
I for one venerate a petticoat —

A garment of a mystical sublimity,

No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity.

XXVII.

Much I respect, and ranch I have adored,

In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil,

Which holds a treasure, like a miser's hoard,
And more attracts by all it doth conceal —

A golden scabbard on a Damasque sword,
A loving letter with a mystic seal,

A cure for grief — for what can ever rankle

Before a petticoat and peeping ankle ?

XXVIII.

And when upon a silent, sullen day,
With a sirocco, for example, blowing,

When even the sea looks dim with all its spray,
And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing,

And the sky shows that very ancient gray,
The sober, sad antithesis to glowing, —

T is pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant,

To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant.

XXIX.

We left our heroes and our heroines

In that fair clime which don't depend on climate,
Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs,

Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at,
Because the sun, and stars, and aught that shines,

Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at,
Are there oft dull and dreary as a dun —
Whether a sky's or tradesman's is all one.

DON JUAN. • 851

XXX.

An in-door life is less poetical ;

And out of door hath showers, and mists, and sleet,
With which I could not brew a pastoral.

But be it as it may, a bard must meet
All difficulties, whether great or small,

To spoil his undertaking or complete,
And work away like spirit upon matter,
Embarrass'd somewhat both with lire and water.

XXXI.

Juan — in this respect, at least, like saints,

Was all things unto people of all sorts,
And lived contentedly, without complaints,

In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts —
Born with that happy soul which seldom taints,

And mingling modestly in toils or sports.
He likewise could be most things to all women,
Without the coxcombry of certain the men.

XXXII.

A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange ;

'T is also subject to the double danger
Of tumbling first, and having in exchange

Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger :
But Juan had been early taught to range

The wilds, as doth an Arab turn'd avenger,
So that his horse, or charger, hunter, hack,
Knew that he had a rider on his back.

XXXIII.

And now in this new field, with some applause,
He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, and rail,

And never craned, and made but few "faux pas"
And only fretted when the scent 'gan fail.

He broke, 't is true, some statutes of the laws
Of hunting— »for the sagest youth is frail ;

Rode o'er the hounds, it may be, now and then,

And once o'er several country geutlemen.

XXXIV.

But on the whole, to general admiration

He acquitted both himself and horse : the squires

Marvell'd at merit of another nation ; [Sirei,

The boors cried " Dang it ! who'd have thought it ?" —

The Nestors of the sporting generation,

k Swore praises, and recall'd their former fires;

The huntsman's self relented to a grin,

And rated him almost a whipper-in.

352 x DOH JIMJi.

XXXV.

Such were his trophies — not of spear and shield,
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes

Yet I must own, — although in this I yield
To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes, —

He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,
Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes,

And what not, though he rode beyond all price,

Ask'd next day, " If men ever hunted twice ?"

XXXVI.

He also had a quality uncommon

To early risers after a long chase,
Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon

December's drowsy day to his dull race,-
A quality agreeable to woman,

When her soft, liquid words run on apace,
Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner, —
He did not fall asleep just after dinner :

9

XXXVII.

But, light and airy, stood on the alert,
And shone in the best part of dialogue.

By humouring always what they might assert,
And listening to the topics most in vogue ;

Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert ;
And smiling but in secret — cunning rogue !

He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer : —

In short, there never was a better hearer.

XXXVIII.

And then he danced ; — all foreigners excel

The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime ; — he danced, I say, right well,

With emphasis, and also with good sense—
A thing in footing indispensable ;

He danced without theatrical pretence,
Not like a ballet-master in the van
Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.

XXXIX.

Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bouiul,
And elegance was sprinkled o'er his figure ;

Like swift Camilla, he scarce skimm'd the ground,
And rather held in than put forth his vigour :

And then he had an ear for music's sound,
Which might defy a crotchet critic's rigour

Such classic pas — sans flaws — set off our hero,

He ^lanced like a personified Bolero ;

DON JUAN. J5J

•

XL.

Or like a flying Hour before Aurora,

In Guide's famous fresco, which alone
Is worth a tour to Home, although no more a

Remnant were there of the old world's sole throne,
The " tout ensemble " of his movements wore a

Grace of the soft ideal, seldom shown, .
And ne'er to be described ; for to the dolour
Of bards and prosers, words are void of colour.

XLI.
No marvel then he was a favourite ;

A full-grown Cupid, very much admired ;
A little spoilt, but by no means so quite ;

At least he kept his vanity retired.
Such was his tact, he could alike delight

The chaste, and those wtio are not so much inspired.
The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke, who loved " tracasserie"
Began to treat him with some small " agacerie."

XLII.
She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde,

Desirable, distinguish'd, celebrated
For several winters in the grand, grand monde.

I'd rather not say what might be related
Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground ;

Besides there might be falsehood in what's stated:
Her late performance had been a dead set
At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

XLIII. ,

This noble personage began to look t

A little black upon this new flirtation ;
But such small licences must lovers brook.

Mere freedoms of the female corporation.
Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke !

'T will but precipitate a situation
Extremely disagreeable, but common
To calculators, when they count on woman.

xuv.
The circle smiled, then whisper'd, and then sneer'd ;

The Misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd ;
Some hoped things might not turn out as they fear'd ;

Some would not deem such women could be found ;
Some ne'er believed one half of what they heard ;

Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd profound ;
And several pitied with sincere regret,
Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.
31*

354 DON JUAN.

XLV."

But what is odd, none ever named the duke,

Who, one might think, was something in the affair :

True, he was absent, and 't was rumour'd, took
But small concern about the when, or where,

Or what his consort did : if he could brook
Her gaieties, none had a right to stare :

Theirs was that best of unions, past all doubt,

Which never meets, and therefore can't fall out.

XLVI.
But, oh ! that I should ever pen so sad a line !

Fired with an abstract love of virtue, she,
My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline,

Began to think the duchess* conduct free ;
Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line,

And waxing chiller in her courtesy,
Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility,
For which most friends reserve their sensibility.

XLVII.

There's nought in this bad world like sympathy :

'T is so becoming to the soul and face,
Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,

And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace.
Without a friend, what were humanity,

To hunt our errors up with a good grace ?
Consoling us with — " Would you had thought twice !
Ah !• if you had but follow'd my advice !"

XLVIII.
0 Job ! you had two friends : one's quite enough,

Especially when we are ill at ease ;
They are but bad pilots when the weather's rough,

Doctors less famous for their cures than fees.
Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,

As they will do, like leaves at the first breeze :
When your affairs come round, one way or t'other,
Go to the coffee-house, and take another.

XLIX.
Bui. this is not my maxim : had it been,

Some heart-aches had been spared me : yet I care not-
J would not be a tortoise in his screen

Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not.
'T is better on the whole to have felt and seen

That which humanity may bear, or bear not :
'T will teach discernment to the sensitive,
And not to pour their ocean in a sieve.

355

L.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,

Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast,

Is that portentous phrase, " I told you so,"
TJtter'd by friends, those prophets of the past,

Who 'stead of saying what you now should do,
Own they foresaw that you would fall at last,

And solace your slight lapse 'gainst " bonus mores,"

With a long memorandum of old stories.

LI.

The Lady Adeline's serene severity

Was not confined to feeling for her friend,

Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity,
Unless her habits should begin to mend :

But Juan also shared in her austerity,

But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penu'd :

His inexperience moved her gentle ruth,

And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth,

MI.

The forty days' advantage of her years

And hers were those which can face calculation,

Boldly referring to the list of peers
And noble births, nor dread the enumeration —

Gave her a right to have maternal fears
For a young gentleman's fit education,

Though she was far from that leap year, whose leap,

In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap.

LIII.

This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirty —
Say seven-and-twenty ; for I never knew

The strictest in chronology and virtue

Advance beyond, while they could pass for new.

0 Time ! why dost not pause ? Thy scythe so dirty «
With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew.

Reset it ; shave more smoothly, also slower,

If but to keep thy credit as a mower.

LIV.
But Adeline was far from that ripe age, — .

Whose ripeness is but bitter at the best.
T was rather her experience made her sage,

For she had seen the world and stood its test,
As I have said in — I forget what page :

My Muse despises reference, as you have guess'd
By this time ; — but strike six from seven-and-tweuty,
And you will find her sum of years in plenty.

SW> EON JUAN.

LV.

At sixteen she came out ; presented, vaunted,

She put all coronets into commotion ;
At seventeen, too, the world was still enchanted

With the new Venus of their brilliant ocean :
At eighteen, though below her feet still panted

A hecatomb of suitors with devotion,
She had consented to create again
That Adam, called " The happiest of men."

tti.

Since then she had sparkled through three glowing winters,

Admired, adored ; but also so correct,
That she had puzzled all the acutest hinters,

Without the apparel of being circumspect :
Tuey could not even glean the slightest splinters

From off the marble, which had no defect.
She had also snatch'd a moment since her marriage,
To bear a son and heir — and one miscarriage.

LVII.
Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her,

Those little glitterers of the London night ;
But none of these possess'd a sting to wound her —

She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight.
Perhaps she wish'd, an aspirant profounder ;

But whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right ;
And whether coldness, pride, or virtue, dignify
A woman, so she's good, what does it signify ?

LVIII.

I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle

Which with the landlord makes too long a stand,

Leaving all claretless the unmoisten'd throttle,
Especially with politics on hand ;

I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle,

Who whirl the dust as simooms whirl the sand ;

I hate it, as I hate an argument,

A laureate's ode, or servile peer's " content."

LIX.
'T is sad to hack into the roots of, things,

They are so much intertwisted with the earth ;
So that the branch a goodly verdure flings,

I reck not if an acorn gave it birth.
To trace all actions to their secret springs

Would make indeed some melancholy mirth ;
But this is not at present my concern,
And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern.

357

LX.

With the kind view of saving an eclat,
Both to the duchess aud diplomatist,

The Lady Adeline, as soon "s she saw
That Juan was unlikely to resist —

(For foreigners don't know that a faux pas
In England ranks quite on a different list

From those of other lands unblest with juries,

Whose verdict for such sin a certain cure is ; — )

LXI.

The Lady Adeline resolved to take

Such measures as she thought might best impede
The farther progress of this sad mistake.

She thought with some simplicity indeed ;
But innocence is bold even at the stake,

And simple in the world, and doth not need
Nor use those palisades by dames erected,
Whose virtue lies in never being detected.

LXII.

It was not that she fear'd the very worst :
His Grace was an enduring, married man,

And was not likely all at once to burst
Into a scene, and swell the clients' clan

Of Doctors' Commons ; but she dreaded first
The magic of her Grace's talisman,

And next a quarrel (as he seem'd to fret)

With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

Her Grace, too, pass'd for being an intrigante,
And somewhat mechante in her amorous sphere ;

One of those pretty, precious plagues, which haunt
A lover with caprices soft and dear,

That like to make a quarrel, when they can't
Find one, each day of the delightful year :

Bewitching," torturing, as they freeze or glow,

And — what is worst of all — won't let you go.

LXIV.
The sort of thing to turn a young man's head,

Or make a Werter of him in the end.
No wonder then a purer soul should dread

This sort of chaste liaison for a friend ;
It were much better to be wed or dead,

Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend.
'T is best to pause, and think, ere you rush on,
If that a " bonne fortune " be really " bonne."

358

DON JUAK.

LXV.

And first, in the overflowing of her heart,

Which really knew or thought it knew no guile,

She call'd her husband now and then apart,
And hade him counsel Juan. With a smile

Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art
To wean Don Juan from the siren's wile ;

And answer'd, like a statesman or a prophet,

In such guise that she could make nothing of it.

LXTI.
Firstly, he said, "he never interfered

In anybody's business but the king's : "
Next, that " he never judged from what appear'd,

Without strong reason, of those sort of things ; *
Thirdly, that " Juan had more brain than beard,

And was not to be held in leading strings ; "
And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice,
" That good but rarely came from good advice."

And, therefore, doubtless to approve the truth
Of the last axiom, he advised his spouse

To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth —
At least as far as bienaeance allows :

That time would temper Juan's faults of youth ;
That young men rarely made monastic vows ;

That opposition only more attaches —

But here a messenger brought in despatches :

LXVIII.
And being of the council call'd " the Privy,"

Lord Henry walk'd into his cabinet,
To furnish matter for some future Livy,

To tell how he reduced the nation's debt ;
And if their full contents I do not give ye,

It is because I do not know them yet ;
But I shall add them in a brief appendix,
To come between mine epic and its index.

LXIX.
But ere he went, he added a slight hint,

Another gentle common-place or two,
Such as are coin'd in conversation's mint,

And pass, for want of better, though not new :
Then broke his packet, to see what was in't,

And having casually glanced it through,
Retired : and, as he went on, calmly kiss'd her,
Less like a young wife than an aged sister.

DON JUAN. 359

LXX.

He was a cold, good, honourable man,

Proud of his birth, and proud of everything ;

A goodly spirit for a state divan, «

A figure fit to walk before a king ;

Tall, stately, form'd to lead the courtly Tan
On birthdays, glorious with a star and string ;

The very model of a chamberlain —

And such I mean to make him when I reign.

txxi.
But there was something wanting on the whole—

I don't know what, and therefore cannot tell —
Which pretty women — the sweet souls ! — call soul

Certes it was not body ; he was well
Proportion'd, as a poplar and a pole,

A handsome man, that human miracle ;
And in each circumstance of love or war,
Had still preserved his perpendicular.

LXXH.
Still there was something wanting, as I're said—

That undennable " Je ne scais quoi,"
Which, for what I know, may of yore have led

To Homer's Iliad, since it drew to Troy
The Greek Eve, Helen, from the Spartan's bed ;

Though on the whole, no doubt, the Dardan boy .
Wai much inferior to King Meneclaus : —
But thus it is some women will betray us.

LXXIII.

There is an awkward thing which much perplexes,

Unless like wise Tiresias we had proved
By turns the difference of the several sexes ;

Neither can show quite how they would be loved.
The sensual for a short time but connects as —

The sentimental boasts to be unmoved ;
But both together form a kind of centaur,
Upon whose back 'tis better not to venture.

LXXIV
A something all-sufficient for the heart

Is that for which the sex are always seeking :
But how to fill up that same vacant part ?

There lies the rub — and this they are but weak in.
Frail mariners afloat without a chart,

They run before the wind through high seas breaking ;
And when they have made the shore through every shock,
Tig odd, or odds, it may turn out a rock.

360 DON JUAN,

LXXV

There is a flower calPd " Love in Idleness,"

Fowhich see Shakspeare's ever blooming garden ;

I wilfnot make his great description less,
And beg his British godship's humble pardon,

If in my extremity of rhyme's distress,

I touch a single leaf where he is warden ; —

But though the flower is different, with the French

Or Swiss Rousseau, cry " Voila la Pervenche I "

i^xvr.
Eureka ! I hare found it ! What I mean

To say is, not that love is idleness,
But that in love such idleness has been

An accessory, as I have cause to guess.
Hard labour's an indifferent go-between ;

Your men of business are not apt to express
Much passion, since the merchant-ship, the Argo,
Convey'd Medea as her supercargo.

LXVII.

" Beatus tile promt ! " from " negotiis,"

Saith Horace ; the great little poet's wrong ;

His other maxim, " Noscitur a tociis"
Is much more to the purpose of his song ;

Though even that were sometimes too ferocious,
Unless good company be kept too long :

But, in his teeth, whate'er their state or station,

Thrice happy they who have an occupation !

LXXVIII.

Adam exchanged nis Paradise for ploughing,
Eve made up millinery with fig leaves —

The earliest knowledge from the tree so knowing
As far as I know, that the church receives :

And since that time it need not cost much showin ,
That many of the ills o'er which man grieves,

And still more womea, spring from not employing

Some hours to make the remnant worth enjoying.

LXXIX.

And hetice high life is oft a dreary void,
A rack of pleasures, where we must invent

A something wherewithal to be annoy'd.

Bards may sing what they please about Content >•

Contented, when translated, means but cloy'd ;
And hence arise the woes of sentiment,

Blue devils, and blue-stockings, and romances

Reduced to practice, and perform'd like dance

DON JUAN. 301

LXXX.

I do declare, npon an affidavit,

Romances I ne'er read like those I hare seen ;
Nor, if unto the world I ever gave it,

Wpuld some believe that such a tale had been ;
But such intent I never had, nor have it ;

Some truths are better kept behind a screen,
Especially when they would look like lies ;
t therefore deal in generalities.

txxxi.
41 An oyster may be cross'd in love," — and why?

Because he mopeth idly in his shell,
And heaves a lonely subterraqueous sigh,

Much as a monk may do within his cell :
And a-propos of monks, their piety

With sloth hath found it difficult to dwell ;
Those vegetables of the Catholic creed
Are apt exceedingly to run to seed.

LXXXII.

0 Wilberforce ! thou man of black renown,
Whose merit none enough can sing or say,

Thou hast struck one immense Colossus down,
Thou moral Washington of Africa !

But there's another little thing, I own

Which you should perpetrate some summer s day,

A ml set the other half of earth to rights ;

You have freed the blacks — now pray shut up the whites.

LXXXIII.
Shut up the bald-coot bully Alexander ;

Ship off the Holy Three to Senegal ;
Teach them that "sauce for goose is sauce for gander,"

And ask them how they like to be in thrall ?
Shut up each high heroic salamander,

Who eats fire gratis (since the pay's but small) ;
Shut up — no, not the King, but the Pavilion,
Or else 'twill cost us all another million.

LXXXIV.

Shut up the world at large, let Bedlam out !

And you will be perhaps surprised to find
All things pursue exactly the same route.

As now with those of soi-disant sound mind.
This I could prove beyond a single doubt,

Were there a jot of sense among mankind ;
But until that point d'appui is found, alas !
Like Archimedes, I leave earth as 'twas.
82

862 DON JUAN.

LXXXV.

Our gentle Adeline had one defect—

Her heart was vacant, though a splendid mansion ;
Her conduct had been perfectly correct,

As she had seen nought claiming its expansion.
A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd,

Because 'tis frailer, doubtless, than a stanch one
But when the latter works its own undoing,
Its inner crash is like an earthquake's ruin.

rxxxvi.
She loved her lord, or thought so ; but that love

Cost her an effort, which is a sad toil,
The stone of Sysiphus, if once we move

Our feelings 'gainst the nature of the soil.
She had nothing to complain of, or reprove,

No bickerings, no connubial turmoil :
Their union was a model to behold,
Serene and noble, — conjugal, but cold.

zxxxvu.
There was no great disparity of years,

Though much in temper ; but they never clash'd :
They moved like stars united in their spheres,

Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
Where mingled and yet separate appears

The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd
Through the serene and placid glassy deep,
Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep.

IXXXVIII.

Nov when she once had ta'en an interest
In any thing, however she might flatter

Herself that her intentions were the best,
Intense intentions are a dangerous matter :

Impressions were much stronger than she guess'd,
And gather'd as they run like growing water

Upon her mind ; the more so, as her breast

Was not at first too readily impress'd.

txxxix.
But when it was, she had that lurking demon

Of double nature, and thus doubly named —
Firmness yclept in heroes, kings, and seamen,

That is, when they succeed ; but greatly blamed
As obstinacy, both in men and women,

Whene'er their triumph pales, or star is tamed :•—
And 'twill perplex the casuist in morality
To fix the due bounds of this dangerous quality.

DON JUAN. 368

•

xc.
Had Buonaparte won at Waterloo,

It had been firmness ; now 'tis pertinacity.;
Must the event decide between the two ?

I leave it to your people of sagacity
To draw the line between the false and true ;

If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacity :
My business is with Lady Adeline,
Who in her way too was a heroine.

xci.
She knew not her own heart ; then how should I ?

I think not she was then in love with Juan :
If so, she would have had the strength to fly

The wild sensation, unto her a new one :
She merely felt a common sympathy

(I will not say it was a false or true one
In him, because she thought he was in danger : —
Her husband's friend, her own, young, and a stranger.

xcn.
She was, or thought she was, his friend — and this

Without the farce of friendship, or romance.
Platonism, which leads so oft amiss

Ladies who have studied friendship but in France,
Or Germany, where people purely kiss.

To thus much Adeline would not advance ;
But of such friendship as man's may to man be
She was as capable as woman can be.

XCIII.

No doubt the secret influence of the sex

Will there, as also in the ties of blood,
An innocent predominance annex,

And tune the concord to a finer mood.
If free from passion, which all friendship checks,

And your true feelings fully understood,
No friend like" to a woman earth discovers,
So that you have not been nor will be lovers.

xciv.
Love bears within its breast the very germ

Of change ; and how should this be otherwise ?
That violent things more quickly find a term

Is shown through nature's whole analogies ;
And how should the most fierce of all be firm ?

Would you have endless lightnings in the skies
Methinks Love's very title says enough :
How should the tender passion ere be tough ?

AVs V •

Alas I by all experience, seldom yet

(I merely quote what I have heard from many)
Had lovers not some reason to regret

The passion which made Solomon a zany.
I've also seen some wives (not to forget

The marriage state, the best or worst of any)
Who were the very paragons of wives,
Yet made the misery of at least two lives.

xcn.
I've also seen some female friends ('tis odd,

But true — as, if expedient, I could prove)
That faithful were through thick and thin abroad,

At home, far more than ever yet was Love —
Who did not quit me when Oppression trod

Upon me ; whom no scandal could remove :
Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles,
Despite the snake Society's loud rattles.

XCVII.

Whether Don Juan and chaste Adeline
Grew friends in this or any other sense,

Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine :
At present I am glad of a pretence

To leave them hovering, as the effect is fine,
And keeps the atrocious reader in suspense .

The surest way for ladies and for books

To bait their tender or their tenter hooks.

XCVIII.

Whether they rode, or walk'd, or studied Spanish

To read Don Quixote in the original,
A pleasure before which all others vanish :

Whether their talk was of the kind call'd " small,"
Or serious, are the topics I must banish

To the next Canto ; where perhaps I shall
Say something to the purpose, and display
Considerable talent in my way.

xcix.
Above all, I beg all men to forbear

Anticipating aught about the matter.
They'll only make mistakes about the fair

And Juan too, especially the latter.
And I shall take a much more serious air,

Than I have yet done, in this epic satire.
It is not clear that Adeline and Juan
Will fan ; but if they do, 'twill be their ruin.

DON JUAN. 365

c.
But great things spring from little : — Would you think,

That in our youth, as dangerous a passsion,
As e'er brought man and woman to the brink

Of ruin, rose from such a slight occasion,
As few would ever dream could form the link

Of such a sentimental situation ?
You'll never guess, I'll bet you millions, milliards —
It all sprung from a harmless game at billiards.

CI.

Tis strange, — but true ; for truth is always strange ;

Stranger than fiction : if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange !

How differently the world would men behold !
How oft would vice and virtue places change !

The new world would be nothing to the old,
If some Columbus of the moral seas
Would show mankind their souls' antipodes.

CII.

What " antres vast and deserts idle " then

Would be discover'd in the human soul !
What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men,

With self-love in the centre as their pole !
What Anthropophagi are nine of ten

Of those who hold the kingdoms in control !
Were things but only call'd by their right name,
Caesar himself would be ashamed of fame.

82*

inn Sunn.

CANTO THE FIFTEENTH.

I.

AH ! — What should follow slips from my reflection ;

Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As a-propos of hope or retrospection,

As though the lurking thought had follow'd free
All present life is but an interjection,

An " Oh!" or " Ah !" of joy or misery,
Or a " Ha ! ha !" or " Bah !"— a yawn, or " Pooh P'
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.

IT.
But, more or less, the whole's a syncopfe

Or a singultus — emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,

Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean,
That watery outline of eternity,

Or miniature at least, as is my notion,
Which ministers unto the soul's delight,
In seeing matters which are out of sight.

in.

But all are better than the sigh supprest,

Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a masque of rest,

And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worse or best

Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself ; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.

IV.

Ah ! who can tell ? Or rather who can not
Remember, without telling, passion's errors ?

The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,

Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors :

Wliat though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors :

The ruby glass that shakes within his hand

Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.

DON JUAN. 367

V.

And as for love — 0 love ! We will proceed.

The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,

Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.
There's music in the sighing of a reed

There's music in the gushing of a rill ;
There's music in all things, if men had ears :
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.

VI.

The Lady Adeline, right honourable
And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so ;

For few of the soft sex are very stable

In their resolves — alas ! that I should say so !

They differ as wine differs from its label,

When once decanted : — I presume to guess so,

But will not swear : yet both upon occasion,

Till old, may undergo adulteration.

VII.

But Adeline was of the purest vintage,

The unmingled essence of the grape ; and yet

Bright as a new Napoleon from its mintage,
Or glorious as a diamond richly set ;

A page where Time should hesitate to print age,
And for which Nature might forego her debt —

Sole creditor whose process doth involve in't

The luck of finding every body solvent.

VIII.

0 Death ! thou dunnest of all duns ! thou daily
Knockest at doors, at first with modest tap,

Like a meek tradesman when, approaching palely,
Some splendid debtor he would take by sap :

But oft denied, as patience 'gins to fail, he
Advances with exasperated rap,

And (if let in) insists, in terms unhandsome,

On ready money, or " a draft on Ransom."

IX.

Whate'er thou takest, spare a while poor Beauty !

She is so rare, and thou hast so much prey.
What though she now and then may slip from duty,

The more's the reason why you ought to stay.
Gaunt Gourmand ! with whole nations for your booty,

You should be civil in a modest way :
Suppress, then, some slight feminine diseases,
&nd take as many heroes as Heaven pleases.

S68 DON JUAN.

X.

Fair Adeline, the more ingenuous

Where she was interested (as was said),
Because she was not apt, like some of us,

To like too readily, or too high bred
To show it — (points we need not now discuss) —

Would give up artlessly both heart and head
TJnto such feelings as seera'd innocent,
For objects worthy of the sentiment.

xr.
Some part of Juan's history, which Rumour,

That live gazette, had scatter'd to disfigure,
She had heard ; but women hear with more good humour

Such aberrations than we men of rigour :
Besides, his conduct, since in England, grew more

Strict, and his mind assumed a manlier vigour ;
Because he had, like Alcibiades,
The art of living in all climes with ease.

XII.

His manner was perhaps the more seductive,
Because he ne'er seem'd anxious to seduce :

Nothing affected, studied, or constructive
Of coxcombry or conquest ; no abuse

Of his attractions marr'd the fair perspective,
To indicate a Cupidon broke loose,

And seem to say, " Resist us if you can" —

Which makes a dandy while it spoils a man.

XIII.

They are wrong — that's not the way to set about it ;

As,.if they told the truth, could well be shown.
But, right or wrong, Don Juan was without it ;

In fact, his manner was his own alone ;
Sincere he was — at least you could not doubt it,

In listening merely to his voice's tone.
The devil hath not in all his quiver's choice
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

XIV.

By nature soft, his whole address held off

Suspicion : though not timid, his regard
Was such as rather seem'd to keep aloof,

To shield himself than put you on your guard :
Perhaps 'twas hardly quite assured enough,

But modesty's at times its own reward,
Like virtue ; and the absence of pretension
Will go much farther than there's need to mention.

DON JUAN. 88 J

XV.

Serene, accomplish M, cheerful but not loud ;

Insinuating without insinuation ;
Observant of the foibles of the crowd,

Yet ne'er betraying this in conversation ;
Proud with the proud, yet courteously proud,

So as to make them feel he knew his station
And theirs : — without a struggle for priority;
He neither brook' d nor claim'd superiority.

XVI.

That is, with men : with women he was what
They please to make or take him for ; and their

Imagination's quite enough for that :
So that the outline's tolerably fair,

They fill the canvass up — and " verbum sat."
If once their phantasies be brought to bear

Upon an object, whether sad or playful,

They can transfigure brighter than a Raphael.

XVII.

Adeline, no deep judge of character,

Was apt to add a colouring from her own :

'Tis thus the good will amiably err,
And eke the wise, as has been often shown.

Experience is the chief philosopher,
But saddest when his science is well known :

And persecuted sages teach the schools

Their folly in forgetting there are fools.

XVIII.

Was it not so, great Locke ? and greater Bacon ?

Great Socrates ? And thou, Diviner still,
Whose lot it is by man to be mistaken,

And thy pure creed made sanction of all ill ?
Redeeming worlds to be by bigots shaken,

How was thy toil rewarded ? We might fill
Volumes with similar sad illustrations,
But leave them to the conscience of the nations.

XIX.

1 perch upon an humbler promontory,

Amidst life's infinite variety :
With no great care for what is nicknamed glory,

But speculating as I cast mine eye
On what may suit or may not suit my story,

And never straining hard to versify,
I rattle on exactly as I'd talk
With any body in a ride or walk.

370 DON JUAN.

XX.

I don't know that there may be much ability,
Shown in this sort of desultory rhyme ;

But there's a conversational facility,
Which may round off an hour upon a time,

Of this I'm sure at least, there's no servility,
In mine irregularity of chime,

Which rings what's uppermost of new or hoary

Just as I feel the " Improwisatore."

XXI.

" Omnia vult belle Matho dicere — die aliquando
Et bene, die neutrumy die aliquando male."

The first is rather more than mortal can do ;
The second may be sadly done or gaily ;

The third is still more difficult to stand to ;
The fourth we hear, and see, and say too, daily

The whole together is what I could wish

To serve in this conundrum of a dish.

XXII.

A modest hope — but modesty's my forte,
And pride my feeble : — let us ramble on.

I meant to make this poem very short,
But now I can't tell where it may not run.

No doubt, if I had wish'd to pay my court
To critics, or to hail the setting sun

Of tyranny of all kinds, my concision

Were more ; — but I was born for opposition.

XXIII.

But then 'tis mostly on the weaker side ;

So that I verily believe if they
Who now are basking in their full-blown pride

Were shaken down, and " dogs had had their day,
Though at the first I might perchance deride

Their tumble, I should turn the other way,
And wax an ultra-royalist in loyalty,
Because I hate even democratic royalty.

XXIV.

I think I should have made a decent spouse,
If I had never proved the soft condition ;

I think I should have made monastic vows,
But for my own peculiar superstition :

'Gainst rhyme I never should have knock'd my brows,
Nor broken my own head, nor that of Priscian,

^ior worn the motley mantle of a poet,

If tome one had not told me to forego it.

DOS JUAK. 871

XXV.

But " laissez alter " — knights and dames I sing,
Such as the times may furnish. Tis a flight

Which seems at first to need no lofty wing
Plumed by Long in us or the Stagy rite :

The difficulty lies in colouring

(Keeping the due proportions still in sight)

With nature manners which are artificial,

And rend'ring general that which is especial.

XXVI.

The difference is, that in the days of old

Men made the manners ; manners now make incu—
Pinn'd like a floek, and fleeced to in their fold,

At least nine, and a ninth beside of ten.
Now this at all events must render cold

Your writers, who must either draw again
Days better drawn before, or else assume
The present, with their common place costume.

XXVII.

Well do our best to make the best on't : — March !

March, my Muse ! If you cannot fly, yet flutter \
And when you may not be sublime, be arch,

Or starch, as are the edicts statesmen utter.
We surely may find something worth research :

Colombus found a new world in a cutter,
Or brigantine, or pink, of no great tonnage,
While yet America was in her non-age

When Adeline, in all her growing sense

Of Juan's merits and his situation,
Felt on the whole an interest intense, —

Partly perhaps because a fresh sensation,
Or that he had an air of innocence,

Which is fur-innocence a sad temptation,—
As women hate half measures, on the whole,
She gan to ponder how to save his soul.

XXIX.

She had a good opinion of advice,

Like all who give and eke receive it gratis,

For which small thanks are still the market pried,
Even where the article at highest rate is :

She thought upon the subject twice or thrice,
And morally decided, the best state is

For morals, marriage : and this question carried.

She seriously advised him to get married.

372 DON JUAN.

XXX.

Juan replied, with all becoming deference,

He had a predilection for that tie ;
But that, at present, with immediate reference

To his own circumstances, there might lie
Some difficulties, as in his own preference,

Or that of her to whom he might apply ;
That still he'd wed with such or such a lady,
If that they were not married all already.

XXXI.

Next to the making matches for herself,
And daughters, brothers, sisters, kith or kin,

Arranging them like books on the same shelf,
There's nothing women love to dabble in

More (like a stock-holder in growing pelf)
Than match-making in general : 'tis no sin

Certes, but a preventative, and therefore

That is, no doubt, the only reason wherefore.

XXXII.

But never yet (except of course a miss

Unwed, or mistress never to be wed,
Or wed already, who object to this)

Was there chaste dame who had not in her head
Some drama of the marriage unities,

Observed as strictly both at board and bed,
As those of Aristotle, though sometimes
They turn out melodrames or pantomimes.

XXXIII.

They generally have some only son,

Some heir to a large property, some friend

Of an old family, some gay Sir John,
Or grave Lord George, with whom perhaps might end

A line, and leave posterity undone,

Unless a marriage was applied to mend

The prospect and their morals ; and besides,

They have at hand a blooming glut of brides.

XXXIV.

From these they will be careful to select,
For this an heiress, and for that a beauty ;

For one a songstress who hath no defect,
For t'other one who promises much duty ;

For this a lady no one can reject,
Whose sole accomplishments were quite a booty ;

A second for her excellent connections ;

A third, because there can be no objections.

DUN JUAN. 373

XXXV.

When Rapp the Harmonist einbargo'd marriage
In his harmonious settlement — (which flourishes

Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage,

Because it breeds no more mouths than it nourishes,

Without those sad expenses which disparage
What Nature naturally most encourages) —

Why call'd he " Harmony " a state sans wedlock ?

Now here I've got the preacher at a dead lock.

xxxn.
Because he either meant to sneer at harmony

Or marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly.
But whether reverend Rapp learn'd this in Germany

Or no, 'tis said his sect is rich and godly,
Pious and pure, beyond what I can term any

Of ours, although they propagate more broadly.
My objection's to nis title, not his ritual,
Although I wonder how it grew habitual.

XXXVII.

But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons,
Who favour, malgr6 Malthus, generation —

Professors of that genial art, and patrons
Of all the modest part of propagation ;

Which after all at such a desperate rate runs,
That half its produce tends to emigration,

That sad result of passions and potatoes —

Two weeds which pose our economic Catos.

XXXVIII.

Had Adeline read Malthus ? I can t tell ;

I wish she had ; his book's the eleventh commandment.
Which says, " Thou shalt not marry," unless well :

This he (as far as I can understand) meant.
'Tis not my purpose on his views to dwell,

Nor canvass 'what "so eminent a hand" meant ;
But certes it conducts to lives ascetic.
Or turning marriage into arithmetic.

XXXIX.

But Adeline, who probably presumed

That Juan had enough of maintenance,
Or separate maintenance, in case 'twas doom'd —

As on the whole it is an even chance
That bridegrooms, after they are fairly grooin'd,

May retrograde a little in the dance
Of marriage — (which might form a painter's fame,
Like Holbein's " Dance of Death" — but 'tis the same ;—
83

874 DON JUAB.

XL.

But Adeline determined Juan's wedding

In her own mind, and that's enough for wojian '.

But then, with whom ? There was the sage Miss Reading,
Miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and Miss Know-

And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding, [man,

She deem'd his merits something more than common :

All these were unobjectionable matches,

And might go on, if well wound up, like watches.

XLI.
•There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer's sea,

That usual paragon, an only daughter,
Who seem'd the cream of equanimity,

Till skimm'd — and then there was some milk and water,
With a slight shade of blue too, it might be,

Beneath the surface ; but what did it matter ?
Love's riotous, but marriage should have quiet,
And being consumptive, live on a milk. diet.

XXII.

And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring,

A dashing demoiselle of good estate,
Whose heart was tix'd upon a star or blue string ;

But whether English dukes grew rare of late,
Or that she had not harp'd upon the true string,

By which such sirens can attract our great,
She took up with some foreign younger brother,
A ituss or Turk — the one's as good as t'other.

XLIII.
And then there was— but why should I go on,

Unless the ladies should go off? — there was
Indeed a certain fair and fairy one,

Of the best class, and better than her class,-—
Aurora Raby, a young star who shone

O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass
A lovely being, scarcely form'd or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded

xuv.

Rich, noble, but an orphan ; left an only

Child to the care of guardians good and kind ;

But still her aspect had an air so lonely !
Blood is not water ; and where shall we find

Feelings of youth like those which overthrown he
By death, when we are left, alas ! behind,

To feel, in friendless palaces, a home

Is wanting, and our best ties in the tomb 1

DON JUAN. 87i

XLV.

Early in years, and yet more infantine

In figure, she had something of sublime
In eyes which sadly shone, as seraphs' shine

AH youth — but with an aspect beyond time ;
Radiant and grave — as pitying man's decline.

Mournful — but mournful of another's crime ;
She look'd as if she sat by Eden's door,
And grieved for those who could return no more.

XLVI.
She was a Catholic, too, sincere, austere,

As far as her own gentle heart allow'd,
And deem'd that fallen worship far more dear

Perhaps because 'twas fallen : her sires were proud
Of deeds and days when they had fill'd the ear

Of nations, and had never bent or bow'd
To novel power ; and as she was the last,
She held their old faith and old feelings fast.

XLVII.
She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew

As seeking not to know it ; silent, lone,
As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew

And kept her heart serene within its zone.
There was awe in the homage which she drew

Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throne
Apart from the surrounding world, and strong
In its own strength — most strange in one so young !

XLVIII.

Now it so happen'd, in the catalogue

Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted,
Although her birth and wealth had given her vogue,

Beyond the charmers we have already cited ;
Her beauty also seem'd to form no clog

Against her being mention'd as well fitted
By many virtues, to be worth the trouble
Of single gentlemen who would be doable.

XLIX.
And this omission, like that of the bust

Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius,
Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must.

This he express'd half smiling and half serious ;
When Adeline replied with some disgust,

And with an air, to say the least, imperious,
She marvell'd " what he saw in such a baby
As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby '!"

'

I"
J uan rejoin'd — " She was a Catholic,

And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion ;
Since he was sure his mother would fall sick,

And the Pope thunder excommunication,
It " But here Adeline, who seem'd to piqua

Herself extremely on the inoculation
Of others with her own opinions, stated —
As usual — the same reason which she late did.

LI.

And wherefore not . A reasonable reason,
If good, is none the worse for repetition ;

If bad, the best way 's certainly to teaze on,
And amplify : you lose much by concision,

Whereas insisting in or out of season
Convinces all men, even a politician ;

Or — what is just the same — it wearies out.

So the end 's gain'd, what signifies the route ?

LII.

Why Adeline had this slight prejudice —
For prejudice it was — against a creature

As pure as sanctity itself from vice,
With all the added charm of form and feature,

For me appears a question far too nice,
Since Adeline was liberal by nature ;

But nature's nature, and has more caprices

Than I have time, or will, to take to pieces.

mi.
Perhaps she did not like the quiet way

With which Aurora on those baubles look'd,
Which charm most people in their earlier day,

For there are few things by mankind less brook'd.
And womankind too, if we so may say,

Than finding thus their genius stand rebuked,
Like " Anthony's by Csesar," by the few
Who look upon them as they ought to do.

L1Y.

It was not envy — Adeline had none ;

Her place was far beyond it, and her mind.
It was not scorn — which could not light on one

Whose greatest fault was leaving few to find.
It was not jealousy, I think : but shun

Following the " ignes fatui " of mankind.

It was not but *t is easier far, alas !

To say what it was not than what it was.

DON JUAN. 377

LV.

Little Aurora deem'd she was the theme
Of such discussion. She was there a guest ;

A beauteous ripple of the brilliant stream

Of rank and youth, though purer than the rest,

Which flow'd on for a moment in the beam

Time sheds a moment o'er each sparkling crest.

Had she known this, she would have calmly smiled

She had so much, or little, of the child.

LVI.
The dashing and proud air of Adeline

Imposed not upon her : she saw her blaze
Much as she would hare seen a glow-worm shine,

Then turn'd unto the stars for loftier rays.
Juan was something she could not divine,

Being no sybil in the new world's ways ;
Yet she was nothing dazzled by the meteor
Because she did not pin her faith on feature.

LVII.
His fame too, — for he had that kind of fame

Which sometimes plays the deuce with womankind,
A heterogeneous mass of glorious blame,

Half virtues and whole vices being combined ;
Faults which attract because they are not tame ;

Follies trick'd out so brightly that they blind : —
These seals upon her wax made no impression,
Such was her coldness or her self-possession.

LVIII.
Juan knew nought of such a character —

High, yet resembling not his lost Haidee
Yet each was radiant in her proper sphere :

The island girl, bred up by the lone sea,
More warm, as lovely, and not less sincere,

Was Nature's all : Aurora could not be,
Nor would be thus : — the difference in them
Was such as lies between a flower and gem.

LIX.

Having wound up with this sublime comparison,
Methinks we may proceed upon our narrative,
And, as my friend Scott says, I sound my " warison ;"

Scott, the superlative of my comparative-
Scott, who can paint your Christian knight or Saracen,

Serf, lord, man, with such skill, as none would share it, if
There had not been one Shakspeare and Voltaire,
Of one or both of whom he seems the heir.
33*

378 DON JUAN.

LX.

I say, in my slight way I may proceed

To play upon the surface of humanity.
I write the world, nor care if the world read,

At least for this I cannot spare its vanity.
My Muse hath bred, and still perhaps may breed

More foes by this same scroll, when I began it, I
Thought that it might turn out so — now I know it,
But still I am, or was, a pretty poet.

LXI.

The conference or congress (for it ended

As congresses of late do) of the Lady
Adeline and Don Juan rather blended

Some acids with the sweets — for she was heady ;
But, ere the matter could be marr'd or mended,

The silvery bell rang not for " dinner ready,"
But for that hour, call'd half-hour, given to dress,
Though ladies' robes seem scant enough for less.

LXII.
Great things were now to be achieved at table,

With massy plate for armour, knives and forks
For weapons ; but what Muse since Homer's able

(His feasts are not the worst part of his works)
To draw up in array a single day-bill

Of modern dinners ? where more mystery lurks.
In soups or sauces, or a sole ragout,
Than witches, b — ches, or physicians, brew.

LXIII.
There was a goodly " soupe a la bonne femme,

Though God knows whence it came from ; there was, too,
A turbot for relief of those who cram,

Relieved with " dindon a la Parigeux :
There also was the sinner that I am !

How shall I get this gourmand stanza through ? —
" Soupe a la Beauveau," whose relief was dory,
Relieved itself by pork, for greater glory.

LXIV.

But I must crowd all into one grand mess

Or mass, for should I stretch into detail,
My Muse would run much more into excess,

Than when some squeamish people deem her frail ;
But though a " bonne vivante," I must confess

Her stomach '& not her peccant part ; this tale
However doth require some slight refection,
Just to relieve her spirits from dejection.

DOM JUAN. 379

LXV.

Fowls " a la Conde," slices eke of salmon,
With " sauces Genevoises," and haunch of venison ;

Wines, too, which might again have slain young Arnmon—
A man like whom I hope we sha'n't see many soon ;

They also set a glazed Westphalian ham on,
Whereon Apicius would bestow his benison :

And then there was champagne with foaming whirls,

As white as Cleopatra's melted pearls.

JJLVl.

Then there was God knows what "al'AUemande,"
" A 1'Espagnole," "timballe," and "salpicon" —

With things I can't withstand or understand,

Though swallow'd with much zest upon the whole ;

And " entremets " to piddle with at hand,
Gently to lull down the subsiding soul ;

While great Lucullus" Robe triumphal muffles —

(There t fame)— young partridge fillets, deck'd with truffles,

LXVII.

What are ihefilkts on the victor's brow

To these ? They are rags or dust. Where is the arch
Which nodded to the nation's spoils below ?

Where the triumphal chariots' haughty march ?
Gone to where victories must like dinners go.

Farther I shall not follow the research :
But oh ! ye modern heroes with your cartridges, i
When will your names lend lustre e'en to partridges

LXVIII.

Those truffles too are no bad accessories,
Follow'd by " petits puits d'amour " — a dish

Of which perhaps the cookery rather varies,
So every one may dress it to his wish,

According to the best of dictionaries,
Which encyclopedize both flesh and fish :

But even sans " confitures," it no less true is,

There 's pretty picking in those " petits puits."

LXIX.

The mind is lost in mighty contemplation

Of intellect expanded on two courses ;
And indigestion's grand multiplication

Requires arithmetic beyond my forces.
Who would suppose, from Adam's simple ration,

That cookery could have call'd forth such resources
As form a science and a nomenclature
From out the commonest demands of nature ?

iJflO DON JUAN.

LXX.

The glasses jingled, and the palates tingled ;

The diners of celebrity dined well ;
The ladies with more moderation mingled

In the feast, pecking less than I can tell :
Also the younger men too : for a springald

Can't, like ripe age, in gormandize excel,
But thinks less of good eating than the whisper
(When seated next him) of some pretty lisper.

LXXI.
Alas ! I must leave undescribed the gibier,

The salmi, the consomme, the puree,
All which I use-to make my rhymes run glibber

Than could roast beef in our rough John Bull way :
I must not introduce even a spare rib here,

" Bubble and squeak " would spoil my liquid lay,
But I have dined, and must forego, alas !
The chaste description even of a " becasse ;"

LXXII.
And fruits, and ice, and all that art refines

From nature for the service of the gout —
Taste or the gout, — pronounce it as inclines

Your stomach ! Ere you dine, the French will do ;
But after, there are sometimes certain signs

Which prove plain English truer of the two.
Hast ever had the gout ? I have not had it —
But I may have, and you too, reader, dread it.

LXXIII.

The simple olives, best allies of wine,

Must I pass over in my bill of fare ?
I must, although a favourite " plat " of mine

In Spain, and Lucca, Athens, every where ;
On them and bread 'twas oft my luck to dine,

The grass my table-cloth, in open air,
On Sunium or Hymettus, like Diogenes,
Of whom half my philosophy the progeny is.

LXXIV.

Amidst this tumult of fish, flesh, and fowl,

And vegetables, all in masquerade,
The guests were placed according to their roll,

But various as the various meats display'd ;
Don Juan sat next an " a FEspagnole "' —

No damsel, but a dish, as hath been said ;
But so far like a.lady, that 'twas drest
Superbly, and contain'd a world of zest.

381

LXXV.

By some odd chance too, he was placed between

Aurora and the Lady Adeline —
A situation difficult, I ween,

For man therein, with eyes and heart, to dine
Also the conference which we have seen

Was not such as to encourage him to shine,
For Adeline, addressing few words to him,
With two transcendent eyes seem'd to look through him.

LXXVI.

I sometimes almost think that eyes have ears :
This much is sure, that, out of earshot, things

Are* somehow echoed to the pretty dears,

Of which I can't tell whence their knowledge springs,

Like that same mystic music of the spheres,
Which no one hears, so loudly though it rings,

Tis wonderful how oft the sex have heard

Long dialogues — which pass'd without a word !

LXXVII.

Aurora sat with that indifference

Which piques a preux chevalier — as it ought :
Of all offences that's the worst offence,

Which seems to hint you are not worth a thought.
Now Juan, though no coxcomb in pretence,

Was not exactly pleased to be so caught ;
Like a good ship entangled among ice,
And after so much excellent advice.

LXXVIII.

To his gay nothings, nothing was replied,

Or something which was nothing, as urbanity

Required. Aurora scarcely look'd aside,
Nor even smiled enough for any vanity.

The devil was in the girl ! Could it be pride ?
Or modesty, or absence, or inanity ?

Heaven knows ! But Adeline's malicious eyes

Sparkled with her successful prophecies,

LXXIX.
And look'd as much as if to say, " I said it ;"

A kind of triumph I'll not recommend,
Because it sometimes, as I have seen or read it,

Both in the case of lover and of friend,
Will pique a gentleman, for his own credit,

To bring what was a jest to a serious end :
For all men prophesy what it or wot,
And hate those who won't let them come to pass.

LXXX.

Juan was drawn thus into some attentions,
Slight but select, and just enough to express,

To females of perspicuous comprehensions,

That he would rather make them more than less.

Aurora at the last (so history mentions,

Though probably much less a fact than guess)

So far relaxed her thoughts from their sweet prison,

As once or twice to smile, if not to listen.

txxxi.
From answering she began to question : this

With her was rare ; and Adeline, who as yet
Thought her predictions went not much amiss,

•Began to dread she'd thaw to a coquette —
So very difficult, they say, it is

To keep extremes from meeting, when once set
In motion ; but she here too much refined —
Aurora's spirit was not of that kind.

LXXXII.
But Juan had a sort of winning way,

A proud humility, if such there be,
Which show'd such deference to what females say,

As if each charming word were a decree.
His tact, too, temper'd him from grave to gay,

And taught him when to be reserved or free :
He had the art of drawing people out,
Without their seeing what he was about.

IX XXIII.

Aurora, who in her indifference

Confounded him in common with the crowd

Of flatterers, though she deem'd he had more sense
Than whispering foplings, or than witlings loud —

Commenced (from such slight things will great commence)
To feel that flattery which attracts the proud,

Rather by deference than, compliment,

And wins even by a delicate dissent.

txxxiv.
And then he had good looks ; — that point was carried

Nem. con. amongst the women, which I grieve
To say leads oft to crim- con. with the married —

A case which to the juries we may leave,
Since with digressions we too long have tarried

Now though we know of old that looks deceive,
And always have done, somehow these good looks
MaKe more impression than the best of books.

383

Aurora, who look'd more on books than face*,

Was very young, although so very sage.
Admiring more Minerva than the Graces,

Especially upon a printed page.
But Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces,

lias not the natural stays of strict old age ;
And Socrates, that model of all duty,
Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for beauty.

IXXXTI.
And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic.

But innocently so, as Socrates ;
And really, if the sage sublime and Attic

At seventy years had phantasies like these,
Which Plato in his dialogues dramatic

Has shown, I know not why they should displeaM
In virgins — always in a modest way,
Observe : for that with me's a " sina qua."

LXXXTII.
Also observe, that, like the great Lord Coke

(See Littleton), whene'er I have express'd
Opinions two, which at first sight may look

Twin opposites, the second is the best.
Perhaps I have a third too, in a nook,

Or none at all — which seems a sorry jest :
But if a writer should be quite consistent,
How could he possibly show things existent ?

UCXXYIII.
If people contradict themselves, can I

Help contradicting them, and every body.
Even my veracious self? — But that's a lie :

I never did so, oarer will— how should I ?
He who doubts all things nothing can deny :

Truth's fountains may be clear — her streams are muddy,
And cut through such canals of -contradiction,
That she must often navigate o'er fiction.

LXXXIX.

Apologue, fable, poesy, and parable,

Are false, but may be render 'd also true,
By those who sow them in a land that's arable.

Tis wonderful what fable" will not do !
Tis said it makes reality more bearable :

But what's reality ? Who has its clue ?
Philosophy? No: she too much rejects
Religion ? Tes ; but which of all her sects ?

384 DOS JUAS.

ex.
Some millions most be wrong, that's pretty clear ;

Perhaps it may turn out that all were right.
God help us ! Since we have need on our career

To keep our holy beacons always bright,
"Tis time that some new prophet should appear,

Or old indulge man with a second sight.
Opinions wear out in some thousand years,
Without a small refreshment from the spheres.

xci.
But here again, why will I thus entangle

Myself with metaphysics ? None can hate
So much as I do any kind of wrangle ;

And yet, such is my folly, or my fate,
I always knock my head against some angle

About the present, past, or future state ;
Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian,
For I was bred a moderate Presbyterian.

XCII.

Bat though I am a temperate theologian,

And also meek as a metaphysician,
Impartial between Tynan and Trojan

As Eldon on a lunatic commission, —
In politics my duty is to show John

Bull something of the lower world's condition.
It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla,
To see men let these scoundrel sovereigns break law.

XCIII.

Bat politics, and policy, and piety,

Are topics which I sometimes introduce,

Not only for the sake of their variety,
But as subservient to a moral use ;

Because my business is to dress society,
And stuff with sage that .very verdant goose.

And now, that we may furnish with some matter all

Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural.

xcrv.
And now I will give up all argument !

And positively henceforth no temptation
Shall " fool me to the top up of my bent." —

Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation.
Indeed, I never knew what people meant

By dreaming that my Muse's conversation
Was dangerous ; — I think she is as harmless
As some who labour more and yet may charm lew.

*• 1

IX)N JUAM. 385

xcv.
Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost ?

No ; but you have heard — I understand— >be dumb !
And don't regret the time you may have lost,

For you have got that pleasure still to come :
And do not think I mean to sneer at most

Of these things, or by ridicule benumb
That source of the sublime and the mysterious : —
For certain reasons my belief is serious.

xcvi.
Serious ? Tou laugh ;— you may : that will I not,

My smiles must be sincere or not at all.
I say I do believe a haunted spot

Exists — and where ? That shall I not recall,
Because I'd rather it should be forgot,

" Shadows the soul of Richard " may appal.
In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very
Like those of the philosopher of Malmsbury.

xcvi i.
The night — (I sing by night — sometimes an owl,

And now and then a nightingale) — is dim,
And the loud shriek of sage Minerva's fowl

Rattles around me her discordant, hymn :
Old portraits from old walls upon me scowl —

I wish to heaven they would not look so grim ^
The dying embers dwindle in the grate —
I think too that I have sate up too late :

xcvin.

And therefore, though 'tis by no means my way
To rhyme at noorf— when I have other things
To think of, if I ever think — I say

,1 feel some chilly midnight shudderings,
And prudently postpone, until mid-day,

Treating a topic, which, alas ! but brings
Shadows ; — but you must be hi my condition,
Before you learn to call this superstition.

xcix.
Between two worlds life hovers like a star,

'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's vergft
How little do we know tha£ which we are !

How less what we may be ! The eternal surge
On time and tide rolls on and bears afar

Our bubbles ; as the old burst, new emerge,
Lash'd from the foam of ages ; while the graves
Of empires heave but like some passing waves.
84

CANTO THE SIXTEENTH.

I.

THE antique Persians taught three useful things,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.

This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings —
A mode adopted since by modern youth.

Bows have they, generally with two strings ;
Horses they ride without remorse ar ruth ;

At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,

But draw the long bow better now than ever.

ii.
The cause of this effect, or this defect, —

" For this effect defective comes by cause,**—
Is what I have not leisure to inspect ;

But this I must say in my own applause,
Of all the Muses that I recollect,

Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws
In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.

in.
And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats

From any thing, this epic will contain
A wilderness of the most rare conceits,

Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain.
'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets,

Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't complain,
But wonder they so few are, since my tale is
" De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis:"

TV. -

But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.

I said it was a story of a ghost —

What then ? I only know it so befell.

Have you explored the limits of the coast,

Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell ?

*Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as

The sceptics who would not believe Columbus.

DON JDAIT. 387

v.
Some people would impose now with authority,

Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle ; *
Men whose historical superiority

Is always greatest at a miracle.
But Saint Augustine has the great priority,

Who bids all men believe the impossible,
Because its to. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he
Quiets at once with " qua impossible."

» VI-

And therefore, mortals, caril not at all :

Believe : — if 'tis improbable, you must,
And if it is impossible, you shall t

"Tis always best to take things upon trust.
I do not speak profanely, to recall

Those holier mysteries which the wise and just
Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted,
As all truths must, the more they are disputed :

VII.

I merely meant to say what Johnson said,
That iu the course of some six thousand years, ^

All nations have believed that from the dead
A visitant at intervals appears ;

And what is strangest upon this strange head.
Is, that whatever bar the reason rears

'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger

In its behalf, let those deny who will.

Till.

The dinner and the soiree, too were done,
The supper too discuss *d. the dames admired,

The banqueteers had dropp'd off one by one —
The song was silent, and the dance expired ;

The last thin petticoats were vanish'd, gone
Like fleecy clouds into the sky retired,

And nothing brighter gleam'd through the saloon

Than dying tapers — and the peeping moon.

X

IX.

The evaporation of a joyous day

Is like the last glass of champagne, without

The foam which made its virgin bumper gay ;
Or like a system coupled with a doubt ;

Or like a soda bottle when its spray
Has sparkled and let half its spirit out ;

Or like a billow left by storms behind,

Without the animation of the wind ;

383 DOH JUAN.

X.

Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest,
Or none ; or like — like nothing that I know

Except itself ; — such is the human breast ;
A thing, of which similitudes can show

No real likeness, — like the old Tyrian vest
Dyed purple, none at present can tell how,

If from a shell-fish or from cochineal,

So perish every tyrant's robe piece-meal !

XI.

But next to dressing for a rout or ball,
Undressing is a woe ; our robe de chambre

May sit like that of Nessus, and recall

Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber.

Titus exclaim'd, " I've lost a day ! " Of all

The nights and days most people can remember,

(I have had of both, some not to be disdain'd,)

I wish they'd state how many they have gain'd.

XII.

And Juan, on retiring for the night,

Felt restless, and perplexed, and compromised :

He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright
Than Adeline (such is advice) advised ;

If he had known exactly his own plight,
He probably would have philosophised :

A great resource to all, and ne'er denied

Till wanted ; therefore Juan only sigh'd.

XIII.

He sigh'd : — the next resource is the full moon,
Where all sighs are deposited ; and now

It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone
As clear as such a climate will allow ;

And Juan's mind was in the proper tone

To hail her with the apostrophe — " 0 thou ! "

Of amatory egotism the Tuism^

Which further to explain would be a truism.

XIV.

But lover, poet, or astronomer,

Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold,

Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her :
Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold

Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err) ;
Deep secrets to her rolling light are told ,

The ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways,

And also hearts, if there be truth in lays.

389

xv.
Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed

For contemplation rather than his pillow :
The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed,

Let in the rippling sound of the lake's billow,
With all the mystery by midnight caused :

Below this window waved (of course) a willow ;
And he stood gazing out on the cascade
That flash'd and after rtarken'd in the shade.

xvr.
Upon his table or his toilet, — which

Of these is not exactly ascertain'd, —
(I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch

Of nicety, where a fact is to be gain'd),
A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche,

Where many a Gothic ornament remain'd,
In chisell'd stone and painted glass, and all
That time has left our fathers of their hall.

xvir.
Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw

His chamber door wide open — and went forth
Into a gallery, of a sombre hue,

Long, furnish'* with old pictures of great worth,
Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too,

As doubtless should be people of high birth,
But by dim lights the portraits of the dead
Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread.

xvirr.

The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint
Look living in the moon ; and as you turn

Backward and forward to the echoes faint
Of your own footsteps — voices from the urn

Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint

Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern,

As if to ask how you can dare to keep

A vigil there, where all but death shouW sleep.

XIX.

And the pale smile of beauties in the grave,
The charms of other days, in starlight gleams,

Glimmer on high ; their buried locks still wave
Along the canvass ; their eyes glance like dreams

Ou ours, or spars within some dusky cave,
But death is imaged iu their shadowy beams.

A picture is the past ; even ere its frame

Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same.
54*

390 DDK JUAN.

XX.

As Juan mused on mutability

Or on his mistress — terms synonymous —

No sound except th^ echo of his sigh

Or step ran sadly through that antique house ;

When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh,
A supernatural agent — or a mouse,

Whose little nibbling rustle •will embarrass

Most people as it plays along the arras.

XXI.

It was no mouse, but lo ! a monk, array'd
In cowl and beads, and dusky garb, appear'd,

Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade,
With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard ,

His garments only a slight murmur made ;
He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird,

But slowly : and as he pass'd Juan by

Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye.

XXII.

Juan was petrified ; he had heard a hint

Of such a spirit in these halls of old,
But thought, like most men, there was nothing in't

Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold,
Coin'd from surviving superstition's mint,

Which passes ghosts in currency like gold,
But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper.
And did he see this ? or was it a vapour ?

XXIII.

Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd the thing of air,
Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t'other place :

And Juan gazed upon it with a stare,

Yet could not speak or move ; but, on its base

As stands a statue, stood : he felt his hair
Twine like a knot of snakes around his face ;

He tax'd his tongue for words, which were not granted,

To ask the revererM person what he wanted.

XXIV.

The third time, after a still longer pause,

The shadow pass'd away — but where ? the hall

Was long, and thus far there was no great cause
To think his vanishing unnatural :

Doors there were many, through which, by the laws
Of physics, bodies whether short or tall

Might come or go ; but Juan could not state

Through which the spectre seem'd to evaporate.

DON JUAN. 391

XXV.

fie stood — how long he knew not, but it seem'd
An age — expectant, powerless, with his eyes

Strain'd on the spot where first the figure gleain'vl ;
Then by degrees recall'd his energies,

And would have pass'd the whole off as a dream,
But could not wake : he was, he did surmise,

Walking already, and return'd at length

Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength.

xxvr.

All there was as he left it : still his taper
Burnt, and not blue, as modest tapers use,

Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour ;
He rubb'd his eyes, and they did not refuse

Their office : he took up an old newspaper ;
The paper was right easy to peruse ;

He read an article the king attacking,

And a long eulogy of " patent blacking."

XXVII.

This savour'd of this world ; but his hand shook :

He shut his door, and after having read
A paragraph, I think about Home Tooke,

Undrest, and rather slowly went to bed.
There, couch'd all snugly on his pillow's nook,

With what he had seen his phantasy he fed ;
And though it was no opiate, slumber crept
Upon him by degrees, and so he slept.

XXVIII.

He woke betimes ; and as may be supposed,

Ponder'd upon his visitant or vision,
And whether it ought not to be disclosed,

At risk of being quizz'd for superstition.
The more he thought, the more his mind was posec :

In the mean time, his valet, whose precision
Was great, because his master brook'd no less,
Knock'd to inform him it was time to dress.

XXIX.

He dress'd ; and like young people he was wont

To take some trouble with his toilet, but
This morning rather spent less time^upon't ;

Aside his very mirror soon was put ;
His curls fell negligently o'er his front,

His clothes were not curb'd to their usual cut,
His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied
Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side.

392 DON JDAIT.

xxx.

And when he walk'd down into the saloon,

He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea,
Which he perhaps had not discover 'd soon,

Had it not happen 'd scalding hot to be,
Which made him have recourse unto his spoon ;

So much distrait he was, that all could see
That something was the matter — Adeline
The first — but what she could not well divine.

XXXI

She look'd, and saw him pale, and turn'd as pale
Herself ; then hastily look'd down, and mutter'd

Something, but what's not stated in my tale.
Lord Henry said, his muffin was ill butter 'd ;

The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke play'd with her veil,
And look'd at Juan hard, bnt nothing utter 'd.

Aurora Raby with her large dark eyes

Survey'd him with a kind of calm surprise.

XXXII.

But seeing him all cold and silent still,

And every body wondering more or less,
Fair Adeline inquired, " If he were ill ?"

He started, and said, " Yes — no — rather — res.'
The family physician had great skill,

And being present, now began to express
His readiness to feel his pulse and tell
The cause, but Juan said, " He was quite well."

XXXIII.

" Quite well ; yes, — no." — These answers were mysterious,
And yet his looks appear'd to sanction both,

However they might savour of delirious ;
Something like illness of a sudden growth

Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no meant serious :
But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth

To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted,

It was not the physician that he wanted.

xxxiv.
Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his chocolate,

Also the muffin whereof he complain 'd,
Said, Juan had not got his-usual look elate,

At which he marvell'd, since it had not raiu'd ;
Then ask'd her Grace what news were of the duke of late ?

Her Grace replied, his GVace was rather pain'd
With some slight, light, hereditary twinges
Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.

DON JUAH. 393

XXXV.

Then Henry turn'd to Juan, and address'd

A few words of condolence on his state :
" You look," quoth he, " as if you had had your rest

Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late."
" What Friar ?" said Juan ; and he did his best

To put the question with an air sedate,
Or careless ; but the effort was not valid
To hinder him from growing still more pallid.

xxxvi.

" Oh ! have you never heard of the Black Friar ?

The spirit of these walls ?" — " In truth not I."
" Why Fame — but Fame you know's sometimes a liar— -

Tells an odd story, of which by and by :
Whether with time the spectre has grown shyer,

Or that our sires had a more gifted eye
For such sights, though the tale is half believed,
The friar of late has not been oft perceived.

XXXVII.

V The last time was " — " I pray," said Adeline —

(Who watch'd the changes of Don Juan's brow,

And from its context thought she could divine
Connections stronger than he chose to avow

With this same legend) — " if you but design
To jest, you'll choose some other theme just now,

Because the present tale has oft been told,

And is not much improved by growing old."

XXXVIII.

" Jest !" quoth Milor ; " why Adeline, you know
That we ourselves — 'twas in the honey-moon —

Saw " — " Well, no matter, 'twas so long ago ;

But, come, I'll set your story to a tune."

Graceful as Dian, when she draws her bow,

She seized her harp whose strings were kindled soon

As touch'd, and plaintively began to play

The air of " 'Twas a Friar of Orders Gray."

XXXIX.

" But add the words," cried Henry, " which you made :

For Adeline is half a poetess."
Turning round to the rest, he smiling said.

Of course the others could not but express
In courtesy their wish to see display'd

By one three talents, for there were no less —
Tho voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once,
Could hardly be united by a d ince.

894 DON JUAN.

XL.

After some fascinating hesitation, —

The charming of these charmers, who seem bound,
I can't tell why, to this dissimulation, —

Fair Adeline, with eyes fix'd on the ground
At first, then kindling into animation.

Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound,
And sang with much simplicity, — a merit
Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it.

1.

Beware ! beware ! of the Black Friar,

Who sitteth by Norman stone,
For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air,

And his mass of the days that are gone.
When the Lord of the Hill, Am underlie,

Made Norman Church his prey,
And cxpell'd the friars, one friar still

Would not be driven away.

2.

Though he came in his might, with King Henry's right,

To turn church lands to lay,
With sword in hand, and torch to light

Their walls, if they said nay ;
A monk remain'd unchased, unchain'd,

And he did not seem form'd of clay,
For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the church,

Though he is not seen by day.

3.

And whether for good, or whether for ill,

It is not mine to say ;
But still with the house of Amundeville

He abideth night and day.
By the marriage-bed of their lords, 'tis said,

He flits on the bridal eve ;
And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death

He comes — but not to grieve.

4.

When an heir is born, he's heard to mourn,

And when aught is to befall
That ancient line, in the pale moonshine

He walks from hall to hall.
His form you may trace, but not his face,

'Tis shadow'd by his cowl :
But his eyes may be seen from the folds between.

And they seem of a parted soul.

DON JUAN. 395

5.

But beware ! beware ! of the Black Friar,

He still retains his sway,
For he is yet the church's heir

Whoever may be the lay.
Atiiundeville is lord by day,

But the monk is lord by night ;
Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal,

To question that friar's right.

6.

Say nought to him as he walks the hall,

And he'll say nought to you ;
He sweeps along in his dusky pall,

As o'er the grass the dew.
Then grainmercy ! for the Black Friar ;

Heaven sain him ! fair or foul,
And. whatsoe'er may be his prayer,

Let ours be for his soul.

The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wire*
Died from the touch that kindled them to sound ;

And the pause follow'd, which when song expire*
Pervades a moment those who listen round ;

And then of course the circle much admires,
Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound,

The tone, the feelings, and the execution,

To the performer's diffident confusion.

XLII.
Fair Adeline, though in a careless way,

As if she rated such accomplishment
As the mere pastime of an idle day,

Pursued an instant for her own content,
Would now and then as 'twere without display,

Yet with display in fact, at times relent
To such performances with haughty smile,
To show she could, if it were worth her while.

XL1II.

Now this (but we will whisper it aside)
Was — pardon the pedantic illustration —

Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride,
As did the Cynic on some like occasion ;

Deeming the sage would be much mortified,
Or thrown into a philosophic passion,

For a spoilt carpet — but the "Attic Bee"

NY as much consoled by his own repartee.

396 DON JUAM.

XLIV.

Thus Adeline would throw into the shade

(By doing easily, whene'er she chose,
What dilettanti, do with vast parade)

Their sort of half -profession ; for it grows
To something like this when too oft display'd ;

And that it is so, everybody knows,
Who have heard Miss That or This, or Lady T'other,
Show off — to please their company or mother.

XLV.

Oh ! the long evenings of duets and trios !

The admirations and the speculations ;
The " Mamma Mia's !" and the " Amor Mio's !'

The " Tanti palpiti's" on such occasions :
The " Lasciami's," and quavering "Addio's !"

Amongst our own most musical of nations :
With " Tu mi chamas's" from Portingale,
To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail.

XLVI.
In Babylon's bravuras— as the home

Heart-ballads of Gfeen Erin or Gray Highlands,
That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam

Oe'r far Atlantic continents or islands,
The calentures of music which o'ercome

All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands,
No more to be beheld but in such visions —
Was Vdeline well versed, as compositions.

XLVII.
She also had a twilight tinge of " Blue"

Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote,
Made epigrams occasionally too

Upon her friends, as everybody ought.
But still from that sublimer azure hue,

So much the present dye, she was remote ;
Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet,
And what was worse, was not ashamed to show it.

XLVIII.

Aurora — since we are touching upon taste,

Which now-a-days is the thermometer
By whose degrees all characters are class' d—

Was more Shaksperian, if I do not err.
Tho worlds beyond this world's perplexing waste

Had more of her existence, for in her
There was a depth of feeling to embrace
Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Space.

DOX JOAN. S9

XLIX.

Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace
The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind.

If she had any, was upon her face,
And that was of a fascinating kind.

A little turn for mischief you might trace
Also thereon, — but that's not much ; we find

Few females without some such gentle leaven,

For fear we should suppose us quite in heaven.

L.
I have not heard she was at all poetic,

Though once she was seen reading the " Bath Guide,"
And " Hayley's Triumphs," which she deem'd pathetic,

Because she said her temper had been tried
So much, the bard had really been prophetic

Of what she had gone through with — since a bride.
But of all verse, what most ensured her praise
Were sonnets to herself, or " bouts rimes."

*T were difficult to say what was the object
Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay

To bear on what appear'd to her the subject
Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day ;

Perhaps she merely had the simple project
To laugh him out of his supposed dismay ;

Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it,

Though why I cannot say — at least this minute.

LI I.

But so far the immediate effect
Was to restore him to his self-propriety,

A thing quite necessary to the elect,

Who wish to take the tone of their society ;

In which you cannot be too circumspect,
Whether the mode be persiflage or piety.

But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy,

On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy.

LIII.

And therefore Juan now began to rally
His spirits, and without more explanation

To jest upon such themes in many a sally.
Her Grace too, also seized the same occasion,

With various similar remarks to tally,

But wish'd for a still more detail'd narration

Of this same mystic friar's curious doings,

About the present family's deaths and wooings.

M8 DO* JUAN.

LIV.

Of these few could say more than has been said ;

They pass'd as such things do, for superstition
With some, while others, who had more in dread

The theme, half credited the strange tradition ;
And much was talk'd on all sides on that head :

But Juan, when cross-question'd on the vision,
Which some supposed (though he had not avow'd it)
Had stirr'd him, answer'd in a way to cloud it.

LV.

And then, the mid-day having worn to one,

The company prepared to separate ;
Some to their several pastimes, or to none,

Some wondering 't was so early, some so late.
There was a goodly match too, to be run

Between some greyhounds on my lord's estate,
And a young race-horse of old pedigree,
Match'd for the spring, whom several went to see*

LYI.

There was a picture-dealer who had brought

A special Titian, warranted original,
So precious that it was not to be bought,

Though princes the possessor were beseiging all.
The king himself had cheapen'd it, but thought

The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all
His subjects by his gracious acceptation) —
Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.

LVII.
But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur, —

The friend of artists, if not arts, — the owner,
With motives the most classical and pure,

So that he would have been the very donor,
Bather than seller, had his wants been fewer,

So much he deem'd his patronage an honour,
Had brought the capo d'opera, not for sale,
But for his judgment — never known to fail.

LVII I.

There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic

Bricklayer of Babel, call'd an architect,
Brought to survey these grey walls, which though so thick

Might have from time acquired some slight defect;
Who after rummaging the Abbey through thick

And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect
New buildings of correctest conformation,
And throw down old, which he call'd restoration.

DON JUAN.

Mb
The cost would be a trifle — an " old song,"

Set to some thousands ('t is the usual burden
Of that same tune, when people hum it long) —

The price would speedily repay its worth in
An edifice no less sublime than strong,

By which Lord Henry's good taste would go forth in
Its glory, through all ages shining sunny,
For Gothic daring shown in English money.

IX.

There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage
Lord Henry wish'd to raise for a new purchase;

Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage,

And one on tithes, which sure are Discord's torches,

Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage,

" Untying " squires " to fight against the churches ; *

There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman,

For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman.

1X1.

There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,
Ready for gaol, their place of convalescence ;

There was a country girl in a close cap

And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since —

Since — since — in youth, I had the sad mishap —
But luckily I have paid few parish fees since) :

That scarlet cloak, alas ! unclosed with rigour,

Presents the problem of a double figure.

LXII.

A reel within a bottle is a mystery,
One can't tell how it e'er got in or out ;

Therefore the present piece of natural history
I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt ;

And merely state, though not for the consistory.
Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout

The constable, beneath a warrant's banner,

Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor.

LXIII.
Now justices of peace must judge all pieces

Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game
And morals of the country from caprices

Of those who have not a licence for the same ;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,

Perhaps these are most difficult to tame :
Preserving partridges and pretty wenches
Are puzzles to the most precautions benches.

400 DOM JUA1T.

LXIV.

The present culprit was extremely pale,
Pale as if painted so ; her cheek being red

By nature, as in higher dames less hale
T is white, at least when they just rise from bed.

Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail,
Poor soul ! for she was country born and bred,

And knew no better in her immorality

Than to wax white — for blushes are for quality.

LXV.

Her black, bright, downcast, yet espiegle eye,
Had gather'd a large tear into its corner,

Which the poor thing at times essay'd to dry,
For she was not a sentimental mourner

Parading all her sensibility,
Nor insolent enough to scorn the scorner,

But stood in trembling, patient tribulation,

To be call'd up for her examination.

LXVI.
Of course these groups were scatter'd here and there

Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent.
The lawyers in the study ; and in air

The prize pig, ploughman, poachers ; the men sent
From town, viz. architect and dealer, were

Both busy (as a general in his tent
Writing despatches) in their several stations,
Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations.

LXV1I.

But this poor girl was left in the great hall,
While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail,

Discuss'd (he hated beer yclept the " small ")
A mighty mug of moral double ale.

She waited until Justice could recall
Its kind attentions to their proper pale,

To name a thing in nomenclature rather

Perplexing for most virgins — a child's father.

LXVIII.
You see here was enough of occupation

For the Lord Henry, link'd with dogs and horses.
There was much bustle, too, and preparation

Below stairs, on the score of second courses ;
Because, as suits their rank and situation,

Those who in counties have great land resources
Have " public days," when all men may carouse,
Though not exactly what's call'd " open house."

401

LXIX.

But once a week or fortnight uninvited,

(Thus we translate a general invitation)
All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted,

May drop in without cards, and take their station
At the full board, and sit alike delighted

With fashionable wines and conversation ;
And, as the isthmus of the grand connection,
Talk o'er themselves the past and next election.

LXX.

Lord Henry was a great electioneerer,
Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit.

But county contests cost him rather dearer,

Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit

Had English influence, in the self-same sphere here ;
His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrabbit,

Was member for the " other interest " (meaning

The same sell-interest, with a different leaning) .

LXXI.

Courteous and cautious therefore in his county,
He was all things to all men, and dispensed

To some civility, to others bounty,

And promises to all — which last commenced

To gather to a somewhat large amount, he
Ivot calculating how much they condensed ;

But what with keeping some, and breaking others,

His word had the same value as another's.

LXXII.
A friend to freedom and freeholders — yet

No less a friend to government — he held,
That he exactly the just medium hit

Twixt place and patriotism — albeit compell'd,
Such was his sovereign's pleasure, (though unfit,

He added -modestly, when rebels rail'd,)
To hold some sinecures he wish'd abolish'd,
But that with them all law would be demolish'd.

LXXIII.
He was " free to confess " — (whence comes this phrase

Is 't English ? No — 't is only parliamentary)
That innovation's spirit now-a-days

Had made more progress than for the last century.
He would not tread a factious path to praise,

Though for the public weal disposed to venture high ;
As for his place, he could but say this of it,
That the fatigue was greater than the profit.

402 PON JUAN.

LXXIV.

Heaven, and his friends, knew that a private life
Had ever been his sole and whole ambition ;

But could he quit his king in times of strife,

Which threaten 'd the whole country with perdition ?

When demagogues would with a butcher's knife
Cut through and through (oh ! damnable incision !)

The Gordian or the Geordi-an knot, -whose strings

Have tied together commons, lords, and kings.

LXXV.

Sooner " come place into the civil list

And champion him to the utmost" — he would keep it.
Till duly disappointed or dismiss'd :

Profit he cared not for, let others reap it ;
But should the day come when place ceased to exist,

The country would have far more cause to -weep it :
For how could it go on ? Explain who can !
He gloried in the name of Englishman. .

LXXVI.
He was an independent — ay, much more —

Than those who were not paid for independence,
As common soldiers, or a common shore,

Have in their several arts or parts ascendance
O'er the irregulars in lust or gore,

Who do not give professional attendance.
Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager
To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar.

LXXVII.

All this (save the last stanza) Henry said,

And thought. I say no more — I've said too much ;

For all of us have eHher heard or read —
Off — or upon the hustings — some slight such

Hints from the independent heart or head
Of the official candidate. I'll touch

No more on this — the dinner-bell hath rung,

And grace is said ; the grace I should have sung-~

LXXVIII.

But I'm too late, and therefore must make play.

'Twas a great banquet, such as Albion old
\V°jj wont to boast — as if a glutton's tray

Were something very glorious to behold.
But 't was a public feast and public day, —

Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold,
Great plenty, much formality, small cheer,
And every body out of their own sphere.

J>ON JUAN. 403

LXXIX.

The squirts familiarly formal, and
My lords and ladies proudly condescending ;

The very servants puzzling how to hand

Their plates — without it might be too much bending

From their high places by the sideboard's stand —
Yet, like their masters, fearful of offending.

For any deviation from the graces

Might cost both man and master too— their places.

txxx.

There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen,

Whose hounds ne'er err'd, nor greyhounds deign'd to lurch ;

Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, seen
Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search

Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen.
There were some massy members of the church,

Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches,

And several who sung fewer psalms than catches.

LXXXI.

There were some country wags too — and, alas !

Some exiles from the town, who had been drive
To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass,

And rise at nine in lieu of long eleven.
And lo ! upon that day it came to pass,

I sate next that o'er whelming son of heaven,
The very powerful parson, Peter Pith,
The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with.

LXXXII

I knew him in his livelier London days,
A brilliant diner out, though but a curate ;

And not a joke he cut but earn'd its praise,
Until preferment, coming at a sure rate,

(Of Providence ! how wondrous are thy ways !
Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurate ?)

Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o'er Lincoln,

A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on.

LXXXIII.
H is jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes ;

But both were thrown away amongst the fens ;
For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks.

No longer ready ears and short-hand pens
] mbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax :

The poor priest was reduced to common sense,
Or to coarse efforts very loud and long,
To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng.

IXXXIV.

There ts a difference, says the song " between

A beggar and a queen," or was (of late
The latter wo»se used of the two we've seen —

But we'll say nothing of affairs of state)
A difference " 'twixt a bishop and a dean,"

A difference between crockery ware and plat
As between English beef and Spartan broth —
And yet great heroes have been bred by both.

txxxv.

But of all nature's discrepancies, none

Upon the whole is greater than the difference

Beheld between the country and the town,
Of which the latter merits every preference

From those who have few resources of their own
And only think, or act, or feel, with reference

To some small plan of interest or ambition —

Both which are limited to no condition.

IXXXYI.

But " en avant !" The light loves languish o'er
Long banquets and too many guests, although

A slight repast makes people love much more,
Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know,

Even from our grammar upwards, friends of yore
With vivifying Venus, who doth owe

To these the invention of champagne and truffles •

Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles.

1XXXVII.

Dully past o'er the dinner of the day ;

And Juan took his place, he knew not where.
Confused, in the confusion, and distrait,

And sitting as if nail'd upon his chair
Though knives and forks ciank'd round as in a fray

He seem'd unconscious of all passing there,
Till some one, with a groan, exprest a wish
(Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish.

LXXXVIII.

On which, at the third asking of the bans,
He started ; and perceiving smiles around

Broadening to grins, he colour 'd more than once,
And hastily — as nothing can confound

A wise man more than laughter from a dunce —
Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound,

And with such hurry, that ere he could curb it,

He had paid his neighbour's prayer with half a turbot.

405

LXXXIX.

This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd,

The supplicator being an amateur ;
But others, who were left with scarce a third,

Were angry — as they well might, to be sure
They wonder'd how a young man so absurd

Lord Henry at his table should endure :
And this, and his not knowing how much oats
Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.

xc.
They little knew, or might have sympathised,

That he the night before had seen a ghost,
A prologue which but slightly harmonised

With the substantial company engross'd
By matter, and so much materialised

That one scarce knew at what to marvel most
Of two things — how (the question rather odd is)
Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies.

XOI.

But what confused him more than smile or stare,
From all the squires and squiresses around,

Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air,
Especially as he had been renown'd

For some vivacity among the fair
Even in the cfluntry circle's narrow bound —

(For little things upon my lord's estate

Were good small talk for others still less great) —

XCII.

Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his,
And something like a smile upon her cheek.

Now this he really rather took amiss :
In those who rarely smile, their smile bespeaks

A strong external motive ; and in this
Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique

Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles

Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.

XCIII.

T was a mere quiet smile of contemplation,

Indicative of some surprise and pity ;
And Juan grew carnation with vexation,

Which was not very wise, and still less witty,
Since he had gain'd at least her observation,

A most important outwork of the city —
As Juan should have known, had not his senses
15y last night's ghost been driven from their defence*.

406 DON JUAN.

XCIV.

But what was bad, she did not blush in turn,
Nor seem embarrass'd — quite the contrary

Her aspect was as usual, still — not stern —
And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye,

Yet grew a little pale — with what ? concern ?
I know not ; but her colour ne'er was high —

Though sometimes faintly flush'd — and always clear,

As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere.

xcv.
But Adeline was occupied by fame

This day ; and watching, witching, condescending
To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game,

And dignity with courtesy so blending,
As all must blend whose part it is to aim

(Especially as the sixth year is ending)
At their lord's, son's, or similar connection's
Safe conduct through the rocks of re-elections.

xcvi.
Though this was most expedient on the whole,

And usual — Juan, when he cast a glance
On Adeline while playing her grand role,

Which she went through as though it were a dance,
(Betraying only now and then her soul

By a look scarce perceptibly askance
Of weariness or scorn), began to feel
Some doubt how much of Adeline was real ;

xcvn.
So well she acted all and every part

By turns — with that vivacious versatility,
Which many people take for want of heart.

They err — 't is merely what is call'd mobility,
A thing of temperament and not of art,

1 hough seeming so, from its supposed facility ;
And false— though true ; for surely they're sincerest,
Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest.

XCVIII.

This makes your actors, artists, and romancers,
Heroes sometimes, though seldom — sages never .

But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers,
Little that's great, but much of what is clever ;

Most orators, but very few financiers,

Though all Exchequer Chancellors endeavour,

Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours,

And grow quite figurative with their figures.

DOH JUAJT. 407

XCIX.

The poets of arithmetic are they

Who, though they prove not two and two to be
Five, as they might do in a modest way,

Have plainly made it out that four are three,
Judging by what they take, and what they pay.

The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea,
That most unliquidating liquid, leaves
The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives

0.
While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces,

The fair Fitz>*Fulke seem'd very much at ease ;
Though too well bred to quiz men to their faces,

Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize
The ridicules of people in all places —

That honey of your fashionable bees—-
And store it up for mischievous enjoyment ;
And this at present was her kind employment.

ci.

However, the day closed, as days most close ;

The evening also waned — and coffee came,
Each carriage was anounced, and ladies rose,

Andcurtsyung oft', as curtsies country dame,
Retired : with most unfashionable bows

Their docile esquires also did the same,
Delighted with their dinner and their host
But with the Lady Adeline the most.

CII.
Some praised her beauty ; others her great grace ;

The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity
Was obvious in each feature of her face,

Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity*
Yes ; the was truly worthy her high place !

No one could envy her deserved prosperity.
And then her dress — what beautiful simplicity
Draperied her form with curious felicity !

cm.

Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their praises,

By an impartial indemnification
For all her past exertion and soft phrasea,

In a most edifying conversation,
Which turn'd upon their late guests' miens and faces,

And families, even to the last relation ;
Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses,
And truculent distortion of their tresses.

408 DON Jt AX.

CIV.

True, she said little — 'twas the rest that broke

Forth into universal epigram ;
But then 'twas to the purpose what she spoke :

Like Addison's " faint praise," so wont to damn,
Her own but served to set off every joke,

As music chimes in with a melodrame.
How sweet the task to shield an absent friend !
I ask but this of mine, to not defend.

cv.
There were but two exceptions to this keen

Skirmish of wits o'er the departed ; one
Aurora, with her pure and placid mien ;

And Juan, too, in general behind none
In gay remark on what he had heard or seen,

Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone :
In vain he heard the others rail or rally,
He would not join them in a single sally.

'T is true he saw Aurora look as though

She approved his silence ; she perhaps mistook

Its motive for that charity We owe

But seldom pay the absent, nor would look

Farther ; it might or it might not be so
But Juan, sitting silent in his nook,

Observing little in his reverie,

Tet saw this much, which he was glad to see.

cni.
The ghost at least had done him this much good,

In making him as silent as a ghost,
If in the circumstances which ensued

He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most.
And certainly Aurora had renew'd

In him some feelings he had lately lost,
Or harden'd ; feelings which, perhaps ideal,
Are so divine, that I must deem them real : —

The love of higher things and better days ;

The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance
Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways }

The moments when we gather from a glance
More joy than from all future pride or praise,

Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance
The heart in an existence of its own,
Of which another's bosom is the zone.

DON
C1X.

Who would not sigh At « «••>

That hath a memory, or that had & heart f
Alas ! her star must fade like that of Dlan :

Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart.
Anacreon only had the soul to tie an

Unwithering myrtle round the unbluuted dart
Of Eros : but though thou hast play'd us many tricks,
Still we respect thee, " Alma Venus Genetrix !"

ox.

And full of sentiments, sublime as billows

Heaving between this world and worlds beyond,

Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows
Arrived, retired to his : but to despond

Bather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows
Waved o'er his couch ; he meditated, fond

Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,

And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.

OXI.

The night was as before : he was undress d,
Saving his night-gown, which is an undress,

Completely " saiis culotte," and without rest ;
In short, he hardly could be clothed with less ;

But apprehensive of his spectral guest,
He sate, with feelings awkward to express

(By those who have not had such visitations),

Expectant of the ghost's fresh operations.

CXII.

And not hi vain he listen'd— Hash ! what's that ?

I see — I see — Ah, no ! — 'tis not — yet 'tis —
Ye powers! it is the — the— the— Pooh! the cat!

The devil may take that stealthy pace of his,
So like a spiritual pit-a-pat,

Or tiptoe ef an amatory Miss,
Gliding the first time to a rendezvous,
And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.

•MB.

Again — what is't ? The wind ? No, no, — this time

It is the sable Friar as before,
With awful footsteps regular as rhyme,

Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more :
Again, through shadows of the night sublime,

When deep sleep fell on men, and the world wore
The starry darkness round her like a girdle
Spangled with gems — the monk made his blood curdlo.
86

CXIV.

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass.

Which sets the teeth on edge ; and a slight clatter

Like showers which on the midnight gust will psss,
Sounding like fery supernatural water, —

Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd alas !
For immaterialism's a serious matter ;

So that even those whose faith is the most great

Tn souls immortal, shun them tete-a-tete.

cxv.
Were his eyes open ?— Yes ! and his mouth too.

Surprise has this effect — to make one dumb,
Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips through

As wide as if a long speech were to come.
Nigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew,

Tremendous to a mortal tympanum :
His eyes were open, and, (as was before
Stated) his mouth. What opened next ?— the door.

cxvi.
It open'd with a most infernal creak,

Like that of Hell. " Lasciate ogni speranza
Voi clie entrate !" The hinge seem'd to speak,

Dreadful as Dante's rhima, or this stanza ;
Or— but all words upon such themes are weak

A single shade's sufficient to entrance a
Hero — for what is substance to a spirit?
Or how is't matter trembles to come near it?

CXVII.

The Joor flew wide, not swiftly— but as fly
The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight —

And then swung back ; nor close — but stood awrjr»
Half letting in long shadows of the light,

Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high,
For he had two, both tolerably bright, —

And in the door-way, darkening darkness stood

The sable Friar in his solemn hood.

CXVIII.

Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken
The night before ; but being sick of shaking,

He first inclined to think he had been mistaken,
And then to be ashamed of such mistaking ;

His own internal ghost began to awaken

Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking

Hinting that soul and body on the whole

Were odds against a disembodied soul.

411

Aiid then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce ;

And he arose, advanced — the shade retreated ;
But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,

Follow'd, his veins no longer cold, but heated,
Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tiercr,

At whatsoever risk of being defeated :
The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until
He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still.

Jnan put forth one arm — Eternal Powers !

It touch'd no soul nor body, but the wall,
On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers

Chequer'd with a.11 the tracery of the hall : —
He shudder 'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers

When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal.
How odd, a single hobgoblin's non-entity !
Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity !

But still the shade remain'd ; the blue eyes glared.
And rather variably for stony death :

Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared —
The ghost nad a remarkably sweet breath.

A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd :
A red lip, with two rows of pearls beneath,

Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud

The moon peep'd, just escaped from a grey cloud.

CXXII.

And Juan puzzled, but still curious, thrust
His other arm forth — Wonder upon wonder !

It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust,

Which beat as if there was a warm heart under.

He found, as people on most trials must,
That he bad made at first a silly blunder,

And that in his confusion he had caught

Only the wall, instead of what he sought.

cxxm.
The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweet soul

As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood :
A dimpled chin, a neck of glory stole

Forth into something much like flesh and blood :
Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl,

And they reveal'd — alas ! that e'er they should !
In full voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk,
The phantom of her frolic Grace — Fitz-Fulke !

to inn Stum*

DEDICATION.

Mr. MURRAY, with that 'prudish affectation of high morality which
is so characteristic of him, plumes himself in a foot note, on the vir-
tuous reserve of his house in having suppressed this "Dedication in
1819, with Lord Byron's reluctant consent. " He attributes the
notoriety of these dedicatory stanzas to Mr. John Hobhousc, whereas,
in truth, their just and racy severity had readily made them known
on their first and original appearance ; and as is stated in the fact •
note to which we here refer, they were circulated in the form of loos j
leaves from every cheap press, and even issued as placards. The
modesty of Mr. Murray is therefore exquisite, when he -excuses him-
self for having reinstated the dedication on account of its being as
generally known and circulated as if he had admitted it into bis
expurgated editions of Lord Byron's Works. It seems to us to be
utterly ridiculous iu the first place for a publisher to interfere bet wet a
the taste of the public and the wit of an author, especially if the
intelligence of the publisher be not keener than it was in this case,
his judgment sounder, and his taste more correct ; — and in the
second place, it seems equally ridiculous for a man who does not hesi-
tate to put into print the many beautiful and truthful but ratlu-r
immodest (scion le gout de Mons. Murray) passages which occur in
the oody of the work, who does not scruple to draw particular atten-
tion in explanatory articles to the most angry personal diatribes —
to be so mightily squeamish in exposing the spurious virtue of Mr.
Robert Southey, and equally spurious genius of Mr. William Words-
worth—the arrant political villauy of a Castlereagh, or the vapid
stupidity of a Coleridge. Be it further observed that Mr. Murray did
not reinstate the " Dedication " (in deference, as we presume, to the
feelings of certain aristocratic families) until he found the tale of his
edition injured by the suppression — and that then his scrupulous
conscientiousness at once gave way to the consideration of his pocket.

DEDICATION, STAKZA rv. — Mr. Coleridge appears to have taken up
the cudgels in behalf of the wordy bard of the lakes, and in a lengthy
commentary on this passage he is desirous of impressing upon at
least his own few raaders that Lord Byron wrote from no personal
knowledge of the poems either of Wordsworth or of his " Brother
I.akers ; " that indeed he had not patiently read the " Kxcursion ;"
(this is possible enough, for 1 never knew any one who had) : but
bo*

414 NOTES.

that with some unjust and groundless enmity towards Wordsworth,
be (Lord Byron) had taken for gospel the account of a leading
Reviewer of the day "distinguished by his hostility to Mr. Southey,"
ike., &e. How much more truly would not the charge He against
Lord Byron's detainers — (uniformly men of narrow mind, small intel-
ligence and barren wit), who made it a boast that they "did not and
ihould not read Don Juan," which nevertheless, and of course with-
out having read, they so loudly condemned ! — Witness the impudent
lines of Dr. Magiuu entitled " DON JCAN UNREAD."

" Oh rich, said I, are Juan's rhymes '

And warm its verse is flowing !
Fair crops of blasphemy it bears,

But we will leave them growing ;
In Pindar's strain, in prose of Paine,

And many another Zany,
As gross we read, so Where's the need

To wade through Don Giovanni ?

" Be Juan then unseen, unknown !

It must or we shall rue it :
We may have virtue of our own :

Ah ! why should we undo it 1
The treasured faith of days long past,

We still would prize o'er any ;
And grieve to hear the ribald leer

Of scamps like Don Giovanni.

" When Whigs with freezing rule shall come,

And piety seem folly :
When Cam aud Isis curb'd by Brougham,

Shall wander melancholy ;
When Cobbett, Wooler, Watson, Hunt,

And all the swinish many
Shall rough-shod ride o'er Church and State ;

Then hey for Don Giovanni ! "

DEDICATION, STANZA IX. — There are several versions of this Stanza,
especially of the last distich— of which some are even more severe
than those which appear in the text, and which seem to have been
replaced by Lord Byron on second consideration. The following aie
amongst the variations : —

Would he turn pimp, and prostitute for pay
The holiest truth, to such as Castlereagh '.'

And again : —

Would he consent to take the gory pay
Of bloody heartless fiends like Castlereagh ?

And again, as appears from the memoranda of Lord Byron, pub-
lished as notes and explanations by Mr. Murray, who somehow
always contrived in suppressing a bitter passage as he called it, to
draw particular attention to it in a foot note : —

Would he subside into a hackney laureate,

A scribbling self-sold, soul-hired, scoru'd Iscariot ?

Here Lord Byron was not satisfied with the rhyme, but he adds, It

N'OTES.

415

Is just apposite to the instance of Sylvestw and Ben Johnson—
though not rhymt, it was true.

DEDICATION, STANZA XV. — " Eutropius." An allusion to the
graphic description given by Gibbon in the " Decline and Fall " of
the Court of Arcadius on the division of the Empire, under the rule
of the miserable instruments of an indolent, profligate, and aban-
doned oriental despotism.

DEDICATIOH, STANZA XVII.—" Buff and blue." The party colours
assumed by the great Whig leader, Charles James Fox. At that
period, when party rancour ran high and the fever of political agita-
tion was at its height, these distinctions became the rallying
standard of the partizans of either side, and represented the ani-
mosities of the wearers.

CANTO I. — This canto, which opened to the world a poem which
was destined to arouse the bitterest animadversions on the one hand
and the most immoderate admiration on the other, was begun and
completed at Venice in less than two months, dating fruin the first
week in September, 1818. It bears throughout the characteristic
traces of rapid and dashing composition, and yet who will venture
to gainsay its lofty poetical merits?

CANTO I. STANZA I. — " Our ancient friend, Don Juan." The hero
was indeed an ancient one, having figured as the impersonation of
li'jertinage from the earliest fragments of Gothic, literature. — The
Religious Comedies or Mysteries, which furnish the earliest model
of dramatic composition, are illustrated with the impersonation of
the finished Ribald, as in the " Atheista Fulminato." Again in the
play of Gabriel Tellez, entitled "El burlado de Sevilla y Combidado di
1'ierra," we have the same icpresentation of libertinage. The plot of
this play became so popular that it was translated and remodelled for
the Italian and French Plays Subsequently again, we have the
same plan of plot assumed by Mohere in his " Don Juan on le liestia
de Pierre." Shadwell's Play of '• The Libertine" is an adaptation of
the same story : and lastly, it has been fashioned for the Lyric stage
in the beautiful opera of Don Giovanni which would alone have
immortalised its composer (Mozart).

CANTO I. STANZA II. — Vernon. — Admiral Vernon, who took Porto
Dello, iu 1757, with tix ships only, an enterprise which astonished
his countrymen as well as bis foes. A medal was struck in honour
of the achievement. . Cumberland, better known by the soubriquet
of " batcher" Cumberlandt.be hero (!) of Fontenoy, and— of the Con-
vention of Closter Seven, when he ignominicusly surrender^! with
30,000 well armed and brave men, to a force scarcely more numerous
and far less calculated to sustain the field ; — and lastly of Culkxlen,
which stamped his party and his race with some degree of everlasting
infamy. It was of this Duke of Cumberland that Smollett, witii
bitter irony, asseited that he " at length retired from thr harvest of
military glory, and like another Cincinnati^:, withdrew to Ids
plough." Wolfe : General Wolfe, killed at the moment of victory,
on the heights of Abraham, Quebec, 1759. Hawke :— Admiral Lord
Hav/kb, by whom, in 1759, the French fleet was signally defeated.
This fleet had been destined to make a descent on :he coast of Ire-
land. Prince Ferdinand, afterwards Duke of Brunswick, the victor

416

NOTES.

at Minden. Granby, the heir of third Duke of Rutland, better known
from the bitter diatribes of " Junius" than from any achievement.
Jiurgotme : successful in Portugal, in 1762, but compelled after au
unfortunate campaign against the patriots of America, to surrender,
with all his forces. Jieppel: a naval officer of some distinction;
second son of the Earl of Albemarle : but who, owing to his failure in
destroying or intercepting the French fleet, in 1788, off Cshant, was
called upon to account for his conduct. Howe: — Admiral Lord
Howe, distinguished principally by the well known action of the
glorious first of June, 1794, when one of the most fruitless victories
was achieved which could possibly reflect empty glory upon an
admiral and leave substantial advantage to his antagonists. Lord
Howe was, however, justly distinguished for his gallantry, and had
rendered many good services, although, as is often the case, he was
most praised where he least deserved it. In the action of the first of
June. 1794, the French admiral sought only to secure the safety of
his convoy, on which the victualling of the services depended, and
whilst he amused the English admiral by engaging the English fleet,
the convoy actually did escaoe and reach France without accident
or molestation.

CANTO I. — STANZA III.-»Bamave, one of the principal loaders in
the revolution of 1789, President of the Constituent Assembly in

1791. Executed in 1793. Brissot Brissot de Varville, seized and im-
prisoned on account of a series of political tracts and pamphlets in
1784; one of the leaders of 1789. Executed in 1793. Conduff>.t,
well known for his works as well, and for his leadership in the revo-
lutionary troubles of 1789. President of the Legislative Assembly,

1792. Denounced and imprisoned for having assailed the new Con-
stitution in 1793, and found dead in prison. Mirabeau, the eloquent
and commanding leader to whom the first outbreak owed so much of
its furious energy ; as well known for his profligacy as a member of
the most libertine aristocracy in the world, as tor his overwhelming
eloquence when a partisan of the Revolution. Petion, a revolutionary
leader, and Mayor of Paris, in 1791. Suspected by Robesp'crre, in

1793. he made his escape. Clootz: Jean Baptiste Clootz, well known
by the sobriquet of Anacharsis Clootz. In 1794, he fell under the
fatal suspicion of Robespierre and was condemned. He proceeded to
the scaffold with the utmost coolness, requesting to have his own
execution postponed until the other victims had suffered, that he
might make some essential observations on the phenomena attending
the other executions. Clootz described himself as the " prolocutor and
advocate of the human race." Danton. a well known leader of the
Revolution; Minister of Justice upon the Constitution of the Repub-
lican government ; instigator and participator in the atrocities of
1792. Executed in 1794. Marat, a principal leader in the most atro-
cious acts of violence which polluted the revolution, and one who
took an active part in the atrocities of 1792. Denounced and acquitted
in 1793. and assassinated by his associate, Charlotte Corde, in who;u
a mistaken sense of right predominated even over the passions which
had linked to such a companion. La Fayette, the General wbo>e
name and presence have been much venerated in the United States ;
he survived until 1834, and was as well known for many social
virtues as for his political and military talents. Joubfrt, a"g;i!lint
and distinguished general officer who figured in the campaigns of
Italy and the Tyrol, and who was killed at Novi, in 1799. Huche,
one of the ablest generals who sprung up in the midst of the revolu-
tion. He first had the command of the expedition against Ireland,
which was dispersed at sea and failed ; and was subsequently
appointed to the command of the armies of the Sambre and Mouse.
He died unaccountably (not without suspicion of foul play) in 1797.

NOTES. 41?

Marceau : the " young gallant Marceao," of whom Lord Byron In
allusion to the monument at Coblentz, in ChilJe Harold, wrote the
true and affecting line, " Bright, brief, and glorious was thy young
career!" He was killed at Altenkirchen in 1797. Lannes, after-
wards Duke de Montobello, who rose to great distinction under the
republic and afterwards under Napoleon. He was killed at Esling,
in 1809, after having shared the most brilliant victories of the
German campaigns, as well as of those of Italy and Egypt. Dcssaix:
a young and promising general officer, whose brilliant manoeuvres
had awaked, the jealousy of Napoleon himself, whom, on the field of
Marengo, however, they rescued from defeat and disgrace, at the
expense of his own life ; for Dessaix was there killed at the moment
when by a clever and energetic movement he had just broken and
repulsed the advancing Austrian columns, by whom the corps under
Napoleon in person had been defeated. A handsome monument has
been erected to the memory of Dessaix, in the chapel to the hospice
de St. Bernard. Moreau — whom the jealousy of Napoleon drove to
join his enemies— Moreau had, throughout the military and political
movements which resulted from the revolution, exhibited a tact,
energy, and skill both in council and in the field, which secured for
him a most eminent consideration. Disgusted, however, in 1810, by
the intentional neglect and jealous watchfulness of Napoleon, he
tendered his services to the allies, and was readily received by the
czar ; and it was probably to a trick of Moreau's (the destruction of
Moscow) that the ruin of the French expedition should be attributed.
Moreau was killed at Dresden in 1813, after having followed up his
advantages from Moscow to the Elbe.

CANTO I. STANZA Till. — The old Spanish proverb, which dates from
time Immemorial, is still repeated : — " Quien no ha visto Sevilla no
ha visto Meravilla."

CANTO I. STANZA XV. — This bitter allusion to the suicide of Sir
Samuel Romilly is said to have been more than once regretted by
Lord Byron as ungenerous and unworthy of a great man, even at the
height of triumph ever a fallen foe. This may be so ; and it might
indeed have been worthier to have left as much unsaid ; but when
one considers how fashionable has been the habit of sustaining right
or wrong, whatever a Romilly might chance to say or do, masked
as it was in the cant of his holy race; and when it is remembered
that the bitterest animosity, not to say the duties of an advocate,
could never have warranted such acrimony as that with which
Romilly had assailed Lord Byron, we cannot be surprised that the
momentary chuckle of triumph escaped the latter in the deathless
sarcasm —

" Like the lamented late Sir Samuel Romilly,
The law's expounder," &c. &o. &c. 1

CANTO I. STANZA XVI. Miss Edgeworth was already well known,
as early as 181S. for her "Treatise on Practical Education," and
several of her pleasing moral tales. Mrs. Trimmer had written
various works on methods of education. She was the compiler of a
" New Teacher's Assistant," &c. The " Caleb's Wife " is an allusion
to a quaint, serious moralising sort of novel, entitled " Celebs in
search of a Wife," by Hannah More.

CANTO I. STANZA XVII. — " Incomparable oil." This is a free trans
lation of the recommendations circulated in the French advertis*-

418 NOTES

ments at the time, which attributed to the " Huile de Macassar, det
vertus incomparable*." The reader must not run away with the idea
that the Macassar in question was Rowland's inimitable production.
The lines were written before the days of "Rowland and Son," but I
have no doubt that the celebrated store in Hatton Garden may boast
of equally unrivalled merchandise.

CAHTO I. STANZAS XXVI. to XXXIII. et seq.—The reader must con-
sider all this description as being drawn from the circumstances of
Lord Byron's private history, coloured, or adapted, a little (but very
little) to suit the purpose of his fiction. The circumstances attending
the separation of Lord and Lady Byron, the investigation into Lord
liyron's supposed aberration of mind, and so on, will be observed to
ofler a remarkable parallel to these passages in Don Juan.

Curro I. STAKZA XXXVI.— Tbere Is a remarkable parallel to thta
p«»age in Lord Byron's " Marino Faliero," which runs as follows

" My pure household gods

Were shirer'd on my hearth, and o'er their shrine
Sate grinning ribaldry and sneering scorn."

The powerful influence which ihese domestic dismemberments
exercised on the mind, spirits, and disposition of Lord Byron may be
as readily traced in all the memoianda, letters, or poetical scraps
written at and after that period. 3 he second canto of Childe Harold
is especially stamped with the moc diness with which he preyed upon
his family di^xMcrs, ami his letteis exhibit how deeply and keenly
he felt himself wronged.

" Had not the fangs of anguish traced enow
The ragged crease of sorrow on iny brow?
Thought ye that sadness had withheld my share
To damp the sheen of all that should be fair '
In very sooth ye .have made up the want :
And if the Furies had forgot to plant
Their sting into my bosom, ye have done
Their duty still more ably, ten to one."

The foregoing lines which I find in the latter of the period com-
menting upon the personal injustices which were heaped upon Lord
Byron by the jealousy of his unequal rivals and the malignity of his
direst enemies, personal, political, and literary, offered an additional
register of his reflections on the conduct of "those who were united
with him by the closest ties, and whose duty would have been to
shield his foibles and to honour his merits. I can make no excuse
for the malignity of his own relations ; for without wishing to endow
Lord Byron with perfections which he did not possess, no impartial
writer will fail to admit that he possessed merits which entitled him
to the highest honour and respect.

CAHTO I. STANZA XLIV. — " They only add them all in an appendix."
This is an allusion to an edition of the epigrams of Martial, which
is expurgated, as it is termed, that is, which is stripped of all that is
considered indecent in the text, all these indecent passages being
gathered together into a mass at the end. This is a peculiar habit of
expurgators. We should like to see expurgated editions of Dryden,
Milton, and others, to say nothing of Virgil, Homer, Ovid, and other
distinguished writers, who lived in a less delicate age.

NOTES. 419

CANTO I. STANZA LXXXVI.— See Orid'* " Art of Lore," Book II.

CANTO I. STANZA LXXXVTI.— See Campbell's "Gertrude of WT-
eming," Part III. Stanza I.—

" Oh ! Lore in such a wilderness as this,

Where transport and security entwine,
Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss,

And here thou art a god indeed divine !
Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine

The views, the walks, that boundless joy inspire 1
Roll on, ye days of raptured influence shine t
Nor blind with ec&tacy's celestial fire,
Shall Love behold the spark of earth-born time expire."

CANTO I. STAN z A 1C V. — Juan Bosoau Almogara and Garcilasso do
la Veza, who both flourished in the early part of the 16th century
and who adopted the method of the early Italian schools in the
poetry of Castile. They hare left a rariety of small pieces, chiefly in
the form of sonnets and after the manner of Petrarch. Garcilasso de
la Vesa was also distinguished for military prowess, and served with
some honour in the wars of his time. He was of noble extraction
and a native of Toledo and was lulled in 1936. Boscau was a native
of Barcelona, of obscure origin, and little is known of his career,
save the relics of his muse.

CASIO I. STANZA CXXIII. —

Sweet to the peasant is the crackling hearth,
By which when day is o'er and toil is done.

Immediately after the Stanza CXXIII. were the two lines above,
partly obliterated, and which have nerer appeared. They seem to
have formed the beginning of a consecutive stanza, in which Lord
ityron was interrupted, and which he did not complete. Such, how-
ever, was probably the drift of ideas at the moment at which they
were written. Lord Byron was thoroughly conscious of the extreme
beauty of the preceding lines, and had forwarded a roug'i draft of
them to one of bis correspondents, in this shape. In the copy which
was afterwards forwarded to press, the two lines were omitted, and
in proceeding with his subject the poet was evidently in a rein of
humour in which the sentimental description was no longer so
congenial.

CANTO I. STANZA CXLVIII.— Cortejo, a Spanish word, by which
is understood the gallant of a married woman, or, as the Italians
have it, the cavaliero servente. General Count O"Kettly, who took
Algiers, is a smart sarcasm put into the mouth of Donna Julia, who
might be supposed in her excitement to have made this mistake,
\\ iihout being suspected of irony. The general, it is known, was
defeated with much disgrace in 1775.

CASTO I. STANZAS CC. and CCI. — These two stanzas are a smart
paraphrase of Dean Swift's satirical recipes for the manufacture of
opic poetry . —

" For your tempest, take Eurus, Zephyr, Auster, and Boreas, and
cast them together into one Terse ; add to these of rain, lightning,
and thunder (the loudest you can), guontutn tufiett. Mix your
clouds and billows well together till they foani, aud thicken your

420 WOTES.

description here and there with a quicksand. Brew your tempest
well in your head before you set it a-blowing. For a battle ; pick a
large quantity of images and descriptions froin Homer's Iliad, with
a spice or two of Virgil ; and if there remain any overplus, you may
lay them by for a skirmish. Season it well with similes and it will
make an excellent battle. For your machinery, take of Deities male
and female, as many as you can use : separate them Into two equal
parts and keep Jupiter in the middle ; let Juno put him in a ferment
and Venus pacify him. Remember, on all occasions to make use of
volatile mercury. If you have need of devils, draw them out of
Milton's " Paradise Lost," and extract your spirits from Tasso's
" Gerusalemme." The use of these machines is evident ; and since
no epic poem can subsist without them, the wisest way is to reserve
them for your greatest necessities." — Swiff s Recipe for an Epic.

CANTO I. STANZA CCXVI. — " My days of love are over," &c. The
passage of Horace must have occurred to Lord Byron's recollectioa
when these lines were written : —

Me nee fcemina nee pner

Jam, nee spes animi crednla rautni,

Nee cert are juvat mero ;
Nee vincire novis tempera floribus.

CANTO I. STANZA CCXVII.— In conformity with the legend or tra-
dition respecting the brazen head capable of speech, constructed by
Friar Bacon, and which having uttered the brief exclamation, "Time
is — Time was — and Time is past " — fell from its pedestal and was
shattered to atoms, because the proper occasion for catechising it
had been allowed to elapse.

CANTO I. STANZA CCXVIIL—

"Some liken it to climbing up a hill,"

as, for instance, that dull, humdrum, but very neat and formal
fellow, Beattie, who preaches after this fashion :—

" Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb "
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar?" ic. &c.

Propria qute maribus. — Byron' 'l Memoranda.

CANTO I. STANZA CCXXII. — " Go, little book," &c. See the " Pil-
grimage to Waterloo," by Southey.

CANTO II. — This Canto is another of the instances of the rapidity
with which Lord Byron was in the habit of writing in his last
manner; even if the general character of the rhythm be not suffi-
cient to indicate that many consecutive stanzas are written on the
spur of the moment. The second Canto was written at Venice, being
commenced on the 13th of December, 1818, and completed in little
more than a month, namely on the 20th of January, 1819.

CANTO II. STASZA VII.— Fazzioli: a Venetian word, which, if lite-
rally translated, would mean " little handkerchiefs," but which is
applied to the piccalan veils of the Venetian ladies.

XOTE6. 421

CANTO II. STANZA XIII.— The poet's redpo for the cure of sea-
sickness, apart from its 'inapplicability, in the generality of cases
is nugatory ; for who. with the incipient nausea induced by the
hearing of tho ship, could possibly bolt a beef-steak ? It is, however,
evidently mentioned in pleasantry, and rather as a quiz of the
popular recipe, "beef steak and brandy-and-water." Why Dr. Kit-
chener should have considered himself called upon to criticise tho
recipe, is quite as unintelligible as its modus euran-ii. Very minute
(absolutely infinitesimal) doses of arsenic really constitute "tho best
of remedies for actual sea-sickness ; and tobacco is perhaps one of the
most available of prophylactics (that is, amongst articles in every
day use.) But by tobacco, I do not wish to be understood that the
smoking or chewing of it in the ordinary way will have a preventive
and salutary effect, but that in single drop doses of the extract or
essence, it is a yery effectual agent.

CANTO II. STASZA XXIV.— According to Mr. Moore, Lord Byron
gathered much of the technicality concerning the management and
straining, &c. of a vessel in a storm, which so strikingly marks the
accuracy of description throughout this account, from an almost
unknown pamphlet, comprising the " Narrative of tho Shipwreck of
the Juno, on the Coast of Aracan, in the year 1795." This, however,
must have served him merely from memory. It appears that tho
Narrative was in the Library of Dr. Glennie, of Dulwich, his former
preceptor, where alone he had seen it. It is obvious, however, from
the citations which he himself attached to various passages, that
Lord Byron also gleaned from the published accounts of the " Loss of
the Hercules," of the "Centaur," of the " Abergavenny," of the
"Sydney," of the "Wellington" Transport, of the "Pandora," of tho
u Betsy," &c., as well as from " Barrow's Eventful History of tho
Bounty ," from " Bligh's Official Report from the Narratives of the
Famine in the American Ship Peggy," and of the crew of the
" Thomas," as well as from a multitude of other accounts of Adven-
tures by Sea, "hair breadth 'scapes," &c.4 &c. It is evident that
Lord Byron, moreover, had sought for all the written particulars and
descriptions of the kind which he could lay hands on, in order to give
the most complete and perfect account he could of an accident, or a
series of accidents of this nature. Nor is it possible to conceive a
more truthful and more splendid description tha7i this is from begin-
ning to end. Struck with the perfection of the work, his adverse
critics of the Southey school suddenly discovered that it was no
better than a plagiarism upon all the accounts to which he had
referred, to prove that he had not strained facts beyond what had
actually occurred. Stupid and meaningless as was this cliaree, some
of the reviewers of the superior class, and amongst others the
Reviewer of the Times were at the pains to refute the absurd charge,
and to show that it was in the very accuracy with which he had
fallowed the facts furnished that the masterly management of the
whole description consisted. This accurate adoption will bo evident
in the following parallel passage : — Canto II. Stanza XXVII. — Com-
pare with the account of the Loss OF THE HERCULES. " Night came
on worse than the day had been ; and a sudden shift of wind about
midnight threw the ship into the trough of the sea, which struck
her aft, tore away the rudder, started the stern post, and shattered
the whole of her stem frame. The pumps were immediately sounded
and in the course of a few minutes the water bail increased to four
feet. Stanza XXVIII. — Compare with the following passage from the
same Narrative. "The people were employ d in getting up rice from
the run of the ship and heaving it over to come at the leak if possi-
ble. After three or four hundred bags were thrown into the sea we
did get at it, and found the water rushing Into the ship with aston-
*T

422 NOTES

ishing rapidity; therefor*, we thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of
muslin, and everything of the like description that could be got into
the opening." Stanza XXIX. — Compare with — " Notwithstanding
the pumps discharged fifty tons of water an hour, the ship must
hare gone down had not our expedients been attended with some
success. The pumps, to the excellent construction of which I owe
my life, -were made by Mr. Mann, of London." Stanza XXX. — Com-
pare with the following passage from the account of the "Loss OF
THE CENTAUR." "As the next day advanced, the weather appeared
to moderate, the men continued incessantly at the pumps, and every
exertion was made to keep the ship afloat. Scarce was this done,
•when a gust exceeding in violence every thing of the kind I have
ever seen, or could conceive, laid the ship on her beam ends. Stanza
XXXI. — Compare with the following from the same Narrative. " The
ship lay motionless, and to all appearance irrevocably overset. 1 ho
water forsook the hold and appeared between the decks." Stanza
XXXII. — Compare with — " Immediate directions were given to cut
away the main and mizen masts, trusting when the ship righted to
be able to wear her. On cutting one or two lanyards, the mizeu-mast
went first over, but without producing the smallest effect upon the
ship ; and on cutting the lanyard of one shroud, the main-mast fol-
lowed. I had the mortification to see the fore-mast and bowsprit
also go over. On this the ship immediately righted with great
violence." Stanza XXXVI. — Compare with the following passage in
the " Narrative of the Loss of the Abergavenny." " ' Give us some
grog,' they exclaimed, ' it win be all one an hour hence.' ' I know
we must die,' coolly answered the midshipman, 'but let us die like
men.' Armed with a brace of pistols he kept his post (at the door
of the spirit room) even while the ship was sinking." Stanza
XXXVIII. — Compare with the following from the same source. " All
who were not seamen by profession had been employed in thrum-
ming a sail." Stanza XLI. — Compare with the following. "The
ship laboured so much that I could scarce hope she would swim
till morning ; our sufferings were very great, for want of fresh •water."
Stanza XLII. — Compare with the following — "The weather again
threatened, and by noon it blew a hurricane. The ship laboured
greatly, the water appeared in the fore and after hold. The leathers
were nearly consumed, and the chains of the pump, by constant exer-
tion and friction of the coils, were rendered almost useless."

CANTO II. STANZA XLIII. et seq. .-— \Ve have a quaint parallel
in an account of the absurd and melancholy actions of the despairing
crew of a lost vessel in the " Dialogues of Erasmus." Dr. Retz also
gives a very analogous account of the proceedings on board a ship in
which he was nearly lost in the Gulf of Lyons, which is corrobo-
rative of the scene described by Lord Byron. I moreover recollect to
have been in a Portuguese vessel bound, I think, from Rio de Janeiro
to Oporto, in which very similar scenes were enacted. We were over-
taken with heavy weather and driven considerably oo the south-
ward and eastward of our course, and what with the increasing fury
of the tempest, and the resigned and inactive despair of the Portu-
guese sailors, we were hourly growing in greater peril of making a
lee shore somewhere to the eastward, or of driving amongst the
smaller islands on the coast of Africa. Of four passengers, including
myself, on board, three of us were Englishmen but not one of us a
seaman. Two of us however, had by repeated voyages learnt some-
thing of the trimming of a ship's tackle ; and as the crew had abso-
lutely abandoned the ship to her fate, we were compelled to fall to
and make the best of a land-lubberly piece of seamanship. The crew
meanwhile had fallen to beseeching and imploring the aid of the
leaden image of their patron taint, San Antonio ; but when after

NOTES. 423

several hours of beseeching and so forth, they found the wind and
irrew but the more fierce, they began parading the images m
procession amidst a mingled din of wailing, and hailing, and thanks-
L'ivinjr. and prayer, and praise, as far as the luud howling of the
roaringof the billows, creakingof the ship's M.lrv an. I whistling
of the shrouds. Having duly pei formed their procession business for
some time longer, and rinding this did not answer, the) split them-
M'ivos up into parties, some to pray again, others to settle down in
silent resignation: others again to drink and carouse, and a few of
inure vindictive spirit to administer the cat-o' -nine-tails to the
recreant lea'len saints, whose efficacy in danger had proved so utterly
abortive. This last detachment, having been as unsuccessful with
the corporeal chastisement of the saint, still bent upon redress or
revenge, made two small ropes fast about the necks of the images,
and thus hung them over the stern of the ship. 1 need not add that
this last expedient was equally unavailing; but on the following
morning the wind somewhat abated, the sea was less boisterous, and
the weather cleared and promised something like fair weather, and
as by dint of very hard work we had hitherto continued to keep the
ship's stem in something like course, with the loss of the mizen only,
which had gone by the board, we had not suffered such serious
damage as might have been anticipated ; and after some further
days, in which we gradually revived the hopes of the crew, we
managed to set them to work and to make the coast of Portugal in
due course. The instances from which Lord Byron has taken the
particulars of his theme, are rather of a more really serious nature ;
this is more analogous to that mentioned by the Cardinal De Retz.

CANTO II. STANZA XLVII. et teq. : — The reader will observe wiUi
what accurate truthfulness all these particulars have been rendered
into the most poetical passages in one of the best of poems. The
subjoined are quotations from the Narratives of the wrecks of the
Sydney, Wellington Transport, Centaur, and Pandora, &c. &c.

" Eight bags of rice, six flasks of wine, and a small quantity of
salted beef and pork, were put into the long boat as provisions for
the whole." And again — " The yawl was stove alongside and sunk."

Again — " One oar was erected for a main-mast, and the other bent
to the breadth of the blankets for a yard-arm." And again — " As
rafts had been mentioned by the carpenter, I thought it right to
make the attempt. It was impossible for any man to deceive him-
self with the hopes of being saved upon a raft in such a sea as this."

Again : — " Spars, booms, hen-coops, and every thing buoyant were
therefore cast loose, that the men might have some chance to save
themselves."

Again : — " We had scarcely quitted the ship when she save a heavy
lurch to port, and then went down head foremost." And again : —
" At this moment one of the officers told the captain she was going
down, and bidding him farewell, leapt overboard ; the crew had just .
time (before she went down) to leap overboard, when he did, uttering
a most dreadful and indescribable yell."

CANTO II. STANZA LIII. — This stanza Is beyond comparison the
climax of the utmost beauty in descriptive diction of which the
I MiM-h language is capable. We can cite no passage of any author,
modern or remote, which is fraught with such agonizing, frightful
biibUrue, and accurate truthfulm-s.

" But at intervals there gush'd v
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriet, — the bubbling <•>•;/.
Of .ome itrotig *w.mmer in hit aytmy. '
I 0 I

424

NOTES.

How it can be conceiTed that the bare study of description ren-
dered from observation by others, should hare so thoroughly imbued
Lord Byron with the spirit of the scene, is hardly apparent. Few
imaginations are capable of such second sight. But if he had written
a volume he could not have said more, and no man but Lord Byron,
not even the participator of so melancholy a catastrophe, could have
said it half so well. Sir John Barrow could not abstain from testify-
ing to the beautiful and fearful accuracy of the picture.

Without disparagement of an author, into the true spirit of whose
language we naturally cannot enter, as well as into that of our own,
I cannot help thinking that the celebrated —

" Apparent rari nantes in gurgito vesto "

of Virgil is the vapid paraphrase or* a closeted scholar in comparison
with the last two lines of the Stanza LI1I.

In a letter to - , which, like others, contains matter which
never fell within the grasp of Mr. M - ; six stanzas follow the
53rd before the 51th of the published edition. Lord Byron upon
finishing bis last touches for the press withheld them, under the
idea (which has much reason in it) that after Stanza LIU. he could
do nothing better than let that close this portion of the description,
and that all addition would detract from the brilliant acme of the
scene.

"Now here, now there, capping the lofty surge,
From time to time some spar would pierce aloft,

Or some poor wretch the next wave should submerge,
Would rear his helpless hands, whilst loudly scoft

The angry storm, or howl'd his ocean dirge ;
And then as if resigu'd all calm and soft,

The straggler seem'd to sink without again,

Stretching one limb to wrestle with the

" And then the last remains were swept away
Of all that buoyant and majestic craft,

(Save where the long-boat dash'd aboon the spray)
And nought save the white foam ahead, abaft

Could there be seen in one continued fray
Of boiling waters — not the barest raft,

Or boom, or plank, the stronghold of despair,

To (how a lingering sign if life was there.

"Above, the clouds drove furiously ahead,

Piling themselves in masses, as it were,
Blackening the goal to which the billows sped,

No gleam of hope, no promised rest was there,
E'en where a ray of hurrying light was shed

O'er the " wild waste of waters " ever bare.
To battle with the tempest were to strain
The last and unavailing strength in rain."

Instead, however, of pursuing the yeiii of description, Lord Byron
broke off abruptly at the climax which no skill could surpass, no
imagination equal, and proceeded in the lighter spirit of banter
vv inch threw the magnificent passage into bold relief. In the very
suddenness of the transition, the master stroke of the great artist is
evinced. The very next stanza of the poem as it was first published,
and has since remained intact, is in this temper.

"The boats as stated bad got off before," &c., &c.

NOTES. 425

CANTO II. STANZA LXII.— "The sun rose red and fiery, kc., kc."
Tithout abandoning the half ludicrous, half serious manlier vhiih
he had taken up after the Stan/.a LIU. Lord Byron remains as before
perfectly true in every particular of his description ; witness the sub-
joined extract from Bligh's account of his open boat navigation after
the disasters of the " Bounty."

"The sun rose red and fiery, a sure indication of a severe gale of
wind. We could do nothing more than run before the sea. I sen til
a teaspoonful of rum to every person. The bread we found was
damaged and rotten."

CANTO II. STAXZA LXX. et. itq.'—lbe whole description which
follows is still true to the letter of the matter gleaned from various
accounts of similar catastrophes. The casting of lots for the sacrifice
of a human victim is adopted from the " Narrative of the Sutienn s
undergone by the Crew of the ship Thomas." At Stanza I.XVI. •• ]]>•
but requested to be bled to death." kc., is tlms told of the actual
occurrence : — " He requested to be bled to death, the surgeon being
with them, and having his case of instruments in his pocket, winn
he quitted the ship. No sooner had the fatal instrument touched
the vein, than the operator applied his parched lips and drank tin-
blood as it flowed, whilst the rest anxiously watched the victim's
departing breath that they might proceed to satisfy the hunger
which preyed upon them to so frightful a degree." The sequel is
still in accordance with the same authority: — "Those who glutted
themselves with human flesh and gore, and whose stomachs
retained the unnatural food, soon perished with raging insanity."
So also with the feeders on Pedrillo's carcase.

CANTO II. STANZA LXXXII.— " Chewing a piece of bamboo and
some lead" is in strict conformity to the account of the crew of the
"Juno " after the wreck of that vessel ; as for instance — " Another
expedient we had frequent recourse to, finding that it supplied our
mouths with a little temporary moisture, was chewing any substance
we could find, generally a bit of canvas or even a piece of lead." —
" At length they caught two boobies and a noddy," kc. Humour-
ously as this is put apart from the probabilities of catching " two
boobies," &c. in the Mediterranean (which is an excusable piece of
poetic licence), the account is strictly that given by Bligh.

CAJTTO II. '. STANZA LXXXII I. —"Remember Ugolino," &c. S««
Dante's Inferno, CXXX.

" Quando ebbe detto cio, con gli occhi torti
Riprese il teschio misero co' denti,
Che furo all' osso come d'un can forti."

CAHTO II. STANZA XCII. —

" It changed of course ; a heavenly cameleon." Ac.

Next to the beautiful Stanzas in the first Canto beginning—

" Tis sweet to hear
At midnight o'er the blue and moonlit deep," ic.

these, involving the description of the rainbow breaking through th*
gloom of the tempest, are undoubtedly some of the finest in tUa
whole poem— that is for the soft and gentle province of description.

426 XOTE9.

Poor Jeffrey was horrorstricken at the mingled beauties and " dis-
gusting traits of low humour and buffoonery " which, according to
him, characterise the foregoing twenty stanzas. The criticism how-
ever, is neither just, nor as Jeffrey would have us believe, is it deli •
cate. The indelicacies are in the interpretation, and we should
barely be so struck with the pre-eminent symmetry of that which is
meant to be symmetrical, were it not for the distortion of that which
would really be hideous and revolting were it not told in such a
manner that we cannot helu feelinsc for the sufferers, without consi-
dering their atrocities.

CANTO II. STANZA CXIII. — " Quite a celestial Kaleidoscope."
The Kaleidoscope, as is now well known, is a tubular instrument
which, by being applied to the eye and turned round or shaken, re-
veals an endless variety of forms, colours, and tints to the eye. It
was invented by Sir David Brewster, for practical purposes, to which
indeed it has been applied ; but latterly it has been more generally
used as a toy. -

CANTO II. STANZA CXIV. — The propitious appearance of the white
bird is adopted from the account of the "Lady Hobart's" crew.
" About this time a beautiful white bird, web-footed and not unlike
a dove in size and plumage, hovered over the mast-head of the cutter
and notwithstanding the pitching of the boat, frequently attempted
to perch on it, and continued to flutter there till dark. Trifling as
this circumstance may appear, it was considered by all of us as a
propitious omen. Again : Stanzas XCVI. and XCVII. compare with the
subjoined quotation from the same narrative. " 1 found it necessary
to caution the people against being deceived by the appearance of
land, or calling out, till they were convinced of the reality, more
especially asfogbanks are often mistaken for laud. Several of the
poor fellows, .nevertheless, repeatedly exclaimed that they heard
breakers, and some, the firing cf guns." And again, from the account
of the "Centaur "we extract the following: — "At length, one of
them broke into a most immoderate swearing fit of joy, which I
could not restrain, and declared that he had never seen land in his
life, if what he now saw was not land." Again, Stanzas XCVIII.
and XCIX. compare with the two following extracts, the one from
the narrative of the "Lady Hobart"; the other, from that of the
"Thomas": — "Mary burst into tears; some looked at each other
with a stupid stare, as if doubtful of the reality of what they saw,
&c. &c." ; and " they providentially took a small turtle whiUt float-
ing asleep on the surface of the water."

CANTO II. STANZA CXXXVII. — Commodore the lion. John ByronV
Narrative, published in 1768.

CANTO II. STANZA CXL. — An allusion to Dr. Franklin's calculation
respecting the economy of early rising, in which he puts down the
loss in the single item of candle-light, to say uothiii" of health, &c.
at about £1,000,000 a year.

CANTO II. STANZA CXLI.— Bruce attributes the name of the " Red"
Sea to t.he extensive growth of corals, for which it is remarkable.
It may possibly alto be indirectly attributed to the same origin, from
the ruddy tint which would naturally be conveyed to the appearance
of the surface in shallow water. Certain howcvrr, is it that the

XOTtS.

427

water is no more red there than anywhere else, and in many other
quarters it is far more muddy and may aptly bear the designation of
V'.-d, on that account. Epithets of this tind, however, which custom
and tradition afterwards consecrate and perpetuate, are sometimes
very wide of the truth and not unfrequently over complimentary.
The " Flavus Tiber " which figures so constantly in the patriotic
praises of the Latin poets, is after all but a very inconsiderable, un-
dignified, muddy, ditch ; so that, all things considered, It is not
worth while to dispute about names.

CAXTO II. STANZA CLXIX.—" Venus will not long attack us!"
A proposition which is physiologically quite untrue. The operation
of wine in this respect is the same as that of this stimulant in all
other respects — a little stimulates for a time. But even that little,
constantly repeated, exhausts ultimately, and excess at once para-
lyses powef, whatever may be its action upon sentiment. The Her.
Mr. Colton, enters into a learned and pedantic dissertation on this
point, in which he quotes Ovid, Aristophanes, and Atheuaeus ; but
what in the world did these worthies know of the physiology of
human nature ? The Rev. Mr. Coltou exhibits more bookish research
than good sense in his Commentary.

CANTO III. — This Canto was commenced before the storm of abuse
had been aroused, which quickly followed the publication of the two
first Cantos; that is, in the month October, 1819. But Lord Byron
was so much annoyed at the various and worthless criticisms and
at the unjust attacks levelled at him on account of the publication,
that IIP now only wrote a few lines by fits and starts, and the conse-
quence was that the three Cantos, HI. IV. and V., did not appear until
18J1.

CAXTO III. STANZA LXI.— In this and the succeeding Stanzas,
Lord Byron adheres, with remarkable precision, to the description
given in " Tally's Tripoli."

CANTO III. STANZA LXXV.— " Her eyelids tinged." A pigment
prepared from the native sulphuret of antimony is used by Orientals
to tinge the inner margin of the eyelids. It is well known that in
some persons a natural darkness in the margin, caused by the
density of the lashes at the root, conveys a peculiarly lascivious ex-
, pression. The artificial tinting is intended to produce the same
effect, and does so.

CANTO III. STANZA LXXIX.— An allusion to Crashaw, of whose
poetry Pope is said to have been an admirer and close imitator, but
who nevertheless died in obscurity.

CANTO III. STANZA XCV.— An allusion to Joanna Sonthcott's pre-
tended pregnancy with a second Messiah, by which many thousand
persons were actually deceived and became her disciples, she died
of dropsy in 181*, her followers being still persuaded of her mission.

CANTO III. STAKZA XCVIII.— An allusion to Wordsworth's "Ben-
jamin the Waggoner," and to a passage in Ins " I'eter Hell," which

428 NOTES.

is certainly puerile enough to have merited the most withering
ridicule. Here it is : —

" There's something in a flying horse ;
There's something in a huge balloon ;
But through the clouds I'll never float,
Until I have a little boat."

CANTO III. STANZA CVIII.—

" Ah ! surely nothing dies but something mourns."

Exquisite expression of a beautiful thought ! Could anything be
more sublime, more tender, or more touching? Even the immortal
verses of Dante sink into less distinction after this : —

" Era gia 1'ora che volge '1 desio,

Ai naviganti ed 'ntenerisce il cuore !
Lo di ch' nan detto ai dolci amici addio ;

E che so uuovo peregrin d' amore
Penge se ode Squilla da lontano,
Che poia '1 gioruo pianger che si muore."

CANTO III. STANZA CIX. — According to the account given of tho
death of Nero, by Suetonius. The allusion conveys a fine moral, as
the thought indeed is deep, pathetic, and stirring. It is true indeed,
and it is a consolation that there is barely a human being, however
melancholy, deplorable, reprobate, or hated, that has not some sym-
pathies somewhere, which will be the guardians of his soul, when
desertion or execration only attend him elsewhere.

CANTO IV. — Notwithstanding that between the 6th of September,
1819, and the 10th of December in the same year — that is, in the
course of little more than three months, three Canto* of one of the
finest poems in existence, had been completed ; including the ship-
wreck of Don Juan — the liaison with Haidee — and the immortal ode
of " The Isles of Greece ; " notwithstanding that two Cantos were
actually in print and repeated editions were eagerly demanded, Lord
Byron was so vexed and discouraged by the animadversions which
assailed him on all sides, that he actually came to a standstill, set
the MS. aside, and wanted to return to Mr. Murray the price of the
copyright; and thus it was not until the month of August, 1821,
that the third Canto, together with the one at present under notice,
and the fifth, appeared together.

CASTO IV. STANZA IV. — It might indeed have been a more prudent
provision; the Achilles being invulnerable, save at the heel by which
his mother held him, which was subject to all the other ills of man-
kind. A. "mortal mother " might have exercised greiter judgment
than the goddess, in steeping her child ill perpetual unconsciousness
of ill: (Lethe, the stream of oblivion.)

CASTO IV. STANZA V. — Lord Byron here alludes to the criticisms
of Watkins and that memorable stupidity, the Rev. Mister Colton ;
the former of whom asserts that Lord Byron is the " Very Cornus of
poetry, who by the bewitching airiness of his numbers aims to turn
the moral world into a herd of monsters." The Rev. Mister Colton,

NOTE*. 423

on the other hand, is yet more stern in his denunciation ; for h«
says : " Deep as Byron has dipped his pen into vice, ho has dipped
it still deeper into immorality. Alas ! he shines only to mislead : ho
flashes only to destroy." What in the world does Mr. Colton mean
hy the distinction between vice and immorality? But I hail forgotten
— this is the reverend gentleman who cites Ovid and Aristophanes
to prove that wine sustains lust. Moral man !

CANTO IV. STANZA VI. — " Pulci," <tc., an allusion to 1'ulci as the
founder of the serio-comico vein of writing, in the " Morgante Mag-
giore." It is to be observed, nevertheless, that Lord uVron is far
more an imitator of Ariosto than of Pulci ; not only as to rhythmical
construction, but also as to the method of handling his subject (or
more properly, his endless variety of subjects as they chance to cross
him.)

CANTO IV. STANZA VII — " Meantime Apollo," 4c., a pretty adap-
tation of the lines of Virgil.

" Cum canerem reges et praelia Cynthius aurem
> Vellit," &c.

CANTO IV. STANZA XIX. — An allusion to the " Confessions of an
English Opium Eater " then a very recent publication.

CANTO IV. STANZA XXVIII. This passage has a beautiful parallel
of thought in that of Shakspeare.

" The shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
> I better brook than nourishing peopled towns ;
There can I sit alons, unseen of any,
And to the nightingale's complaining notes
Tune my distresses and record my woes."

Every being of a contemplative turn of mind, of deep, but sullen pas-
sions, and of acute and greedy sensibilities, seems to yearn after soli-
tude, either for the fulness of joy or the luxury of sorrow. Lord Byron
himself, in " Childe Harold," gives iterance to a similar train of re-
flection, when he exclaims —

" Oh that the desert were my dwelling place,

.With one fair spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race ;

And hating no one, love but only her :

Ye elements in whose ennobling stir
I feel myself exalted, can ye not

Accord me such a being ? " ic.

And a similar strain of feeling involving the idea that the greatest of
all gratifications, the most consummate beauty, the most sm.lUue
conception, is abstracted, is well expressed in a recent and anony-
mous poem, entitled " Matters and Men."

" Oh ! if ye must have splendour, seek it where

'Twill not corrupt you, and will not enslave 1

Hie in the sunshine, 'tis the beggar's share ! —

The proudest monarch cannot bid you waive

430 NOTES.

Tour privilege to bask, and wonder there ,
And that magnificence at least will hare
The just effect to raise your thoughts on high,
ind not degrade them to mortality.

u Gaze on the glorious sun and deep blue sea : —
Gaze on the river, and its flowing sheen : —

Gaze on the azure sky and fresh leaved tree : —
Explore the meadow, and there feast your een !-

Come back and tell me, then, if ought you see
Is meaner than the pageant of a queen,

Tne lustre of an aristocracy,

Or pomp that illustrates a bishop's see.

" Come back and tell me, did ye see your own,
In all the beauty that surrounded you ?

And tell me, too, if in the tinsell'd town,
'Mongst jaek-a-dandies dress'd for public view

yo sense of loneliness then weigh'd you down ?
Was there no touch of scorn and pity too,

Which bade you seek your tocial solitude

Amid the briars of the tangled wood ?

For music, hie where nature's songs are heard
Far in the wilderness, at break of day,

And listen to the carol of a bird : —
He utters CONSOLATION in his way : —

Inspired by heaven, he breathes that holy word
And still repeats it in his roundelay : —

He tells you, God bestows on every man

To see his priceless splendour as he can.

Go, wretched outcast of those rights of man,
And see the lustre of a midnight sky

Encompassing the globe with glowing span 1
Go read that glorious book, nor longer sigh : —

Though power can proscribe thee with its ban,
It cannot close the eyes which turn on high

To read in characters of brighter gold

The future freedom gloriously foretold.

Let me retire in peace, reflect and wait.

It is not hard for me to bear and brood,
And from my secrecy to reprobate : —

If my poor service could once yield you good,
Here will you find me simple as of old,
Though somewhat more subdued, yet none more cold.

If, as is possible, the world's decree
Should bid me silently remain apart,

And number none to think and speak with me,
There is a thing within me call'd a heart

And that a million worlds must leave me free :—
The little share which God ordain'd my part

Of thought and feeling, intellect and soul,

Acknowledges no rule but his control.

NOTES. 431

" And when he yielded me that little gift •
the universe was framed as its abode :—

The earth to bow it down, the sky to lift : —
The ocean upon which itt structures rode :—

fhe winds with which its course might freely shift :—
All, all its compass graciously bestow'd.

M.ITTLKS ASD MM, pp. 77, 78 and 79.

CASTO IV. STASZA XXX.—" The mystical usurper of the miud '
—Lord Byron seems to have had before him Sir Thomas Brown's
remark on the subject of the second being of sleep. " We are some-
what more than ourselves in our sleep, and the slumber of the body
seems to be but the waking of the soul." This " theory of dreams,"
as it may not inappropriately be termed, has been entertained in all
time, and is likely to exercise a peculiar influence over highly excit-
able and somewhat superstitious temperaments. It is moieover, only
the doctrine of magnetic somnambulism naturalised.

The connected and coherent activity of the mind in sleep is a ques-
tion of great doubt. There have been instances in which a train of
thoughts occupying the mind during sleep has led to great results,
but this will be readily discerned to be rather matter of accident than
of the itccnid sight attributed to the internal being. The mini! run-
ning on a certain from of idrai before sleep, continues to run on that
train of ideas during sleep. The purpose of the reflection has been
to in'lividunlue and determine the advantageous method of action —
the same train of thought during sleep ; the result makes much im-
pression, and if the person be of a superstitious turn of mind, lie will
probably determine to follow np the revelation of his dream (th«
origin of which is to be traced to previous and wakeful reflection; ;
success may ensue, and the dream get* the credit of it.

CAHTO IV. STANZA LV.— This description follows faithfully that
given by Jackson, in his account of Morocco. " At Fez," says tliat
writer, " the houses of the great and wealthy have within-side spa-
cious courts adorned with sumptuous galleries, founts of the finest
marble, and fish-ponds shaded with orange, lemon, pomegranate,
and fig trees, abounding with fruit, and ornamented with rose*,
jasmine, violets, and other odoriferous flowers, emitting a delectable
fragrance ; so that it is justly called a paradise."

CASTO IV. STANZA LIX.— Lord Byron borrows the circumstance*
of the breaking of a blood-vessel and the gushing of blood from th«
lips, from Sismondi and Darns' account of the death of Francis Fo»-
cari, Doge of Venice, in 1457. It is somewhere added, in corrobora-
t ion of the probability of such an incident, as regarded Lord Byron's
description, that the breaking of a blood-vessel in some part of the
thorax is no uncommon effect of violent emotion. I do not think
medical science will bear out this assertion. Many effect* of emotioB
are more frequent than that, and are frequently fatal.

CAKTO IV. STANZA LXXI. — "She sleeps well!" How strangely
beautiful, sad, melancholy, and yet sweet, sound these two line* after
the many traits of burlesque which break through the ttUl teriout
story of Haidee! No context could have been more apposite nor
more complete in its pathos. "She sleeps well"— cJliug to mind
the stillness, the peace, and the serenity of a Mediterranean sum-
mer's evening, amongst the golden " Isles of Greece," the melancholy
laic of the fatal catastrophe whUst the cont«att of '• By th« sea show

432 NOTES.

vjhereon she 'loved to dwM," recalls to the darkening memory the
thrilling scene of innocent passion and consummate joy enacted in
the few preceding hours of her "brief but delightful " existence. Lotl
Byron never did labour, could never have laboured, a passage ; but :f
he had exhausted all the pains of the highest art to convey a great
and deep thought most fully, simply, and touchiugly, he would ha»»
found no diction so perfect as that hi the text.

CANTO IV. STANZA LXXV.— Cape Sigaeum, the classical groun.1
consecrated by the memories of Achilles, and where the hero wa»
said to hare been committed to his last resting place, and Alexander
ran naked three times round his tomb.

CANTO TV. STANZA LXXVI. — The Rhastian promontory is said to
hare received the ashes of Ajax. It forms one of the boundaries of
the bay wherein the Grecian fleet had assumed its anchorage.

CANTO IV. STANZA LXXX. — Lord Byron here alludes to an inci-
dent which actually occurred in 1812, when an "enterprising ma-
nager " as he would be termed in our penny-a-line style of these days,
actually prevailed upon a number of young men and women to
embark with him, under the pretence of being engaged as an Opera
and Ballet Company. No sooner however, had the manager made his
port on the southern coast, than he sold all his band ; the females to
replenish the harems, and the males to serve in menial offices for
some Moorish worthies.

CANTO IV. STANZA LXXXV.^The "Jiffuranti" in a Ballet are
those who take part in the Tableaux oaly, and do not dance minuets
or other independent figures.

CANTO IV. STANZA LXXXVI. — " From all the pope makes," &c.
A severe and just allusion to the prohibition of female singers at St.
Peter's, and the employment of castrated men instead.

CANTO IV. STANZA LXXXVII.— Raucocanti. The under-current
of banter which characterises the whole of this account is evident
enough. The joke is however, carried to the very names. The clas-
sical name of Raucocanti being readily translated into "Hoarse*

Notes."

CANTO IV. STANZA. XCVII1.— What Lord Byron intimates of the
tenor of "Don Juan" is perfectly true. If it had not been for the fashion.
which was got up to abuse the poet, and which was sustained and
interlarded with the cant and hypocrisy of his would-be literary
rivals ; all the world would have readily perceived in " Don Juan " a
withering satire on vice, and not an incentive to it. He could very
justly say that if Fielding, Smollett, Richardson, and that school,
had been satirisers of vice, he had been more effectually so, for ho
never describes vice without a catastrophe. And he could still more
justly say that if the vapid, gossiping, half sentimental, twaddling
novels which were growing fashionable were moral, far more was
"Don Juan" moral ; for whereas young ladies might readily feed silly
fancies on the former, and harbour unknowing longings from such
reading, thev woukl but be subiert to these sensations in reading

KOTES. 438

Don Juan, viz. :— admiration of fine verse— and magnificent thought*
—wonder — and horror. As for lasciviousness, the melancholy talc of
Haidee is surely no incentive, for the catastrophe is at hand ere the
thrill of passion is awakened. As for the escapade with Donna Jul*,
it is anything but attractive ; and for the voluptuous revels of the
seraglio, they afford only a severe satire of a most unjust aii<i
immoral custom ;— it surely cannot be supposed that several hundrc-1
girls, retained to minister to the pleasures of one idiot, are to contra-
vene human nature, or to be held responsible for a tendency to wrong
which is forced upou them.

CAHTO IT. STARS! C!I.— This is in strict accordance with the
view generally adopted by modern geographers as to the site of the
scenes recorded by Homer. There is every reason to believe that the
province of modern Anatolia, extending eastward to the Kazdahgy
range of mountains, and traversed by the meander in & direction from
east to west, may be pointed to as the scene of the great war of the
Iliad.

CANTO IV. STANTA CHI. — The dashing and glorious, but brief
career of the valoious Gaston de Foix, is too well known to need any
special account here; suffice it to say that the monument which
records his victory and death at Ravenna, is situated on the opposite
bank of the P6, and about three miles from the fortress, being on CM
direct road to Forli.

CANTO IV. STANZA CIV.— Dante's ashes are said to have been In-
terred in the handsome tomb erected to his memory at Ravenna.
Florence, ungrateful to her greatest bard during his existence, has
sintv been envious of the possession of bis decayed remains, but they
have, nevertheless, been retained in their original resting place. The
tomb was originally erected by Guido da Polenta, the friend and pro-
tector of the exiled bard, and was restored and embellished by the
classical Cardinal Bernard Bembr, in 1483. This monument was
however replaced by one of still greater beauty in 1780, at the cost of
Cardinal Luigi Gonzaga, after having, in 1692, already undergone
considerable additions and repairs at the expense of Cardinal Corsi.

CAKTO IV. STANZA CXII. — An allusion to tbfi instrument desig-
nated a cyanometer, and which is employed in ascertaining the
intensity of the blue colour in the atmosphere. Humboldt's experi-
ments, however, according to Barrow, are utterly valueless to mari-
ners. As for De Saussure's Observations, they may be useful when
taken in conjunction with barometric observations.

CANTO IV. STANEA CXIII. — Tournefort's 'Account of the Slave
Market at Constantinople may be consulted to observe the accuracy
of Lord Byron's description.

CANTO IV. STANZA CIFV.— For the graphic description of the pur-
chase and sale of slaves which has evidently been adopted and fol-
lowed by Lord Byron, see Thornton's '• Turkey," Vol II

CANTO V.— This Canto was commenced and completed in rather
more than a month. According to the MSS. and other memoranda, it
8t

434 go-tzs.

appears that I ord Byroa put pen to paper for the first stanza about
th 3 16th of October (so says Mr. Murray) 1820, and completed the
canto on the 20th of November in the same year.

CANTO V. STANZA III. — "Ocean stream." Lord Byron has here
only translated and adopted Homer's expression " nitienen pun,"
and much as the term has been objected to by severe and captious
critics, it appears to be well sustained and warranted, by considering
the allusion as applicable to narrow straits, inlets, or rather passages
such as the Hellespont and Bosphorus, in which the arm connecting
tho two seas actually partakes of the character of a " stream."

CiKToV. STARZA III.— According to Lady Mary Wortley Montagua,
Bi. Paul's, (which is really one of the greatest masterpieces in the
•world in its way) is but ill to be compared with the great Fane of
Byzantium. In this no architectural critic could possibly agree even
with Lady Mary's proverbially sound taste. Lord Byron defends St.
Paul's with some warmth, and it must be acknowledged that whilst
St. Paul's is a masterwork, the St. Sophia is but a jumble of bad
taste, and sumptuous costliness.

CAHTO V. STANZA III.— See Lady Mary W. Montague's description
of boating along the Bosphorus. No one who has not actually glided
along the smooth waters, and between the luxuriant banks where
Europe and Asia vie with one another in the richest productions of
nature, can imagine the gorgeousness and beauty of the scene.

CAKTO V. STAXZA V. — The " Giant's Grave," The spot known by
that name is a slight elevation on the Asian bank of the Bosphorus,
and which is well known (or rather has been so) as the rendezvous
of picknicking Europeans. The same spot was formerly known (that
is amongst the Greeks) by the name of the " Bed of Hercules."

CANTO V. STASZA TV — Widdin, a City which was of considerable
importance thirty years ago, but which has since become of yet
greater consequence. It is amongt the chief ports in Bulgaria, and
principally occupies the uneven ground on the right bank of the
Danube.

CAKTO V. STAXZA XXVIl.— -In this description Lord Byron most
closely and faithfully follows De Pougueville, who has given a
graphic and very accurate account of slave-dealing transactions.
" The intended bidders," says he, " minutely examine the poor crea-
tures merely to ascertain their qualities as onimoij, select the sleekest
and best conditioned from the different groups, and besides handling
and examining their make and size, subject their mouths, their
teeth, and whatever chiefly engages attention, to a scrutiny of the
most critical description."

CANTO V. STASZA XXVII. — The motto that "every man has his
price," was the well known maxim upon which that specious, but
dangerous statesman, Sir Robert Walpole, founded and conducted his
political career. How true it was, in his days, is too sadly proved by
the measures which be succeeded in carrying, notwithstanding the
most earnest and zealous opposition of the elder Pitt, and of the

NOTES. 4S5

honesty of both houses. The real savour of the motto is, however,
brought up with considerable relish by Lord. Byron's qualifying sen-

W?BC6"~~

" According to their rices."

Tfr-re is i. *mack of banter— a -usto — in these lines which no one can
fiifi to catch and enjoy.

CANTO V. STANZA XXIX.— Sequin, or Zecchino, a Turkish coin. It
is a small gold coin analogous to the obsolete English " angel " and
i* worth seven-anJ-four-pcnce.

CANTO V. STANZA XXXI. — " Philip's son," an allusion to anecdotes
told of Alexander the Great, by Plutarch and Q. Curtius.

CANTO V. STANZA XXXIII. — Lord Byron here alludes to an assassi-
nation which occurred close to his own apartments in the streets of
Ravenna, on the night of the 8th of December, 1820. In the published
extracts from Mr. Murray's collection of letters, Lord Byron has given
a detailed account of the transaction.

CANTO V. STANZA XXXIV. The description is still close to the facts
as they were related by Lord Byron in his letter to Mr. M.

CANTO V. STANZA XL. — A caTque is a species of light skiff or plea-
sure boat, of which the construction and movements are equally and
excessively elegant.

CANTO V. STANZA XLIV. — An allusion to the popular legend which
avers that St. Bartholomew was flayed alive. Amongst the many
apocryphal wonders in the shape of doings and sufferings attributed
to the innumerable saints enumerated by Fleury, that peculiarly
accurate (?) historian has rendered himself the authority of this one
fact.

CANTO V. STANZA LII.— Allusions to the profusion of Guide Books
and Books of Travel, &c., which were being poured out upon the
greedy fashionables about this epoch. The " illustration! " alluded
to were doubtless the " Illustration! of Childe Harold," published by
Mr. Hobhouse, and to which "x>rd Byron here alludes with the
greatest good humour.

CANTO V. STANZA LIU.— " Prepared for supper wita a glass of rum."
It is a very popular custom amongst the Turks to drink strong spirits
by w»y of giving a tone and zest to the appetite for meals. Lord
Byron seems to have been struck with the peculiarity of this custom,
and to have considered it as exclusively adopted by the Turks. Yet
it is well known that ncthing is more common amongst the lower
classes in this country than to drink two or three glasses of gin for
the same purpose.

CANTO V STANZA LIV. — The description here given is a close,
faithful, and very pleasing adaptation of Tourneforfs exceUen*
account of the seraglio.

436 NOTES

CANTO V. STANZA LV. — The bath is amongst the most esteemed of
tbe religious luxuries of the East. Scarcely a personage of any
wealth is to be found who does not establish his bath, in the shape
of a basin and fountain, in the very centre of his state apartment.
The cheerfulness and freshness of the rooms are thus considerably en-
hanced, and the ear of the professed dilettante, or quietist, is charmed
and soothed by the continual and gentle plash of the water as it
falls irregularly upon the surface of the pool.

CANTO V. STANZA LI. — In Garth's translation of the 4th Book of
Ovid's Metamorphoses, are the subjoined lines : —

" In Babylon, where first her queen, for state,
Raised walls of brick, magnificently great,
Lived Pyramus and Thisbe, lovely pair !
lie found no Eastern youth his equal there,
And she beyond the fairest nymph was fair."

CANTO V. STANZA LX. — It was to Semiramis that Babylon owed
all its magnificence and power. Babylon, probably consisting of a
few huts, (if at all), is said to have been enlarged by N'mrod, and
further amplified and decorated by Nebuchodonozor, who also forti-
fied the city by erecting stout walls around its outskirts.

CANTO V. STANZA LXI. — " It was just at the time during which
this Canto was in hand that the trial of Queen Caroline was occupy-
ing public attention. The allusion is, of course, to the charge that
she had committed adultery with Bergarai, who, front having for-
merly travelled in the capacity of a courier, had since Kw>u promoted
by the queen to the position of her private chamberlain.

CANTO V. STANZA LXII. — It is well known that the ruins even of
the once splendid and flourishing cities of Babylon ani Nineveh are
now almost obliterated. At the time at which Loid Byron wrote,
the curious and industrious researches after Oriental antiquities,
which have since been so successfully prosecuted, bad not been un-
dertaken in such earnest, and what had been dojw was fairly open
to the ridicule with which Lord Byron treats Mr. James Rich's la-
bours.

Mr. Rich was resident agent for the East Iu0>a Company at the
Court of Bagdad, and by way of relaxation from his political or com-
mercial labours, he had devoted his time to what he was pleased to
call " Two Memoirs on the Ruins of Babylon."

CANTO V. STANZA LXIII. — " Et sepulchri in> raemor struis domo»."
Francis, In his translation of the Odes of Horace, has rendered the
passage torn which the beautiful line abov« is quoted, as follows :—

" Day presses on the heels of d»y
And moons increase to thaii decay ;
But you with thoughtless vide elate,
Tjnconscious of iaipoiiJlug fate,
Command tbe piJUr'd Jime to rise,
When lo ! the too.b forgotten lies."

*« foi ACT Francis's "pflJor'd dome to rise," by way of giving th«
" -irifi, ' it >l as vapid as well may be. Yet tht

»3 g'.ve «ome idea of the gist of the passage.

NOTES. 437

CANTO V. STANZA LXXXVII.— The "gate with all its
There is more meaning in this passage than at first appears. Lord
Byron lost no occasion of satirizing the minister Castlcreagh ; and
Lord Castlereagh, in one of his speeches, had used the expression,
'' the feature on which the question hinges." Now, inasmuch as the
.ringing of the question gives it much the character (if a gate, and as
the features and hinges are thus brought into immediate Juxta-
position : the term "features" was here quizzically used as applied
to the " gate."

CANTO V. STANZA XCVIII.— Perhaps Lord Byron had some North
British prejudice in favour of Mary Queen of Scots; such as was the
warm national admiration of Robertson, whose subjoined account is
in his most eloquent and glowing style. " With regard to the
queen's person, all contemporary authors agree in ascribing to Mary
the utmost beauty of countenance and elegance of shape of which
the human form is capable. Her hair was black ; her eyes were a
dark grey ; her complexion was exquisitely tine ; and her hands and
arms remarkably delicate, both as to shape and colour. Her stature
was of a height that rose to the majestic. She danced, rode, and
walked with equal grace. Her taste for music was just, and she both
sang and played upon the lute with uncommon skill. 'No man,'
says Brantome, ' ever, beheld her person without admiration and
love, or will read her history without sorrow.' "

CANTO V. STANZA XCVI1I. — Ninon del'Enclos, so celebrated towards
the close of the 17th century as the centre of beauty, fashion, wit,
and intrigue, at Paris, and so remarkable for the advanced age to
which she preserved her personal beauty. See a brief summary of
her life in the " Biographic Universelle," under the head " 1'Euclos."

CANTO V. STANZA XCIX. — In this description, Lord Byron has fol
lowed and adopted that afforded by Lady M. W. Montague.

CANTO V. STANZA C.— See Horatii KpistoUe, lib. i. epist. vi.

Nil admirari, prope res est una, Numici,
Solaquae qua; possit facere et sen-are beatum.

CANTO V. STANZA CXXXI.— Lady Booby, the first mistress of Joseph,
in Fielding's novel of " Joseph Andrews."

CANTO V. STANZA CXXXI.—" Phoadra." An allusion to the fable of
Hippolitus, son of Theseus and Bellerophon, who, haying been im-
portuned by lewd women, and having refused to gratify their appe-
tites, was, like Joseph (in the case of Potiphar's wife) accused of
attempts at violation.— See also Juvenal Sat. New Translation.

" But if my boy with virtue be endued,
What harm will beauty do him ? Nay, what good ?
Say what avail'd of old to Theseus' son.
The stern resolve ? What to Bellerophon ?
Oh ! then did Pbosdra redden, then her pride
Took fire to be so steadfastly denied !
Then ^oo did Sthenoboea glow with shame
And both burst forth with unextiuguish'J flame 1"
38*

NOTES

Vll mythologies and early records of human nature have afforded
analogous illustrations of the yindictiveness of a disappointed
woman. Nor can it be averred that the character of mankind in
these particulars has undergone any essential change with the
lapse of ages.

CASIO V. STAXZA CXXXVI.—

" Want to reach the moon."
See Harry Hotspur's speech in the play of " Henry IV."

" By heavens, methinks it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon 1"

CAXTO V. Hid.—

" Kill, kill, kill, like Lear's."
See the play of " King Lear."

"And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law,
Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill."

CAMTO V. STANZA CXLTII.—

" Solyman, the glory of their line."

The last also might have been added. It is more than open to jc/t
suspicion whether or not the subsequent princes of the newByiantine
power were justly entitled to be considered as descendants of the
great Solyman. The domestic history of the great Turkish potentate
would confirm the suspicion, and Lord Bacon seems to have taken
the spurious claims of the subsequent sultans for granted. The
second sultan of the name has been generally set down by historians
as of doubtful extraction.

It may not be unworthy of remark, that Bacon, in his essay on
" Empire," hints that Solyman was the last of his line ; on what
authority, we know not. These are his words : " The destruction of
Mustapha was so fatal to Solyman's line, as the succession of the
Turks from Solyman, until this day, is suspected to be untrue, and
of strange blood ; for that Selymus the second was thought to be
supposititious." But Bacon, in his historical authorities, is often
inaccurate. We icould give half a dozen instances from his
apophthegms only.

Being in the humour of criticism, we shall proceed, after having
ventured upon the slips of Bacon, to touch upon one or two as
trifling in the edition of the British Poets, by the justly celebrated
Campbell. — But we do this in good will, and trust it will be so taken.
— If anything could add to our opinion of the talents and true feeling
of that gentleman, it would be his classical, honest, and triumphant
defence of Pope, against tho vulgar cant of the day, and its existing
Grub street.

The inadvertencies to which wo allude are, —

Firstly, iu speaking of Anstey, whom he accuses of having taken
" his leading characters from Smollett." Anstey's Bath Guide was
published in 1766. Smollett's Humphry Clinker (the only work of
Smollett's from which Tabitha, &c., &c. could have been taken) was
written during Stnolletft latt residence at Leghcrn in ft?0. —

NOTES. 439

"Argal," if ttere has bewn any borrowing, Anstey must be the cre-
ditor, and not the debtor. I refer Mr. Campbell to his own data in his
lives of SmoUett and Anstty.

Secondly, Mr. Campbell says in the life of Cowper (note to page
358, vol. vii.) that "he knows iiot to whom Cowper alludes in these
lines :

" NJF he who, for the bane of thousand* bom, ^

Built God a cAurcA, and laugh'd his word to scorn."

The Calvinist meant Voltaire, and the church of Ferney, with its
inscription, " Deo erexit Voltaire."
Thirdly, in the life of Burns. Mr. C. quotes Shakspeare thus, —

" To gild refined gold, to paint the rote,
Or add fresh perfume to the violet."

This version by no means improves the original, which is as fol-
lows:

" To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
T# throw a perfume on the violet." &c.

King John.

A great poet quoting another should be correct ; he should also be
accurate, when he accuses a Parnassian brother of that dangerous
charge " borrowing : " a poet had better borrow any thing (excepting
money) than the thoughts of another — they are always sure to be
reclaimed; but it is very hard, having been the Under to be
denounced as the debtor, as in the case of Anstey versus Smollett.

As there is " honour amongst thieves," let there be some amongst
poets, and give each his due, — none can afford to give it more than
Mr. Campbell himself, who with a high reputation for originality,
and a fame which cannot be shaken, is the only poet of the times
(except Rogers) who can be reproached (and in Aim it is indeed a
reproach) with having written too little.

CANTO VI.— With reference to the historical materials of this and
the ensuing cantos, Lord Byron acknowledges to have followed the
description given of the siege of Ismael in the " Historia de }a
Nouvelle Russie." Don Juan is actually made a principal or partici-
pator in little episodical events which are of historical accuracy. The
Due de Richelieu, then a young and a volunteer officer in the Rus-
siau army, under Suvarotf, did actually rescue a female child from
the massacre which followed the attack of the unfortunate but faith-
tul city. With respect to the allusions to Lord Ca&tlereagh, Lord
Byron has justly enough claimed freedom from blame for inserting
them, inasmuch as the satire is fairly pointed at the class or school of
politicians at that time represented by Uiis odious minister, as well as
at the person of the minister himself. That Lord Byron should have
ridiculed a member of the British Cabinet who could not address half-
a-dozen consecutive sentences of good English to the House of Com-
mons, is not to be wondered at. And as regards the severe strictures
which Lord Byron has passed respecting the fate of the unfortunate
nobleman, they are rather pointed at the maudlin affectation of pity
and regard offered to the memory of one whose representatives had
still power to be of service to the mourners. It is but too true that
not only a pauper but even a leading member of the opposition in
parliament, wou.d not have met with such consideration. With regard
to the plain speaking by which Lord Byron has shocked the modesty
or prudery oi those who would fain rick boles in his imputation. h« ha*

440 NOTES.

aptly defended himself by recalling to the memory of the reader the
aphorisms of Voltaire : — " La pudeur s'est enfuite des coaurs ; et
s'est refugiee sur les levres. Plus les mueurs sont depraves, plus les
expressions devienuent mesurees; on croit rcgagner en langage co
qu'on a perdu en vertu."

As regards the objections raised to the satires pointed at the hierar-
chy, it cannot be pretended by any honest man of setae that they are
not only well founded, but well merited, and that the idea that satire
is to be silenced by the venerable cowl of the priest, is one of those
very foolish errors which serve to sustain and encourage the privi-
leged class in wrong. As regards matters of polemical dispute,
Bishop Warburton has well defined the otherwise equivocal terms,
orthodoxy and heterodoxy — " Orthodoxy, my lord," said he, in reply
to Lord Sandwich, " is my doxy, and heterodoxy is any other man's
doxy."

It was in the earlier part of this Canto that Lord Byron made sub-
sequent additions, and as we have them from authentic sources, we
will venture to give them, without however •>retending to place tbera
as they were to have been inserted.

" If inspiration deign to swell the heart,

Or brighten fancy with effulgent ray,
It is such portraiture which should impart

The fervid breath which sublimates our clay,
Till rapt beyond the sphere of studied arts,

We pour dissolving nature in the lay,
For beauty's lips first breathed upon the string,
Whose thrilling tone taught poesy to sing.

" What makes a bard of one man, not of all,
Except the keener zest with which he sees

The symmetry or hue, and can recall
Each light, or shadow, ceaselessly to please,

Or glancing, pierce some glimmering interval,
Through parting clouds, or traceries, or trees,

To catch the evanescent clue of form

Which lends its charm to forest aisle or storm ?

" Or save that quickening instinct of the soul.
Which feels whate'er the senses can convey,

And as before him scenes or objects roll,
He lives the life of ages in a day :

He weeps with sorrow, he may not console ;
Smiles at the pleasures he may not essay ;

Throbs with all present passions whilst they last,

Foresees the future and surveys the past.

' Untouch'd by circumstance, unhurt by wrong,
Complacent, calm, unshaken, and yet meek,

You dread no evil power however strong,
Nor spurn prostration howsoever weak,

Unheeded and unheeding 'midst the throng,
Where none concern you, seeking or to seek,

You wend the even tenour of your way,

Nor slave, nor burtuen'd with despotic sway.

NOTES. 441

" Yoa «ee and mark, you learn and can digest,

The worth or fault, which makes or maw our weal,

If merit, right, and justice be opprest,
And in forbearance patiently appeal

To rectitude's unalterable test,
You tender fellowship to worth you feal,

Leave the wrong-doer to proclaim bis own,

And firmly press the sufferer's cause alone.

" This hath not been my case. Mine eye e'er sees
The wrongs and rights which agitate mankind,

More keenly in their harsh antitheses.
There is an impulse in me of some kind,

Which when pure truth Is thrust upon her knees,
Clutches the nearest weapon it can find,

And hurls defiant vengeance at the lie,

Reckless of strength it will not stay to try.

" The blood whose current bounds along my Tains,
Curdles with bitter poignancy and gall.

" Yon know we are not Just of one accord,

Your far more temper'd ardour gently bends,

To use such means as time and place afford
Your loftier aspect towards mankind ascends.

Above the rescript of an angry word,
Above the censure of all meaner ends,

To celebrate and praise the good alone,

And leave the vice to canker and atone.

" Regardless of the weaknesses of men,

Rejecting the satiric diatribe,
Which carps at wrong, and thrusts the fitful pen,

To prick dissimulation with a gibe,
Your more majestic wisdom will not ken

Aught save the model which pure thoughts prescribe,
Thither to gaze with ftx'd unerring sight,
Contented with the consciousness of right.

Consolatory doctrine, sacred creed,

Which warm the noble instincts of the soul,

And quells the fervid passions which mislead
Our zeal, where reason lacks its first control ;

With such persuasion, imperturbed indeed,
Steadfast, unflinching, you may reach your goal,

And leave your smooth and straight career to tell,

The sophist's dupes and dupers " this is well."

.'

412

" And to -what purpose ? falsehood knows its foe,
And calculates the chances of the fray,

And craft subdues what force would ne'er o'erthrow).
It leaves the storm to waste itself away,

Abides the time to strike a furtive blow,
And when doubt sways, the issue of the day

Assumes th' heroic, to o'erweigli the scale,

And borrows lustre as its arts prevail.

" It is in strife that tactics have been taught,
And falsehood meeting purity with guile,

Learns in the contest how it should be fought :
Her lips assume the melancholy smile,

Of patient right, infringed and set at nought ;
Or innocence, whom power would fain revile ;

Well feign'd forbearance dimples on her cheek,

And tearful eyes, cast upwards, mutely spoak.

" Yes, I will leave the wrongs of men alone,
Like you henceforward let me but exclude

The sight of that which pains me as unknown.
With that soft soothing peacefulness imbued

Which rectitude may ever call its own,
Let me in rapture but contemplate good.

" The beauties which we daily see and feel,

The splendour from without and from within,

Which makes the paradise our passions steal,
And darken with the conscious gloom of sin,

The beauties whose vocation is to heal,
Whose sacred mission on the earth hath been,

To wean our weakness from tho grasp of ill,

And charm the blank they so divinely fill."

CANTO VI. STANZA XVII. —

"Even were St. Francis' paramour their guest,
In his monastic concubine of snow.

Butler, in his " Lives of the Saints " says : " The blessed FrandJ.
being strongly .solicited one day by the emotions of the flesh, pulled
off his clothes anJ scourged himself soundly ; being after this in-
flamed with a wonderful fervour of mind, he plunged his naked body
into a great heap of snow. The devil, being overcome, retired imine-
diatefy, and the holy man returned vietorious into his cell."

CANTO VI. STANZA XXXVII.—

" But what was strangest in this virgin crew."

It is of course to be understood that the greater part of the
description of the seraglios which Lord Byron has given at some
length, is imaginary. The jealous watchfulness of the Mussulman
over the ladies of his household will barely ever admit of the access
of male strangers. Still so fair a field is afforded for the range and
revel of poetic fancy in the scenery and drama (if it may be so
termed) of the Harem, that setting aside the exquisite perfection of

NOTES. 443

detail and accuracy of diction for which the whole of this descrip-
tion is remarkable, it might be assumed to offer an unmistakeabl*
opportunity for such a writer as the author of " Don Juan."

CASTO VI. STAHZA XLIV. et ttq.~ The colloquy which occupies the
44th, 45th, 46th, 47th, 48th and 49th stanzas is in Lord Byron'i
happiest vein of banter. In general, he was distinctly feeble when ho
stepped from the legitimate sphere of the epic mock-heroic, or light
Verse ; but in this instance there Is a raciness of humour, and exact-
ness of expression in the brief conversation between the matron and
her subs., which is more than a sufficient apology for the mistake.

I CASTO VI. STAOTU LXXV.—

" A wood obscure like that where Dante found," kc.

In this line Lord Byron alludes to the passage in the " Inferno" of
Dante, of which the following are the opening lines.

" Nel' mezzo, del' Cummin, di nostra vita,
Mi ritrorai per una Selra oscura."

This and the following stanzas which completely convey the dtnout-
ment of the little plot in which Juan figures in the seraglio, are
exquisitely managed. The whole substance of the story is so quietly
yet so quickly and gradually revealed, until we come to the climax,

" 1 can't tell why she blnsh'd, nor can expound
The mystery of this rupture of their rest.

CANTO VII. STANZA XIII.—

" Casemated one, and t'other ' a barbette.' "

Casemate is a work made under the rampart, like a cellar or rate,
with loopholes to place guns in, and is bomb-proof. When the breast-
work of a battery is only of such height that the guns may fire over
it without being obliged to make embrasures, the guns are said to
fire in barbet. — Military Dictionary.

CAKTO VII. STAHZA XXVI.—

" The Russian batteries were incomplete."

This is strictly and historically true ; 'in fact it is a mere quotation
of the official report of the matter. Suvaroff was not famous for
economising life, or sparing bloodshed in any enterprise; moreover he
was apt to rush precipitately in most of his engagements, partly
from policy, partly from the necessity of fulfilling the will of a mis-
tress who could not brook reverse, and would not admit of delay in
the execution of her behests. In this instance, the Russian advanced
posts suffered very severely from being ineffectively supported by
artillery ; and the Turks of Ismael were a foe by no means to be
despised — their equipments were fully equal, if not superior to those
of Suvaroff, their valour was unrelenting, and their prowess un-
doubted. In the following stanzas (viz. 27 and 28) a series of other
blunders made by the Russian troops, which are also of official
authenticity, ate as racily described —

444

' Three fire-ships lost their amiable existence
Before they reach'd the spot to take effect," &c.

To show how exactly Lord Byron has followed his authority in these
particulars, it may not be superfluous to quote the account of an eye
witness. " On the fourth day after the opening of the trenches we
were to have stormed an outwork, which was, howerer, so effectually
protected by a raking fire from the Turkish gun boats, that we were
not only foiled in the hazardous attempt, but driven out of the fore-
most of our own works by a simultaneous and judicious sally of a
small detachment of men. Our loss in this instance amounted to
more than three-quarters of our total number. It was therefore
determined to destroy the flotilla by means of fire ships of some sort
or other, after which our division was to repeat the attempt. After
much delay in the fitting of these engines of destruction, they were
so miserably constructed, and the materials destined to communi-
cate the explosion, so utterly miscalculated, that they blew up long
before they had floated within reach of the Turkish gun-boats, &c."

CANTO VII. STANZA XXXII.--

" If I could report
All that the Russians did upon that day," fcc. •

This passage is a literal translation from the French account
Already quoted.

CANTO VII. STANZA XLHI.— The mission of Snvaroff to command
the Russian besieging force, and his characteristic arrival to take the
chief conduct of this important undertaking, are described with admi-
rable and historical accuracy, and with such concise diction as to
convey the pith of many chapters of history in a few lines.

CANTO VII. STANZA LI. — Partly from affectation, partly from
policy, and partly from habit, Suvaroff was accustomed to share in
the duties and instructions of his meanest subordinates. Untiring
in the field, he was also unremitting in his preparations to take it
effectively, and he was often to have been seen, as on this occasion,
when all depended upon his presence, assistance, and encouragement,
to participate even in the drilling of his soldiers. The use of the
bayonet was a novelty to the Russian troops, and as he had resolved
to carry Ismail by storm It was too important an exercise to be over-
looked, and accordingly the commander-in-chief was actually en-
gaged in teaching the rank and file to make an effective charge" with
the bayonet.

CANTO VIII. STAKZA VIH.—

"Allah! Allah! Hu!"

Allah Hn ! is properly the war-cry of the Mussulmans, and they
dwell long on the last syllable, which gives it a very wild and pecu-
liar effect.

CANTO VIII. STANZA IX.— " Carnage," so Wordsworth tells you, "to
Gtod's daughter."

NOTES. 44ft

The allusion is to Wordsworth's Thanksgiving We, and the Una*
from which this citation is made, run as follows : —

".But thy most dreaded instrument,
In working out a pure intent,
Is man array'd for mutual slaughter,
Yea, carnage it thy daughter."

In the passage in question Lord Byron has selected the severest
mode of criticism ; he has merely quottcfj — quoting so unwarrantable
an enunciation is surely to deal with it more severely than to dis-
course upon it.

CANTO VIII. STANZA XVIII.—

"Was printed Grove although his name was Grose."

Lord Byron here alludes to a misprint which was currently cir-
culated in the official gazette account of the battle of Waterloo ;
A mistake moreover, which occurred concerning an old acquaint-
ance and fellow collegian of the poet's, and who enjoyed the reputa-
tion of being what is termed an " exceeding good and pleasant fellow
In society."

CASTO VIII. STANSA XXIII.— This Is an allusion to the Celtic
memorabilia raked up by Vallancey and Parsons.

CANTO VIII. STANZA XXV. —

" Tis pity that such meaning should pave hell."

The well known proverb that the road to hell is paved with good
intentions, would barely need to be suggested to the reader, were it
not to mention the fact that this proverb is of Portuguese origin, and
is consecrated by being associated with the memory of the illustrious
Prince Henry, to whom Portugal and Europe owe so much for bis
generous spirit of investigation.

CANTO VIII. STANZA XXXIII.—

" By thy humane discovery, Friar Bacon."

An allusion to Friar Bacon's supposed invention of the manufac-
ture of gunpowder; of the authenticity of which, however, there is
much doubt. If the authenticity of this honour were worth disput-
ing, the Byzantine Greeks of the llth century, ivarly two hundred
years before the time of Friar Bacon, would have a fair claim to boast
of the discovery. With them, however, it is barely original, for it is
very evident that the people of the east have employed some such
preparation (without adapting iU motive power) at a still more
remote period. The Chinese offer us the most ancient traces of t lit
u!>oots\ichmaterieldegitem. Every nation in Europe, Germany
•specially, has laid claim to the discovery im its turn.

CAVTO VIII. STANZA XLVII.

«» • • • palisade*
Which scarcely rose much higher than gross btaftk.'
3»

«U mite teMi cflhrt te « np a AT

I •*« tte^os rf tte a*
atoot tw» fcec. 5or B U» by aay

tber

:- ^* rf ti:« k -d.

aredorrflhefaerftiei

TILL.

CXTTO TUL STASH T TTMI —

CAW Tm. *r«»^« HULL—
nadlvSv

•;f -j*
^cf^t^r

CASTO Tm. Sn^

KOTK8. 44

STAWA XXXVI.—

'• To strip the Saxons of their ftyrfe*, tike Uantn."

Another pan. The allusion is of coarse to be taken as reHinlin to
the word u Ay<fc," a measure of land, which, by the way, owes to
probable origin to the other species of hyde now more generally
tnown and understood.

This aboriginal method of measuring land would s«en to hav»
been generally adopted, if we are to beUvre tbt la*wtfa of .CMM asri
his followers.

CATTO X. STASIA LVIII.— The name of "Blron," "Byron," or
" Biren." graceless or not. U of French extraction. The family bear-
in? that name, and spread in England, bad already ittafaW SOOM
distinction before and during the civil wars. Whether " Biroi " the
favourite of the great " Autocnztta" was legitimately entitled to
chum consanguinity with this stock or not. I win net pretend to
determine. Anyhow, his very gracious mittnm empowered him to
take the name and arms of the illustrious Huguenot knack «f the
province of Languedoc. Another family of the same nian is still
•xxnt in ConrUnd.

CASTO X. STASZA LXII. — The relic of the i

of St. Ursula, which hare been preserved to our own time.

CATTO X. STAXZA LXXIII.— An aflusion to the recklsMaess of life
exhibited in the earlier period of our successes in India ; the M ahratta
war. and other enterprises of Warren Hastings to wit, and to the
stupid attempt of the horn* government to force the <s«srtnsi
colonies into submission to the most unjustifiable infractions of
political right upon record.

CAITO XL STAXZI XIX.—

"Who on a lark with black-eyed Sal (Tils
So prime, so swell, so nutty and so knowing."

The elegant extracts tor which we hare had to thank Mr. Harrim
Aiusworth of late years, such as garnish his " Jack* Sbeppart,
instance, will render a more detailed translation of the "fiat* -terns
here nsed unnecessary. The ToeaboJairof slan« L^^^JSTta
lised of late years, and has ercn found its way before t
the fom of a rery neat l?mo. Dictionary, to which^tne reader U
referred. Lord Byron, however, evidently borrowed from a
" fence " song of the day.

" On the high toby-spice Sash the icnzite,

In spite of erery gallows old scoot ;
If you at the spellken cant bustle,
iou'll be hobbled in making a clout.

-Then yonr Wowing wfll wax gallows banfkty.

Whin ah* b««rs of your acaly mistato,
Shell surely turn snitch foe th« forty,
That her Jack may be regular wUgfcfc."

90*

460 NOTES.

CANTO XI. STANZA XXIX. —

"St. James's Palace, and St. James's IcU*."

The taste for gaming which was at its height, perhaps, in this
country at the close of the last century and the beginning of this,
has now fortunately considerably abated, at all events as regards
" Hells," properly so-called. The legislation of the last twenty years
as well as the very effective police regulations for the suppression of
gaming houses, have assisted the changing taste of general society
in putting down these great nuisances. When Lord Byron wrote
however, it is to be remembered that Crockford's was yet in its glory,
and Jennyii street, and its many circumjacent courts were yet con-
secrated to the venerable practice of chicken hazard, rouge et noir,
&c., &c. The spirit of gambling is not, however, to be looked upon as
having abated because notorious gambling houses are not tolerated.
The spirit of gambling will no doubt have a tendency to become
more confined as society becomes more complicated ; but it has taken
other directions, and the honourable speculations of the turf have
taken the place of the occult practices and very dark peculations of
the gaming table.

CANTO XI. STANZA XLIII. —

" And therefore even I won't anent
This subject quote."

"Anent" was a Scotch phrase, meaning "concerning" — "with
regard to." It has been made English by the Scotch Novels ; and as
the Frenchman said — "If it be not, it ought to be English.

CANTO XI. STAHZA. XLIX.—

"The Milliners who furnish 'drapery Misses.'"

"Drapery Misses." — This term is probably anything now but a
mystery. It was, however, almost so to me when I first returned
from the East in 1811 — 1812. It means a pretty, a high-born, a
fashionable young female, well instructed by her friends, and fur-
nished by her milliner with a wardrobe upon credit, to be repaid,
when married, by the husband. The riddle was first read to me by :•
young and pretty heiress, on my praising the drapery of an " un-
tochcred" but "pretty virginities" (like Mrs. Ann Page) of the then
day, which has now been some years yesterday : she assured me that
the thing was common in London ; and as her own thousands, and
blooming looks, and rich simplicity of array, put any suspicion in
her own case out of the question, I confess 1 gave some credit to the
allegation. If necessary, authorities might be cited, in which case I
:-yuld quote both "drapery" and the wearers. Let us hope, however,
Jl^at it is now obsolete.

CAJJTO XI. STANZA LX.—

"JohnKeato * *

His was an untoward fate,
'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff d out by an article."

" Vb at very ft«ry particle" is rather a novel and original exprev

MOTES. 4.51

sion, not that for this it should be the less opt and appropriate. The
•• Divirue part ionium auras " will hardly answer, however, to the
epithet of "fiery."

CASIO XII. STANZA XIX. — The criticism passed upon 'Mitford as
the historian of Greece in this Stanza is too true to escape the most
ordinary intelligence. Mitford is the historian of a philosophical and
political school, and while he writes like a scholar and like a man of
deep research and untiring industry, he also writes like one who
starts with the resolution to adapt all historical record to bis owu
views by hook or by crook. I much doubt if, even in Lord Byron't
time, Mitford's was really the best history of^ Greece. Of Ute years
however, the point has been set at rest by other productions in the
same way ; first and foremost amongst which, and undeniably une-
qualled for classical elegance, erudition, accuracy, and impartiality,
is Crete's.

CANTO XII. STANZA LXXIII.—

" Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows."

An allusion to the well known practice of the Russians, of plung-
ing directly from the hot into the cold bath, or of earing the hot
bath to be immediately exposed to the severe trial of a Russian
winter in the open air.

CANTO XII. STANZA LXXXII. —

"The world to gaze upon those northern lights."

For a description and print of this inhabitant of the Polar Region
and native country of the Auroras Boreales, see Parry's Voyage in
search of a North- West Passage.

CANTO XII. STANZA LXXXVL—

•' As Philip's son proposed to do with Athos.

A sculptor projected to hew Mount Athos into a statue of Alexan-
der with a city in one hand, and, I believe, a river in his pocket,
with various other similar devices. But Alexander's gone, and Ath(M
remains, I trust ere long to look over a nation of freemen.

CANTO XIII. STANZA VII.—

" Right honestly ' he liked an honest hater.' "
" Sir, I like a good hater."— See the Life of Dr. Johnson, to.

CANTO XIII. STANZA XXVI.—

" Also there bin another pious reason."

"With every thing that pretty Mn,
My lady sweet, arise."— Shakspcart.

4.V2

NOTES.

CANTO XIII. STANZA XLV.—

" They and their bills, 'Arcadians both,' are left."
" Arcades ambo."

CANTO XIII. STANZA LXXI. —

" Or wilder group of savage S&lratore's."
Salvator Rosa.

CANTO XIII. STANZA LXXII. —

" His bell-mouth'd goblet makes me feel quite Danish."

If we err not, " Your^Dane " »s one of lago's Catalogue of Nation*,
" exquisite in their drinking."

CANTO XIII. STANZA LXXVIII.—

" Even Nimrod's self might leave the plains of Dura."
In Assyria.

CANTO XIII. STANZA XCVI.—

" That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies."

" Mrs. Adams answered Mr. Adams, that it was blasphemous to
t.alk of Scripture out of church." This dogma was broached to her
husband — the best Christian in any book. See Joseph Andrews in
the latter chapters.

CASIO XIII. STANZA CVI.—

" The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it."

Lord Byron says : — " It would have taught him humanity at least.
This sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote (amongst the
novelists) to show their sympathy for innocent sports and old songs,
teaches how to sew up frogs, and break their legs by way of expeii-
int'iit, in addition to the art of angling, the crudest, the coldest, and
the stupidest of pretended sports. They may talk about the beauties
of nature, but the angler merely thinks of his dish of fish; he has no
leisure to take his eyes from off the streams, and a single bite is
worth to him more than all the scenery around. Besides, some fish
bite best on a rainy day. The whale, the shark, and the tunny fishery,
have somewhat of noble and perilous in them ; even net fishing,
trawling, &c., are more humane and useful — but angling ! No angler
can be a good man."

" One of the best men I ever knew; — as humane, delicately-minded,
generous, and excellent a creature as any in the world, was an
angler ; true he angled with painted flies, and would have been inca-
pable of the extravagances of I. Walton."

"The above addition was made by a friend in reading over the MS.
— ' Audi alteram partem ' — I leave it to counterbalance my own ob-
servations.

BYRON, GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON PR
Lord Byron's Don Juan.

.11.

1859