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 A SEQUEL 
 
 TO 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Et tant que oui et nenni se dira, 
 Par 1' univers, le monde me lira. 
 
 Clement Maroi. 
 
 SECOND EDITJOft. 
 
 159765 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PAGET & Co., PUBLISHERS. 
 
 2, BURY STREET, ST. JAMES'S, 
 
.21 
 
 LONDON ; 
 
 Vrinted by M. Abell, Prmnose Street, 
 Bishopsgate. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Five Cantos of the " Sequel to Don Juan" are now 
 issued to the public : should they be received with favour, 
 eleven more will shortly follow, it being the original inten- 
 tion of the writer to extend the work to the same length 
 as the " Don Juan" of Lord Byron. In the meantime the 
 Author deems it prudent to withhold his name from the 
 title-page — with the promise, however, that he shall feel 
 bound to reveal himself should the remaining eleven cantos 
 of his poem be called for. 
 
 159165 
 
A SEQUEL TO 
 
 DON JUAN 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 I. 
 
 Of Juan's amorous warfare and the fruit 
 Of those illicit loves, whose carnal taste 
 
 Brought into Doctors' Commons many a suit, 
 With loss of character, 'till re-made chaste 
 
 By holy priest, and mass and gold to boot, — 
 
 Sing - , heavenly Muse,* that much hath learned to waste 
 
 Thy time of late with stripling's, who, in spite 
 
 Or love, sit down their stanzas to indite. 
 
 * Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world and all our woe, 
 With loss of Eden, till one greater man 
 Redeem us, and restore the blissful seat, 
 Sing, heavenly Muse. &c. 
 
 Commencement of Milton's " Paradise Lott. 
 
A SEQUEL TO 
 
 II. 
 
 Don Juan's loves, to men the direful spring 
 
 Of horns unnumbered, heavenly goddess, tell : * 
 
 Of Venus' court the laureate, now sing 
 
 How the enchanter worked his powerful spell : — 
 
 The serious and the gay thou, Muse, shalt bring, 
 That varied in their tones thy notes may swell ; 
 
 But let your humour not resemble " Chuzzlewit," 
 
 To find the fun of which would sadly puzzle wit. 
 
 III. 
 
 Love and the man I sing, who, forced by fate, 
 And urged by Fortune's most unwearied smile, f 
 
 Acquired full many a jealous husband's hate, 
 
 But charmed their daughters and their wives the while 
 
 No heart could e'er resist that jaunty gait — 
 That ease of manner — that bewitching guile 
 
 Flowing from lips as sweet and honied (let us 
 
 Choose a good simile) as Mount Hymettus. 
 
 Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring 
 Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing ! 
 
 — -Commencement of Pope's Translation of the 
 
 + Arms and the man I sing, who forced by fate, 
 And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate. 
 
 — Commencement of Dnjden's Translation of the JEntid." 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lo ! 1, the man, whose Muse whilome did hide, 
 As public taste her taught, in mere romance,* 
 
 Am chosen now to publish far and wide, 
 
 Through England, Germany, Spain, Belgium, France, 
 
 America, and all the world beside, , 
 
 The deeds of him whose smile and tender glance 
 
 Undid more hearts than e'er were riddled through 
 
 By stalworth knight with lance and faulchion true. 
 
 Here, reader, is a very nice selection 
 Of epic introductions — choose between 
 
 The four thus offered unto your inspection : — 
 For my part, I prefer the " Faerie Queene ;" 
 
 But should you have another predilection, 
 
 We cannot blame your taste, for there have been 
 
 Numbers who think the argument those urge ill 
 
 Who would place Spenser in the rank with Virgil. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If some old maid or bilious moralist 
 
 Should cavil at these verses, 1 declare 
 
 And on an affidavit would insist, 
 
 That I am innocent of what is there : 
 
 I merely act as an epitomist 
 
 Of deeds whose weight Don Juan's back must bear 
 
 I would make matters better, were I able, 
 
 But cannot turn a history to a fable. 
 
 * Lo ! I, the man whose Muse whilome did mask, 
 As time her taught, in lowly shepherd's weeds. 
 
 — Commencement of Spenser's " Frterie Queene.' 
 
A SEQUEL TO 
 
 VII. 
 
 If I were only half as great as Xerxes, 
 I'd rule the nation with a righteous hand ; 
 
 But not on principles like Peel's. He works his 
 
 Arguments out on grounds where naught can stand ; 
 
 His soul is far more grovelling than the Turk's ; — his 
 Logic resembles houses built on sand ; — 
 
 But then he was a. parvenu himself, 
 
 And likes to place inferiors on the shelf. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 However — as I said — I've not the power 
 
 To make the slightest emendation in 
 This narrative — nor rob it of a flower — 
 
 Nor purge it of a particle of sin. 
 Did it for me the dungeons of the Tower, 
 
 Or a good pension and a title, win, 
 'Twere all the same — for forth must go this history, 
 Robed in that truthful garb which hates all mystery. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The canvass fritters into shreds — the tone 
 
 Of music's mute — the column turns to dust- 
 Sculpture's sweet lineament a void has grown- 
 
 The weapons of the mighty warrior rust — 
 Convulsions overturn the greatest throne — 
 
 The painting yields to violence or must ; — 
 But to the end of time all tongues prolong, 
 With raptures e'er renewed, the Poet's song. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 X. 
 
 Apelles' pencil, Caesar's victor brand, 
 Phidias' chisel, Archimedes' wheels 
 
 Yield to the strength of Time's unsparing- hand ;*- 
 But every age the force of Homer feels ! 
 
 The Poet's pen for ever will withstand 
 
 The worm which from each other object steals 
 
 Its glory and its brightness : — Shakspeare's muse 
 
 With each successive age her power renews. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The past, the present, and the future — bound 
 
 By the elastic chain of Poetry — 
 Kneel at her shrine in reverence profound, 
 
 Hymning her praise in her own harmony : 
 From pole to pole those Pcean notes resound, 
 
 O'er death to celebrate her victory : — 
 The polished and the savage all rehearse, 
 In their own language, the triumphal verse ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Happy the poet — be he poor, opprest ! 
 
 Be he proscribed, with Dante, — or enchained, 
 With Tasso, in a madhouse, — or un blest, 
 
 With Milton, by the sun-light, — or constrained, 
 W T ith Chatterton, to know that constant guest 
 
 Named Poverty ! — happy the bard who gained 
 His daily meal by wandering, staff in hand, 
 To sing - " Achilles' wrath" throughout the land ! 
 
]0 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But to our theme. Had we Asmodeus' power, 
 On Norman Abbey's spacious roof we'd place 
 
 Our reader, just at that auspicious hour 
 When Juan and the Duchess face to face 
 
 Met in his chamber, which became the bower 
 Of joys it were not prudent here to trace — 
 
 At least without a note to tell young- Miss 
 
 To skip the four next stanzas after this. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The moment that her Grace dropt her disguise, 
 
 And stood in a voluptuous undress, 
 Revealing her ripe beauties — Juan's eyes 
 
 Betrayed that joy which eyes alone express. 
 A moment did he gaze — and then the prize, 
 
 Self-given, was clasped with fervent eagerness 
 The Hebe Duchess seemed but little coy — 
 Another Helen with her Phrygian boy ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 Entranced they lay — Juan's head pillowed on 
 Her naked bosom, palpitating, warm : 
 
 And, as he lay, his eyes could feast upon 
 The beauties of that rich voluptuous form, 
 
 O'er which an easy conquest he had won, 
 Without the tears of April or the storm 
 
 Of dark December, to depreciate 
 
 Th' intoxicating joys of that blest state. 
 
DON JUAN J] 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The yellow lustre of the lamp streamed o'er 
 The noble outlines of that shape so fair ; 
 
 A mirror, placed conveniently before 
 
 The couch, reflected the enamoured pair ; — 
 
 The clothes had all been tossed upon the floor, 
 And lay forgotten and unheeded there : — 
 
 Cradled in indolent voluptuousness, 
 
 Their's was the pleasure which no words express ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And ever and anon a billing kiss 
 
 Upon the silence of the chamber stole — 
 
 That silence favourable to the bliss, 
 Congenial to the transports of the soul : 
 
 They knew that they were naked — but for this 
 Felt not ashamed ; — (indeed, upon the whole, 
 
 I cannot comprehend the reason why 
 
 Adam and Eve showed such false modesty.) 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 1 know not why we should those gifts refuse 
 Which make life void at least of half its care : 
 
 Nature herself enjoins the moderate use 
 Of pleasure — and for that is woman fair, 
 
 And wine delicious. 'Tis of the abuse 
 
 Of nature's choicest boons we should beware. — 
 
 Approach the stream, if temperance be your guide, 
 
 But plunge not headlong in the rapid tide. 
 
12 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oh ! 1 have revelled in the arms of pleasure, 
 Forgetful of the world and all its woes ; — 
 
 I've found that woman is a matchless treasure, 
 And that her love is pure as Alpine snows ; — 
 
 And I have also quaffed the vine -crowned measure, 
 In which Epernay's sparkling- nectar Hows ; 
 
 But 1 observe the maxim not to sip 
 
 Too often from the bowl, nor Beauty's lip. 
 
 XX. 
 
 'Tis very easy thus to moralise, 
 
 And with such coolness recommend our maxim ; — 
 But will the lover, when a pair of eyes 
 
 Which might lose Actium again, attacks him, — 
 Will he wait with us to philosophise, 
 
 Ere he has quenched the thirst of love which racks him ? 
 At all events Don Juan did no credit 
 To my morality — and now I've said it. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 i Women., .are such endearing, tempting creatures — 
 
 \ (I really am inclined to think that Eve 
 
 Brought about Adam's fall): when o'er the features 
 
 Of lovely woman tears their traces leave, 
 My heart sinks ; — reader, does it not unseat your's ? 
 
 Or can you, apathetic, see her grieve ? 
 The most unpleasant sight — except one dying — 
 Is to behold a lovely woman crying. 
 
DON JUAN. 13 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The time has been when angels have descended 
 To win a single glance of woman's eyes ; — 
 
 Nor turned the maidens from a sight so splendid, 
 But gave their love to those who left the skies ; 
 
 And from these high and earthly natures blended 
 In fond embrace, did mighty giants rise ; — V" 9 
 
 At least the Bible says so — and we're bound I ■ 
 
 To credit all that's in its pages found. / 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 We've often heard of a concatenation 
 
 Of adverse incidents ; but, surely, never 
 
 Of strange events did such a complication 
 Conspire to mar the happiness for ever 
 
 Of the poor Duchess, and fill with vexation 
 Juan, from whom she felt 'twas death to sever. — 
 
 But let us not anticipate the road 
 
 Which we must travel in our episode. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The Lady Adeline Amundeville, 
 
 Perceiving that the Duchess felt for Juan 
 
 A something more than it was right to feel — 
 (This was her stated reason, but the true one 
 
 It scarce is necessary to reveal, 
 For such a sentiment is not a new one, 
 
 But prompts the most untainted of the sex, 
 
 And, this excepted, pure in all respects.) 
 
 / 
 
14 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Selfishness changes and deprives of light 
 Those social combinations which we rear, 
 
 And most admire as beautiful and brig-lit, 
 Or estimate as valuable and dear : 
 
 It is the black vein in the marble white, 
 And ever will throughout the whole appear 
 
 Beneath the chisel. Remedies are vain, 
 
 You must remodel everything- again. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Contentment is the sweetest charm of life, 
 The quality that cheers us on our way 
 
 In this world's pilgrimage ; and, 'midst the strife 
 Of jarring interests, it makes us gay. 
 
 It is the chief adornment of a wife, 
 
 Sheds on the husband's soul a heavenly rav, 
 
 Gives man the gentleness of woman dear, 
 
 And raises woman to the angel near. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 It is a medicine that the passion calms, 
 And mitigates the sting of dire disease ; 
 
 It gives the humble cot a mansion's charms, 
 And turns a state of poverty to ease ; 
 
 It robs affliction of its worst alarms, 
 
 And teaches the morose the way to please ; 
 
 It makes the eye more bright, the heart more kind, 
 
 Cools the hot blood, and cheers the troubled mind. 
 
DON JUAN. 15 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The Lady Adeline, we said, perceived 
 Thie predilection of her wanton Grace, 
 
 And hinted to Lord Henry how she grieved 
 
 That the Duke of Fitz-Fulke ne'er showed his face 
 
 At their abode. His lordship quite believed 
 Adeline's only motive was to place 
 
 Upon her list that great name as a guest — 
 
 So he a similar desire exprest. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Thus in th' affirmative Lord Henry met a 
 
 Proposal suited to his inclination. 
 The Duke accordingly received a letter 
 
 Containing a most pressing invitation, 
 Which he accepted, having nothing better 
 
 To occupy him during the vacation : — 
 So without having sent the Duchess warning, 
 He reached Lord Henry's country-seat one morning. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Just at the moment that the Duke got down, 
 
 Private despatches from the Minister 
 Reached Lord Amundeville express from town, 
 
 And caused a great sensation and a stir : 
 Lord Henry was requested, by the Crown, 
 
 To London to return without demur, 
 As the Chief Secretary of the Home 
 Department was just sinking in the tomb. 
 
16 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Now," thought Lord Henry, " I shall have the power 
 To aid young Juan's mission : he shall go 
 
 To London with me — we'll start in an hour ; 
 
 I wonder why this morn he tarries so ? 
 
 Surely he's not afraid of a slight shower, 
 That thus he keeps his room ? — but I will know 
 
 The reason ; — he's not wont to lie in bed — 
 
 And these are news to rouse the sleepy-head !" 
 
 XXXIT. 
 
 Lord Henry turned, smiling at his conceit, 
 
 Unto the Duke and said, " No doubt your Grace 
 
 Will feel some curiosity to meet 
 
 That Russian envoy with the baby face : 
 
 I think you met him once in Clarges Street, 
 The day Lord Kumitstrong went out of place ? 
 
 He's quite the pet of every body here — 
 
 An open-hearted youth — and quite sincere." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 His Grace, of course, " was happy to renew 
 Acquaintance with Lord Henrys protege." 
 
 The noblemen together then paced through 
 The numerous passages which led the way 
 
 To Juan's room ; and as they thither drew, 
 Lord Henry still had something fresh to say 
 
 In favour of Don Juan ; — " he'd ne'er seen a 
 
 Nicer youth than th* envoy of the Czarina. 
 
DON JUAN. 17 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Juan, although a gay young- man, no doubt, 
 Was still well-principled, and would not show 
 
 His waywardness, nor let it sport about, 
 When in th' abode of one who did bestow 
 
 The rights of hospitality. Without 
 Intending in the slightest way to throw 
 
 A slur on Spaniards gen'rally, his guest 
 
 Of all he'd ever known was far the best. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " 'Twas true, much had been whispered here and there 
 
 About his gallantry ; but he'd insist, 
 And safely on his honour could declare, 
 
 The youth was steady as a methodist, 
 Since he had been his guest. He was aware 
 
 That at Saint Petersburgh there did exist 
 Certain suspicions of — " ; he said no more, 
 Because they now had reached Don Juan's door. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Lord Henry knocked — no answer. " He's asleep, 
 The lazy fellow — but we will awake him ; 
 
 We were not up so late that he should keep 
 His bed ; — besides, it will be kind to break him 
 
 Of any lazy habits which may creep 
 Around him — for if once they overtake him, 
 
 His hopes as a diplomatist are o'er." — 
 
 Thus having said, he opened straight the door. 
 
 B 
 
18 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Alas ! that love should make us blind, and drive 
 All prudent thoughts from the imagination. 
 
 Don Juan was the wildest youth alive, 
 Despising- everything like calculation ; — 
 
 He never thought of closing up the hive 
 Where so much honey was in expectation : 
 
 Thus when the' noblemen went to explore, 
 
 They found that he'd forgot to lock the door. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 As if Galvani's battery had been planted 
 Close by, they started with electric shock ; 
 
 And then, as if by evil powers enchanted, 
 
 They seemed transformed each to a marble block. 
 
 Was that the moral youth his lordship vaunted ? 
 Or had he really only meant to mock 
 
 The poor Duke's feelings ? Really 'twas unpleasant, 
 
 And might not end just where it was at present. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Sleep had stol'n o'er the eyes of those who lay 
 So lovingly locked in each other's arms : 
 
 The lamp was flickering — but the light of day 
 
 Beamed through the curtain on those naked charms 
 
 Smiles were on both their lips — thus infants play 
 Above th' abyss, unconscious of alarms : — 
 
 The Duke has since declared he then saw more 
 
 Of his own wife than he'd e'er done before. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 XL. 
 
 I am not certain which it was that broke 
 
 The awkward silence — whether the first word 
 
 Was by the Duke or by Lord Henry spoke, — 
 I cannot say, for I have never heard : 
 
 But this I know, that when Don Juan woke, 
 A heavy foot- step in the chamber stirred ; — 
 
 He rubbed his eyes, exclaiming-, " What's the matter 
 
 And who the devil's making - all that clatter ?" 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Clatter, indeed !" his Grace ejaculated : 
 " Was it to see this sight that I was led ?" — 
 
 He scarce could speak, he was so agitated : 
 
 " I certainly had heard such things, and read — " 
 
 Here he grew more and more exasperated ; — 
 "I wish that I was single or was dead ! 
 
 The jade — the wretch ! — but I'll take out a summons- 
 
 Upon my soul I will — from Doctors' Commons ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Was it for this that I, who took such trouble 
 To make myself agreeable and to win her, 
 
 Gave her a settlement of just the double 
 
 Of what her friends required — the wicked sinner ! 
 
 Was it for such an empty — airy bubble, 
 
 Without a heart, that I would ask to dinner 
 
 Five times a week those cursed foreigners, 
 
 Merely to gratify a whim of hers ? 
 
20 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Was it for this I let her have her way, 
 And gad about to every place of fashion ? 
 
 Was it for this I never did gainsay 
 
 Her phantasies, but ever let her dash on 
 
 Her own career — and, when she lost at play, 
 Gave her a cheque without being- in a passion, — 
 
 So that my very kindness was a handle, 
 
 With all the world for the foul breath of scandal ? 
 
 XL1V. 
 
 " Was it for this that I excused her flirting 
 
 With those moustachio'd apes — and that I spoke 
 
 So civilly to them — for I felt certain 
 
 That all was right ? — my heart is nearly broke !"- 
 
 Here Juan very coolly closed the curtain, 
 Because the Duchess at that moment woke ; 
 
 Then in a hurried whisper told her Grace 
 
 The misadventure which had taken place. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Upon her pouting lips of coral red 
 
 His own did Juan for a moment press — 
 
 (The curtain drawn) — then gently from the bed 
 Stept, and composedly began to dress. 
 
 The Duke, who now was silent, scratched his head, 
 Uncertain what to do ; — her Grace, much less 
 
 Prepared in any shape or way to act, 
 
 In vain for an excuse her memory racked. 
 
DON JUAN. 21 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Was there no method of extenuation ? 
 
 And had her ready wit not a profusion 
 Of sophistries by way of explanation ? 
 
 Could she not prove an optical delusion 
 To be the cause of the mystification ? 
 
 Or would her husband see through the illusion? 
 Inventive power forsook her, and her fears 
 Burst forth in hot and agonising- tears. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Meantime Lord Henry, who had now regained 
 His wonted self-command, the Duke addrest :— 
 
 " Your Grace will readily believe how pained 
 I am at this discovery ; — but the best 
 
 Face on the whole affair should be maintained ; 
 For here is ample food to suit the zest 
 
 Of ridicule ; — and it would not be pleasant 
 
 For an eclat to take place here at present. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Senor, to you who thus have violated 
 All social ties, I might have much to say : 
 
 Fool was I not to have anticipated 
 
 The scene which has revealed itself to-day ! 
 
 But only look how you are situated, 
 
 And tell me if this be not serious play ? 
 
 Morality in you has a poor student ; — 
 
 I hope in future you will be more prudent.'* 
 
22 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XL1X. 
 
 This, and a great deal more of such- like schooling- 
 How to hush up a faux pas in hig'h life, 
 
 Lord Henry did vouchsafe ; — and the Duke, cooling, 
 Agreed to spare the honour of his wife ; 
 
 But as he would not have Don Juan fooling 
 Again that way, and thus renew a strife 
 
 By which the morning's patch- work would be undone, 
 
 'Twas settled he should leave forthwith for London, 
 
 The Duke was really a good easy man, 
 
 And bore his horns with an exceeding grace 
 
 Perhaps it is by far the better plan 
 'To wear beneath that emblem a calm face. 
 
 With satisfaction did Lord Henry scan 
 
 This coolness after what had taken place ; 
 
 And he resolved that Lady Adeline 
 
 Should stay in ignorance of the whole scene. 
 
 LI. 
 
 At breakfast, when the guests were all assembled, 
 Juan announced that he should leave at noon ; — 
 
 The Lady Adeline turned pale and trembled, 
 And fidgetted about with her tea-spoon : 
 
 The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke full well dissembled 
 Her grief at parting with the youth so soon ; 
 
 And on Aurora Raby's cheek a flush 
 
 Was seen — so slight, it scarcely was a blush. 
 
DON JUAN. 23 
 
 L1I. 
 
 But still that tinge was for a moment there, 
 Like a faint sun-beam on the spotless snow ; 
 
 Don Juan thought she never seemed more fair, 
 When animated with that transient glow. 
 
 Her glances for an instant wandered where 
 He sate ; — these were the only signs to show 
 
 That his abrupt intention to depart 
 
 Made an impression on her gentle heart. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 There is a witchery in woman's eyes 
 
 So tender and so fond — that if your heart 
 
 Be steeled against the magic of her sighs, 
 Yet to her glances must you yield a part. — 
 
 Woman, with all her idle phantasies, 
 
 With all her coyness, fickleness, and art, 
 
 Is still the beam that breaks upon our night, 
 
 And in our darkest hour makes misery light ! 
 
 L1V. 
 
 That witchery of the eyes Don Juan felt, 
 When he beheld Aurora's glances fall 
 
 On him — enough his very soul to melt, 
 And every sense into Elysium call. 
 
 He seemed as if he could have gladly knelt 
 Before her — in the presence of them all — 
 
 To thank her for that glance she cast on him ; 
 
 But she had grown once more so cold and prim. 
 
24 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LV. 
 
 Not so the Lady Adeline — a soft 
 
 And languid melancholy feeling - stole 
 Over her ; — and upon her eye-lid oft 
 
 Trembled the tears, defying- her controul ; — 
 And when she raised her beauteous eyes aloft, 
 
 To mark the progress of the sun, her soul, 
 As she observed the minutes onward creeping, 
 Seemed ready to burst forth in frenzied weeping. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 And then there was the Duchess, who appeared 
 Voluptuously languid ; and she seemed 
 
 To entertain some secret hope which cheered, 
 As if of meeting him again she dreamed. 
 
 Her glance (which showed her husband was not feared) 
 From time to time upon our hero beamed ; 
 
 While to his mind her ripe luxurious charms 
 
 Recalled the bliss he'd tasted in her arms. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Juan was therefore much distrest to leave 
 
 A mansion which could boast all these attractions : 
 
 'Twas very natural for him to grieve — 
 But all was useless after the transactions 
 
 Of that eventful morning. — I believe 
 
 That this was the most powerful of reactions 
 
 His spirits, usually of buoyant tone, 
 
 Had since his loves with Haidee, ever known. 
 
DON JUAN. 25 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 The moment of departure came. Aurora 
 Met his adieux with proper courtesy, 
 
 And maiden-like politeness — nothing - more. A 
 Close and acute observer might descry 
 
 A veil of forced indifference floating- o'er a 
 Kind interest in our hero's destiny — 
 
 And p'rhaps a sentiment more tender still : 
 
 But &he restrained them both by her firm will. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 The trembling hand of Lady Adeline 
 Lingered a moment in our hero's grasp, 
 
 And half returned his pressure — but unseen 
 Were their emotions and the lengthened clasp. 
 
 Had they alone but for a moment been, 
 
 Her faultless figure, modelled like the wasp, 
 
 By Juan's gtbwing arm would have been prest, 
 
 And her emotions poured into his breast. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Passion had triumphed o'er her strength ; — in vain 
 To her assistance had she called her pride ; 
 
 Fruitless were her endeavours to regain 
 
 Her self-command — When needed, 'twas denied. 
 
 Her feelings — veiled from public gaze with pain — 
 By him who caused them only were espied ; 
 
 And their last glance, ere Juan took his leave, 
 
 Gave promises which none else could perceive. 
 
26 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXI. 
 
 With warmth the Duchess prest our hero's hand, 
 . Although she knew her lord was close behind : 
 That pressure made her lover understand 
 
 The future hopes she nourished in her mind. 
 It seemed as if she had already planned 
 
 Some scheme by which a meeting- was designed ; 
 And Juan, with a glance, appeared to say, 
 " We'll meet again at some no distant day." 
 
 LXII. 
 
 I've heard of " two strings to a bow" — but " three 
 Mistresses to a heart" is something strange : 
 
 I envy Juan not his Trinity, 
 
 Unless Saint Athanasius could arrange 
 
 To form it in a Unity ; — if he 
 
 (Divine things know not logic) makes the change, 
 
 And will condense in one the separate charms, 
 
 I ne'er will prove unfaithful to her arms ! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Aurora's innocence and eyes, — the mind, 
 Hands, ancles, and the waist of Adeline, — 
 
 With the full bust of her sweet Grace combined. 
 Make the most perfect creature ever seen ; 
 
 And if Saint Athanasius will but .find 
 
 Of female excellence this peerless Queen, 
 
 We will acknowledge (with most other men) 
 
 There is a Trinity — but not till then. 
 
DON JUAN. 27 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 The farewells were all said — th' adieux were paid- 
 (The principal ones are already stated) ; 
 
 Trunks were disposed of — all arrangements made- 
 Regrets and promises were terminated : 
 
 Juan, who would so willingly have stayed, 
 And th' embryo minister, with pride inflated, 
 
 Entered the chaise — the valets got behind — 
 
 And off the carriage started like the wind. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Lord Henry and our hero passed the time 
 Occupied by the journey, in discourse 
 
 On general subjects : — the increase of crime, 
 And ignorance, of vice the fruitful source, — 
 
 The variable nature of the clime, — 
 
 The state of England's naval power, — the force 
 
 Of France's army, — and, of course, taxation, — 
 
 These formed the staple of the conversation. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 His lordship was most affable — and not 
 A word was said upon the morning scene : 
 
 Sooth, it appeared as if it were forgot, 
 Or in reality had never been. 
 
 But Juan found that visions of the spot 
 
 Which they had left, would often intervene 
 
 Amidst the thoughts that flitted through his brain ; 
 
 And he would gladly have gone back again. 
 
A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Our travellers entered London at midnight — 
 Up Piccadilly quick the carriage flew: 
 
 The windows of the mansions glowed with light, 
 And the soft strains of music echoed through. 
 
 Deep was the melancholy which in spite 
 Of his attempts to smile, o'er Juan grew ; 
 
 For that delicious music brought to mind 
 
 The sweet society he'd left behind. 
 
 <» 
 
 LXVill. 
 
 How lovely in the deep midnight to hear 
 The distant sounds of music echoing, 
 
 When zephyr wafts the numbers to the ear 
 In sportive play upon his gentle wing ! 
 
 The scenes which to the bosom are most dear, 
 Back to the memory does that music bring : 
 
 To me it is a melancholy pleasure, 
 
 When Love dictates and Beauty forms the measure 
 
 LX1X. 
 
 'Twas midnight ; and the beam of Cynthia shone 
 In company with many a lovely star, 
 
 Steeping in silver the huge Babylon, . 
 Whose countless habitations stretch afar, 
 
 Plain, valley, hill, and river's bank upon, 
 
 And in whose mighty heart all interests jarc— 
 
 O sovereign city of a thousand towers, 
 
 What vice is ctadled in thy princely bowers ! 
 
DON JUAN. 29 
 
 LXX, 
 
 If thou would'st view fair London town aright, 
 Survey her from the bridge of Waterloo ; 
 
 And let the hour be at the morning's light, 
 
 When the sun's earliest rays have struggled through 
 
 The star-bespangled curtains of the night, 
 And when Aurora's locks are moist with dew : 
 
 Then take thy stand upon that bridge, and see 
 
 London awake in all her majesty. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Then do her greatest features seem to crowd 
 Down to the river's brink ; — then does she raise 
 
 From off her brow the everlasting cloud, 
 
 (Thus with her veil the coquette archly plays,) 
 
 And for a moment shows her features, proud 
 
 To catch the Rembrandt-light of the sun's rays : — 
 
 Then may the eye of the beholder dwell 
 
 On steeple, column, dome, and pinnacle. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Yes, — he may reckon temple, mart, and tower — 
 The old historic sites — the halls of Kings — 
 
 The seats of art — the fortalice of power — 
 
 The ships that waft our commerce on their wings ; — 
 
 All these commingle in that dawning hour, 
 And each into one common focus brings 
 
 Some separate moral of life's scenes so true, 
 
 As all those objects form one point of view. 
 
30 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 The ceaseless hum of the huge Babylon 
 
 Has known no silence for a thousand years : 
 
 Still does her tide of human life flow on, 
 
 Still is she racked with tumults, hopes, and fears • 
 
 Still the sun sets, still morning- dawns upon 
 
 Hearts full of anguish, eye-balls dimmed with tears ;- 
 
 Still do the millions toil to bless the few — 
 
 And hideous Want stalks all her pathways through ! 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Still do those squalid forms of vice — and those 
 Gay nameless votaries of pleasure throng- 
 
 The ways where wholesome life its presence shows, 
 And all are mingled as they move along. 
 
 Ah ! let the learned one explain, who knows, 
 In what society's grand scheme is wrong — 
 
 Why such a mass of beauty should be led 
 
 To sell their charms to earn their daily bread ! 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Peel, Graham, Stanley, Wellington, and Co., 
 To ye the Muse will now accord a stanza ; — 
 
 But first she would be very glad to know 
 Your views about the poor — for it unmans a 
 
 Philanthropist to see them suffering so, 
 
 And without benefit from all your plans. A 
 
 More vile imposture than your Tariff never 
 
 Deceived a realm ; — the humbug yet was clever. 
 
DON JUAN. 31 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 'Twas clever, for it promised mighty thing's, 
 And led to naught : the fly upon the wheel 
 
 Chuckles because he fancies that he fling's 
 The dust around. How little must you feel, 
 
 When lashed by the reproaches and the sting's 
 Of those who dare proclaim the public weal 
 
 As paramount ! What do you think will be 
 
 Your character in future history ? 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Ye stubborn recusants of right — and, worse, 
 Daring apologists for wrong — know ye 
 
 How bitter 'tis to earn a nation's curse, 
 That execration wrung from misery ? 
 
 Go — learn it from the millions who rehearse 
 The foul deeds which sum up your infamy : 
 
 Go — read it on the tombs which mark the grave 
 
 Of myriads whom you could, but would not save ! 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 That curse is stamped upon the haggard face 
 Of starving multitudes throughout the land : — 
 
 E'en in the countenance of babes you trace 
 
 The mark, as though impressed with demon hand ! 
 
 Britannia's self is pale at the disgrace 
 
 Which taints the annals of her native strand ; 
 
 And History turns her mournful face aside, 
 
 The gushing fountains of her grief to hide. 
 
32 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 God ! do thy thunders sleep, while England moans 
 Beneath this Nero-sway ? Shall mortal dare 
 
 Thus to make men anticipate the groans, 
 The pains, the agonies of hell ? or where 
 
 Is vengeance to be looked-for ? Must the bones 
 Of those who died of hunger, be laid bare, 
 
 And brought as damning evidence to show 
 
 Who were the authors of this fearful woe ? 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Oh ! that the great arch-orator,* whose tongue 
 Made Verres tremble, could return again, 
 
 To vent on ye the indignation wrung 
 
 From every honest heart ; — to taint — to stain — 
 
 And to besmear your names, ere they be flung 
 Forth on the moral dungheaps that remain 
 
 Throughout all ages, to perpetuate 
 
 Those dread examples which we execrate ! 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Like the avenging Arungzebe, who, hushed 
 For seven long years with his own communings, 
 
 Shook off that silent apathy, and rushed 
 Lion-like from his cave to war with kings, — 
 
 The public spirit, long by tyrants crushed, 
 Will soon soar forth upon its ample wings, 
 
 Prepared to slay, in retribution's hour, 
 
 Those who abused their delegated power ! 
 
DON JUAN. 33 
 
 LXXX1I. 
 
 Graham and Stanley, turncoats from your faith — 
 
 Knatchbull, who bilk each turn-pike in your way* 
 
 Goulburn, on Peel dependent for the breath 
 Of Tory praise which gives you life to-day — 
 
 Peel, by expedients saved from public deathf — 
 And, Welling-ton, the murderer of Ney — 
 
 How should you like to hear the dreaded call- 
 
 Of " A la lanterne" echo down Whitehall ? 
 
 LXXXI1I. 
 
 A pretty sample, too, of aristocracy 
 
 We've lately had — enoug-h to make us think 
 
 That it were better if of pure democracy 
 England were really standing- on the brink : 
 
 Lust, persecution, swindling - , fraud, hypocrisy, 
 And every crime from which the honest shrink, 
 
 Have celebrated on the rolls of sin 
 
 Hunting-tower, Hertford, Pag-et, Frankfort, Thynne.^: 
 
 * During the elections in 18-11, Sir Edward Knatchbull refused to pay turn-pike lolls 
 on his way to the hustings. Actions were brought against him, which he of course 
 lost ; and he then had impudence and obstinacy enough to appeal. The result was 
 similar to the judgment originally pronounced. This is not the only instance of 
 meanness and self-willed pertinacity on the part of this moat arrogant but empty- 
 headed baronet. 
 
 t To avoid any misapprehension relative to this line, the author wishes it to be 
 particularly understood that he does not allude to '* physical death," but to annihila- 
 tion as a Minister. 
 
 X Lord Huntingtower's examinations at the Bankruptcy Court ; the disclosures 
 made relative to the conduct of the Marquis of Hertford, upon the occasion of the 
 trial of Suisse, his lordship's valet ; the connivance of Lord William Paget in the 
 fellow Cassidy's abominable scheme with regard to the heiress Miss Bellew ; Lord 
 Frankfort's affair with Alice Lowe ; and the two insolvencies for immense sums 
 of Lord Edward Thynne, besides his amours with Madame Vestris, are here al- 
 luded to. 
 
34 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 The world's made up of humbug 1 . Every class 
 Throughout society is built upon it : — 
 
 The aristocracy would quickly pass 
 
 To nothing, were it not supported on it. 
 
 The Bishop, as he sips his joyous glass, 
 
 Thinks of his mitre and the way he won it, 
 
 And laughs in his lawn-sleeves at the facility 
 
 With which he tickles John Bull's gullibility. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 To arrogate all virtues not your own — 
 
 T'affect a sanctity you cannot feel — 
 To seem to raise your thoughts to heaven alone, 
 
 And ostentatious give the poor a meal ; 
 To speak in favour of the Church and Throne, 
 
 And swear the clamorous poor deserve " cold steel," 
 These are the means by which a man may raise 
 Himself to fame and fortune now-a-days. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 O humbug — humbug ! thou hast built thy shrine, 
 God knows, to some effect ; — the golden calf, 
 
 Which Nabuchodonozor called divine, 
 
 Was not so great as thou — no, not by half ! 
 
 Out of a hundred you have ninety-nine 
 To worship you, and only one to laugh : — 
 
 Kings, prelates, statesmen, peers, all bow the knee 
 
 In humble veneration unto thee ! 
 
DON JUAN. 35 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Humbug has placed Victoria on the throne, 
 And keeps her there ;* — humbug- the Church sustains, 
 
 Though so intolerant and luxurious grown ; — 
 Humbug has given Sir Robert Peel the reins 
 
 Of power, and taught him to deride the moan 
 Of those who suffer cold and hunger's pains : — 
 
 Humbug has raised up authors, actors, artists, 
 
 And most especially befriends the Chartists. f 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Oh ! glorious humbug, thou art universal ! 
 
 Our ancestors adored thee long ago ; 
 And their oft-quoted " wisdom" bids us nurse ali 
 
 The institutions which they vaunted so ; — 
 And should some wicked sceptic dare to curse all 
 
 The follies thou dost consecrate, I know 
 Th 5 attorney-gen'ral will bring him to reason 
 By means of an indictment for high treason. 
 
 * No personal disrespect is here intended towards Victoria : the author is merely 
 alluding to the office, and not to the individual ; and he is also anxious to express his 
 unmitigated disgust at the laws which allow a female to reign over the country. 
 
 t The Chartists are the worst enemies in existence to the true cause of freedom. 
 They would claim universal suffrage immediately, when the people are not pre- 
 disposed by education to exercise the privilege with judgment ■ As it is, votes are 
 unblushingly sold for money and beer : how much greater would be the amount of 
 bribery, if the franchise were extended. Educate the people first — education is their 
 right — their privejlege ; and then give them universal suffrage, which will, in that case, 
 become their right and privelege also. The Chartists, by their clamorous, intem- 
 perate, and absurd conduct, have done much to render the cause of freedom un- 
 popular with men of even the most liberal minds. God protect this country when 
 such insane men as the Chartists shall become actively interested in its legislation. 
 A true republican spirit revolts from a mere factious display of prejudice, conceit, and 
 wrong-headedness. Universal suffrage in the hands of the people, before they are 
 educated, would be as dangerous as a razor in the possession of an infant. 
 
36 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 "Nil nisi humbug" is the wise man's maxim — 
 Wise in a worldly point of view, I mean : 
 
 With that he parries sense when it attacks him, 
 (For common sense will sometimes intervene 
 
 Importunately :) — humbug- also backs him 
 When at a public meeting 1 he is seen, 
 
 And aids him in his trading speculations 
 
 At home or with the continental nations. 
 
 XC. 
 
 Humbug has made Prince Albert a Field Marshal, 
 Although he never saw a battle's smoke ; — 
 
 But then the Queen's to him exceeding partial, 
 And says it was a very welcome stroke 
 
 Of Fortune when she had him — and if war shall 
 Again attempt to place a stranger's yoke 
 
 Around her subjects' necks, old Wellington 
 
 Will teach the foemen manners ere he's done. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Dickens full well, too, knows what humbug means, 
 Since he has built his fame upon that basis. 
 
 By dint of sheer vulgarity, and scenes 
 
 Picked from Saint Giles — with scarcely an oasis 
 
 On which the eye may find some evergreens — 
 Boz has contrived successfully to trace his 
 
 Career unto the happy temple which- 
 
 Confers on him the honour of a niche. 
 
DON JUAN. 37 
 
 XCH. 
 
 Humbug" has done all this — aye, and much more ! 
 
 It is the general tutor of the age ; 
 It rules society from shore to shore — 
 
 Flows from the lip — is read in every page — 
 Like gingerbread has gilded titles o'er — 
 
 Directs the fool — and even prompts the sage : — 
 But now that Humbug's very self is sick 
 At all the flattery heaped on " little Vic." 
 
 XC1II. 
 
 Our friends must know these truths. Diogenes 
 
 Laert'us says — (but is it fair to quote 
 In our vernacular, th' unlearned to please. 
 
 The brightest maxim which he ever wrote ? 
 For though our language can express with ease 
 
 All slang that ever came from human throat, 
 'Tis not so rich in synonyms to tell 
 Those things which in the classics read so well :) — 
 
 XC1V. 
 
 Diogenes Laertius says, " The root 
 
 Of learning's bitter, but the fruit is sweet :" — 
 It surely is not worth our while to moot 
 
 The question now, although our parents treat 
 The matter otherwise, and overshoot 
 
 The mark when they declare that school's the seat 
 Of perfect joy, and that our man's estate 
 To care and wretchedness is doomed by fate. 
 
38 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 xcv. 
 
 At all events, I hope the pill, prepared 
 
 For those whom I have noticed, will produce 
 
 A sweetness in the mouth of them that shared 
 Its bitterness ere they perceived its use. 
 
 If from all persecution I am spared, 
 
 For having- let my tongue a moment loose, 
 
 I'll open business as a moral censor, 
 
 And of a social purgative dispenser. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 But to resume. Arrived in town once more, 
 Juan's first thought was of the orphan child, 
 
 Leila, whom he from IsmaePs pillage bore, 
 
 And who on her young guardian sweetly, smiled 
 
 When thus they met again. Her features wore 
 A shade of melancholy — but so mild 
 
 And so resigned th' expression of her eyes, 
 
 It kindled all his tenderest sympathies. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 The Lady Pinchbeck, with whom Leila dwelt, 
 Was most indulgent to her charge, and kind ; — 
 
 But there were times when the young orphan felt 
 A weight of sorrow pressing on her mind ; 
 
 For there were visions of the past to melt 
 Her bosom, when the memory cast behind 
 
 A glance at country — friends — and ruined home, 
 
 And parents sleeping in an early tomb ! 
 
DON JUAN. 39 
 
 XCV1II. 
 
 'Tis hard to bid adieu to those who gave 
 Life, light, and all that infancy can prize ; 
 
 To know that they have glided to the grave, 
 And that the clouds of death enwrap their eyes. 
 
 The child will weep e'en when it cannot save 
 Some favourite bird ; — but when a parent dies, 
 
 Whose love in future it may seek in vain, 
 
 How deep its grief, how exquisite its pain ! 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Amidst those Alpine forests, where the oak 
 
 Is hard as marble, I have seen the tree 
 Whose strength has turned aside the woodman's stroke, 
 
 (Though dealt with all his right arm's energy,) 
 And in whose trunk the iron hatchet broke, 
 
 Leaving the monarch of the forest free 
 To triumph in his conquest over man — 
 (How seldom objects of mute nature can !) 
 
 Then o'er the iron axe the bark has grown ; 
 And the tall tree, upshooting in its pride, 
 
 Has flourished, while the rapid years have down- 
 But still the iron has remained inside ! 
 
 Thus, whether summer has with verdure strown 
 The branches — or dread winter scattered wide 
 
 The triple leaves, — that oak-tree ne'er can part 
 
 From the cold steel embedded in its heart. 
 
40 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CI. 
 
 Thus was it with the gentle Leila. She, 
 Nourished in eastern luxury and sloth, 
 
 Had known a mother's smile, — a father's knee 
 Had she been fondled on, — well-loved by both 
 
 The iron of her orphan destiny 
 
 Entered her soul — accompanied her growth — 
 
 And, though no more unto the eye revealed, 
 
 Yet not the less remained inside concealed. 
 
 CII. 
 
 Oh 1 it is not in festive halls alone 
 
 That hearts are glad, and bliss is in the eye ; 
 'Tis not where mirth assumes its loudest tone 
 
 That bosoms ne'er are heard to heave a sigh ! 
 A heavy heart sits sometimes on a throne — 
 
 The velvet curtain oft shrouds agony — 
 And costly diamonds may sparkle o'er 
 A breast with canker e-nawins: at the core ! 
 
 cm. 
 
 The governess, whom Lady Pinchbeck's care 
 Provided for the orphan's education, 
 
 Was affable, and blest with a large share 
 Of patience to support, with resignation, 
 
 Those private griefs which are by no means rare 
 Amongst young ladies in her situation : 
 
 Thus Leila took example from a mind 
 
 So calm, so meek, so docile and resigned. 
 
DON JUAN. 41 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Rose Delacour, the governess, had been a 
 Traveller to Turkey on a three years' trip, 
 
 During- which time her father at Janena 
 
 Honourably filled the English consulship : — 
 
 Miss Delacour, when young-, had therefore seen a 
 Little of Turkish life, — and from her lip 
 
 The language flowed with ease ; — thus she could feci a 
 
 Deep interest in the little orphan Leila. 
 
 CV. 
 
 Rose was an orphan too — and had been thrown 
 Upon the bounty of her friends ; — alas ! 
 
 The nature of that bounty those alone 
 
 Can understand who have been doomed to pass 
 
 Through the ordeal. Rose since then had grown 
 Of melancholy mood — although her glass 
 
 Reflected features so surpassing fair 
 
 They might have banished from her heart each care. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 O Melancholy ! thou that wastes the bloom 
 On Beauty's cheek, and bids her lovely-eye 
 
 Lose all its lustre, and partake the gloom 
 Which on Sahara's desart's wont to lie, — 
 
 Thou usher to the portals of the tomb, 
 Purveyor for the hungry' cemet'ry, — 
 
 Wilt thou not spare one rose in Beauty's wreath ? 
 
 Must she too fade thine influence beneath ? 
 
42 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CVII. 
 
 'Twas not the ray of Jove, serenely beaming-, 
 
 Her dark blue eyes flashed forth , — nor yet the fire 
 
 Of proud ambition's hope, — much less the gleaming" 
 Of vengeful fury, or the threat of ire : 
 
 Nor was it envy from those sweet orbs streaming ; — 
 Seldom they flashed — but when they did acquire 
 
 A more than usual brightness, 'twas the glow 
 
 Of Christian resignation conquering woe. 
 
 CVI1I. 
 
 She was a beauteous creature of nineteen, 
 
 With dark blue eyes — and sunny auburn hair, 
 
 That might have formed the envy of a queen ; 
 Roses and milk combined to make her fair : 
 
 Her countenance, like sunset, was serene — 
 For resignation traced that calmness there : 
 
 Her lips resembled coral, and beneath 
 
 Shone, white as orient pearls, the even teeth. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Her soul sesembled an iEolian harp 
 
 That to the slightest breeze will oscillate : — 
 
 Oh ! 'twere a sin those heavenly chords to warp 
 With the hot breath of lust, — or seal the fate 
 
 Of the soft flower that well had known the sharp 
 Winds of this world — yet was so delicate ! 
 
 A Rose in beauty as in name was she, 
 
 And doomed to share the roses 's destiny ! * 
 
 * Elle etait de ce monde, on les plus belles choses 
 Ont le pire destin ; 
 Et rose, elle a vecu ce qui vivent les roses — 
 L'espace d' un matin. 
 
 — French Poem. 
 
DON JUAN. 43 
 
 ex. 
 
 Upon her lofty brow a pallor sate 
 
 Which seemed like the poetic diadem 
 That Genius gives her chosen few : — no state 
 
 Of reg-al grandeur, nor refulgent gem, 
 Nor all the splendours and the pomps that wait 
 
 On eastern kings, could more ennoble them 
 Than that inartificial dignity, 
 The badge of nature's aristocracy. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 While I am writing this, I have in view 
 (Pardon the egotism) my own sweet wife : 
 
 This tribute of my gratitude is due 
 
 To her who seems the angel of my life — 
 
 The guiding star that leads me safely through 
 The eddies of this world's unceasing strife — ■ 
 
 Hope's beacon, cheering ever from afar ; — 
 
 How beautiful art thou, my guiding star ! 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Our children have thy countenance, that beams 
 With love for him who tells thy virtues now ; — 
 
 Their eyes have caught the heavenly ray which gleams 
 From thine athwart the clouds that shade my brow, 
 
 Like sunshine on a night of hideous dreams ; — 
 The first to wean me from despair art thou ; 
 
 Forall th' endearing sentiments of life 
 
 Are summed up in the words Children and Wife 
 
44 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 The mind, when in a desart state, renews 
 Its strength, if by Hope's purest manna fed ; 
 
 As drooping- flowers revive beneath the dews 
 Which April morning's bountifully shed. — 
 
 Mahommed taught (let none the faith abuse) 
 That echoes were the voices of the dead 
 
 Repeating, in a far-off realm of bliss 
 
 The words of those thev loved and left in this. 
 
 CX1V. 
 
 My well-beloved, should'st thou pass hence away 
 
 Into another and a happier sphere, 
 Ere death has also closed my little day, 
 
 And morn may never wake on my career, — 
 " I love thee !" are the words that I shall say 
 
 From hour to hour, during my sojourn here, 
 That thou in other realms may'st still be found 
 Prepared to echo back the welcome sound. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 But to return to Rose. She was so fair — 
 So graceful — so retiring — and so sweet 
 
 In temper, that when Juan saw her, there 
 
 Arose strange feelings in his heart, which beat 
 
 As it had never beat before — so rare 
 
 Were the accomplishments which seemed to meet 
 
 In Rose's mind and person, and which shone 
 
 Forth not as a bright whole, but one by one. 
 
DON JUAN. 45 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 There is a beauty gorgeous, grand, and splendid, 
 Bursting - upon you like the noon-day sun, 
 
 In which the awe of majesty is blended 
 
 With light too dazzling to be gazed upon, — 
 
 A beauty that should ne'er walk unattended 
 By crowds of sycophants, and must be won 
 
 By courtly mien, by wealth, by pomp, and power- 
 
 The heart not forming portion of the dower. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 With the grand beauty now delineated, 
 Well suited for an empress or a queen, 
 
 The eyes and heart alike full soon are sated, 
 Even if more than dazzled they have been. 
 
 Luckless the man who happens to be mated 
 
 With such an one — luckless his fate, I ween ; — 
 
 Ne'er can he hope to find her fond and tender, 
 
 Because she cannot put aside her splendour. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 The love that such a haughty beauty knows 
 As much deserves the name as the display 
 
 Of sacerdotal pride and pomp, which glows 
 In grand Cathedrals on the Sabbath-day, 
 
 Merits the title of religion. Those 
 
 Who really love, resemble those who pray 
 
 In secret, far from splendour and from show — 
 
 Love and True Piety no grandeur know ! 
 
46 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CX1X. 
 
 Nor suits that grandeur our new heroine : — 
 She was so far removed from vain parade, 
 
 That her most strenous efforts would have been 
 To keep her fascinations in the shade, 
 
 Had she known she possessed them. But her mien 
 Repelled that adulation which is paid 
 
 By vain frivolity as offering- meet 
 
 To lay at hollow-minded beauty's feet. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 There is a beauty on the senses breaking-, 
 Like the soft lustre of the early dawn, 
 
 To which the eye-sight, gradually awaking, 
 Is turned to catch each new gleam of the morn ; 
 
 And by degrees, the clouds of night forsaking 
 The face of heaven, a bright day newly -born 
 
 Steals on the sight, to ravish and to bless 
 
 The senses with its tranquil loveliness. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 Such was Rose Delacour. Her charms, concealed 
 Beneath the veil of her own modesty, 
 
 By gradual glimpses only were revealed, 
 With all their magic softness, to the eye. 
 
 Don Juan's heart, by dissipation steeled 
 Against mere beauty, felt the witchery 
 
 Of that supernal loveliness which stole 
 
 By gradient gleams upon his ravished soul. 
 
DON JUAN. 47 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 It was with difficulty Juan tore 
 
 Himself away from the enchanted place 
 
 Where dwelt the being - who had touched him more 
 Than any since he first saw Haidee's face. 
 
 He felt that he could worship — nay, adore 
 Th' angelic maid, endowed with every grace, 
 
 And in whose person all attractions joined 
 
 To constitute a perfect form and mind. 
 
 \f 
 
 CXX11I. 
 
 'Tis true, our hero's notions of morality 
 Held female virtue to be but a name, 
 
 And thought that reputation was the quality 
 Including honour, duty, conscience, fame : — 
 
 Thus, if a lady formed a partiality, 
 And gave way to it secretly, no blame 
 
 Accrued to her, in Juan's estimation, 
 
 Because she still preserved her reputation. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 The Spartans taught their sons to steal, and merely 
 Chastised them when detected : — Juan's code 
 
 (From which 1 beg to differ most sincerely) 
 Judged female virtue after the same mode : 
 
 Woman was virtuous till the world saw clearly 
 That she had travelled out of the right road, 
 
 And then — when reputation, virtue's cloak, 
 
 Was gone — forth all her misdemeanours broke. 
 
48 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 This is the moral code of many men ; 
 
 And therefore Juan was not singular 
 In his ideas of womankind. But when, 
 
 From fashion's busy scenes and noise afar, 
 He gazed upon that lovely specimen 
 
 Of unassuming 1 virtue — like a star 
 Unconscious of the light it sheds — there shone 
 A ray, till then unknown, his mind upon. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 He, who once had believed that chastity 
 Was a mere matter of cold calculation, — 
 
 That woman ever yielded victory 
 
 To him who struck her fancy's inclination, — - 
 
 And that her virtue was not stained till she 
 By want of prudence lost her reputation, — 
 
 He who believed all this — and more, indeed — 
 
 In Rose's favour soon abjured his creed. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 The needle to the pole is ever true, — 
 
 True to the shepherd is the faithful dog, — 
 
 True to the Highlands is the bonnet blue, — 
 True to the city is November's fog, — 
 
 True to the churchyard is the graceful yew, — 
 True is the map which bears the name of Mogg,- 
 
 So naturam expellas furca tamen 
 
 Usque recurret* — to which I say " Amen !" 
 
DON JUAN. 49 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 Yes — nature's true unto herself. The mind, 
 By Fashion warped, by pleasure led astray, 
 
 To uncouth thoughts and doctrines is inclined, 
 And with all baseless sophisms loves to play ;— - 
 
 But Nature gives back sight unto the blind, 
 Guides the lost footsteps to her own rig'ht way, 
 
 And teaches men to recognise the truth 
 
 So oft perverted or denied in youth. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 O Man ! how fallible art thou ! Thy boasts 
 Are physical resemblance to thy God, 
 
 And a superiority o'er hosts 
 
 Of living things which crouch beneath thy rod ; 
 
 Thy vessels bear thy rule to distant coasts, 
 The earth gives up her treasure at thy nod, — 
 
 Thy wisdom makes e'en savage nature kind — 
 
 And yet thou canst not rule thy wayward mind ! 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Man is a mighty being when his pride, 
 By fortune favoured and supremely blest, 
 
 In all its boundless wants is gratified, 
 
 And when his deadliest passions are at rest; 
 
 But mark him when his cravings are denied, 
 When blighted Love or Sorrow is his guest, 
 
 And Ruin o'er him waves its sable wing — 
 
 Then where on earth exists a meaner thing ? 
 
 D 
 
50 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 Juan became a frequent visitor 
 
 At Lady Pinchbeck's house ; — but he took care 
 Not to betray his private motive, — nor 
 
 Pay marked attention unto Rose when there : 
 His visits seemed intended only for 
 
 The little Leila ; — nor was Rose aware 
 For many weeks that she could claim a part 
 Of the kind sympathies of Juan's heart. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 At length she read the truth. However pure, 
 However far from unchaste thoughts removed, 
 
 However guileless — woman still is sure 
 
 To read that secret of the heart. He loved — 
 
 He felt the pangs which true love must endure — 
 Affection's bashfulness and fears he proved ; 
 
 Bold as he was, he lost all confidence 
 
 When awed by that fair maiden's innocence. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 He loved not now as he had loved before, — 
 Respect with ardour and with hope combined 
 
 And while he learnt her person to adore, 
 His bosom owned the influence of her mind. 
 
 He harboured not an unchaste thought — nay, more 
 He often threw regretful looks behind 
 
 Upon the past — especially when she 
 
 Gazed on him for a moment timid lv. 
 
DON JUAN. 51 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 Time stole away — week after week flew past, 
 
 And more profound grew Juan's love. The maid 
 
 Beheld th' enamoured glances which he cast 
 Upon her furtively, and felt afraid — 
 
 Till, almost in her own despite, at last 
 
 Her glowing cheeks and faultering voice betrayed 
 
 The feeling- which, responsive to his own, 
 
 And by it fed, within her breast had grown. 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 The summer's past — the trees have thrown aside 
 Their verdant garb — the earth has lost its hue 
 
 Of green — the river rushes with a tide 
 Impetuous — the sky, no long-er blue, 
 
 Is veiled in murky clouds — the planets hide 
 
 Their heads at night, or glance but dimly through 
 
 The sable curtains which around them spread, — 
 
 The busy hum of insect life is dead : 
 
 CXXXV1. 
 
 The music of the grove is hushed — the rill 
 Babbles no more, but hurries wildly on 
 
 Unto the sea — the beetle's note is still, — 
 Nature, in nudity, reclines upon 
 
 The turfless grave of Winter, — and the hill 
 No more rejoices in the morning sun, 
 
 Nor, with an evergreen upon its slope, 
 
 Of summer's advent gives symbolic hope. 
 
52 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXXXVil. 
 
 Oh ! did we listen to the morals given 
 
 In all those signs, — did we collect with care 
 
 The manna which may purge us of our leaven, — 
 Then earth would be a proof-sheet of the fair 
 
 And spotless volume of th' eternal heaven, — 
 For every fault and every error there 
 
 'Twere easy to amend ere it were shown 
 
 Before the footstool of th' Almighty's throne ! 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 But time, which covered Nature's brow with snows, 
 And placed a spell upon the placid stream, 
 
 Had worked no change in Juan nor in Rose 
 Save to enhance the brightness of the beam 
 
 Which love shed o'er their hearts. Oh ! he who knows 
 How sweet is such a love in youth's day-dream, 
 
 Can picture all the pleasure which Rose found 
 
 In treading first on that enchanted ground. 
 
 CXXX1X. 
 
 And there was in her love a sort of madness — 
 A worship which she paid not unto heaven — 
 
 A blending strange of exstacy and sadness, — 
 As if at times her heart with woe were riven ; 
 
 While on her red lips played sweet smiles of gladness — 
 A placid streamlet to a torrent driven 
 
 By the accumulating rains and snows, — 
 
 Such was the deep impassioned love of Rote ! 
 
DON JUAN. 53 
 
 CXL. 
 
 A sorrow, full of sad presentiment — 
 
 A joy, as gladsome as the bird of morn — 
 
 A soul upon one object e'er intent — 
 A confidence, of chaste devotion born — 
 
 A bosom, knowing- but one blandishment 
 'Midst many ills — a rose upon its thorn — 
 
 A sunny April morn, prepared to melt 
 
 In showers, — all these made up the love she felt- 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 Oh i that the soul of woman should inurn, 
 In its recess, flames which consume so fast ! — 
 
 As sun-flowers, in their mute devotion, turn 
 Ever unto the orb whose rays at last 
 
 Each fibre of the constant objects burn ; 
 And as they follow on till all be past — 
 
 So does the tender heart of woman cling 
 
 To him whose hand inflicts the fatal sting. 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 Mistrusting no temptation of the sense, 
 Nor with a thought of fearing it, the love 
 
 Of Rose was all romance and innocence, 
 And such as artlessness alone could prove. 
 
 She scarcely understood the source from whence 
 Come those emotions which the heart-strings move 
 
 To vibrate to a sigh — a word — a glance — 
 
 As when the head is giddy in the dance. 
 
54 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 The influence of a virtuous love like this 
 Should purify the mind corrupt, and bring 
 
 Mortality to comprehend a bliss 
 
 Beyond the tainted soul's imagining - . 
 
 Never did wanton's most voluptuous kiss 
 Never did honied words which Syrens sing, 
 
 Nor all the joys illicit pleasures prove, 
 
 Possess such charms as a young virgin's love. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 The Lady Pinchbeck, who was not so blind 
 But she could see an inch before her nose, 
 
 At last obtained a partial glimpse behind 
 
 The scenes, and then began to question Rose. 
 
 The artless girl laid bare her inmost mind, 
 
 With that sweet confidence which candour knows 
 
 The lady saw her history was the true one, 
 
 And next began to catechise Don Juan. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 " Senor, 1 am your friend, and have a real 
 Interest in your welfare. Well 'tis known 
 
 That youth is apt from friendship to conceal 
 That secret which it should not fear to own. 
 
 If 'tis a worthless passion you reveal, 
 
 The steady hand of friendship may alone 
 
 Stifle the flame : — but, save a foe, there's none 
 
 Who'd try to quench an honourable one. 
 
DON JUAN. 55 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 "Young - men are wild and loose in their amours, 
 Which merit not affection's sacred name : — 
 
 Scandal has published some details of your's, 
 And shown that they had little of the flame 
 
 Which, even with possession, still endures, 
 Knows not satiety, but gieams the same 
 
 To-day as yesterday ; — this is love's light, 
 
 Not eA r anescent, but for ever bright ! 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 " Were you caught by some superficial charm, 
 A charm as fleeting as the sunny hour — 
 
 I'd say, with fortitude your soul to arm, 
 That beauty is a perishable flower ; — 
 
 And I should even feel much less alarm, 
 Were you enamoured of a costly dower. 
 
 Still, loveliness and wealth may pass away, — 
 
 What quality shall then check love's decay ? 
 
 CXLVII1. 
 
 " Mere beauty, as mere wealth, must be withstood !- 
 But there is one whom I could paint to you — 
 
 Perfection's self — as fair as she is good — 
 Full young in years, younger in feelings true !> — 
 
 A taste that can embellish solitude, 
 
 And furnish out its own enjoyments too ; 
 
 A self-poised mind that ne'er is fain to court 
 
 The countenance of others for support ; 
 
56 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXL1X. 
 
 " A soft voice, typical of gentleness 
 Of spirit — and an intellectual brow, — 
 
 These are the charms which all combine to bless 
 The faultless creature I am painting- now. 
 
 Oh ! if enamoured of such loveliness 
 
 Of mind and form as I describe, then thou 
 
 Art most supremely happy — and I stand 
 
 The first to take your fair bride by the hand \" 
 
 CL. 
 
 Thus Lady Pinchbeck spoke ; and Juan stood 
 Gazing- upon her with respect and awe ; — 
 
 And when her voice had ceased, his pensive mood 
 Continued for a moment, till he saw 
 
 She waited his reply : and as he could 
 Not contradict the lady's moral law, 
 
 Even if he had wished, he acquiesced 
 
 In all she said, "because 'twas for the best." — 
 
 CLI. 
 
 " Lady,. the portrait which you draw may seem 
 From earthly things too far — to heaven too near 
 
 Many would treat it as the poet's dream, 
 So faultless do its lineaments appear : 
 
 On me the hues of all your colours beam 
 In their reality ; — that portrait's here ! 
 
 Here in this house — here, also, in my breast ;— 
 
 Your ladyship can well divine the rest '" — 
 
DON JUAN. 57 
 
 CLII. 
 
 " Senor, I thank you for this explanation. 
 
 Rose is an orphan, trusted to my care — 
 In mind and manners fitted for the station 
 
 Ot a king's bride — but, as you're well aware, 
 Occupying- a dependent situation, 
 
 Which, as the world of fashion would declare, 
 Unfits her to aspire to be the wife 
 Of one who moves in the first class of life." — ■ 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 " The shackles of society ne'er wore," 
 Said Juan in a most determined tone, 
 
 " To me so ludicrous a shape before, 
 
 Or one whose sway I were so loth to own. 
 
 I love the beauteous Rose — nay, I adore ; 
 
 On her my thoughts are fixed — on her alone : 
 
 The world may laugh, and fashion may deride — 
 
 In time they both will learn to court my bride !"- 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 " And Rose is worthy your resolve," exclaimed 
 Her ladyship : " proud were I could she be 
 
 My child ! An Emperor need not be ashamed 
 To make her partner of his majesty. 
 
 No beauty in the lists of fashion famed, 
 No heiress of a noble pedigree, 
 
 Can boast of such endowments as the poor 
 
 Neglected orphan girl. — Rose Delacour !" 
 
58 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CLV. 
 
 Juan and Lady Pinchbeck both were right 
 
 The silken chains of fashion to contemn : 
 For rny part, half in scorn, and half in spite, 
 
 I long- ago have learnt to laugh at them. 
 Fashion luxuriates in nectar bright, 
 
 But in the bowl dissolves sweet Freedom's gem : — 
 Most courteous reader, take my sage advice — 
 Pay not for your ambrosia such a price. 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 All bursts of generous feeling to subdue — 
 
 Ever to play dissimulation's part — 
 To flatter where contempt alone is due — 
 
 To talk of friendship with a hollow heart — 
 To pass off ancient compliments for new — 
 
 To lie without a blush — to know the art 
 Of keeping every feature in controul, 
 So that no outward sign betray the soul ; — 
 
 CLVI1. 
 
 This is the duty of the world of fashion — 
 A sphere made up of falsehood and deceit. 
 
 Hypocrisy conceals each evil passion, 
 
 Which therefore concentrates a greater heat 
 
 Within ;. — and as the boiling torrents dash on. 
 When loosened from the reservoir where meet 
 
 Those floods that from the snow-capped mounts have passed,- 
 
 So do these passions burst their bonds at last. 
 
DON JUAN. 59 
 
 CLVI1I. 
 
 And then adieu to husband — children — fame ! 
 
 There's naught that the high-born adulterous wife 
 Will not resign, to gratify the flame 
 
 That thus consumes the dearest ties of life. 
 Those details which enhance the wanton's shame, 
 
 Tho^e incidents which aggravate the strife 
 Of her volcanic passions. — all appear, 
 With bold and glaring hues, in fashion's sphere. f / 
 
 CL1X. 
 
 And in that sphere — so narrow though it be, 
 And formed of such a highly-polished class — 
 
 There is much more of immorality 
 
 Than we can find throughout the mighty mass 
 
 Forming that section of society 
 
 Which we mark as the middling grade. — Alas ! 
 
 Those whom we're told to imitate, are they 
 
 Who seem the first to lead the rest astray ! 
 
 CLX. 
 
 Absurd is all the boast of pedigree ! — 
 
 Of one licentious woman the disgrace 
 May spoil a lengthened line of ancestry 
 
 The lord, who vaunts his far descended race, 
 And studies how his genealogy 
 
 Through the long vista of past years to trace, 
 Were he to know the truth, his sire might find 
 In some tall footman, page, or menial hind. 
 
60 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 And yet the law of primogeniture 
 
 Is thought most salutary — and, in spite 
 
 Of the republicans, seems to endure 
 
 'Twould be as well if those who have the right 
 
 Of handing down their titles, could ensure 
 
 The honour of their wives, because they might 
 
 Confer a barony or earldom on 
 
 Bill Tunics', Joe Smith's, or Harry Tomkins' son. 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 What is the world of fashion, then ? — I said 
 
 Ere now, and I repeat — .dissimulation 
 Is its chief quality ! 'Tis the hot-bed 
 
 Of every vice and all contamination : 
 In vain the sweetest flowers may there be spread — 
 
 Each virgin tint proclaims the devastation 
 Of the unwholesome heat and air, which wither 
 The purest blossoms that are taken thither. 
 
 CLXILL 
 
 There is no virtue in the highest sphere, 
 Nor in the very lowest ; — for the first, 
 
 Possessing riches, thinks no price too dear, 
 So that it gratify its ardent thirst 
 
 For pleasure ; while those long deep draughts appear 
 To give new zest ; — and the last grade, accurst 
 
 By Want and all his cavalcade of woe, 
 
 Cannot afford compunction's thoughts to know. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 But if you look for virtue, seek it where 
 
 The golden mean is found— the middle grade 
 
 Of our society, with whom the care 
 Exists of England's commerce and her trade ! 
 
 The daughters of this class are quite as fair 
 As those who glitter in the Court-parade, 
 
 And, in addition to their loveliness, 
 
 The greater charm of chastity possess. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 You must not quote the parsons for morality ; 
 
 For, though they are the springs of education, 
 They are. the patterns of conviviality, 
 
 Prejudice, tyranny, intoleration ; 
 Noted for their extreme illiberality 
 
 Towards the poorer classes of the nation ; 
 And from their pious families the street 
 Is fed with half the prostitutes you meet. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 Lawyers are a calumniated set, 
 
 And, as a general rule, ill-treated : — very 
 Nice men amongst them I myself have met, 
 
 And chiefly my friend Rains, of Bucklersbury.— 
 Of course, if people will get into debt, 
 
 A prison may not turn out to be merry ; 
 But they should not malign the lawyer's name — 
 'Tis their extravagance which they must blame. 
 
62 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 And yet some debtors make the Bench a palace 
 By dint of racquets, porter, pipes, and brandy ; 
 
 'Tis therefore hard to bear the lawyer malice 
 Who sent them where such luxuries are handy, 
 
 But debtors' favourite colony is Calais, 
 
 Whither proceeds many a self-exiled dandy 
 
 To vegetate at Dessin's or Meurice's, 
 
 When cash is gone, and tick in London ceases. 
 
 CLXVI1I. 
 
 And, by the bye, when I reflect, Beau Brummeil 
 Has walked in Calais with his short surtout : * 
 
 Though he did Alvanley and others some ill, 
 And in that money-business played the Jew, 
 
 Vet would he strike the vulgar rabble dumb. Ill 
 1 could not speak of him, so well he knew 
 
 The fashion for a cravat or a waistcoat, 
 
 And never for a Sunday kept a best coat.f 
 
 * Brummeil first wore the frock-coat or short surtout, which is still in fashion. 
 
 t Brummeil used to say nothing could be more vulgar than the idea. of keeping a 
 particular suit of clothes for Sunday, and that no gentleman ought to be better dressed 
 on the Sabbath than on any other day. " On the contrary," would the Beau observe ; 
 " if I did make any difference, I would actually dress worse on Sunday ; because all the 
 snobs turn out in their best suits, redeemed over-night from pawn, upon that day." 
 The author frequently met Brummeil at Leleux's library in Calais, where the Beau 
 occupied lodgings for a length of time. 
 
DON JUAN. 63 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 God gave the first idea of clothes for men, 
 
 And women too, as Genesis avows : 
 He made them out of broad fig-leaves, and then 
 
 Sewed them together cleverly with boughs. 
 But Brummell was a better tailor, when 
 
 He formed (as his biographer allows) 
 The patterns of his waistcoats and his breeches, 
 And even learnt to put in a few stitches. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 Leibnitz, Descartes, Copernicus, and Newton 
 Were very clever, doubtless, in astronomy : 
 
 But greater still was Brummell, with a suit on 
 That showed a disregard for all economy ; 
 
 Although, whene'er he put a coat or boot on, 
 It might be with a lengthened physiognomy, 
 
 To think how bills increase, and money lacks, 
 
 And how the duns are ever at our backs. 
 
 CLXX1 
 
 In Burke's " Reflections on the Revolution," 
 'Tis said that Marie was the morning star 
 
 Of light and beauty to the Constitution : — 
 If she could thus illuminate, how far 
 
 More lustrous, Brummell ! to the English you shone, 
 For while she was the spring of civil war, 
 
 When the French nation fell into a passion, 
 
 You were the modeller of every fashion ! 
 
64 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CLXX1I. 
 
 But we were talking- of that gorgeous sphere 
 Known as the World of Fashion. Our respect 
 
 In favour of the Past is gone ; — the clear 
 Light of the present age shows the defect, 
 
 The stains, the glaring errors which appear 
 In ancient institutions. They were decked 
 
 In hues of grandeur or solemnity 
 
 Merely to overawe the vulgar eye. 
 
 CLXX1II. 
 
 Youth's sixteen precious years have hitherto 
 Been given to graceful classical pursuits — 
 
 The study of the ancient genius through 
 The mirror of its languages — the fruits 
 
 Of which are very pleasant to the view, 
 But useless as a food ; — to learn the roots 
 
 Of plants that yield no profit, now 'tis thought, 
 
 Is wasting valuable time on naught. 
 
 CLXX1V. 
 
 Yes — those unfading garlands, where combined 
 The choicest flowers of ancient poesy, 
 
 And which festooned around the modern mind, 
 Wreathing their varied colours gracefully, 
 
 Were fetters, flowery though they were, to bind 
 The intellect which panted to be free ; — 
 
 And strenuous efforts were required to call 
 
 That intellect from. such a brilliant thrall. 
 
DON JUAN. 65 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 Thus that reverted and adoring - look, 
 
 Which lingered long upon the ancient lyre, 
 
 At length a forward range of vision took ; — 
 The mind was influenced with a new desire ; 
 
 The contemplation of the present shook 
 
 That faith which classic themes alone inspire, 
 
 And, weaning man from reverence of the past, 
 
 Upon the future made him gaze at last. 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 Yes — heaven be thanked ! that weary retrospect 
 
 Upon antiquity exists no more : 
 The brow of youth is now no longer decked 
 
 With those bright garlands which alone he wore ;- 
 The Pcean of enfranchised intellect 
 
 Succeeds the solemn strain of classic lore : 
 The mind has ceased its vigils at the tomb, 
 In superstitious awe, of Greece and Rome. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 O Christ ! it is a noble destiny, 
 
 From the first glimmering of reason's dawn, 
 To give the mind up, fetterless and free, 
 
 To every branch of science newly born, 
 Which o'er the surface of society 
 
 Its bounties sheds, to aid and to adorn : — 
 Give me that active and productive knowledge 
 Which ne'er is learnt in the old classic college. 
 
 E 
 
66 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CLXXV1II. 
 
 How noble 'tis to be no longer pent 
 
 Within a narrow space, around whose wall 
 
 The eye marks naught but antique ornament, 
 And where the voice no echo can recall 
 
 Save of the past ; — how glorious to present 
 The key of Nature's oracles to all 
 
 The human race, so that th' enquiring- youth 
 
 May study for himself her book of truth ! 
 
 CLXX1X. 
 
 All ancient institutions totter. We 
 
 Have heard it said that Priests are on the wane ; 
 And next the onward march of Liberty 
 
 Threatens with ruin all the Kings that reign ; — 
 And in the self-same pathway one may see 
 
 The World of Fashion travel with its train 
 Of Lords and Ladies — for the aristocracy 
 Will shortly be absorbed in the democracy. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 Oh ! for the power of Mirabeau, to ring 
 A death -knell to th' abuses of the state ! 
 
 Oh ! for the voice of Berenger, to sing, 
 And lash in verse, the follies of the great ! 
 
 Then all the fury of my wrath I'd bring, 
 All my indignant feelings concentrate, 
 
 To make the people's grievances my own, 
 
 And drag forth tardy justice from the throne ! 
 
DON JUAN. 67 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 De Berenger, to Freedom sacred name ! 
 
 Upon thy brows a double crown is placed ; 
 Laurels and Roses, entertwined, proclaim 
 
 Your nation's glory and your Lisette's taste. 
 Oh ! thou in many ways hast courted fame — 
 
 Love, Wine, and Liberty thy verses graced : 
 At once Anacreon and Tyrtceus,* thou 
 May'st wear that two-fold chaplet on thy brow. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 Indignant at the fate of Waterloo, 
 
 Glowing- with anger, hast thou poured thy spite 
 Upon the Bourbon — for his planet grew 
 
 In the ascendant, when that murky night 
 Concealed the sun e'en from the eagle's view, 
 
 And veiled that star — once so supremely bright 
 France all her old enthusiasm renews 
 In the outpourings of thy lyric muse. 
 
 * The Muse of the inimitable Thomas Moore (one of the greatest poets of modem 
 times,) has rendered the songs of Anacreon familier to all who can read the English 
 language. Tyrtoeus wrote elegies, which ought rather to be denominated martial 
 songs, and which were so popular that they were sung in the Spartan camp3 two 
 hundred years after the time of the poet, no more appropriate war-hymns having suc- 
 ceeded them. 
 
68 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 To break men's chains of iron, and to bind 
 
 Their limbs with wreaths of flowers — to talk of glory 
 
 And pleasure in the self-same song- — to find 
 Smiles for a toast, tears for Napoleon's story- - 
 
 To fascinate and charm the youthful mind — 
 To warm the bosom of the old man hoary — 
 
 To tell love-tales, and traverse battles o'er — 
 
 This was thy task, which thou hast done — and more ! 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 Gunpowder and champagne — warfare and love — 
 Napoleon and Lisette— banners and flowers — 
 
 The eagle's force, the softness of the dove — 
 The humble cottage, and the palace-towers — 
 
 The smoke of hell, the light of heaven above — 
 Scenes in the darksome prison, festive hours — 
 
 These are the subjects that thy verse engage, 
 
 To suit each taste, each passion, and each age ! 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 Now to resume our tale. The muse goes back 
 To Lord Henry Amundeville, whom she 
 
 Left entering on the ministerial track : — 
 But I shall not dissect his policy, 
 
 Nor join the Opposition in attack ; — 
 
 God knows the Cabinet ne'er seemed to me 
 
 A Paradise, with all its rank and power ; — 
 
 Kind reader, do not think the grapes are sour. 
 
DON JUAN. 69 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 Lord Henry entered on his duties straight, 
 And signed the warrant for the execution 
 
 Of half-a-dozen thieves at Tyburn gate ; — 
 'Twas necessary to show resolution 
 
 In times when anarchy disturbed the state : 
 The gibbet is a useful institution, 
 
 Without which kings could not retain their power, 
 
 Or keep their heads on, for a single hour. 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Lord Henry next despatched to some large place 
 A thousand bayonets, to keep in awe, 
 
 And, if required, to kill the populace, 
 " Who, totally regardless of the law 
 
 Made and provided also in that case, 
 
 Dared to claim victuals for their famished maw, 
 
 Against the peace of sovereign -lord the King ;" — 
 
 Truly it was a most seditious thing ! 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 The third step which Lord Henry took, was quite 
 Consistent with the place of Minister — 
 
 I mean to all his relatives to write, 
 And upon each some sinecure confer ; 
 
 So that in little more than a fortnight 
 This happy nation saw, without demur, 
 
 A hundred thousand pounds a-year made over 
 
 To place some old incapables in clover. 
 
70 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 His brother, who was dean, he made a bishop — 
 His uncle, who was major, raised to colonel ; 
 
 And such a lot of cousins did he fish up 
 To place in situations, that the journal 
 
 Opposed to Ministers, began to dish up 
 A series of abuse which seemed eternal, 
 
 And which indeed came only to an end 
 
 When he had no more cousins to befriend. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 The Lady Adeline, in a few days, 
 
 Returned to town her husband's state to share ; 
 But there was something- vacant in her gaze, 
 
 And pensive in her manners and her air. 
 'Tis true, she mingled still in fashion's maze, 
 
 But her imagination was not there: — 
 And vainly were her hopes renewed each day — 
 Juan came not ! why kept he thus away ? 
 
 CXCI. 
 
 Had he and the new Minister fall'n out ? — 
 Adeline thought that this must be the case ; 
 
 And then she wondered what it was about, 
 And sought in vain the mystery to trace. 
 
 At times she sighed, and seemed inclined to pout, 
 And gloom would settle on her pretty face, 
 
 Because she dared not ask her husband whether 
 
 Juan and he were still good friends together. 
 
DON JUAN 71 
 
 CXCII. 
 
 Months glided on — the winter came, and yet 
 She saw naught of him ! Not once in the gay 
 
 And busy scenes of fashion had they met : 
 And still she asked herself, from day to day, 
 
 Was he deserving- of the keen regret 
 
 She lavished on the truant, while away ? 
 
 Vainly did she attempt to triumph o'er 
 
 Her inclination — it increased the more ! 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess of Fitz-Fulk had gone 
 
 To pass the winter season at Milan : 
 This little trip his Grace resolved upon, 
 
 Although the Duchess cavilled at the plan ; 
 But he in the unwonted light then shone 
 
 Of a determined and unyielding man. 
 The reason that he gave was " health" — the true one 
 Was to remove the Duchess far from Juan. 
 
 CXC1V. 
 
 Aurora Raby still remained the guest 
 
 Of Lady Adeline ; — but ne'er her eye 
 Nor air regretful sorrowing exprest, 
 
 Whatever were her feelings inwardly. 
 If Juan's image occupied her breast, 
 
 'Twas not revealed by outward sign nor sigh ; — 
 But p'r'aps her liking for the " naughty man" 
 Had ended as it should — where it began ! 
 
72 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXCV. 
 
 Rousseau says mental love cannot subsist, 
 Unless shared by its object tenderly ; 
 
 And that the hopeless passions, which exist 
 For years and cause such lasting 1 misery 
 
 To those who in their fruitless aims persist, 
 Have their roots fixed in sensuality. — 
 
 This may, or may not be — one thing- I know, 
 
 That with Aurora 'twould not have been so. 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 Had she loved Juan, 'spite of his neglect — 
 Had she persisted in her love — had she 
 
 Imagination with the fond hopes decked 
 Which love inspires in the young memory — 
 
 Had she loved on until those hopes were wrecked 
 On disappointment's rock, — it could not be 
 
 That such a love owed its omnipotence, 
 
 Not to the mind, but merely to the sense ! 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 No — she was pure, and cold, and chaste, as ever 
 Was snow unwreathed from the untrodden height 
 
 Of Alpine mount, and borne unto the river, 
 
 With which it mingled ; — pure as that soft light 
 
 Which on the water's surface seems to quiver, 
 Amid the splendours of a northern night : — 
 
 She knew as much of sensual love as one 
 
 Born blind can know of the refulgent sun. 
 
DON JUAN. 73 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 Whether she did iove Juan, or did not, 
 
 I cannot tell — at least on this occasion : 
 But still the reader must not have forgot 
 
 That blush which seemed a part of Love's persuasion 
 Acting- upon her gentle nature. — Blot 
 
 This poem from the language, if evasion 
 Or blinking of the truth the eye detects 
 Amongst its numerous and known defects. 
 
 CXCIX. 
 
 Such was the situation of affairs 
 
 At the commencement of the New Year. Then 
 Lord Henry had his parhament'ry cares, 
 
 And seemed the busiest of public men. — 
 Poor Adeline was taken unawares 
 
 One morning at the breakfast-table, when 
 The following announcement in the Post 
 Came on her startled vision like a ghost : — 
 
 CC. 
 
 " Marriages in High Life. — We beg to state. 
 
 With a delight the most unfeigned and real, 
 That the illustrious Duke of Aldersgate 
 
 Will shortly lead unto the hymeneal 
 Altar th' accomplished daughter of the late 
 
 Regretted keeper of the Privy Seal ; — 
 Also that Lord Fitz-Gubbins will forthwith 
 Enter the marriage state with Lady Smith. 
 
74 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CCI. 
 
 " Rumours, moreover, we may add, are rife, 
 
 (The pen of Fame ?js not always dipped in guile) 
 
 That an illustrious foreigner, whose life 
 
 Has been blest by the great Czarina's smile, 
 
 Will shortly take unto himself a wife 
 From the sweet daughters of this favoured isle : 
 
 The bridal (we with certainty can speak) 
 
 Is to take place quite privately next week." 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
DON JUAN. 75 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Reason ! or O Instinct ! guide my pen 
 With force replenished, for a little space ! 
 
 1 am not one of those disdainful men 
 
 Who a broad line of demarcation trace 
 Between Instinct and Reason ; — therefore, when 
 
 The lights of intellect that line efface, 
 I shall be first to hail the fall'n condition 
 Of metaphysics' ancient superstition. 
 
 II. 
 
 The pride and vain conceit which drew that line 
 Exalting* man over the brute creation 
 
 Immeasurably, supposed it very fine 
 To raise humanity to such a station : 
 
 But Nature, to make man thus singly shine, 
 Must suddenly have leapt from that gradation, 
 
 Or gradual series of ascents, which we 
 
 Throughout her works invariably see. 
 
76 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 III. 
 
 Absurd ! Will Nature travel from her rules 
 To suit the little pride of wretched man ? — 
 
 Th' abominable prejudice of fools 
 
 Would make her faithless to that gradient plan 
 
 Which is her vital principle. The schools 
 May prop up ancient dogmas if they can, 
 
 But I for one will not allow sound sense 
 
 To yield to human pride and insolence. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Of life the lowest forms and most minute 
 Are gradually varied, till they rise 
 
 Unto the highest. Nature's bounties suit 
 Each race progressive : she diversifies 
 
 The organs which endow the worm — the brute , 
 And from the zoophyte she amplifies, 
 
 Through every stage, those organs, till at length 
 
 She perfects man in beauty, sense, and strength. 
 
 Hence I am at a loss to comprehend, — 
 
 And ne'er shall know unless I have the cap 
 
 Of knowledge my poor reason to befriend, — 
 How Nature takes a leap, and leaves a gap, 
 
 With brutes at one, and men at t'other end ; 
 Or why abruptly she the chain should snap 
 
 Till then so regular in its gradation, 
 
 That man should stand alone in the creation. 
 
DON JUAN. 77 
 
 VI. 
 
 Contemplate animal existence — scan 
 
 Its regular ascending series — see 
 Those functions, faithful unto Nature's plan, 
 
 Developing themselves progressively, 
 And called Instinct in brutes, Reason in man ;* 
 
 Then careful watch those functions till they be 
 Expanded fully in their strength and grace, 
 Of animals t' endow the hightest race. 
 
 VII. 
 
 That highest race is Man ! — And now the mist 
 
 Of metaphysical delusion 's gone ! 
 Vainly may the insane religionist 
 
 Declare that instinct in the brute is one 
 Product of matter — while he will insist 
 
 That reason takes its rise from soul alone : — 
 If man possess a soul, the brute must be 
 Partaker of his immortality ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 How pitiful is human pride ! Thank God, 
 
 I am as meek and lowly as the ass 
 Which carried Jesus : not beneath my rod, 
 
 Were I a king, should millions as they pass 
 Doff cap, or courtiers tremble at my nod, 
 
 As if the flesh of monarchs were not grass 
 And liable, amidst the scenes most blythe, 
 To be mowed down by Death's unsparing scythe. 
 
 * II y a quelque difference ; il y a des ordres et des degres ; mais c'est sous le visage 
 d une memc nature. — Montaigne. 
 
78 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 IX. 
 
 Man has a very great antipathy 
 
 To being- deemed the next link in creation 
 Unto the monkey-tribe ; — and yet we see 
 
 The fact borne out beyond all refutation. 
 Thus the superior intellect, which we 
 
 Possess, springs from a higher sublimation 
 Of matter. — But you're doubtless wearied out, 
 Kind reader, by the things I prate about. 
 
 X. 
 
 I only wish that I could call to aid 
 
 The Genius of Ubiquity, to lend 
 Her plumage, for I should not feel afraid 
 
 To traverse all the earth, from end to end, 
 And teach the doctrines I have here displayed, 
 
 Certain that he alone can be the friend 
 Of weak humanity, who dares confess 
 The truth which millions labour to suppress. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Crotona's sage, 'tis said, was once espied 
 
 In two towns at the self-same moment ; — yet 
 
 Balloons had not been at that period tried, 
 Nor on their voyages aerial set. 
 
 But now ubiquity is not denied, 
 
 And in twelve hours a person may be met 
 
 In London and in Weilburg, by his friends : — 
 
 Thus have balloons together brought earth's ends. 
 
DON JUAN. 79 
 
 XII. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a mad and yet most gallant thing 
 
 To dare that journey in a pendant boat, 
 Between the world and heaven hovering 1 , — 
 
 In the impalpable expanse to float — 
 Cleaving their way upon Doedalian wing, 
 
 The wonderful effects of earth to note, 
 By its own artificial lustre, through 
 The darkness which almost obscured the view.* 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And now there is a new aerial carriage 
 For which a patent 's taken out — a thing 
 
 Which I'm by no means anxious to disparage, 
 Because within an easy ride 'twill bring 
 
 Places where men can seek a lucky marriage, 
 Such as New York, Calcutta, or Peking — 
 
 A last resource when every hope is undone 
 
 Of hooking wealthy dowagers in London. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But to resume. — An ashy pallor spread 
 
 Upon the face of Lady Adeline ; 
 And then the blood, burning like molten lead, 
 
 Came rushing to the cheek whence it had been 
 Rolled backward to the heart when she first read 
 
 That paragraph which might have raised the spleen 
 Of one far less susceptible than she 
 At what was deemed an infidelity. 
 
 * Messieurs Green and Monk Mason performed the aerial voyage here alluded to. 
 
80 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 J 
 
 XV. 
 
 Love is the money of the heart, which hoards 
 Its treasure as the anxious miser clings 
 
 Unto his gold ; far ne'er that heart affords 
 One jot to sooth a rival's sorrowings. — 
 
 O love, to thee then never truth accords 
 Religion's sacred name ; — those holy things. 
 
 Laws, revelations, prophecies divine, 
 
 And hope of bliss eternal, are not thine ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And thou hast not grown in the human heart, 
 From an uncultured to a polished state, 
 
 Progressively with science and with art, — 
 But thou art ever blindly ruled by fate ; 
 
 And we have not a virtue on our part 
 Upon whose succour we may calculate 
 
 To wrestle with thy tempests and to flee 
 
 From all the perils of thy stormy sea. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 O Love ! from heaven we may never hope 
 For aid to purify thee in our breast — 
 
 To raise thee far above our narrow scope 
 
 And savage instinct, that thou may'st be blest 
 
 With power 'gainst thine own violence to cope, 
 And lull thy passion turbulent to rest. — 
 
 Has man no virtue to ennoble thee 
 
 Above the dross of weak humanity ? 
 
DON JUAN. 81 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Art thou eternally succumbing - — doomed 
 
 By the fierce flames that thou thyself excitest 
 
 In every human breast, to be consumed ? 
 
 And must the perfumed lamp, by which thou lightest 
 
 The world, be in our hollow hearts entombed, 
 
 Where damps unwholesome quench rays once the brightest 
 
 Oh ! human pride and selfishness are sure 
 
 To turn to poison heaven's balm most pure ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 To feign a sudden i lines and retire 
 
 Unto her chamber, was the first resource 
 
 Of Lady Adeline. What thoughts inspire 
 A disappointed woman, in the course 
 
 Of her conflicting passions ! Love, hope, ire, 
 VAflfected recklessness, and then the force 
 
 Of ardent love returning, all combined, 
 
 Chaotic and conflicting, in her mind. 
 
 \ 
 
 XX. 
 
 But still she entertained a proper pride — 
 Nor to th' extravagances of the sex 
 
 Gave herself up. No dreams of suicide, 
 No plans of petty vengeance to perplex 
 
 Her rival — not a wayward thought beside 
 Her own ill-fated passion and the wrecks 
 
 Of hopes she'd dared to cling to, could impart 
 
 An evil influence to her noble heart. 
 
 F 
 
82 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " With what idea of justice can I blame 
 The conduct that bestows a heart to which 
 
 I dare assert, and ought to have, no claim ? — 
 Although to him my inmost soul be rich 
 
 In love, yet his is poor to me : — the same 
 Feeling- that placed his image in the niche 
 
 Of my heart's fane, and taught me how to kneel 
 
 In worship to it, he can never feel ! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Ah ! love begets not love ! Yet once I thought 
 That his eyes beamed benignantly on mine : 
 
 O fatal hope — by present suffering bought ; — 
 The stars which light us do not only shine 
 
 On those who most admire them ! I have sought 
 For bliss beneath their influence divine ; 
 
 And now, unseen by me, they shine more clear 
 
 And bright upon another hemisphere. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " But I will see him once again. 'Tis all 
 I ask — I wish for ; — then I shall grow calm ; 
 
 Surely the favour I implore is small, 
 
 And one in which he cannot fancy harm ! 
 
 Although the meeting to my mind may call 
 So many pleasing dreams, 'twill prove a balm 
 
 To soothe my soul when on the past I dwell — 
 
 For in his ears I shall have said • Farewell !'" 
 
DON JUAN. 83 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Within herself thus communed Adeline. — 
 O Woman, art thou not the very devil ? 
 
 As Edward Stirling- says in some fine scene 
 At the Adelphi ('tis not over civil !).* 
 
 Could not the amorous lady have forseen 
 How such a meeting might lead on to evil ? 
 
 Or did she really seek the interview 
 
 Merely to murmur forth a cold " Adieu ?" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Oh ! for a clear transparent diving-bell, 
 Wherein to sink into a woman's soul, 
 
 To fathom that incomprehensible 
 Abyss in which the troubled waters roll 
 
 That agitate the surface with their swell ; 
 And mark the secret sources which controul 
 
 Those cataracts of passion that, with rush 
 
 O'erwhelming, from the eyes and bosom gush ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But, Ah ! amidst that whirlpool of the mind, 
 Beneath the eddying billows buried deep, 
 
 Some pearl of unknown worth should we not find — 
 Some feeling for a period lulled asleep, 
 
 Till gloom upon man's brow evoke that kind 
 Endearing sentiment ? — then she will weep, 
 
 Or smile, keep painful watch, console, or pray, 
 
 And dare all ills to wipe his grief away ! 
 
 * Mr. Edward Stirling is the author of a piece called " Woman the Peril." 
 
84 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Oh ! as the tender and refreshing- vine 
 
 Faithful unto the dying - oak will cling ; 
 So round the neck of him thou lov'st, 'tis thine, 
 
 Dear woman, by his fevered couch, to fling 
 Thy snowy arms ! Offspring of grace divine, 
 
 When Death draws near with huge and bat-like wing, 
 Thou canst enable man to meet his doom 
 Resignedly, and smile above the tomb ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 As soon as Lady Adeline confest 
 
 Her secret wish unto herself, upon 
 A sheet of gilt edged paper 'twas exprest ; — 
 
 And after much reflection pro and con, 
 Which phraseology appeared the best, 
 
 Or which words she should lay the most stress' on ; 
 And having some ten times, moreover, mended 
 Her pen, the disagreeable task was ended. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 I should observe here, with Sir Walter Scott, 
 (See " Old Mortality") that woman ever 
 
 In her epistles seems to have forgot 
 Her object, or at least records it never 
 
 Until she comes unto the postscript ; — not 
 That I the chord of such finesse would sever, 
 
 For the important motive 's cherished better 
 
 When forming the last sentence in the letter. 
 
DON JUAN. 85 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The missive was despatched — the answer came : — 
 
 With palpitating - bosom, and with eye 
 Expressing- deep suspense, the amorous dame 
 
 Hastened to learn her fate in that reply. 
 '" He comes !" — the thought increased her guilty flame, 
 
 Her breast gave vent to an exstatic sigh ; 
 And the soft murmur of her lips apart 
 Betrayed the tender hopes that filled her heart. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Twas evening. In her boudoir x\deline 
 
 Lay on a sofa, languidly reclining : 
 Throughout the chamber silence reigned serene ; 
 
 The atmosphere was perfumed ; softly shining, 
 A single lamp was on the mantle seen ; — 
 
 The. odours, with the mellow light combining, 
 Upon her mind stole with a charm intense 
 As sacred harmony and frankincense. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The fire burned brightly in the grate ; the air 
 Was of a summer temperature ; — 'twould seem 
 
 As if that boudoir could not harbour care — 
 As if the eye of bliss alone could beam 
 
 On all the luxury that centred there. — 
 Rocked in a waking but voluptuous dream, 
 
 But still with partial terrors in her mind, 
 
 Upon the sofa Adeline reclined. 
 
86 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXX11I. 
 
 She had a very confidential "maid :"- 
 
 (The term is always used, though sometimes as 
 
 Lmcus a non lucendo, I'm afraid ; 
 
 For every cameriste and soubrette has 
 
 Her little intrigues : ) but no harm was said 
 Of Henrietta — and her lady was 
 
 So pleased with her since she'd been in the place, 
 
 She told her secret in the present case. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Miss Henrietta therefore was alert 
 To watch for Juan's coming. She was one 
 
 With whom a gentleman might stop to flirt, 
 For there were uglier girls beneath the sun. 
 
 Black eyed and cherry-lipp'd, plump, pretty, pert, 
 From many an amorous visitor she'd won 
 
 The flattering compliment a kiss conveyed ; 
 
 And all thought, " What a charming Lady's-maid I" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The cunning of the mistress' soul, we find, 
 
 Is ever in the confidant's reflected. 
 The espiegle Henrietta's mind 
 
 So prudently her lady's schemes directed, 
 And all precautions had so well combined, 
 
 That Juan made his entry unsuspected : 
 The sweet mysterious sanctuary was gained — 
 And he alone with Adeline remained. 
 
DON JUAN. 87 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 It is impossible for me to tell 
 
 At length all that ensued on this occasion : 
 Haply the reader understands full well 
 
 How lovely woman's tears have a persuasion 
 To generous spirits irresistible ; — 
 
 So Juan by denial and evasion 
 About his marriage eased her troubled mind ; — 
 Where was the use to utter truths unkind ? 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Gently did she reproach him for his long, 
 Long absence from the house — and he again 
 
 Invented an excuse ('twas very wrong, 
 
 And yet what could he do ?) to sooth her pain. 
 
 Alas ! I am afraid the Siren's song 
 
 Prevailed at length — that he essayed in vain 
 
 His courage 'gainst her witchery to oppose, 
 
 And keep his vow of constancy to Rose. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 O Woman ! said I not you were the devil ? — 
 
 The fascinating powers of Adeline 
 Might have seduced Saint Anthony to evil ! 
 
 Her tender glances shed a light serene 
 And soft upon enjoyment's fiery revel : 
 
 No thought of Rose — poor Rose ! might intervene ; 
 In Juan's heart her image left its place 
 While he was clasped in Adeline's embrace. 
 
88 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The clock struck midnight. With a sudden start 
 The love-sick lady tore herself away 
 
 From him on whom she had confered her heart ; 
 
 Not that she wearied of the amorous play, 
 
 But that 'twas time for Juan to depart, 
 
 Lord Henry having- ne'er been known to stay 
 
 Longer than half-past twelve when he went out 
 
 To dinner-party, concert, ball, or rout. 
 
 XL. 
 
 On this occasion he had gone to dine 
 
 With Lord Fitz-Noodleton, who scarcely knew 
 
 B from a bull's foot : — still he loved his wine 
 As well as any, and could drink it too. 
 
 Though no devoted patron of the vine, 
 
 Lord Henry liked his glass, as most men do ; 
 
 And when he dined with Lord Fitz-Noodleton, 
 
 He helped to crack the bottle ere he'd done. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 All this the Lady Adeline knew well, 
 And until midnight felt herself secure : — 
 
 Against her lord how did her thoughts rebel, 
 Because her guilty bliss could not endure ! 
 
 Deep sighs escaped her breast — the big tears fell- 
 Proofs of a passion more sincere than pure : 
 
 But Juan's protestations soothed her heart, 
 
 And calmed her when the moment came to part. 
 
DON JUAN. 89 
 
 XLII. 
 
 He vowed that he would love her evermore — 
 That she alone should in his mind hold place : 
 
 And now th' exchange of promises was o'er — 
 They had indulged in one last fond embrace : 
 
 Juan, afraid to linger, sought the door ; 
 
 Heavens ! in the narrow passage, face to lace, 
 
 He met the injured husband of the dame 
 
 From the enjoyments of whose arms he came ! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 It is a very awkward thing to meet 
 
 A lion in a wild — a shark at sea — 
 A mad-bull or a bailiff in the street — 
 
 An anaconda in an Indian tree : 
 None of these things can be esteemed a treat ; 
 
 But p'r'aps the reader will admit with me 
 That each or all are preferable before 
 An outraged husband in a corridor. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 As sudden squalls sweep o'er the placid main, 
 As torrents through the fertile valley gush, 
 
 So did the truth unto Lord Henry's brain, 
 
 Scattering all former bright impressions, rush. 
 
 Juan, impatient a retreat to gain, 
 
 Passed by his lordship with a sudden push, 
 
 Knocked down a bronze Lord Chatham* that stood there, 
 
 And safely made his way unto the stair. 
 
 * The reader will have the kindness to recollect that these incidents occurred in or 
 about the year 1791, the siege of Ismael having taken place in 1790, after which 
 event Don Juan resided a few months at the Russian court previous to his journey to 
 England. See Byron's " Don Juan." 
 
90 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XLV. 
 
 He traversed several passages — he went 
 Backwards and forwards, but in vain essayed 
 
 To find the means of exit : — thus he spent 
 Ten minutes in the fruitless search he made. 
 
 At last the sounds of distant footsteps lent 
 
 Wings to his feet ; — he knew not where he strayed, 
 
 But anxious that the husband should not find him, 
 
 Rushed in a room, and locked the door behind him. 
 
 XLVL 
 
 The Gods are sometimes favourable to lovers, 
 Although of their misfortunes they appear 
 
 In general to be the grand prime -movers ; — 
 And yet, upon reflection, I'm not clear 
 
 That of ten cuckolds more than one discovers 
 Horns to be his appropriate head -gear. — 
 
 But be all this just as it may or might, 
 
 Juan was in a devil of a fright. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 There was a rush-light in the room — and more, 
 There was a bed — and from the bed arose 
 
 A voice of terror when the chamber -door 
 Was shut so suddenly, — and the bed-clothes 
 
 Were drawn in agony of terror o'er 
 
 The eyes which in the bed had sought repose : 
 
 But Juan now no longer was afraid — 
 
 The voice was that of the young lady's-maid ! 
 
DON JUAN. 91 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 He hastened to reveal himself — he told 
 All that had just occurred — and Henrietta 
 
 Listened attentively : — he grew more bold, 
 And sate upon the bed, because 'twas better 
 
 To chatter there than stand out in the cold ; — 
 Then he declared that he had never met a 
 
 More pleasant lady's-maid : thus having - said, 
 
 He threw himself at length upon the bed. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 The lady's-maid was very well inclined 
 To screen her mistress' honour, and to save 
 
 Juan ; — besides, it would have been unkind 
 To turn him from her chamber forth to brave 
 
 The anger of her noble master's mind ; — 
 And as the poor youth only seemed to crave 
 
 A moment's rest upon her couch, could she 
 
 Demur, and thus increase his misery ? 
 
 L. 
 
 We've said before, the lady's-maid was fair— 
 With a full bosom, and a snow-white arm ; 
 
 And by some accident both now were bare, 
 Although the night was very far from warm. 
 
 Juan observed the beauties that were there 
 Negligently displayed, and to the charm 
 
 Yielded — when, in that moment, at the door 
 
 Arose a strange and terrible uproar. 
 
92 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LI. 
 
 " Open, I say !" — " Who are you ?" cried the maid. — 
 "Your master !" — " But I am not drest, my lord." — 
 
 " Then dress ! I swear I will not be delayed ; 
 Two minutes for that purpose I accord." — 
 
 " But what's the matter ? I am so afraid, 
 
 I don't know what I do ? Was that your sword 
 
 With which you knocked so hard against the panel ?" — 
 
 " This is enough to render any man ill !" — 
 
 LII. 
 
 " Then pray explain yourself, my lord, and say 
 Why it has pleased you, at the dead of night, 
 
 To seek an honest girl's room in this way, 
 
 And almost kill her with the sudden fright ?" — 
 
 " I beg you, Miss, no longer to delay ; 
 I will investigate th' affair outright, 
 
 As you're no doubt accomplice in the matter !" — 
 
 " 'Tis shameful to have kicked up such a clatter !" 
 
 LIII. 
 
 The maid had parleyed thus some time to gain, 
 
 So that Don Juan might deliberate, 
 While she slipped on her clothes ; — but all was vain, 
 
 And now his lordship would no longer wait. 
 Juan had no alternative, 'twas plain, 
 
 But to slip underneath the bed — a great 
 Misfortune, for he found a sorry nose-bag, 
 Though cold and hungry too, in a foul clothes-bag. 
 
DON JUAN. 93 
 
 LiV. 
 
 At length the door was opened : Henrietta 
 Remained close by it, prudently to choose her 
 
 Station far from the bed ; — his lordship let a 
 Moment elapse, and then began t' abuse her. 
 
 She cried, and wondered any one could set a 
 Polite tongue thus unmannerly to use her ; 
 
 But to his questions she'd no answer give 
 
 Save an evasion or a negative. 
 
 LV. 
 
 "It matters little if you did or not 
 
 Assist your lady in her intrigue, — you 
 
 At all events may share her future lot ; — 
 To lady's-maids such scenes are never new ; 
 
 They thrive and fatten on them ; the foul blot 
 On fair escutcheons is the medium through 
 
 Which they amass their little hoards of pelf ! — 
 
 To leave the house forthwith prepare yourself." 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Scarcely these words were by his lordship said, 
 When Juan had the mishap to turn o'er 
 
 A vessel that was kept beneath the bed, 
 
 And the contents streamed out upon the floor. 
 
 The maid turned ashy pale — then crimson red — 
 And disappeared next moment by the door : 
 
 His lordship rushed unto the place, and found 
 
 His hated rival crouching on the ground. 
 
94 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LVI1. 
 
 A scuffle next eusued ; — I cannot say 
 
 Who had the best of it : all I can state 
 Is that our hero got at length away, 
 
 Deploring- Adeline's unhappy fate — 
 Uncertain whether to go home, or stay 
 
 To save her from a wrathful husband's hate — 
 And cursing those most inauspicious stars 
 Which ever shone upon his amorous wars. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Lord Henry, in the Duchess's affair, 
 
 Had been the very first to recommend 
 The Duke his feelings and his wife's to spare, 
 
 Rather than suffer scandal's breath to send 
 The matter forth, and buzz it everywhere : — 
 
 Then he had spoken as a faithful friend ; 
 But now he acted as a husband who 
 Would see no loop-hole which he might creep through. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Stern in his duty when it bore relation 
 
 Unto himself — implacably severe — 
 Admitting nothing as a palliation — 
 
 Unmoved by prayer — reckless of sigh and tear — 
 Boldly did he proclaim the degradation 
 
 Of her who once unto his soul was dear ; 
 And from his house the fallen lady went 
 To the maternal roof in banishment. 
 
DON JUAN. 90 
 
 LX. 
 
 Her's was a noble heart that fed upon 
 
 Itself — disdaining- to reveal in full 
 Its bitterness. Her morning- star had shone 
 
 With dazzling brilliancy ; — but now how dull 
 Its evening setting ! Birth and Beauty won 
 
 All hearts to her — and hope appear to lull 
 Her slightest fears asleep : — a little time, 
 And that sweet flower was blasted in its prime ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Thus the most brilliant destinies are doomed 
 
 Full oft to turn unto a bitter fate : 
 Thus are the promises of youth entombed 
 
 In the misfortunes or the crimes that wait 
 Our riper years, — and every hope, which bloomed 
 
 In our young spring, is nipped by winter's hate 
 As Alpine paths oft lead to an abyss, 
 So human ways end in a precipice ! 
 
 LX1I. 
 
 Or — to go farther — oft will man's career, 
 With all the elements of greatness fraught, 
 
 End, like those Roman pathways which appear 
 Built by the giant hands of old — in naught, 
 
 Not e'en in an abyss. — A single year 
 
 For Adeline a mighty change had wrought : — 
 
 She, who was lately as a goddess prized, 
 
 Was now deserted — exiled — and despised ! 
 
96 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LX1II. 
 
 Lord Henry, with a view to a divorce, 
 
 'Gainst Juan brought an action for crim con: 
 
 Wrackem and Wrench, his lawyers, did of coarse 
 Lay damages and costs most thickly on. 
 
 This last amour turned out a fertile source 
 Of miseries ; — but the severest one, 
 
 And that for which he very deeply grieved, 
 
 Was the ensuing note that he received :— 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " The Lady Pinchbeck presents compliments 
 To Senor Juan, and takes leave to state, 
 
 For Miss Rose Delacour, that the events 
 Which have unpleasantly occurred of late, 
 
 Have wrought a painful feeling which prevents 
 All future correspondence from this date. 
 
 Miss Delacour — though deeply she deplore 
 
 The step — can ne'er see Senor Juan more. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " The Lady Pinchbeck farther begs to say, 
 That her maternal care she shall preserve 
 
 Towards the little Leila ; — and she'll pray 
 For Senor Juan to strain every nerve 
 
 To wipe the stigma from his name away ; 
 And that in future he may never swerve 
 
 From the right road which persons of his quality 
 
 Should keep from prudence, if not from morality." 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 To Lady Pinchbeck's house our hero went, 
 When he received this letter, to declare 
 
 How bitterly he did the past repent, 
 
 And how a change of life should be his care : 
 
 But — as a sorrowful presentiment 
 
 Had whispered him — Rose was no longer there ; 
 
 And Lady Pinchbeck would not satisfy 
 
 In that respect his curiosity. 
 
 LXV1I. 
 
 To London he returned, disconsolate, 
 Knowing not how to offer the resistance 
 
 Of moral courage to his luckless fate. 
 
 It seemed as if the charm of his existence 
 
 Were now dissolved away. — that charm which late 
 Had been his mental solace and subsistence : — 
 
 The pleasures which with Adeline he tasted 
 
 No portion of his love for Rose had wasted. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 The sanguine disposition, which is never 
 Afraid to follow hope's alluring beck, 
 
 Although through fire and flood it lead, is ever 
 The first to faulter at the slightest check. 
 
 Thus when our hero marked the bright chain sever 
 Which held the dearest of his aims from wreck. 
 
 He deemed the ill to be beyond repair, 
 
 And dissipation sought to soothe his care. 
 
 G 
 
98 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 He mingled with that miscellaneous set 
 
 Composed of " men upon the town/' and those 
 
 Whose visible resources lay in debt, 
 
 Horse-racing-, cards, and what besides God knows ; — 
 
 Men who confirmed assertion with a bet, 
 
 And proved the fairness of the bet with blows ; — 
 
 Men, in a word, who held a medium station 
 
 Between impunity and transportation. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 He lost large sums at play, where he was cheated ; 
 
 And if he ventured to express a doubt, 
 " Do you suspect my honour, sir !" repeated 
 
 Each gentlemanly rogue who cleaned him out. 
 When with intoxicating liquors heated, 
 
 Hemmed in by knaves and blacklegs round about, 
 And seeking play by an infatuation, 
 He seemed a man led on by desperation. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 O Youth ! could'st thou sum up the hours that fleetest 
 
 Fly upon dissipation's wings away ; 
 Could'st thou compute the moments which seem sweetest, 
 
 When passed among the thoughtless and the gay ; 
 The aggregate would show thee that thou cheatest 
 
 Reason of more than half her lawful sway ; 
 While all the period that thou sav'st from folly 
 Becomes the prey of grief and melancholy ! 
 
DON JUAN. 99 
 
 LXX1I. 
 
 Meantime the action, which Lord Henry brought 
 
 Against our hero, went on rapidly ; 
 The more so that Don Juan never sought 
 
 Himself by counseFs aid to justify : — 
 Still sensible to honour's voice, he thought 
 
 Defence would add insult to injury. 
 Thus, as the lawyers were not forced to halt, 
 The judgment went against him by default. 
 
 LXX1II. 
 
 The Sheriff's Court proceeded to assess — 
 
 Also without the slightest opposition 
 On Juan's part — th' amount of damages, 
 
 Considered with regard to his condition. 
 Five thousand pounds! No counsel asked for less — 
 
 For Juan would not proffer a petition, 
 Though indirectly, in a case where he 
 Had been the source of such an injury. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Five thousand pounds ! Th' amount was easy stated, 
 
 And easily demanded, too, next day ; 
 But not so easy to be liquidated, 
 
 With the expenses that there were to pay ; — 
 For nearly all his wealth was dissipated 
 
 Upon the turf, in dinners, or at play ; 
 And you might know sharp lawyers, but I'd back 'em 
 To be outdone by Messieurs Wrench and Wrackem. 
 
100 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 As Juan was not an ambassador, 
 
 But merely sent to settle an affair 
 Of private though intricate nature, for 
 
 The Russian Board of Trade, he did not wear 
 The sacred character of envoy, nor 
 
 Did any diplomatic title bear, 
 By means of which he might have been possest 
 Of freedom from the chances of arrest. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 And now by danger suddenly recalled 
 
 From dissipation's ruinous career, 
 He retrospected, with a glance appalled, 
 
 Upon his conduct of the last half year. 
 To break the chains by which he'd been enthralled, 
 
 And quit the company that cost so dear, 
 Was the first step he took, upon reflection, 
 To remedy the ills of that connexion. 
 
 LXXV1I. 
 
 He next despatched to Russia and to Spain 
 Letters unto his bankers in both nations, 
 
 So that he might without delay obtain 
 The funds to liquidate his obligations. 
 
 And that he should not go astray again, 
 
 He hastened to remove from all temptations :— 
 
 Resolved to live as quiet as a mouse, 
 
 He took apartments in a boarding-house. 
 
DON JUAN. 101 
 
 LXXV11I. 
 
 Th' establishment was on the Surrey side, 
 Some trifling distance from the Obelisk — 
 
 A neighbourhood where he might safely hide 
 From sheriffs' officers, with little risk ; 
 
 And where the King's Bench Rulers, in their pride, 
 Within their Liberties were seen to frisk, 
 
 Into the taverns and the cooks' shops staring, 
 
 Like little boys sent out to take an airing. 
 
 LXX1X. 
 
 An English boarding-house ! The mere idea 
 Is cold and wretched — like the rooms inside. 
 
 It has no ties which render home so dear, 
 
 But seems a kennel where a man may hide — 
 
 Something a hospital or prison near, 
 
 Or an admixture of the two — where pride 
 
 Struts in a seedy coat or faded gown, 
 
 And has four meals a-day for half-a-crown. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 To live in such a place is to declare 
 
 That one has neither home, nor friends, nor ties ; 
 Nor e'en a bed, a table, or a chair ; — 
 
 It is a mattress upon which he lies — 
 A trough at which he eats — a barrack where 
 
 He herds with others — and where, when he dies, 
 There's not a soul to drop a tear, or say 
 A syllable of prayer above his clay. 
 
102 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 The keeper of a boarding-house each hour 
 
 Speculates on your hunger, sickness, health — 
 
 Begrudges you each morsel you devour — 
 
 Watches your movements, like a cat, by stealth — 
 
 Commends the bread most stale, the wine most sour- 
 Declares the greatest virtue to be wealth, 
 
 And thus insults the poverty that gives 
 
 The little pittance by whose aid he lives. 
 
 LXXXll. 
 
 This is a boarding-house — emotionless — 
 Cold — dead — inert — sad — comfortless — .and drear ; 
 
 A hole which sunshine never deigns to bless — 
 A hearth which no domestic feelings cheer — 
 
 A famished table where the hungry press — 
 
 A threshold which the beggar comes not near — 
 
 A place where there is little self-respect, 
 
 And where the pass-word's " Poverty — .Neglect." 
 
 LXXXI1I. 
 
 One gentleman, more jaunty than the rest, 
 
 Sported a pinchbeck watch ; — an ancient maid 
 
 Always appeared at meals with her head drest 
 In an old yellow turban : thus arrayed 
 
 She sate as prim and stately as a guest 
 
 At the Queen's table ; — a young lady played 
 
 Upon an old piano after dinner : 
 
 To listen were meet penance for a sinner ! 
 
DON JUAN. 103 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 There was a lady, too, of thirty three, 
 
 With a young- girl of nine, who called her " aunt ." 
 She talked a great deal of Lord A. B. C, 
 
 And high acquaintances was wont to vaunt, 
 But vowed she would not have them come to see 
 
 Her while residing there, lest they should taunt 
 Because her means were for the moment stinted — 
 " Which would not always be the case," she hinted. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 There was a dowager, whose breath was balmy 
 With gin at night, at morn with orris-root : 
 
 She said her circumstances had been palmy, 
 " Until involved in that provoking suit ;" — 
 
 Her husband was a general in the army — 
 (Some said a serjeant — but we will not moot 
 
 This question now) — and though so good a Lancer, he 
 
 Fell in the ambush of the Court of Chancery. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 There was a clergyman, who drank and gamed ; — 
 
 He never had a living, and was now 
 Next door to starving : he was also famed 
 
 For being a desperate fellow in a row : — 
 There was a lawyer, who was not ashamed 
 
 To pick up fees or clients any-how :— 
 There was a half-pay captain, with a coat 
 All frogged and buttoned close up to the throat. 
 
104 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 There was a fortune-hunter, much resembling 
 A dandy out at elbows — steeped in debt — 
 
 Upon the verge of prison ever trembling — 
 A gambler — always ready with a bet — 
 
 Full of deception, yet so well dissembling 
 His faults that one or two old ladies set 
 
 Their caps at him — but all their assiduities 
 
 Were vain, because they had such small annuities. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 There was a hoary sinner, who appeared 
 
 At church on Sunday — where his small grey eyes 
 
 Beneath each bonnet impudently peered, 
 At those times when the congregation rise 
 
 To sing King David's psalms ; and then he leered 
 Like an old goat, or uttered amorous sighs : — 
 
 But chiefly 'twas with girls of twelve or thirteen 
 
 That this old vagabond liked to be flirting. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 If we stir up society's obscenities 
 
 And rake about its moral filth to find 
 A villain from whose bosom the amenities 
 
 Of life have fled, and whose degraded mind 
 Is filled with predilections base and mean — it is 
 
 Impossible to show a wretch more blind 
 To decency and honour than the hoary 
 Old rogue just introduced into our story. 
 
DON JUAN. 105 
 
 xc. 
 
 There was a politician, who had found 
 
 A way the public debt to liquidate ; 
 And though his system was so very sound 
 
 That it would pay off millions for the state, 
 He sometimes could not muster up a pound 
 
 To meet his weekly bill ; — and thus his fate 
 Was that he gained no credit for his system, 
 Because when payment-days came round he miss'd 'em. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 There was a German Count, who — strange to say — 
 Was born in Ireland, and possessed a brogue 
 
 Strong enough to expose him any day, 
 
 Save where deceptions seemed to be in vogue : 
 
 His blustering manner and his skill at play 
 
 Proclaimed the bully and confirmed the rogue : — 
 
 His name in Connaught had been Paddy Dawson, 
 
 His present title was Count Humbughausen. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 These individuals herded all together — 
 
 A loathsome intimacy, where each one 
 Lived in mistrust of all. A common tether — 
 
 Poverty — linked them thus. The morning sun 
 Saw the gregarious crowd follow their wether 
 
 Unto the breakfast-table, where upon 
 A dirty cloth alternately were spread 
 Small pats of butter, and huge heaps of bread. 
 
106 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 The ladies, in their deshabiller now, 
 
 Were certainly at disadvantage seen : 
 False fronts shed grizzled locks upon the brow, 
 
 While glimpses of curl-papers shone between. 
 Old morning- gowns seemed put on any-how — 
 
 Caps, stockings, petticoats were not too clean ; 
 And bosoms hung down almost to the waist, 
 Because the stays were only partly laced. 
 
 XC1V. 
 
 The gentlemen's appearance seemed to match 
 That of the ladies : — here a seedy coat. — 
 
 There dressing gowns, adorned with many a patch — 
 Blue handkerchiefs tied loosely round the throat — 
 
 Some antique specimens of shoes — a batch 
 Of unshaved chins too numerous to quote — . 
 
 Hands dirty — hair uncombed — .and long white stitches 
 
 Showing where holes were darned up in black breeches ! 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Soon as the morning meal was terminated, — 
 
 That is, when from the trough each had his mess, — 
 
 The gentlemen and ladies separated, 
 
 And to their private rooms repaired to dress. 
 
 At two o'clock they all were reinstated 
 
 Around the board, where viands steamed to bless 
 
 The visual and olfactory nerves — but where 
 
 The appetite was better than the fare. 
 
DON JUAN. 107 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 The clattering- of tong-ues succeeded that 
 
 Of knives and forks ; — and then in came a measure 
 
 Of huge dimensions filled with punch, whereat 
 The dowager pursed up her lips with pleasure. 
 
 The youngest Miss who at the table sat 
 Received a portion of the liquid treasure, 
 
 So that the drunken parson could respect her 
 
 For taking so sincerely to the nectar. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Drink ! thou hast grave and numerous crimes to answer for: 
 The young Miss sips her negus at the ball ; 
 
 And then her partner easily can dance her for 
 An hour without her feeling tired at all : 
 
 And she will take the first hussar or lancer for 
 Her husband, let whatever will befall ; 
 
 And all the money which papa amassed 
 
 With toil, falls in a spendthrift's hands at last. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Drink makes old ladies very sentimental — 
 Ready to throw themselves into the arms 
 
 Of tender youths, enamoured of their rental, 
 
 And for whose hearts their lengthy purse has charms. 
 
 Drink, in the hour of danger, can prevent all 
 
 Cowards from succumbing to their soul's alarms. — 
 
 Spirits I hate — but give me ruby wine, 
 
 And on the table let the goblets shine ! 
 
108 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XC1X. 
 
 Approach, O Bacchanalian Hebe fair — 
 
 Approach, I say — and from thy moist red lip, 
 
 Shrouded beneath thy long- luxuriant hair, 
 The rich and fragrant juices may I sip ! 
 
 O'er seas of wine the God of Love should bear 
 His way, the ample chalice for a ship : — 
 
 Let the fair hand of woman fill the bowl — 
 
 With love the generous juice inspires the soul ! 
 
 C. 
 
 Of wealth, and power, and glory monarchs boast — 
 His mistress' charms the tender lover sings ; 
 
 But there are moments when the jovial toast 
 And glass excel the bliss of swains and kings. 
 
 When deep depression haunts you like a ghost, 
 
 Drink — and 't will fly away with drooping wings : — 
 
 The tables of the Gods, served up with wine, 
 
 By far excel the glories of their shrine. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Oh ! life is not so long that we can spare 
 A day to sighs, or give a night to tears ; — 
 
 Reflection upon ills increases care, 
 And conjures up a host of idle fears. 
 
 The moderate glass enables man to dare 
 
 Those storms which crush the bloom of early years : — 
 
 A single goblet of Epernay's juice,* 
 
 Amidst those storms, will sunshine e'er produce. 
 
 * Epevnoy is famous for RIoett's champagne — the best of the kind. It is worth 
 while to travel a hundred miles out of one's wav to visit that merchant's cellars. 
 
DON JUAN. ]09 
 
 CO. 
 
 The soldier, bivouacking- on the plain — 
 The sailor, roving - on the boundless deep — 
 
 The courtier in the mighty monarch's train — 
 The wretched criminal, who fears to sleep — 
 
 The galley-slave, condemned to drag his chain— 
 The patriot, doomed in banishment to weep, — 
 
 All these admit that there's a charm divine 
 
 In that terrestrial nectar we call Wine. 
 
 cm. 
 
 The Mussulman, in secret festal hour — 
 
 The midnight robber, armed to steal and slay— 
 
 The amorous poet, in his mistress' bower — 
 The traveller, wending on his lonely way — 
 
 The sentinel upon th' embattled tower — 
 The gamester, staking life upon his play — 
 
 The invalid — the healthy — rich and poor — 
 
 Kneel at the shrine of Bacchus, and adore ( . 
 
 CIV. 
 
 In wine and woman every earthly ill 
 Originates, the canting priests declare ; 
 
 But they can drain the generous goblet still, 
 And from their pious avocations spare 
 
 An hour which they in secret gladly kill 
 With the attractions of the blushing fair. — 
 
 O bilious moralists, why would'st thou bring 
 
 A cloud on mortal's evanescent spring? 
 
110 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 cv. 
 
 Alas ! the festive chamber joins the grave — 
 The bacchanalian eve may mark our doom ; 
 
 The ivy round our brows to day, may wave 
 To-morrow as Death's emblem o'er our tomb.* 
 
 The talented — the beautiful — the brave — 
 And those gigantic geniuses, for whom 
 
 Earth's scope is not sufficient — all are bound 
 
 To the same narrow bed beneath the ground. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Hast ever marked the fading spirit fly — 
 The parting of the body and the soul ? 
 
 There is a kind of mental agony, 
 
 As it would seem, that often thrills the whole 
 
 Of the decaying frame, as the glazed eye 
 Is fixed upon that dread trans-mundane goal 
 
 To which the vital spark is ebbing fast — 
 
 A shudder what may be the doom at last ! 
 
 * The ancients, at their festivals, were accustomed to twine the ivy as well as the 
 vine and laurel around their brows. Cassimir Dela Vigne alludes to their custom in 
 a famous Bacchanalian song, beginning — 
 
 Mes amis, nos coupes sont pleincs, 
 L' ecime en couronne les bords : 
 Quel feu, circulant dans mes veines, 
 M' inspire de nouveaux transports ! 
 
DON JUAN. 11] 
 
 CV1I. 
 
 Nature decrees that man shall fall. — Alas ! 
 
 He's born — he's dead : his life's to-day begun, 
 To-morrow all his youthful pleasures pass, 
 
 And evening- marks his fleeting 1 sojourn done. 
 Well said the Prophet that all flesh was grass ; — 
 
 As insects glitter in the morning sun, 
 And perish in the evening, so do we 
 As constantly fulfil our destiny. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Others shall use the riches we have earned, 
 Vituperate the heroes whom we praised, 
 
 Build up the thrones which we have overturned, 
 Cast down the monuments that we have raised, 
 
 Exalt the memories of those we spurned, 
 
 Adopt the sehemes from which we shrank amazed. 
 
 Level the mountains that we could not scale, 
 
 And add another chapter to life's tale. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 But to return to the establishment 
 
 Where Juan now resided. We have seen 
 
 The inmates after dinner all intent 
 
 Upon the punch, brewed in a vast tureen : 
 
 Around, now, ancient jokes and humour went, 
 And squabbling filled the intervals between ; 
 
 But every evil passion was unloosed 
 
 When evening came and cards were introduced. 
 
112 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 ex. 
 
 There's nothing" that evokes th' atrocious spirit 
 
 Of frail humanity so soon as g'aming : 
 AH the accursed feelings men inherit 
 
 From their first parent, and which brook no taming, 
 Burst fiercely forth just when the greatest merit 
 
 Were to encounter each reverse inflaming, 
 With an exterior calm. There's not a vice 
 Which is not fostered or produced by dice. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Now all the actions of those gamblers naughty — 
 
 Vredenburg, Bower, Clanricarde, Forbes and Baring — • 
 
 Bond, Crockford, Acland, Rosenberg, and Cauty — 
 How some are famed for craft, and some for daring ; 
 
 And how whenever one a pigeon sought, he 
 
 Plucked him with hand as skilful as unsparing, — 
 
 Are they not written in the Satirist ? — 
 
 Go, reader, and peruse it if you list ! 
 
 CX1I. 
 
 But to our boarding-house. An anxious group 
 
 At eve around a little table met ; 
 The parson was the great man of the troop, 
 
 For none more skilfully knew when to bet : 
 He'd also learnt how to sauter la coupe,* 
 
 And therefore never lost the stake he set. 
 Thus every night did he come off the winner 
 Of funds to pay the morrow's punch and dinner 
 
 * To sauter la coupe is to turn up the king at pleasure, or to obtain the privelege of 
 the deal by means of cutting a superior card to that of an antagonist — both feats being 
 the results of skill or pre-arrangement. Lord de Roos, a member of the English 
 aristocracy, was detected in the act of cheating by these means. 
 
DON JUAN. 113 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 The parson was most knowing - , to be sure : 
 
 No Greek could bridge* the cards so well — and none 
 
 With dice was half so able to secure :f 
 By him a flat was certain to be done. 
 
 His vein of luck seemed ever to endure ; — 
 And 'tis enough to puzzle any one 
 
 How amongst sharps and blacklegs the old parson 
 
 Night after night could carry such a farce on. 
 
 * To " bridge the cards*' i3 to bend any number of them in such a manner, but still 
 so slightly as to be unapparent to one who is not initiated, that an antagonist will take 
 up in cutting the quantity so bridged, or curved, and thus suit another pre arrangement 
 of the sharp," who by these means possesses himself of the king or other high card 
 at ecarte, &c. " Bridging" is now so well known, that few " Greeks" (sharpers) ever 
 have recourse to it ; bit fifty years ago the practice was only understood by a small 
 number of persons. 
 
 t To " secure' is to retain one die in the hollow of the hand which holds the box, 
 while the other die is rattled sharply and only for a few moments in the box, so that 
 the absence of one is not perceived by the ear. Then, when the " Greek" proceeds to 
 throw or cast hia dice, he turns up any number he chooses with the one " secured" in 
 his hand. In order to give to one die rattling in the box the sound of two dice, a raised 
 rim or hoop is cut inside the box, about halfway down. This spoces of hoop is, on 
 the other hand, an auxilary towards rendering the box a fair one, as the dice must turn 
 in passing it, and consequently a player cannot pre-arrange the numbers he intends to 
 throw by placing the dice in a certain way in the box so that when cleverly turned 
 over such numbers may appear upwards. The hoop in the box is therefore an aid to 
 the " Greek" who " secures" — and a guarantee of fair play when that practice is not 
 had recourse to. 
 
 H 
 
114 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 But the experienced Greek fulloften meets 
 A Greek more cunning- than himself, and then 
 
 Begins the tug- of war. The latter cheats 
 So skilfully as to defy the ken 
 
 Of him whom by superior craft he beats. 
 Gamblers are the most obstinate of men ; 
 
 And though they know that they are swindled, will 
 
 Till they detect the method, play on still.* 
 
 * The tenacity of gamblers to their dreadful propensity, even when experiencing 
 unvaried and consecutive reverses of fortune, may be illustrated with numerous 
 anecdotes. There are a few exceptions to this rule— especially amongst the French 
 who frequently make a point of staking a certain sum nightly, and never exceeding it 
 in case of loss, while they will also retire, in case of gain, the moment they have ob- 
 tained a fixed amount. The author of this poem never gambled for a shilling ; but 
 having been a great deal upon the continent, he has seen much of what is denominated 
 " the play world." He remembers one incident which it will be worth while to 
 relate. Somewhere about the month of February or March, 1832, two Jews arrived 
 in Calais from Paris ; and, hearing that the English residents" in the former place 
 were accustomed to meet every evening at the Cafe l.egrand to play cards, thither 
 
 they repaired at the usual hour. It happened that A d, the celebrated English 
 
 gambler, was in Calais at that moment ; and he and a Captain B n were soon 
 
 pitted against the two Jews. A more honourable man than Captain B n did not 
 
 exist ; but A d was of course well acquainted with the usual artifices, tricks, and 
 
 maneuvres practised with the cards. Heavy sums were staked ; and the Jews swept 
 every thing away before them. Fresh packs of cards were provided each game, ac- 
 cording to the custom of the country, by the person who kept the Cafe'. For three 
 consecutive evenings was the play renewed ; and the result was the loss of several 
 
 thousand pounds from the Captain and A d to the Jews. The latter then proceeded 
 
 to Boulogne, where they were equally successful amongst the -English inhabitants 
 of that town. In a word, the two Jews succeeded in amassing an immense fortune 
 by these means. One of them was thrown out of a window, a few years since, at 
 Lyons, by a French officer who detected him in certain mal-pratices with the cards ; 
 and he was killed upon the spot. The other is at this moment — or at all events was 
 lately — a wealthy stock-broker in Paris. For a long time they retained the secret of 
 the proceeding by which they had been enabled to succeed in every game they played 
 with the cards. That secret was however eventually revealed — purchased from one 
 of its possessors : and accident has brought it to the knowledge of the author of this 
 
DON JUAN. 115 
 
 cxv. 
 
 There is in gaming an infatuation 
 
 To which men yield as 'twere to the decree 
 
 Of an unchangeable predestination — 
 A stern irrevocable destiny. 
 
 Juan could not resist this new temptation : — 
 Oh ! why should there occasion ever be 
 
 For a relapse ? and why does Vice still show 
 
 Herself in new shapes wheresoe'er we go ? 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare 
 
 Charybdem: — such was Juan's present case ; 
 But still his late experience made him wary — ■ 
 
 Especially in such a doubtful place ; 
 For from the first it had required no fairy 
 
 Nor conj'rer to enable him to trace 
 The characters of the suspicious set 
 Whom in the Surrey boarding-house he met. 
 
 poem. The plan was as follows : — A very thin slip was cut length-ways off all the 
 high cards of all the suits ; and an equally narrow slip was cut width-ways from the 
 low cards. A peculiar acuteness of feeling was obtained by study and continual 
 practise ; and the result was the power of those who possessed the secret to sort the 
 cards in any way they chose. When the Jews arrived at a town, they made an ar- 
 rangement with the keeper of the coffee-house to supply the cards already prepared by 
 them ; and a heavy bribe, or a handsome per-centage upon the proceeds, usually en- 
 sured the co-operation. The two Jews studied and practiced their system for 
 two or three years before they brought it to the required state of perfection, the 
 pieces cut off the cards being so narrow, that it was only by an extraordinary keenness of 
 the touch the distinctions could be perceived. Baron Rosenberg visited England 
 some years ago, obtained introductions to the Clubs and other places of fashionable 
 resort, and succeeded in fleecing the English aristocracy out of a considerable sum of 
 money, The secret of the Jews was known to him x—verbum sat. 
 
116 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Juan lost a few guineas and withdrew 
 
 Disgusted to his couch — his bosom swelling 
 
 With indignation at the greedy crew 
 
 Who made more wretched a most wretched dwelling. 
 
 Besides, his vile position — strange and new — 
 Soon set his really noble soul rebelling 
 
 Against the adverse destiny which sent, 
 
 Him to seek safety in that tenement. 
 
 CXV1II 
 
 Some weeks passed thus — and as time onward rolled, 
 And none sought to intrude on his retreat, 
 
 Our hero in his rambles grew more bold ; — 
 But still he ventured not where he might meet 
 
 Those West- End friends who robbed him of his gold. 
 'Twas on the southern side of London's seat 
 
 He wandered, 'spite of February's snows, 
 
 Pondering ever on his much-loved Rose. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 'Twas down the Old Kent Road one morn he went, 
 
 After a night of agitated slumber : 
 Dark clouds were gathered o'er the firmament ; 
 
 The piles of snow seemed heaped up to encumber 
 The road along whose path his steps were bent ; — 
 
 All Nature wore an aspect drear and sombre ; 
 Even the snow had lost its usual whiteness, 
 For heaven sent forth not one ray of brightness. 
 
DON JUAN. 117 
 
 cxx. 
 
 With Nature Juan's mind, in unison, 
 
 Was dark and gloomy. He regarded not 
 
 The snows that wet his feet, or fell upon 
 
 His countenance. The weather seemed forgot ; 
 
 And yet without an object he toiled on, 
 As if he could outstrip his painful lot, 
 
 Or fly away from thought. As vainly glide 
 
 Streamlets that would flow faster than their tide ! 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 The houses which he passed seemed desolate ; 
 
 The blinds were o'er the bed-room windows drawn ; 
 The shivering milkman at the garden gate 
 
 Stayed not to chatter on so cold a morn : 
 Huge wreaths of snow fantastically sate 
 
 On shrubs which in the summer graced a lawn ; 
 And from the passing mail, which dragged on wearily. 
 No gladsome bugle-note was wafted cheerily. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Juan paused for a moment opposite 
 
 A cottage, which, amidst that winter gloom, 
 
 Possessed an aspect pleasing to the sight ; — 
 A fire burnt brightly in the lower room : 
 
 And past the window — heavens ! saw he right ?. — 
 Flitted the form of that loved being whom 
 
 To call his own — to clasp her as his bride — 
 
 He would resign all that earth held beside ! 
 
118 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 He leant upon the gate — his reason rocked 
 Upon the throne of intellect's dominion ; — 
 
 Ah ! was it a delusion, then, that mocked 
 His vision, flying" on aerial pinion ? — 
 
 Dreading defeated hope, his soul was shocked — 
 He trembled like a tyrant's guilty minion : — 
 
 Great God ! can such a disappointment be ? — 
 
 Oh ! no — he sees her face — 'tis she — 'tis she ! 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 'Tis she !— Oh ! not more rapid is the wing 
 Of eagle hastening to her tender brood 
 
 That wait on mountain -top for her to bring 
 From the green vale afar their daily food, — 
 
 No — not more rapid than the sudden spring 
 
 Which, from the spot where he in doubt had stood, 
 
 Our hero made towards the cottage-gate : — 
 
 Ah ! true love knows not how to hesitate ! 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 He clamoured at the door — the servant came ; 
 
 He stayed not to enquire if Rose dwelt there, 
 Nor to pronounce his business nor his name, 
 
 But forced his way into the parlour, where 
 He saw her figure pass the window-frame : — 
 
 She was alone — and pale, but wondrous fair ! 
 " Pardon, dear Rose !" was all he could repeat — 
 •' Pardon !" he cried, and knelt down at her feet. 
 
DOA JUAN. 119 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 As aspens in the evening- zephyrs dance, 
 So did the maiden's bosom palpitate : — 
 
 His eyes, upraised unto her countenance, 
 Seemed to enquire the fiat of his fate : 
 
 True penitence appeared in that sad glance. — 
 Oh ! not a moment could she hesitate, 
 
 But gave her hand — the lover now was blest, 
 
 And snatched the trembling fair one to his breast. 
 
 CXXV1I. 
 
 Sweet is the moment when the blushing maid 
 Whispers " 1 love thee !'■' in her lover's ear : 
 
 Sweet is the moment when — though half afraid — 
 His lips first press the ones he deems most dear 
 
 Sweet is the moment when her eyes upbraid 
 His late arrival, with the glistening tear ; — 
 
 But there's a joy Which far exceeds all this — 
 
 The charm of reconciliation's bliss ' 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 The appetite, which turns from sour to sweet, 
 Finds the sweet sweeter than it was before : — 
 
 The sunshine that comes after rain and sleet, 
 Than the preceding beams is welcomed more : 
 
 And when the traveller drags his weary feet 
 Over the threshold of his cottage-door, 
 
 After long absence, each familiar tone 
 
 Seems to possess a charm till then unknown. 
 
120 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXX1X. 
 
 Rose ne'er appeared so beautiful as when 
 She hastened to dispel her lover's fears, 
 
 And throw a veil upon the past ; — and then 
 From her sweet eyes he kissed away the tears. 
 
 Juan was now the happiest of men ! — 
 Though woman's anger for a season sears 
 
 The tender heart — yet still the wound may prove 
 
 The anodyne of her returning 1 love ! 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Now mutual joys and miseries revealing-, 
 The lovers in long conversation sate : — 
 
 Confessing all his faults — not e'en concealing 
 Th' excesses he had plunged into of late, 
 
 Juan displayed a very proper feeling — 
 
 A fact which I am highly pleased to state, 
 
 Because 'twill interest the ladies in him, 
 
 And for his former faults their pardon win him. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 But ladies now-a-days are more elastic 
 In their ideas than they were wont to be ; 
 
 In virtue's cause grown less enthusiastic, 
 
 They wink at faults which all the world can see. 
 
 No longer with a prudery fantastic 
 Do they expel from their society 
 
 The gentleman whose life's a little looser 
 
 Than it should be, and who's a known seducer. 
 
DON JUAN. J-21 
 
 CXXX1I. 
 
 No — when a Colonel Berkeley goes among- them, 
 They whisper, " Ah ! here comes the naughty man ! 
 
 Although aware that he will also wrong them, 
 As he has done by others, if he can. 
 
 At balls and routs the dowagers, who throng them, 
 Will smile and tap him gently with a fan, 
 
 Exclaiming, " Well ! you've got in sad disgrace — 
 
 Pray, are you not ashamed to show your face %" 
 
 CXXX1II. 
 
 And then this coxcomb-villain, whose profession 
 
 Or avocation is seduction, wears 
 Of triumph and of pride the bright expression, 
 
 Assumes the hero, and shows off his airs. 
 The world encourages the man's transgression, 
 
 And — if it have a moment's leisure — spares 
 A thought upon the victim he has left, 
 Of fame, and happiness, and health bereft. , 
 
 CXXX1V. 
 
 But if a servant-girl should step astray 
 
 With some low groom — on their devoted heads 
 
 How does th' artillery of anger play — 
 How indignation all its fury sheds ! 
 
 Turned in a moment from their place away, 
 
 Henceforth the workhouse may provide their beds ; 
 
 For those who form the first class of society 
 
 Monopolise the right of impropriety. 
 
122 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 Nor must the poor encroach upon their manor : — 
 
 The titled demirep will ne'er allow 
 Her maid to be less prudent than Susannah — 
 
 Unless a Bishop (we've no Elders now) 
 Should seek by wile and money to trepan her : 
 
 But should a humbler lover any how 
 Seduce her through the means of her affection, 
 Then send her straight to the House of Correction ! 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 " All things at Rome are venal !" was the cry 
 Of the arch-satirist* of ancient times : 
 
 So in this blessed island wealth can buy 
 Impunity for many of those crimes 
 
 Of which the poor must bear the penalty. — 
 Money and Rank are the eternal chimes 
 
 That ring in every ear — but Rank can do 
 
 Nothing without the treasure of the Jew. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 The age is governed by this golden maxim, 
 
 Which should be printed on the sun's broad disk, 
 
 " Let man make money, though the devil backs him !" 
 See how the wealthy profligate can frisk 
 
 Amongst the ladies ! When the law attacks him 
 He laughs, for he before has weighed the risk 
 
 Of being compelled a certain sum to pay, 
 
 For certain pleasures, on a certain day. 
 
DON JUAN. 123 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Thus may a gentleman say to himself, 
 
 " I have five thousand pounds to spare — I long" 
 
 For my friend's wife — and I will give the pelf, 
 When justice orders, to repair the wrong." — 
 
 Shade of Charles Stuart ! * spirit of George Guelph ! t 
 To ye my Muse shall dedicate her song, 
 
 For ye were fitting Kings to rule the land 
 
 Where folks such compromises understand. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 Fitzhardinge ! thou may'st rest assured thy name 
 Is entered often in the Devil's book, 
 
 Imprinted with the boldest type of flame, — 
 And that his Majesty will keep a nook 
 
 Of his infernal territory, to tame 
 Your constitution in some icy brook : 
 
 At all events your lordship is so crammed 
 
 With evil, that you're certain to be damned ! 
 
 * Charles the Second — an infamous but a good-hearted monarch. 
 
 + George the Fourth— an infamous and black-hearted monarch. Not one single re- 
 deeming trait did this crowned monster possess ; — he was a vile profligate, a misera- 
 ble debauchee, a faithless friend, an inhuman husband, and a had King. 
 
12 4 A SEQUUL TO 
 
 CXL. 
 
 To you, my lord, has innocence in vain 
 
 Knelt supplicating - , with dishevelled hair ; : 
 
 The answer has been insult and disdain — 
 The sequel, bliss to you — to her despair ! 
 
 Each new accession to your harem-train, 
 Each conquest over some fresh victim fair, 
 
 Has sealed a parent's or a husband's doom, 
 
 Or sent a lover to an early tomb. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 Thou hast permitted nothing - to oppose 
 
 The triumph of thy passions : — all those ties 
 Which generous natures feel, or honour knows, 
 
 Hast thou made to thy lust a sacrifice. 
 I would not be the author of the woes 
 
 Which thou hast heaped upon whole families- 
 No — not for all thy wealth and titled name : — 
 Thou shameless man, I shudder at thy shame ! 
 
 * The Morning Herald, with a fearlessness that deserves the highest commendation, 
 published an account, a few days after the elevation of Lord Segrave to the Earldom 
 of Fitzhardinge, of an adventure of this nobleman with a young lady whom he seduced 
 under circumstances of peculiar atrocity. No name was mentioned in this journal's 
 account of the transaction, which was narrated in the form of a letter ; — but the indi- 
 vidual was so well pointed out, that all the world recognised the portraiture. The cap 
 moreover seemed to fit uncommonly well ; for his lordship wrote a letter about it the 
 very next day. Of course he denied the whole statement ; the value of such a denial 
 was rightly estimated by the public. 
 
DON JUAN. 125 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 As the rebellious giant race of old, 
 
 To scale th' imperial palaces of heaven, 
 
 Ossa on Pelion, mount on mountain rolled — 
 So thou hast added crime to crime, and riven 
 
 The hearts which thou hast heaped upon the cold 
 Waste of abandonment, where they were driven ! — 
 
 The Whigs performed a duty loyal and true 
 
 To justice, when they made an Earl of you ! 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 Go to the House of Lords, and take your seat 
 As near the Bishops' bench as well you may : 
 
 The holy fathers possibly may treat 
 Your soul to comfort spiritual some day ; — 
 
 At least you will require it — and 'tis meet 
 
 That for your numerous sins you now should pray ; — 
 
 Not that I think that anything can save you, 
 
 For as his right the Devil's sure to crave you. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 Oh ! think of her — that mild and beauteous one, 
 
 Whose hopes were blighted when with thee she met, 
 
 And who, hadst thou been honourable, had shone 
 The brightest jewel of thy coronet : 
 
 Think, of the heart of hearts by thee undone — 
 Think of thy perjury — and tremble yet ; — 
 
 Though she have wealth and honours — hope and name — , 
 
 The blackness of thy crime exists the same. 
 
126 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 Here shall I close my Second Canto ; — here 
 I pause again. Perhaps this song - of mine 
 
 May never in a printed form appear, 
 Never in library nor boudoir shine. 
 
 My name, applauded in another sphere, 
 
 May ne'er, O heavenly Muse ! be known in thine : 
 
 But I shall still pursue my theme, and wait 
 
 The issue of events to show my fate. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Inured to disappointments of all kind, 
 
 I take things very calmly now ; — in short, 
 
 Whate'er my destiny, I feel resigned. 
 
 Capricious Fortune has made me her sport : 
 
 One day I'm very rich — the next I find 
 Myself a debtor in th' Insolvents' Court. 
 
 1 have four children and a wife — .and they 
 
 Sustain my energies from day to day. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 Reader, if ever I unveil the mystery, 
 
 That, when I publish this, shall shroud my name, 
 I'll tell thee somewhat of my former history — 
 
 Which I should do with tears — but not of shame ! 
 If Fame do aught to help me, I'll assist her ;-J 
 
 Might such vicissitudes and wrongs proclaim 
 That men — : but wait — the time is not yet come — 
 And till the proper moment 1 am dumb. 
 
 END OF CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
DON JUAN. 127 
 
 CA1NTO 111. 
 
 How beautiful is earth, with stream and fountain, 
 With gurgling- rivulet, and light cascade ; — 
 
 How grand is earth, with snow-enveloped mountain, 
 And torrent roaring through the ruined glade ; — 
 
 How strange is earth, with flowers beyond all counting, 
 And serpents coiled beneath their treacherous shade ; — 
 
 How wonderful is earth, with all that teems 
 
 In its broad plains, its oceans, and its streams ! 
 
 II. 
 
 All is in motion — life is everywhere — 
 
 And everything is life ! There's nothing dead — 
 
 For e'en the dead and putrid matters bear 
 The principles of new existence spread 
 
 Throughout their rottenness :— the very air, 
 On which the streams of golden light are shed, 
 
 Teems with a myriad million living things, 
 
 Which float around us on invisible wings. 
 
128 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 III. 
 
 Each drop of water is a world containing 
 
 Creatures more numerous than the men of earth ; — 
 
 The April shower, upon the green tree raining, 
 To fresh creations in each leaf gives birth : 
 
 Nature, her balance every where regaining, 
 
 New breathing things to form leaves nothing dearth ;■ 
 
 Spitzbergen's ice and Afric's sandy field 
 
 To Nature's living mass their tribute yield. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Presumptuous Man ! think'st thou that all of these 
 Illimitable million things were made 
 
 Thy taste to gratify, and pride to please, 
 
 And by thy will all-powerful to be swayed ? 
 
 Was the earth formed for thee alone ? were trees 
 Planted but to provide thee fruit and shade ? 
 
 To thee were beasts commanded to submit ? 
 
 Was Nature made for thee, or thou for it ? 
 
 V. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
DON JUAN. 129 
 
 VI. 
 
 But, Ah ! the true religion may be read. 
 In mountain-torrent and in placid stream — 
 
 In ocean tossing- in its mighty bed — 
 
 In gloomy forest and in sunshine's beam — 
 
 In the loud thunder and the lightning- dread — 
 In comets' fiery glow and meteors' gleam — 
 
 In fertile fields where golden harvests wave — 
 
 In life with all its bustle — and the grave ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yes — Nature has her morals more sublime 
 Than all that human wisdom ever knew : 
 
 There's not a written monument of Time 
 Can teach a lesson half so sage or true 
 
 As Nature's volume, studied in a clime 
 Where her majestic scenery can imbue 
 
 Th' imagination with a fitting sense 
 
 Of all her grandeur and omnipotence ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Those, who in towns and mighty cities dwell, 
 To the great voices by which Nature speaks 
 
 In her grand scenes, are inaccessible : — 
 
 The world's voice with its clamour ever seeks 
 
 To drown the voice of God. But 'tis the swell 
 Of ocean raging, and the storm that wreaks 
 
 Its vengeance on the forest, and the flow 
 
 Of mountain -torrents to the vale below ; — 
 
 i 
 
130 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 IX. 
 
 These are the spectacles that may controul 
 Imagination with resistless power ; — 
 
 These are the voices speaking- to the soul 
 With the impressiveness of danger's hour : 
 
 Then, as such scenes athwart the memory roll, 
 May the bright wings of true religion tower, 
 
 Like those of eagles on their trackless way, 
 
 Requiring space unbounded for their play. 
 
 X 
 
 I know not what inspired this train of thought, 
 When I sate down my story to continue : 
 
 Reader, if your approval can be bought 
 
 By frankness, then my verse is sure to win you ; 
 
 And should some change of sentiment be wrought, 
 And early prejudices crushed within you, 
 
 You will rejoice that you have read my strain, 
 
 And I shall feel that 'tis not sung in vain ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now to continue. — Of that cottage fair, 
 Which seemed to speak a thrifty woman's pride, 
 
 Rose and an aged female servant were 
 
 The only tenants : comfort reigned inside — 
 
 The industry of Rose and generous care 
 Of Lady Pinchbeck every want supplied ; 
 
 And happiness seemed to surround the maiden, — 
 
 But, Ah ! her soul with inward grief was laden ! 
 
DON JUAN. 131 
 
 XII. 
 
 For in her gentle breast a dismal void 
 
 Had been since with her lover she had parted ; 
 
 And, though at intervals with fond hopes buoyed, 
 At times she wept as she were broken-hearted. 
 
 Then, when her fairy visions were destroyed, 
 Into her soul a gleam of sunshine darted, 
 
 As if the brightest ray of paradise 
 
 Entered the hemisphere of midnight skies. 
 
 Kill. 
 
 Ah ! Hope will soar, like eagle, towards the sun, 
 
 With eyes upon her idol ever bent, 
 And then recoil, like that ephemeron 
 
 From its vain journey to the firmament. 
 Wing-weary, ere one half her flight be done, 
 
 Hope feels her energy and vigour spent, 
 And droops in mournful silence on the plain, 
 Till tempted by fresh rays to soar again. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But now the secret wish and secret prayer, 
 
 Which in her thoughts alone had Rose confest, — 
 
 Those aspirations of her heart that ne'er 
 In oral syllables had been exprest, — 
 
 These — these were answered now ;— and he was there- 
 Joy had resumed its dwelling in her breast ; 
 
 And from the lovers' eyes, transfused, were sent 
 
 Those glances that their souls together blent. 
 
132 A SuyO"EL TO 
 
 XV. 
 
 " But was it prudent for Miss Delacour 
 
 The visits of Don Juan to allow, 
 After his conduct faithless and impure 
 
 With Lady Adeline, and broken vow ?" — 
 Thus will the reader ask, — but I am sure 
 
 I shall not stop to moot the matter now, 
 Save to observe — for fear I should forget — 
 That Prudence ne'er was Love's handmaiden yet. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And Juan talked of marriage, and sincerely, 
 Meant all he said— and said too all he meant : 
 
 His late excesses he repented dearly, 
 Because till his remittances were sent 
 
 The holy rite must be delayed : — Rose merely 
 Blushed, and her modest glances downward bent : — 
 
 She would not speak her thoughts, but she was willing 
 
 To have espoused the youth without a shilling. 
 
 XVII 
 
 He knew that many weeks could not pass by 
 
 Before he should have a communication 
 From Spain, — for in those days celerity 
 
 Was not the principle of navigation : 
 But still the time would glide on happily, 
 
 Since he had found out Rose's habitation, 
 Whereat — as Fortune seemed no more to spite them — 
 He'd visit till the day that should unite them. 
 
DON JUAN. 133 
 
 XVI11. 
 
 Thus whispered Juan in the maiden's ear ; 
 
 And even rigid virtue's self could melt 
 With tenderness at language so sincere ; — 
 
 And Rose all those delicious transports felt 
 Which warm the heart that's conscious of being dear 
 
 To him who kneels and speaks ; — and Juan knelt, 
 And spoke in words of fire, and looked in glances 
 Of lightning — Cupid's most destructive lances. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And her fair form was bent tow'rds him — one hand 
 Fast locked in his — .the other fondly playing 
 
 With his luxuriant hair ; — her sweet breath fanned 
 His cheeks, like zephyr amid roses straying : — 
 
 Not for one moment had our hero planned 
 One thought of the confiding girl betraying, 
 
 Else were his triumph easy in th' excess 
 
 Of that enraptured moment's tenderness. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Hour after hour passed rapidly away 
 
 In sweet discourse and dalliance innocent ; 
 
 And still they found that they had much to say, 
 And marvelled that the time so quickly went •- 
 
 Evening appeared — and Juan might not stay, 
 But breathed a fond adieu, and homeward bent 
 
 His steps, rejoicing that his woe was past, 
 
 The object of his love being found at last. 
 
131 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Oh ! he — the wanderer, the fugitive 
 
 From the gay scenes of life,. — he who would madly 
 The day before his lorn existence give 
 
 To him who chose to take it, — he who sadly 
 That morn had asked himself why he should live 
 
 Since all he loved was lost, — Oh ! now how gladly 
 Did he commune within himself, and say, 
 " May heaven renew the blessings of to-day \" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And heaven accorded his request. With Rose 
 He passed the hours each day from morn until 
 
 The stars were scattered on the sky The snows 
 
 Of winter disappeared — the gentle rill 
 
 Woke from its spell-bound trance — the birds uprose 
 On gladsome wing, their carol blythe to trill : — 
 
 Nature threw off cold Winter's dismal shroud, 
 
 Summoned young Spring, and sang his welcome loud. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Then Time gave Spring the rule of his domain, 
 And bade the earth yield verdure at his feet : 
 
 The woods assumed their foliage again — 
 The primrose and the violet sprang to greet 
 
 The traveller ; — the valley and the plain 
 
 Were strewed with wild flowers beautiful and sweet ; 
 
 The earth, divested of dark winter's gloom, 
 
 Was rich in brightness, greenness, and perfume. 
 
DON JUAN. 135 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Alas ! why doth full many a violet spring- 
 In forest lone, unseen by human eye ? 
 
 Why do the seasons in succession bring 
 Pleasures scarce felt ere they begin to fly ? 
 
 And wherefore do our hearts so fondly cling 
 Unto those objects that must soonest die ? — 
 
 Short-sighted man ! the answer's still, " Because 
 
 Those are all parts of Nature's mystic laws." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Oh ! as the seasons onward glide, must we 
 Be schooled to throw a veil upon the past ; 
 
 Or to lament that our spring-dreams should be 
 Faded and gone — too beautiful to last? — 
 
 Ah ! let the floods of a Lethean sea 
 
 Roll o'er those days when Time was wont to cast 
 
 Flowers from his brow, and diamonds from his wing ; 
 
 Yes — let Oblivion shroud that perished Spring ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 'Twas one of those delicious April eves, 
 When, after a long day of cloudless lustre, 
 
 The sun a pleasant temperature leaves, 
 
 And broad red streaks in the horizon cluster, 
 
 From which the earth a golden tint receives, — 
 And at their cottage-doors the peasants muster, 
 
 And chubby children o'er the meadows hie — 
 
 Those gallant hunters of the butterfly ! 
 
136 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 'Twas on an April evening- such as this, 
 That Rose and Juan in the parlour sate, 
 
 Upon the sofa — her hand locked in his ; 
 And in her eyes appeared to concentrate 
 
 All the bright beams that told of passion's bliss : 
 Flushed were those cheeks so fair and delicate ; 
 
 And e'en her brow — the ivory throne of thought — 
 
 A portion of that animation caught. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The lily hand of the coy maid to press — 
 To cast your arm around her slender waist— 
 
 To draw her nearer till her glossy tress 
 
 Touches your flushing cheek, — and then to taste 
 
 The honey of her lips of loveliness, 
 
 Upon her beating heart your right hand placed,- 
 
 Say, is not this a paradise ? — or can 
 
 The gods confer a greater joy on man ? 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Oh ! yes — to look into her flashing eyes — 
 
 To feel her bosom palpitate beneath 
 Your throbbing hand — to mark the stifled sighs 
 
 Escaping from her breast— to hear her breathe 
 With difficulty as new transports rise — 
 
 To feel her glowing arms around you wreath : — 
 Declare once more, is this the bliss of heaven ? 
 Or can a greater joy to man be given % 
 
DON JUAN. 137 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Yes — when, no longer coy, she sinks in pleasure 
 Upon your bosom,— when her virgin charms 
 
 Surrender, amid sighs, their choicest treasure, — 
 When new emotions triumph o'er alarms, 
 
 And teach her ecstacies beyond all measure ; — 
 When, palpitating — blushing, in your arms, 
 
 Her flashing eyes and pouting lips apart 
 
 Proclaim the happiness which fills her heart : — 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 This is the earthly joy beyond compare — 
 The fruit whose tempting aspect Mother Eve 
 
 Could not resist, and which led the first pair 
 That comfortable residence to leave, 
 
 Of which they held the pleasant leasehold, where 
 Euphrates rolls. — But it were vain to grieve 
 
 For having learnt th' enjoyment of a fruit 
 
 Whose taste is even known unto the brnle. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And such too was the bliss ineffable 
 That Juan tasted in his mistress' arms 
 
 Ah ! Rose — sweet Rose — what sad emotions swell 
 Within me — and what indignation warms 
 
 My soul, as thus the hapless tale I tell 
 Of virtue sacrificed and rifled charms ! — 
 
 Alas ! although not easy to be won, 
 
 Too soon, confiding girl, wast thou undone ! 
 
1 38 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Thy very innocence betrayed thee, Rose — 
 Thine ignorance of evil made thee fall ; 
 
 For thou wast Nature's darling- — one of those 
 
 Pure-minded thing's whose failings we might call 
 
 Characteristics of a state which knows 
 
 Naught of how true love can be criminal 
 
 But, ah ! when once the boundary is past, 
 
 Then consciousness of evil comes at last. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The moment that the burning joy was o'er, 
 Like molten metal did the warm blood rise 
 
 To bathe in crimson hue the cheeks, and pour 
 A flood of light into the swimming eyes ; 
 
 For now the victim, innocent no more, 
 Saw shame in Love's illicit mysteries : — 
 
 The veil was drawn aside — and down her face 
 
 The tears began their rapid way to trace. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Then Juan drew her to his glowing breast — 
 Kissed off the big drops from her lovely eyes, 
 
 In kisses his sincerity expressed, 
 
 Glued kisses on her lips to hush her sighs, 
 
 By kisses taught her that she still was blest, 
 With kisses promised all that women prize 
 
 In such an hour ; and by those raptured kisses 
 
 Restored Hope to her soul — that bliss of blisses ! 
 
DON JUAN. 139 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Here, reader, it should be in justice stated 
 
 That Juan had not acted from design, 
 Nor ever in his soul premeditated 
 
 The quenching- of that lamp in virtue's shrine : 
 A momentary impulse had been fated 
 
 To level excellence almost divine : — 
 Ah ! when lcarian wings approach the sun, 
 Th' aspirant, earth's art failing, is undone ! 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Were I a Baptist Noel or a Sherman,* 
 
 I'd seize this opportunity to preach 
 Upon that sudden fall a pretty sermon, 
 
 And several minor morals also teach : — 
 Alas ! my Muse discovers that Mounts Hermon, 
 
 Tabor, and Sinai are beyond her reach, 
 And with the muddy Jordan cannot sing 
 So clear as with her own Pierian spring. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The reader may perceive I arn not quite 
 
 A " go-the -whole -hog saint" — nor " out-and-out 
 
 Evangelist" — nor specious Puseyite, 
 
 Whose tenets there's been such a fuss about ; — 
 
 Nor am I one of those who think it right 
 To rant, declaim, vociferate, and shout 
 
 At Exeter Hall, when the pious pay 
 
 Their annual tribute in the month of May.f 
 
 * The former is an eminent divine of the Church of England : the latter is a dissent- 
 ing minister, of equal fame amongt his sect, and who preaches at Rowland Hill's 
 Chapel in the Blackfriars Road. 
 
 + All the religious, humane, philanthropic, and utilitarian societies hold their great 
 annual meetings at Exeter Hall in May. 
 
140 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 While millions starve at home, and children go 
 
 Half-naked through the streets to beg- their bread ; 
 
 While o'er the land grim Want stalks to and fro, 
 And famished families ask to be fed, — 
 
 The treasures of the charitable flow 
 
 To foreign climes (with sorrow be it said) 
 
 To teach the savages to learn to read 
 
 The Bible, and embrace the Christian creed.* 
 
 XL. 
 
 And if these be the viaducts to heaven, 
 Exist there none within this happy isle 
 
 To whom such benefits should first be given, 
 And who most merit education's smile ? 
 
 At home are there no sinners to be shriven ? 
 Good Missionary, I pray thee — pause awhile 
 
 To perfect all your fellow countrymen — 
 
 Then seek new fields abroad — but not till then! 
 
 XLI. 
 
 There's not a nation on earth's face so prone 
 
 To cant and to hypocrisy, as mine : 
 Each sleek and oily methodist is known 
 
 To have a sneaking love for girls or wine ; — 
 But outwardly they'll raise their eyes, and groan, 
 
 And shudder at the youthful libertine. 
 Of all the humbugs that on earth are quickening, 
 Religious humbug is by far most tickening. 
 
 * Allusion is here made to the various Foreign Missionary and Bible Societies. 
 
DON JUAN. 141 
 
 XLII. 
 
 This fact my cousin Edward Boys knows well !- 
 And speaking of relations, I can't boast 
 
 Of their good feeling — nor with pleasure dwell 
 Upon their conduct, but could cite a host 
 
 Of cruelties on their part, which to tell 
 
 Would summon from his sainted tomb the ghost 
 
 Of my lamented father, who believed 
 
 In their good faith — Oh ! how he was deceived ! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 But our worst enemies are always those 
 Nearest allied to us : — I can't say why 
 
 Our relatives should act the part of foes, 
 Yet 'tis a fact which few will dare deny ; 
 
 And peradventure many a reader knows 
 A proof of this in his own family : — 
 
 At all events, to keep good friends with mine 
 
 One must possess endurance quite divine ! 
 
 XL1V. 
 
 The summer feelings of the youthful heart 
 
 Are blighted by the cold neglect of friends : — 
 
 Though Hope's prophetic mirror may impart 
 Joy to the soul — how soon the vision ends ! 
 
 And, as we grasp the rose, we feel the smart 
 Of the sharp thorn beneath that deeply rends 
 
 The flesh most sensitive : — then where are those 
 
 Who should be first to mitigate our woes ? 
 
142 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Oh ! is it not the stranger's hand that oft 
 
 Plucks from the smarting- wound affliction's sting- ? 
 And is it not from stranger lips that soft 
 
 Compassion flows to soothe our sorrowing ? — 
 When kindred stood aloof, and false friends scoffed, 
 
 From sources until then unknown would spring- 
 Sweet founts of sympathy to heal my care, 
 And teach me how the ills of earth to bear. 
 
 XLV1. 
 
 And if Pythagorean creeds be true, 
 
 And the departed spirit can return 
 Upon aerial pinion, to renew 
 
 Those feelings with which mortal bosoms burn, — 
 How mournful for the dead thus to review 
 
 The cruelty of faithless friends who spurn 
 The youthful charge entrusted to their care, 
 And drive him forth to sorrow and despair ! 
 
 XLV1I. 
 
 Such was my lot ! Oft did my young heart melt 
 Beside the grave of buried comforts ; — few 
 
 The flowers that margined my pathway, or dealt 
 A perfume round— they withered as they grew ; 
 
 And 1 despaired to rear them, for I felt 
 
 That there was wanting still that holy dew 
 
 Which to the bruised and drooping plant is dear — 
 
 1 mean the kind and sympathetic tear ! 
 
DON JUAN. 143 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 But stop, good Pegasus — you're very frisky, 
 And wander much too often from your way : 
 
 You carry not an Irish Muse, whom whiskey 
 Has rendered gaddish, volatile, and gay, — 
 
 But a staid English bard not near so brisk : — lie 
 Moreover trembles, in the present day, 
 
 At those wild caracol lings to the skies 
 
 Which former poets used so much to prize. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 1 like to trot on in a humble fashion, 
 Making my observations now and then 
 
 Without reserve, and also without passion, 
 On institutions, incidents, and men : — 
 
 But if at railroad speed the bard will dash on, 
 The surface only meets his hurried ken ; 
 
 And neither will the reading world nor he 
 
 Be benefitted by his poetry. 
 
 But mine, I hope, will have a different fate, 
 And through a long posterity remain : — 
 
 And therefore I will hasten to relate 
 
 How Juan's letters came at length from Spain, 
 
 With drafts on London at an early date — 
 So that he now was wealthy once again : 
 
 But that which seemed especially to win his 
 
 Attention was a note from Donna Inez. 
 
144 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 JJ. 
 
 Therein the virtuous mother did record 
 
 Her fears " that he had grown extravagant,' 
 
 And hinted " that her funds would not afford 
 To minister to each improper want ;" 
 
 But said " that if by chance it pleased the Lord 
 To take without delay her dear old aunt, 
 
 The family's pecuniary condition 
 
 Would be in a most flourishing position." 
 
 Lll. 
 
 She begged him " to reflect that all was vanity, 
 
 Vexation too of spirit, in this state ; 
 That Eve's transgression upon frail humanity 
 
 Had brought the sorrows of a luckless fate ; 
 And that 'twas nothing less than sheer insanity 
 
 For the last illness and death-bed to wait, 
 In order to repent him of his sins ;" — 
 And then she said " that she had just had twins." 
 
 LIII. 
 
 She much commended ff his desire to stay 
 In foreign lands — and hoped that he would prove 
 
 A chosen vessel of the Lord some day :" — 
 She re-assured him " of her tender love, 
 
 But still must think that he was best away, — 
 And she would nightly ask the powers above 
 
 To keep their eyes upon him ever beaming :" — 
 
 There she left off " because the twins were screaming.' 
 
DON JUAN. 145 
 
 LIV. 
 
 But she found leisure afterwards to add 
 
 " That J uan's new papa was not much better 
 
 Than he should be : — indeed, he drove her mad 
 With his suspicious fits, and would not let her 
 
 Go to the last bull-fight — it was too bad — 
 Just as if she'd a lover to hare met her ! 
 
 It really was unhuman — vile — and cruel, 
 
 And to vexation's furnace added fuel." 
 
 LV. 
 
 But she concluded " that God's will be done : — 
 Still the last carnival was very pretty, 
 
 And she was forced to stop away for one : — 
 Doubtless the Lord would in his goodness pity 
 
 Her sorrowful condition : — there was none 
 Else to avenge her in Seville's vast city ; — 
 
 And it was really terrible to hear 
 
 One of the children squall — the little dear !" 
 
 LVl. 
 
 Here terminated this epistle strange ; 
 
 And Juan knew not if to laugh or cry ; — 
 So he began his toilet to arrange, 
 
 Humming meanwhile a mournful melody : 
 Then to the city he repaired to change 
 
 His drafts for cash ; — and joy flashed in his eye, 
 As the huge pile of gold and notes he fingered, 
 For which in deep suspense he long had lingered. 
 
 K 
 
146 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LVII. 
 
 To Messieurs Wrench and Wrackem next he hied, 
 And counted down before their wondering 1 gaze 
 
 Th' amount for damages and costs beside. — 
 
 Christ ! who shall paint their transport and amaze f 
 
 Their mouths like cellar-doors were opened wide — 
 Their countenances beamed with just such rays 
 
 As wine sheds on the rubicund complexion, 
 
 When all that cash was heaped for their inspection. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Then Juan hazarded one question : — he 
 
 Thought that enough was paid to warrant this : 
 
 And that his present liberality 
 
 Would render such a query not amiss. 
 
 "The Lady Adeline ? — there could not be 
 A crime in curiosity like his — 
 
 At least they would excuse the impropriety ?" — 
 
 He waited the response with deep anxiety. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 A cloud the elder lawyer's brow came o'er ; 
 
 His manners grew embarrassed and appeared 
 So changed from the bright aspect which before 
 
 Had marked them, that the very worst was feared 
 By Juan, who stood trembling more and more, 
 
 His heart already by those dark looks seared ; 
 And e'en the truth, ere it was told, he read — 
 The victim of their mutual crime was dead ! 
 
DON JUAN. 147 
 
 LX. 
 
 She — once the bright, the beautiful, the proud — 
 The centre of the fashionable sphere — 
 
 The queen of taste, to whose decree all bowed, — 
 She, to admiring- relatives so dear — 
 
 The morning star of splendour — 'neath the cloud 
 Of darkness set : — one short but fatal year 
 
 Witnessed the love, the fall, and the decease 
 
 Of Adeline ! — Unto her ashes Peace ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Unto her ashes Peace !" — And is this all 
 That men can say for the departed one ? 
 
 And can no prayers nor lamentations call 
 The spirit back ? Ah ! poor ephemeron, 
 
 Doomed in thy prime and joyous youth to fall — 
 Destined to yield ere half thy course be done, 
 
 Where are thy glories now ? — instead of them, 
 
 " Peace to thine ashes" is thy requiem ! 
 
 LX1I. 
 
 Peace to thine ashes ! — Oh ! sleep on in peace ; 
 
 And may the world that judged thee also know 
 Peace, if it can. The sorrowing soul's release 
 
 Should check, and not call forth the chrystal flow 
 Of tears : — then why repine at the decease 
 
 Of hearts pierced with the iron of earth's woe ? — 
 Rather should we rejoice, and bless the day 
 When from their sorrows they were borne away ! 
 
148 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXI1I. 
 
 Not so thought Juan. Deep was his regret- 
 Bitter the tears he shed — for ne'er could he 
 
 The image of that tender one forget, 
 
 Although another claimed his memory. — 
 
 When heart with heart in tenderness has met, 
 And from the union one gained misery 
 
 Which led to death, the other dare not live 
 
 And not one tear to the departed give ! 
 
 LX1V. 
 
 E'en the stern lawyers pitied Juan's pain : 
 He turned away — and, without plan prepense, 
 
 Rushed through the streets, a whirlwind in his brain, 
 And in his inmost soul a pang intense ; 
 
 For well he knew that he had snapped the chain 
 Which had linked Adeline with innocence. — 
 
 Each lovely flower he breathed upon seemed doomed 
 
 To perish in the bosom it perfumed. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Onwards he rushed — and scarcely touched the ground, 
 
 His speed accelerated by the feeling 
 Of pain within ; and an unusual sound, 
 
 Like the drone's buzzing", in his ears was pealing : 
 The objects that he passed seemed dancing round — 
 
 Carriages, houses, people, pavement reeling ; 
 And he, obedient to an impulse strong 
 But undefined, was whirled the streets along. 
 
DON JUAN. 149 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 'Twas natural in such a state of mind, 
 
 That he should seek his ancient haunts where he 
 Excitement suitable was sure to find — 
 
 And that the gaming-house that night should be 
 The place where he might deaden feeling. — blind 
 
 The Argus-eyes of watchful memory — 
 And hush the voice of conscience that within 
 Reproached him bitterly for his past sin. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 He played and lost:. — ill-fortune only gave 
 
 The obstinacy of a mad despair — 
 A bastard courage which makes cowards brave, 
 
 And leads them death in all its shapes to dare. 
 Juan's last coin was swallowed in the wave 
 
 Unsated, which engulphed all fortunes there ; 
 And when he reached this climax of his woes, 
 For the first time he thought of seeking Rose. 
 
 LXV11I. 
 
 After a loss at play there are but two 
 
 Plans to adopt — to go straight to the river, 
 
 Or else to bed. The first if you pursue, 
 You terminate your miseries for ever ; 
 
 But the last pleases best my moral view, 
 Because from life 'tis rather rash to sever, 
 
 Unless you're sure, on leaving this abode, 
 
 Of getting into heaven through some bye-road. 
 
150 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LX1X. 
 
 At any rate, if you repair to bed, 
 
 You'll find it the best place to soothe the sense 
 Of desperation, and to calm the head. — 
 
 Oh ! when your agony is most intense, 
 When ruin weighs upon the heart like lead, 
 
 And when too late for prayer and penitence, 
 How sweet it is to find yourself alone — 
 To curse — to weep — to gnash the teeth — and moao ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 But, Oh ! to meet a mistress or a wife 
 
 After your loss, — to mark her anxious eye 
 
 Seek for the causes of the mental strife 
 
 Betrayed by your's which flashes fearfully, — 
 
 This, this is probing deep wounds with a knife — 
 Heaping new torture upon misery ; — 
 
 This is the same as drinking molten lead 
 
 After being burnt with iron heated red. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 At daybreak Juan reached the cottage. Rose 
 Was sleeping softly in a large arm-chair : 
 
 He gazed on her with feelings such as those 
 
 Enjoy, whose bosoms harbour naught like care ! 
 
 Forgotten were his agonizing throes — 
 
 He only thought of her who slumbered there ; 
 
 And then it seemed as if an angel stole 
 
 Into the hell of his bewildered soul. 
 
DON JUAN. 151 
 
 LXX1I. 
 
 He gazed — he gazed upon those youthful charms : 
 She was so beauteous, smiling- in her dreams — 
 
 Like a soft lustre which delights and warms, 
 
 And through the dark cloud of our sorrow gleams. 
 
 He could have caught her in his longing arms — 
 He could have wept upon her burning streams ; 
 
 But no — his pride forbade him to display 
 
 His wounded feelings ; — so he turned away. 
 
 LXX111. 
 
 " All lost !" he cried ; — and he began to pace 
 
 The room with hurried steps : — " Oh ! my brain burns ! 
 
 'Tis bad to move about in this small space — 
 The sorceress, the wolf, the eagle turns — 
 
 Hell is evoked by turning in one place ! 
 
 What shall the poor wretch do whom Fortune spurns ? 
 
 Is it not meet to die when thus he's goaded ?" — 
 
 But happily his pistols were not loaded. 
 
 LXX1V. 
 
 He threw the window open — the fresh breeze 
 Of morning fanned his cheek, and from the breast 
 
 Of his young mistress lifted the chemise, 
 Revealing beauties which he oft had prest. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a sight a misanthrope to please — 
 Those snowy orbs, each with a rose-bud's crest ! 
 
 Fotgotten were his sorrows and alarms — 
 
 With beating heart he caught her in his arms ! 
 
I, 52 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Rose had passed a long day of weariness, 
 Impatient of her lover's absence — till 
 
 Anxiety amounted to distress ; 
 
 And, with the apprehension of some ill, 
 
 Despairingly did she her white hands press 
 Upon her whiter brow, but could not still 
 
 The agonising throbbings of the brain, 
 
 Nor yet the fountains of her tears restrain. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 However gentle be the touch, respond 
 
 The chords of woman's heart ; — however slight 
 
 The motion of Affection's magic wand, 
 
 The spell produced is of resistless might. — 
 
 Rose, fearful — tender, tremulous — and fond, 
 In tears had passed a portion of the night ; 
 
 Until fatigue, triumphant over care, 
 
 Rocked her to sleep at length in that arm-chair. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 O Woman ! I am never tired of singing 
 
 Thy praises, — but unto thy favourite bowers 
 
 Would through the live-long day be ever bringing, 
 To deck thy soft retreat, earth's fairest flowers. 
 
 To tell thy charms appears to me like stringing 
 Pearls, without caring for the lapse of hours : — 
 
 But to enjoy that changeless love of thine, 
 
 Is to know stars which never cease to shine 1 
 
DON JUAN. 153 
 
 LXXV1II. 
 
 Thine eyes can fill a dungeon's gloom with light, 
 Thy voice can echoes in the desart raise ; 
 
 Thy smile can make a charnel house seem bright, 
 Thy love can turn men's curses into praise ; 
 
 Thy look can warm the blood-chilled anchorite, 
 Thy charms can animate the poet's lays ; 
 
 Thy touch can thrill the only chords that linger 
 
 When Death upon the brow has placed his finger. 
 
 LXX1X. 
 
 I am a great admirer of the sex, 
 
 And always praise, while other bards abuse it ; 
 And if its strand be covered with the wrecks 
 
 Of hearts, let man not hastily accuse it ; 
 Else would we put some queries might perplex 
 
 His notions as to how he's wont to use it, 
 And show — e'en from the very first beginning — 
 That women are more sinned against than sinning. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 If there be wickedness in woman, more 
 Lurks in the heart of man ; — and 'tis to me 
 
 A matter which I can't enough deplore, 
 That the male sex, in its hypocrisy, 
 
 Should lay all evil at the other's door, 
 
 Pretending that itself would have been free 
 
 From sin, but for Dame Eve's infirmities : — 
 
 The fable is detailed in Genesis. 
 
154 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 'Tis mean, 'tis cowardly, 'tis vile, 'tis base 
 For man (and that it is so he knows well) 
 
 To say that woman brought upon our race 
 The toils and sufferings of earth, and hell. 
 
 I extricate myself from the disgrace 
 By disbelieving- every syllable 
 
 Of that foul calumny which fixes human 
 
 Delinquency and sorrow on poor Woman. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 O brave and generous-hearted Man ' from you 
 How worthy are reproaches against her 
 
 To whom yourself so often are untrue — 
 
 You who first teach her footsteps how to err ! 
 
 Shame on thee ! could my verse thy soul imbue 
 With half those noble sentiments which stir 
 
 The lofty mind of woman, then would'st thou 
 
 Blot out the calumnies you cling to now. 
 
 LXXX1II. 
 
 By night in London town alone there ply 
 A hundred thousand prostitutes ; — did they 
 
 Become debased through their own infamy — 
 
 Or, Man, didst thou conduct them on the way ? — 
 
 Speak — does the lesson show how women fly 
 
 To crime — or how false men their hopes betray ? — 
 
 Of all that tribe, whose fame was once so fair, 
 
 Each one, O Man, by thee was hurried there ! 
 
DON JUAN. 155 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Then talk of women's frailty ! — First they give 
 Their virgin hearts to those they love — by whom 
 
 They find themselves betrayed ; — and if they live, 
 'Tis that our instinct shudders at the tomb ! 
 
 But though the first shock haply they survive, 
 Still does a canker deep prepare their doom, 
 
 And guilty joy's abstraction cannot save 
 
 The broken heart from an untimely grave. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 And 'tis at those whom they reduced to this 
 That men point scornful fingers ; — 'tis at them, 
 
 With whom they shared the hour of guilty bliss, 
 And from whose brows they snatched the diadem 
 
 Of purity, that they revile and hiss : — 
 
 They pluck the blooming floweret from its stem, 
 
 Revel a moment in its odour sweet, 
 
 Then crush it wantonly beneath their feet. 
 
 LXXXV1. 
 
 Say, is this justice ? — Well might Burke exclaim, 
 " The Age of Chivalry is gone !" for now 
 
 Man first ensures confiding woman's shame, 
 
 And then reviles her whom himself brought low.- 
 
 Oh ! ye who should protect fair Woman's fame, 
 Press onward to destroy it with a blow ; 
 
 And on that weak and tender being ye 
 
 Heap wrong and insult ; — is this Chivalry ? 
 
 END OF CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
156 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Victoria ! shall I dedicate to thee 
 
 These varied flowers of my poetic wreath ? 
 
 Or would thine ear, Most Gracious Majesty, 
 Illustrious Dame, Defender of the Faith, 
 
 Dread sovereign Potentate of kingdoms three, 
 Whose smile near thirty millions bask beneath, 
 
 And come and go, just as your hand may beckon, 
 
 (Besides the colonies, which we won't reckon ; ) — 
 
 II. 
 
 Or would thine ear, I say, be shocked at this 
 Adventurous song- of mine ? — or Bobby Peel 
 
 Persuade you that 'twere very much amiss 
 To patronize the p-^et who can feel 
 
 And speak the truth ?— or would the Duke, with his 
 Despotic insolence, your bosom steel 
 
 Against th' advice of those who are your friends, 
 
 Because it suits not with his private ends ? 
 
DON JUAN. 157 
 
 III. 
 
 'Tis said you have a spirit of your own ; 
 
 (Most ladies have) : a will too, — (there again 
 Amidst the sex you stand not quite alone) — 
 
 And that your maids of honour to restrain 
 When they're too forward and familiar grown, 
 
 Your royal hand has not been raised in vain, 
 And they have felt 'tis made of sterling- stuff: — 
 I wish you'd give old Wellington a cuff. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And p'rhaps while you're about it, it would be 
 As well if the same wholesome discipline 
 
 Were dealt to each one of the Ministry ; — 
 And as it is a feat in which you shine, 
 
 'Twould save the Morning Chronicle and me 
 The task of lashing it. The grace divine, 
 
 Beneath whose smile your Majesty exists, 
 
 Has taught you how to use your royal fists. 
 
 V. 
 
 But why communicate their electricity 
 
 Unto the young Field-Marshal ? for they say 
 
 He's skilled in duties of sweet domesticity — 
 A truth which outward signs seem to display. 
 
 Think of his youth — his meekness — and simplicity ; 
 And when your Majesty is angry, pray 
 
 The younger General spare — 'twill be much bolder 
 
 And also better to chastise the older. 
 
158 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 VI. 
 
 And while 1 think of it, I would advise 
 
 Your Majesty to make the young- Field -Marshal 
 
 Go early to his couch, and early rise : — 
 Should he to lollipops be over partial, 
 
 Allowance him ; — and it were also wise 
 
 To make him sleep in night-caps ; and if war shall 
 
 His military skill need o'er the Channel, 
 
 Your Majesty must make him stick to flannel. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thrice happy England, blest with such a general, 
 Ready-made ere his manhood had begun ! 
 
 Let the bells ring, from treble unto tenor all, 
 To celebrate his conquests — not yet won ! — 
 
 Albert and Fame ! we'll toast him first, and then her. All 
 Other commanders by him are out-done : 
 
 E'en Wellington, the " saviour of the nation," 
 
 Has not a higher military station. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But to your gracious Majesty it seemed 
 
 Good to promote the Prince — and who shall dare 
 
 To question phantasies by sovereigns dreamed, 
 Especially too when those sovereigns wear 
 
 The inexpressibles. — What pleasure gleamed 
 In the eyes of thy subjects, and dull care 
 
 E'en from the workhouse fled, when heaven gave 
 
 Unto thy longing arms a prince so brave ! 
 
DON JUAN. 159 
 
 IX. 
 
 Your Gracious Majesty too condescends 
 Most graciously to give us every year 
 
 A gracious pledge that when your own life ends, 
 Your dynasty will still most gracious cheer 
 
 The land which on its gracious will depends 
 For every gracious boon it hopes tor here : — 
 
 Thus does your Gracious Majesty so graciously 
 
 Give us each gracious pledge unostentatiously. 
 
 X. 
 
 Good heavens ! what would become of us indeed, 
 If your Most Gracious Majesty had not 
 
 By a kind Providence been thus decreed 
 To be prolific ? — Happy is our lot 
 
 To have so many babes, in case of need, 
 
 To choose a sovereign from ; — and I, God wot, 
 
 Should prove myself a wanton reprobate, full 
 
 Of treasonable thoughts, were I not grateful. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But I am grateful ! When I put my hand 
 Into my purse the income-tax to pa^, 
 
 I cannot help exclaiming, " Happy land. 
 Which a young lady condescends to sway 
 
 For only half a million sterling ; — and 
 
 Is that not cheap — now, answer me, I pray ? 
 
 Considering all the duties which belong 
 
 Unto the place, the income's a mere song !" 
 
1(50 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XII. 
 
 And then Prince Albert — thirty thousand pounds 
 For pocket-money — really 'tis a trifle ! 
 
 It scarcely buys him monkeys, parrots, hounds, 
 Clothes, horses, pistol, fowling-piece, and rifle : 
 
 Those vile republicans exceed all bounds, 
 And every honourable feeling- stifle, 
 
 When they say that a President 's less dear 
 
 With his five thousand pounds or so a-year. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But, Ah ! while of Victoria's court I'm singing, 
 What solemn music echoes from the lyre ? 
 
 And wherefore does a passing-bell seem ringing-, 
 And melancholy thoughts my soul inspire? 
 
 See where the raven now his flight is winging- — 
 Hark to the anthem of the funeral choir — 
 
 List to the curfew's note of death-like g-loom — 
 
 And drop a tear o'er Flora Hastings' tomb ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Oh ! when the sovereign of this mighty nation 
 'Midst crowds admiring in her carriage dashes, 
 
 Each ray of joy which through th' illumination 
 Of her heart's happiness so brightly flashes, 
 
 Loses its splendour and its coruscation 
 
 At that heart's core, and darkens into ashes, 
 
 Whene'er the name of Flora, murmured near 
 
 By lips incautious, falls upon her ear. 
 
DON JUAN. 101 
 
 XV. 
 
 Yes— for she did not stifle scandal's breath, 
 And 'mid the spring-tide of her virgin youth 
 
 In female virtue held so little faith, 
 
 That she received suspicion for a truth. — 
 
 But weep not for the victim's early death : 
 In life she found not sympathy nor ruth ; 
 
 And were she called to earth again, there'd be 
 
 One angel less in heaven's choristry. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 I've heard a horrid and revolting- song-, 
 Sung in as plaintive and as sweet a voice 
 
 As ever mingled earthly tones among, 
 
 Or bade a lover's ears and heart rejoice ; — 
 
 And as the dulcet cadence swept along, 
 Laden with language of a hideous choice, 
 
 It seemed to me the slime which the snail throws 
 
 Upon the red leaf of the fragrant rose. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And such is scandal on the courtly lip — 
 Such the insidious poison that distilled 
 
 From envious hearts for royalty to sip : 
 The aim was too successfully fulfilled ! 
 
 The tempest gathered round the lonely ship ; 
 The storm raged on — for so its ruler willed ; 
 
 And all that talent or that beauty decked, 
 
 'Spite of the Pilot Innocence, was wrecked. 
 
 L 
 
162 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But now enough of this. The Morning Post, 
 (Likening- her Majesty to Juggernaut)* 
 
 Says that, if she required it, a whole host 
 
 Of her most faithful subjects could be brought 
 
 To throw themselves beneath her wheels — a boast 
 Which, although hyperbolic, must be thought 
 
 A new refinement upon insolence, 
 
 Revolting to our dignity and sense. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And I suppose the same ephemeris 
 Whose flattery pleases royalty so well, 
 
 Will seize an opportunity like this 
 
 To vent its spite ^n one who dares to tell 
 
 Truths which great people always take amiss :- 
 No doubt its critique will be terrible : 
 
 But never mind — 'twill serve p'rhaps for a puff 
 
 As to reviews I am already tough. 
 
 * Upon the occasion of one of the numerous attempts at assassination which have 
 been made upon Queen Victoria, the Morning Post actually declared in a leading 
 article, that if it were any consolation to her Majesty, her loving subjects would throw 
 tlieraselves beneath her carriage-wheels in her progress through the land ! A more 
 '■xecrabie piece of flattery could not be invented. 
 
DON JUAN. 163 
 
 XX. 
 
 If I to sovereigns at all bowed down, 
 
 I'd worship one like him who decked his brow 
 
 With laurels that at length became a crown 
 To which the monarchs of the earth bent low. 
 
 'Twere pardonable to tremble at the frown 
 Of him who levelled armies, with a blow : 
 
 'Twere natural to gaze with dazzled eyes 
 
 On him who ruled all Europe's destinies. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Napoleon ' thou wast Emperor — .and more, 
 For thou thine empire for thyself didst make : 
 
 From the Atlantic to the Red Sea's shore 
 
 Didst thou the earth with conquering legions shake. 
 
 Although thy progress lay through fields of gore, 
 'Twas thine the yoke of tyrant-kings to break ; — 
 
 And, though by thee young Freedom's flags were furled, 
 
 Still didst thou liberate one half the world. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Those thrones deep in the miseries encrusted 
 
 Of suffering people, were cast down by thee : — 
 
 Those sceptres with the blood of victims rusted 
 Were wrested from the hands of tyranny ; 
 
 And these were to thy valiant chiefs entrusted 
 That they might make the nations great and free : 
 
 But, Ah ! though laurels waved above each brow, 
 
 How few possessed such rectitude as thou ! 
 
164 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Man of the Roman mind, thy giant sway 
 
 Was broken on the field of Waterloo ! 
 Oh ! where were all thy gallant chiefs that day — 
 
 Those kings by thee upreared ! — Alas ! how few 
 Shared the fidelity of brave Desaix ! 
 
 Had all been like thy veteran phalanx true, 
 Thou would'st have come the victor from the field — 
 " The Old Guard dies, but it can never yield !" * 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In ancient times when Titan scaled high heaven, 
 The gods fled terror-stricken from before 
 
 The arm by which their thunder- bolts were riven 
 In twain, and rendered terrible no more ; 
 
 Till by united force the foe was driven 
 
 Back from the height which he had triumphed o'er ; 
 
 And they, who erst had trembled at his shock, 
 
 Condemned him to the vulture, chain, and rock. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Thou wast the Titan of the modern world : 
 Naught could withstand the fury of thy war 
 
 Against earth's demigods ; — thy flags unfurled 
 Spread terror, scattering all their hosts afar. 
 
 At length by holy leagues thou too wast hurled 
 From high Olympus, — and the guiding star 
 
 Which long upon thy destiny did smile, 
 
 At length stood o'er Saint Helen's distant isle. 
 
 • " La Vieille Garde meurt, mais ne rend pas." 
 
DON JUAN. 165 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But now in glory thou dost rest for ever 
 
 " Amongst the French, whom thou didst love so well :"* 
 No hand will e'er disturb thine ashes — never 
 
 Will mortal desecrate the spot where dwell 
 Remains from which not even Death could sever 
 
 That dread respect and awe invincible — 
 That admiration joined with anxious fear, 
 Which waited on thy name when thou wast here. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Oft do I linger in the Place Vendome 
 
 To gaze upon the Column, till it seems 
 As if the sounds of martial music come 
 
 From its dark entrails, and the whole air teems 
 With roar of battle and the beat of drum ; — 
 
 And then, before me, in those wild day-dreams, 
 I mark the war-steeds thundering o'er the plain, 
 View the assault of death, and count the slain. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Not in the Invalides should they have laid 
 
 The ashes of Napoleon ; — but the base 
 Of the high Column which his glory made, 
 
 Should be th' imperial hero's resting place. 
 Then might some pilgrim in his hand have weighed 
 
 Those last few atoms which are all the trace 
 Of him whose eagle glance alone subdued 
 And struck with awe the gazing multitude. 
 
 * Napoleon frequently expressed his desire, whi\e at Saint He'.ena, "to be interred 
 amongst the French whom he loved so well. ' 
 
166* A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Pride — glory — power, — the tomb has taken them : 
 
 Jena — Marengo — A uster li tz — Arcole 
 Have left behind no state, nor diadem 
 
 For an inheritor of his great soul. 
 Of every conquest the refulgent gem 
 
 Adorns a crown which a base tyrant stole * 
 From a confiding nation, on that day 
 When Charles the Tenth from Cherbourg fled away. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But I'm afraid that I am prolix growing ; — 
 
 Yet when I get upon a favourite theme, 
 I can't prevent my " grey goose-quill" from flowing ; 
 
 And stanza follows stanza in a stream. 
 My heart beats rapidly, my cheek is glowing, 
 
 My eyes flash with enthusiastic gleam, 
 Whene'er I think of him whose lofty name 
 Eclipses Jenghis Khan or Caesar's fame. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Yes — it eclipsed them both, but not outshone 
 
 The lustrous eyes of my sweet heroine, 
 When, waking from her dreams, she gazed upon 
 
 Him who a truant the whole day had been. 
 He then related all that he had done 
 
 Without allusion unto Adeline ; 
 And at the narrative of his disaster, 
 The tears ran down her cheeks faster and faster. 
 
 * Louis Philippe promised Lafayette and the heroes of 1830, that his should be a 
 throne surrounded by republican institutions. How well he has kept his word, France 
 now can testify I 
 
DON JUAN. 16 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 At length, when pillowed on his bosom, she 
 Revealed the causes of her deep distress : — 
 
 " And am I then again condemned to be 
 Denied the choicest boon of happiness 
 
 Which you and heaven could now confer on me ? 
 Dost think that as thy wife I'd love thee less ?- 
 
 Ah ! Juan — rather to my heart would flow 
 
 That confidence which now I cannot know ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " I mean not confidence in thee — but in 
 Myself, — a feeling that there is a tie 
 
 Hallowing our loves, and cleansing of its sin 
 A heart which now is unprepared to die. 
 
 Oh i there are moments when my soul within 
 By thought is tortured to an agony 
 
 Bordering on madness ; — thou alone can'st save 
 
 My spirit from despair's untimely grave. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " If thou art poor, no matter — I will toil 
 
 To earn our daily bread : — I can paint flowers — 
 
 Knit and embroider too — and should not spoil 
 My eyes with needle-work until late hours. 
 
 Believe me that together we might foil, 
 By the due exercise of our joint powers, 
 
 Th' advance of poverty : — no — I alone 
 
 Would work — to thee such hardship is, unknown ! 
 
168 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Delay not then my happiness ! Thou art 
 The sole protector that I now can claim : 
 
 To thee was freely given my young- heart — 
 And thou art too the guardian of my fame. 
 
 Oh ! wert thou from thy promise to depart, 
 
 Death could alone conceal and end my shame : — 
 
 But, Juan, to thy sympathy I feel 
 
 That never Rose will fruitlessly appeal. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Remember that no parent's love have I — 
 No mother's tenderness — no father's care : 
 
 Ah ! never could my orphan destiny 
 
 By thee be doomed to sorrow and despair. 
 
 If thine heart feel like mine, then every sigh, 
 And every cause of anguish seated there — 
 
 As well as those emotions which can melt 
 
 With softness — must be mutually felt." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Thus having spoke, she strained him to her breast 
 Over her brow the long. — the shining hair 
 
 He parted, — and, caressing and carest, 
 
 By words and tender dalliance soothed her care. 
 
 And at that moment who more truly blest 
 
 Than that young — beautiful — and loving pair ? 
 
 Their woes were buried in a bliss elysian, 
 
 And sorrow seemed an unsubstantial vision. 
 
DON JUAN. 169 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Alas ! in life how soon is joy succeeded 
 By tears — as April sunshine yields to rain : 
 
 And in those hours when comfort most is needed. 
 The anxious heart may seek for it in vain. 
 
 The garden of existence scarce is weeded. 
 
 When noxious plants and nettles spring- again ; 
 
 And e'en their growth more flourishing appears 
 
 When they are watered copiously with tears. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Juan rose with a resolution strong 
 
 To take immediate measures to repair, 
 By aid of holy priest, th' unwitting wrong 
 
 Which he had done unto his mistress fair. — 
 What sweet emotions at that instant throng 
 
 His heart — what soothing pleasure harbours there j 
 His is the joy which noble bosoms feel 
 When hastening wounds, which they have caused, to heal ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 But at his agent's in the City he 
 
 Found a huge pile of letters, come from Russia, — 
 Enough to call back to his memory 
 
 Those scenes the thoughts of which alone might flush a 
 Less modest countenance than his could be ; — 
 
 And while upon his cheek they raised the blush, a 
 Contrast was pictured in his mind between 
 His gentle Rose and the Muscovian Queen. 
 
170 A SEQUKL TO 
 
 XLL. 
 
 Reader ! thou would'st not have it here related 
 In set and formal terms, how Juan's mind 
 
 In Rose's favour quickly terminated 
 
 That strange comparison. — Oh ! dull and blind 
 
 Were he who for a moment hesitated 
 
 Between those characters so well defined — 
 
 The one so mild and delicately tender, 
 
 The other all licentiousness and splendour. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 The letters were official which Don Juan 
 Received, and anxiously began to read ; 
 
 And to his great surprise, ere he got through one, 
 He found that he to Paris must proceed 
 
 On an affair important though a new one, 
 Without a single hour's delay : — indeed, 
 
 A second document was so much stronger, 
 
 He dared not hesitate a moment longer. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 A third despatch contained an order on 
 
 A London banker for " the one thing needful' — 
 
 Not prayers — for courts waste little time upon 
 Those articles, although they have a creed full ; 
 
 But cash — the means that make their envoys run, 
 And of the value of each hour be heedful ; — 
 
 And Catherine was never slow to stump as 
 
 Much coin as would her favourite schemes encompass. 
 
DON JUAN. 171 
 
 XL1V. 
 
 Juan repaired to the West End to rally 
 His servants, lately scattered all abroad : 
 
 And Secretaries, Major-Domo, Valet 
 
 Speedily gathered round their much-loved lord : 
 
 Then forth in all directions did they sally, 
 To make, as well as their haste would afford, 
 
 Each little necessary preparation 
 
 For an excursion to the neighbouring - nation. 
 
 LXV 
 
 Meantime our hero hastened back to Rose. 
 
 And broke the dismal news to her, that he, 
 Bound by a will he dared not to oppose, 
 
 Must leave that night, at morn to cross the sea. — 
 And now what deep despair her pale cheek shows- 
 
 Her eye denotes a mortal agony : 
 Her lips apart no sig-h nor sob deliver, 
 But, as if 'neath Death's fingers, feebly quiver. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " Ah ! Rose, we separate but for a time : 
 
 A month — and I shall be with thee again : — 
 
 And, Oh ! believe the pleasures of that clime 
 To which I speed, may tempt me all in vain. 
 
 To thee, beloved one, never shall the crime 
 Of faithlessness impart a moment's pain : 
 
 Sooner the life-blood from my heart should pour 
 
 Than 1 neglect the being I adore." — 
 
172 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XLV1I. 
 
 " Juan, if I am half so dear as thou 
 
 Would'st have me think, then leave me not behind ! 
 Here as I stand — Ah ! see me kneeling - now — 
 
 A posture better suited to my mind, 
 And p'rhaps to my condition, — hear my vow — 
 
 I swear by heaven I feel myself resigned 
 To be thy slave — thy servant — so that I 
 Am not left here to sorrow and to die !" — 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Rose, every word you utter, in my heart 
 
 Plants a fresh dagger ! Calm this deep distress . 
 
 Thinks't thou that I rejoice from thee to part, 
 Or than thyself endure one pang the less ? 
 
 Let us not aggravate afflictions' smart, 
 
 Nor multiply the springs of wretchedness : — 
 
 Wert thou to journey with me, evermore 
 
 Woulds't thou th' effects of that false step deplore. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " Thy reputation is more dear to me, 
 
 Thy name more necessary to uphold, 
 Than at this moment they may seem to thee : 
 
 And thou, sweet girl, although at present bold 
 To dare the world, would be the first to see 
 
 And feel its scornful glance and manner cold. 
 A few short weeks alone must pass away 
 Ere thou wilt smile upon our bridal day ! 
 
DON JUAN. 173 
 
 " Then urge not thy desire — which, heaven well knows, 
 Is not less shared by me : ronounce the thought 
 
 To be my journey's partner and expose 
 
 Thyself to scorn, for bliss so dearly bought ! 
 
 Ah ! that were only courting future woes 
 
 That some immediate solace might be sought ; 
 
 Pledging thy future happiness to gain 
 
 A momentary relief from present pain/' 
 
 LI. 
 
 Rose threw herself upon his bosom weeping, 
 And murm'ring acquiescence : the big tears 
 
 Deluged her dark blue eyes, like dew-drops steeping 
 The early violets, when Spring appears 
 
 Like a fair maiden from a curtain peeping. — 
 But, Ah ! what words now fall upon her ears, 
 
 As Juan strains her to his beating heart — 
 
 " Beloved one, the moment's come to part !" 
 
 LII. 
 
 To leave the land which saw your infant day. 
 
 And traverse climes — an exile from your own ; 
 To mark the distant shores recede away, 
 
 Where all your early dreams of bliss had flown 
 Can you, as thus your footsteps farther stray, 
 
 And you a wanderer on the earth — alone, — 
 Can you observe the fading land behind, 
 -And feel no inward pang oppress your mind ? 
 
174 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LILI. 
 
 If this be grief, then double is the sting- 
 Contingent to the parting* of true love : — 
 
 Oh ! long did the despairing fond one cling 
 On Juan's anxious breast — then glance above, 
 
 As if to waft a prayer upon the wing 
 
 Of that lorn look, the powers of heaven to move 
 
 The pangs of that farewell to mitigate, 
 
 And to protect her lover's future fate. 
 
 L1V. 
 
 Oh ! if there really be a paradise, 
 And if its heavenly nature but allow 
 
 Angels to feel the force of woman's eyes, 
 
 And mark the anguish seated on her brow, — 
 
 Then haply might their tenderest sympathies 
 Yield to that lorn and lovely one who now 
 
 Clings to the neck of him from whom to part 
 
 Is to tear out the fibres of her heart. 
 
 LV. 
 
 At length the moment of distress was past, 
 And in another Rose was left alone. 
 
 Why had those latter moments ebbed so fast ? 
 An instant he was there — and then was gone i 
 
 Ah ! load of grief for that young soul too vast — 
 The worst of all the ills she yet had known ; 
 
 Enough to crush existence, and consign 
 
 The spirit back unto its source divine ! 
 
DON JUAN. 175 
 
 LVI. 
 
 But it is seldom that young- people die 
 
 Of grief ; — at least I know that I am tough, 
 And not yet thirty years of age ; — so I 
 
 Laugh at your broken-hearts and such like stuff. 
 Yet I've had many things my soul to try, 
 
 And of misfortunes have seen quite enough ; — 
 But that which I have grieved most deeply foi- 
 ls the neglect of my Aunt Mrs. Orr. 
 
 LV1I. 
 
 She was the favourite sister of my mother, 
 
 And dwelt with her : the feeling seemed sincere 
 
 And permanent that linked them to each other ; — 
 But it was quenched upon my parent's bier. 
 
 Thus could that sister's heart so calmly smother 
 Her love for those who were left orphans here — 
 
 I mean my brother and myself ; — but I 
 
 Despise such conduct — so I will not cry. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 May she of whom I write, enjoy the wealth 
 
 (Some of it should be mine) that she possesses : — 
 
 I also wish her the amount of health 
 
 So seldom known by those whom Plutus blesses ; — 
 
 And if she now and then would give, by stealth, 
 A pound for her own brother's deep distresses, 
 
 'Twould be as well ; — for me I'd starve much rather 
 
 Than take her alms : — but now I'll go no farther ; — 
 
176 A SEQUKL TO 
 
 LIX. 
 
 I mean in this sketch of my relative. — 
 
 I am not altogether one of those 
 Who, spaniel-like, can forget and forgive, 
 
 Or hold out V other cheek to have both blows. 
 If on such terms all people were to live, 
 
 The sameness would be sickening — for our foes 
 Create excitement, whether by the war 
 Of tongues, of fists, of battle, or of law. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Hurrah ! then, for our enemies ! We may 
 
 Toast them with as much reason as our friends : 
 
 Cash is the line of demarcation they 
 Both draw, where enmity or friendship ends. 
 
 The only difference, then, lies in the way 
 In which each path unto that limit tends : — 
 
 Our foes to rob us openly will labour, 
 
 While friendship is a coin to cheat one's neighbour. 
 
 LX1. 
 
 And when I think of all the cash I lost 
 
 In France, may I be no, I will not swear ! 
 
 'Twas quite enough in Paris to be crossed 
 
 By Fortune,without getting doomed elsewhere. 
 
 Of all men injured I'm perchance the most, — 
 But still I never yielded to despair ; 
 
 And having just dined off some nice roast beef, 
 
 A glass of sherry is a great relief. 
 
DON JUAN. 177 
 
 XLII. 
 
 It puts me in good humour with mankind — 
 The very world that has made sport of me : — 
 
 I wrote about my aunt before I'd dined ; 
 But as the verse is written, let it be : 
 
 Nor can 1 say that 1 am now inclined 
 To blot it from my page. Humanity 
 
 (By which I mean frail human nature) proves 
 
 A pleasure in revenge, e'en where it loves. 
 
 LXI1L 
 
 Meantime our hero's carriage onwards goes 
 To Dover ; — and wrapt up in meditation 
 
 He ponders on his loved and faithful Rose 
 With much regret, but still more admiration : 
 
 He wishes she were with him — then he throws 
 A glance on her peculiar situation, 
 
 Remembering that it would his rank disparage 
 
 Were he to have a mistress in his carriage. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 At dawn he entered Dover, where he found 
 That he was doomed to meet with some delay, 
 
 For there was not a single vessel bound 
 To Calais or Boulogne until next day ; 
 
 And though his major-domo went the round 
 Of every sloop that in the harbour lay, 
 
 To tempt the captains with the hope of gain, 
 
 His strenuous endeavours all were vain. 
 
 M 
 
178 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXV. 
 
 So Juan, calling - patience to his aid, 
 
 Strolled out to view the town and ocean-scene, 
 
 And Queen Anne's pocket-pistol which is said 
 A ball to carry unto Calais' green ; * — 
 
 And then along the beach he slowly strayed, 
 When the day yielded to a night serene ; 
 
 And still he wandered on the lonely strand, 
 
 The nature-given rampart of the land. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Yes — night has spread her sable wing- abroad, 
 
 And the bright moon shines sweetly o'er the deep ;- 
 
 Lorn Solitude reclines upon the sward, 
 
 And all the flowers of Spring are rocked in sleep : 
 
 Mute Nature seems by silence over-awed — 
 The garden and the grove in chrystal weep ; 
 
 And the tall tree bends slowly to the wind, 
 
 Like virgin o'er her lover's tomb reclined. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Now all is hushed except the ocean's sound, 
 Or revelry that bids soft slumber fly ; — 
 
 Now all is silent on the cliffs around ; 
 
 And balmy rest has closed the sailor's eye, 
 
 To dream of riches in his sleep profound, 
 And wake at morn to the reality 
 
 Of all that poverty and lot distressed 
 
 Which were forgotten in his hours of rest. 
 
 * The following words are put into the cannon's mouth : — 
 " Load me well and keep me clean, 
 And I'll carry a ball to Calais-green." 
 
DON JUAN. 179 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Now ocean murmurs gently on the shore, 
 Afraid to harm the silence of the night ; — : 
 
 Now Cynthia plays upon the ripples hoar ; 
 And now the stars, with penetrating- light, 
 
 Make heaven appear a curtain studded o'er 
 
 Its velvet folds with myriad diamonds bright : — 
 
 Worthy the region infinite they grace, 
 
 Those worlds delight to show their radiant face ! 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 The deep, the fathomless, th 5 eternal sea 
 Speaks with a thousand voices to the soul : 
 
 It sweetly smiles in its tranquillity, 
 
 And mocks when its infuriate billows roll. 
 
 It tells of roving pleasures to the free, 
 
 Hardships and toil to those beneath controul, 
 
 And echoes, trumpet-tongued, the victor's song 
 
 When gallant navies move its breast along. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 The ocean, too, has morals of its own, 
 Imaging with its hues life's phases ever ; 
 
 First when the golden flood of sun-light 's thrown 
 Upon its surface, or when moon-beams quiver : 
 
 Again — when darkness on its breast comes down, 
 Or when the lightning-shafts the dun clouds sever 
 
 Or when, o'er sunken rocks, its hues are green — 
 
 Or, in th' horizon, azure and serene. 
 
180 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Thou hast within thy depths, O mighty sea ! 
 
 To deck the brow of monarchs the bright gem ; 
 And groves of rich red coral that should be 
 
 The poet's theme, for him to sing of them ; — 
 The treasures too of many an argosy, 
 
 And pearls to place in Beauty's diadem. 
 What countless lives and riches in thy womb, 
 Destructive element, have found a tomb ! 
 
 LXX1I. 
 
 Juan stood on the ocean's verge — his eyes 
 
 Towards the cloudless queen of night up- bent : 
 
 He watched her passage in those star-lit skies, 
 Until it seemed that on the firmament 
 
 He read the course of his own destinies ; 
 
 And then a pang unto his heart's core went : — 
 
 Ah ! might he not one single day have given 
 
 To have espoused his Rose in sight of heaven ? 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Then thus he spoke aloud : — "By you I swear, 
 Sweet planet of the night — and every star — 
 
 That seem the eyes of heaven gazing there 
 On him who now adjures ye from afar, — 
 
 By ye, attesting thus, I vow that ere 
 My falsehood or inconstancy should mar 
 
 The happiness of Rose, I'd rather meet 
 
 Death in the waters rippling at my feet !" 
 
DON JUAN. 181 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 He ceased — and from his heart escaped a sigh : 
 'Twas echoed near him — and a rustling- sound 
 
 Of garments and of hurried footsteps nigh 
 Caused him to start and quickly gaze around. 
 
 Fleet as the lightning-flash, his eagle eve 
 Beheld a figure skimming o'er the ground 
 
 Scarce twenty paces off ; — a moment more 
 
 And Juan stood alone upon the shore. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 So transient was the glimpse that he had caught 
 Of this form evanescent, that his brain, 
 
 Though to romance by love and moon-light wrought, 
 Could no definitive idea retain. 
 
 But haply 'twas a spirit that had sought 
 
 The fatal spot where to the treacherous main 
 
 A life had been the tribute ? — No — that sigh 
 
 Savoured too much of weak mortality ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Harassed by undefinable alarms, 
 Knowing not what he dreaded — yet afraid, 
 
 Like the young infant in a stranger's arms — 
 He left the beach, and sought the esplanade.* 
 
 No longer in his eyes the scene had charms, 
 Nor to survey it were his footsteps stayed ; 
 
 But, as if urged by something terrible, 
 
 He hurried on till he gained his hotel. 
 
 * The Marine Parade. 
 
182 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 But punch and supper are two glorious things 
 To drive away one's terrors — and wax -lights 
 
 Are seldom flapped out by a goblin's wings, 
 That sort of gentry patronising nights 
 
 On which no artificial lustre flings 
 
 A glare unwelcome ; — so the ghost-seer writes 
 
 From ages immemorial — and each nurse 
 
 Will the same fact to listening youth rehearse. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 And so by dint of wax-lights without number, 
 Juan was able to keep off" the ghost — 
 
 And — more than that — to fall into a slumber 
 As sound (the phrase is usual) as a post. 
 
 No hideous dream nor night-mare xlid encumber 
 His sleep — but of fair visions a whole host 
 
 Seemed to protect and smile on his repose, 
 
 Wherein he thought that he was still with Rose. 
 
 LXX1X. 
 
 And morning dawned upon the wide expanse 
 Of sea, — the sun shone forth in glory bright ; 
 
 His radiance did the loveliness enhance 
 Of Nature all around ; the shades of night 
 
 Melted in mists, like spectres, at his glance, 
 Or as a maiden's sorrow at the sight 
 
 Of him she loves ; — the grove renewed its glee, 
 
 And all was life, light, joy, and harmony. 
 
DON JUAN. 183 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And now for Calais — London's Botany Bay, 
 To which all gentlemen in debt repair, 
 
 Sent by their ruthless creditors to stay 
 A season for a little change of air : 
 
 The prison in that town until this day 
 
 Retains the name of Hotel d' Angleterre ; 
 
 And many a swell who Bond Street once astounded 
 
 For years has been in Calais gaol impounded. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Juan proceeded to th' Hotel Bourbon, 
 
 And there partook of a select diner. 
 Rix a la Turque and puree aux croutons, 
 
 Cotelette sauce piquante and poulet truffe'; 
 Then vol-au-vent de veau aux champignons, 
 
 Gelee d' orange and omelette vanillee ,• 
 Washed down with Chateau-Margeaux and the best 
 Old Kirschenwasser to make all digest. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Out with post-horses — quick ! milor has dined 
 En prince — and has discharged his " little bill" 
 
 Also en prince, — and now milor shall find 
 Horses that never boggle at a hill : 
 
 Faith ! they can fly as rapid as the wind 
 (Six miles an hour !) obedient to the will 
 
 Of a Jehu whose person seems encased 
 
 In boots that come up almost to his waist. 
 
184 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Away, away ! at Boulogne in four hours 
 Juan alights to supper ; and next morn 
 
 He comes in sight of Beauvais' Gothic towers : 
 Around, green woods and verdant groves adorn 
 
 The valley — and the crystal water pours 
 Its murmuring current, which is onward borne 
 
 Past many a hall where wealth and beauty gleam- 
 
 Those lordly chateaux of the old regime! 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Now on to Paris ! — 'Twas when Sol was flinging 
 His last bright beams from the refulgent west 
 
 Upon those thousand towers in which were ringing 
 The vesper-bells — and the religious prest 
 
 Unto the sacred fanes, the incense bringing 
 Of their unfeigned devotion as the best 
 
 And purest offering which could be given 
 
 By those deluded souls unto their heaven : — 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 'Twas at that hour when on the Boulevards meet 
 The rank and charms of the metropolis, 
 
 To eat their ices and their friends to greet, 
 And sometimes with their eyes to look a kiss ; 
 
 When honied syllables and glances sweet 
 Promise th' enjoyment of another bliss, 
 
 As soon as opportunity and night 
 
 Combine to favour the supreme delight :— 
 
DON JUAN. 185 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 'Twas at that hour so tranquil and serene 
 When Paris from a myriad dwellings pours 
 
 Its thousands forth beneath the foliage green 
 Of the Elysian Fields ;* — and at the doors 
 
 Of restaur am the merry groups are seen ; 
 Or through the windows, on th' elastic floors, 
 
 The eye may mark the bounding dancers move, 
 
 Their glances fraught with pleasure and with love : — 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 'Twas at that hour when o'er the pavement dashed, 
 Amidst the crowd of the Faubourg Montmartre, 
 
 Our hero's carriage : the postilions lashed 
 Their horses, as they threaded with great art 
 
 ( Where English coachmen would the whole have smashed ) 
 Their way amongst the maze of coach and cart, 
 
 Public and private vehicle — along 
 
 The busy scene and animated throng. 
 
 lxxxviii. 
 
 Our traveller's course now down the Boulevards lay, 
 Where all was laughter, bustle, and delight ; 
 
 Till the magnificent Rue de la Paix 
 
 Revealed the Place Vendome unto his sight : 
 
 Thence he passed to the Rue Saint Honore, 
 
 Where shops with wealth of every kind were bright; 
 
 And in that street the carriage stopped before 
 
 Meurice's famed and hospitable door.f 
 
 * Les Champs Klysees. 
 1 The Hotel Meurice was then in the Rue Saint Honove ; it is now in the Rue de 
 Rivoli. 
 
186 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Paris was then a Pandemonium 
 In which all those fierce spirits agitated, 
 
 From whose destroying 1 g-enius was to come 
 
 The fiat by which Kings and Priests were fated 
 
 Alike to fall, and share a common doom, 
 Till by a new revulsion reinstated. — 
 
 We soon shall have the same proceedings here, 
 
 If Peel should stay in but another year. 
 
 XC. 
 
 In seventeen hundred and ninety-two,* 
 
 (June was the month) our hero, as declared, 
 
 Reached Paris. 'Twas a furnace then of new 
 And powerful intellects — of men prepared 
 
 Thrones to demolish — aye, and altars too, 
 So that no sing-le remnant might be spared 
 
 Of that antique society whose knell 
 
 The voice of Mirabeau had rung - so well . 
 
 * In order to arrive at the correctness of this date, it is necessary for the reader to 
 refer to certain details in the last few cantos of Lord Byron's " Don Juan." Ismael 
 was taken in 1790 : Juan then remained some time at the court of the Empress 
 Catherine, previous to his journey to England. It was, then, in the summer of 1 791 
 that he visited Norman Abbey, where lie is left by the noble author above mentioned. 
 The incidents already related in the " Sequel to Don Juan" occupy the interval until 
 June 1792. 
 
DON JUAN. 187 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Boundless was the profusion of the Court : 
 The beautiful but most licentious Queen 
 
 Made the distresses of the realm her sport, 
 And silly Louis dared not intervene ; 
 
 For in a moment she would cut him short 
 With, " I am now what I have ever been, 
 
 And ever will be — destined to command." — 
 
 She raised the guillotine with her own hand .' 
 
 XCII. 
 
 He was a weak but well-designing- man, 
 
 Henpecked and cuckold — but contented under 
 
 His abject state ; wavering- with each new plan ; 
 Cradled in storms, and yet afraid of thunder ; 
 
 Accustomed a fresh Minister to scan 
 
 With grateful admiration and with wonder, 
 
 As being the only medium of salvation 
 
 Unto himself, his sceptre, and the nation. 
 
 XCII1. 
 
 His countenance ignoble indicated 
 
 A natural servility of soul ; 
 His awkward manners ne'er ingratiated 
 
 A human heart, nor exercised controul. 
 With good intentions only, he was fated 
 
 To launch his bark where troubled waters roll ; 
 But neither skill nor constancy had he 
 To brave the perils of that stormy sea. 
 
188 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 The vices of his predecessors too 
 
 Weighed heavily upon the crown he wore : 
 Had he been brave, experienced, wise, and true, 
 
 It was too late its lustre to restore. 
 The Queen's licentiousness served to renew 
 
 Those bitter feelings which were formed before ; 
 And France avenged whole centuries of ill 
 Upon that man of vacillating- will. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 There was an evil custom at that time — 
 A fashion by the Queen most likely set, 
 
 And therefore not regarded as a crime, — 
 That every married dame should have a pet, 
 
 Or lover (but the first word suits my rhyme ;) 
 And husbands then beheld without regret 
 
 Their wives each with a cavalier servente — 
 
 (Josephine de la Pagerie had twenty.)* 
 
 * Josephine was very gay and dissipated. Her intrigues led to a misunderstanding 
 with her first husband, Count de Beauharnais ; and the tribunals were appealed to. 
 A reconciliation was however effected. After the execution of her husband, she in- 
 dulged in all the pleasures of that most dissipated age and city ; and eventually 
 became the mistress of Bar.ras, the Revolutionary Minister of War. She then married 
 Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 
DON JUAN. 1S9 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 If female virtue then were known, at least 
 
 'Twas not respected ; — and when we remember 
 
 That upon naked bosoms eyes might feast 
 At will, it was enough to warm December : * 
 
 The ladies too so airily were drest 
 
 As to display the contours of each member ; 
 
 And their voluptuous charms, so ill-concealed, 
 
 Were by the very drapery revealed. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 The women of that age too seemed to gain 
 
 From their licentiousness, augmented charms : — 
 
 Christ ! who could gaze upon the royal train, 
 Survey their heaving breasts and snowy arms, 
 
 Observe the proud blood swelling in each vein 
 With new emotions — pleasure or alarms, — 
 
 And not admit that there was much excuse 
 
 If morals in those times were somewhat loose ? 
 
 XCV1II. 
 
 Never was wit more brilliant — never shone 
 
 The Attic genius of an age so bright : 
 Birth, beauty, talent circled round the throne, 
 
 A galaxy of transcendental light. 
 Fair woman forged the chains that sate upon 
 
 Alike the prince, the noble, and the knight ; 
 And aristocracy appeared to prove 
 No other trammels than a Court of Love. 
 
 * Ladies wore their dresses so low at the period of which we are writing, that more 
 than the hemicycles of the bosoms was entirely exposed. 
 
190 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 But all around a suffering- nation lay 
 
 In chains of iron, wrought by tyrant hand ; 
 
 A pampered clergy fed from day to day 
 Upon the very vitals of the land ; 
 
 While Marat, Danton, and Dumouriez 
 Alreadv saw th' approaching storm, and planned 
 
 That rescue from the grasp of despot power 
 
 Which raised the guillotine in fatal hour. 
 
 C 
 
 Yes — all the luxury, the pomp, the pride 
 
 And the frivolity of many a year, 
 With powder, patches, heels, and much beside 
 
 That in my modest verse may not appear, 
 Were verging towards their fall : — but ere they died, 
 
 And terminated thus their long- career, 
 They shone as never they before had shone 
 At Versailles or the Little Trianon.* 
 
 CI. 
 
 And Juan reached the capital of France 
 
 In time to see the last blow strike the crown : — 
 
 Those petits soupers — scenes of elegance 
 
 And wit, that filled a world with their renown, 
 
 Were cheered no more by beauty's sparkling glance ; 
 But danger and mistrust appeared to frown 
 
 About the palace — and the Queen alone 
 
 Felt not the ominous quaking of the throne. 
 
 * The favourite palaces of the Koyal Family at that time. The gardens of the 
 Trianon are spacious and beautifully laid out : they contain cottages, cascades, saloons, 
 temples, a theatre, and the famous Corinthian Bower of Love. 
 
DON JUAN. 191 
 
 CI I. 
 
 And thou, too, Genius of voluptuous dancing-, 
 Parent of gauzy and transparent dresses, 
 
 Who left no scope for fancy's sweet romancing, 
 And gave no opportunity for guesses ; 
 
 But, with white thighs beneath the muslin glancing, 
 And breasts not e'en concealed by flowing tresses, 
 
 Didst rule the gilded salons of the court, — 
 
 Thou too wast banished from thine old resort ! 
 
 cm. 
 
 And then the glorious trade of go-between* 
 Went, like the occupation of Othello ; 
 
 And many a lovely Countess of nineteen, 
 
 Or stately Marchioness, grown somewhat mellow ; 
 
 Or Duchess, who a beauty once had been, 
 
 Deplored the loss each of her " pretty fellow ;" 
 
 And the old procuresses grew as pale 
 
 As Bass's celebrated Indian ale.f 
 
 * To so shameless and disgusting a pitch had vice and dissipation arrived in the 
 time of Louis the Sixteenth, that the trade or calling of Procureuse, or Entrem.etteu.se , 
 was a most lucrative one ; and even dowager ladies of title and antiquated demireps, 
 when no longer able to sin on their own acceunt, busied themselves by acting the parts 
 of " go-between," or confidant, and setting others sinning. Madame De la Motte's dis- 
 graceful affair of the necklace was illustrative of one of the many branches in which 
 the business of Entremetteu e was profitably exercised. 
 
 t See the advertisements in Hie Newspapers respecting " Bass's celebrated India 
 Pale Ale." 
 
192 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CIV. 
 
 All was alarm, suspicion, and mistrust, 
 
 When Juan went to Paris. Ancient thing's 
 
 Of every kind were crumbling- into dust, 
 For France at length was wearied of her Kings : — 
 
 The burgher's sword from idleness and rust — 
 A sheath ignoble ever — quickly springs ; 
 
 And " To the Royal Palace I" is the cry, 
 
 Mingled with shouts of "France \" and "Liberty !" 
 
 CV. 
 
 'Tis June the Twentieth. Every body knows 
 
 That at the Tuileries upon this day 
 There were exchanged some very serious blows . — 
 
 The people of the faubourgs* forced their way 
 Into the palace, whither, to oppose 
 
 The military drawn up in array, 
 Field-pieces on their shoulders they did bring, 
 And in this jaunty manner sought the King. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Egad ! it was a pleasant sight to see 
 
 A timid monarch and so strange a levee — 
 
 The people walking with a step as free 
 And light as if the cannon were not heavy, 
 
 Or etiquette a something which should be 
 Regarded by the independent bevy : — 
 
 The palace of the Tuileries has been 
 
 Of many a strange vicissitude the scene i 
 
 * Chiefly of the faubourgs Saint Antoine and Saint Marceau. 
 
DON JUAN. 193 
 
 evii. 
 
 There were a few — a very few — who still 
 Were faithful to the royal cause ; and these 
 
 Soon raised the cry that crowds had flocked to kill 
 The hapless monarch in the Tuileries. 
 
 The words made every vein in Juan thrill ; 
 And his first generous impulse was to seize 
 
 His weapon, and command his household straight 
 
 To follow him unto the palace-gate. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Juan, whose soul was fire and fearlessness, 
 Into the Place Carrousel led his band : — 
 
 There were some gallant youths of the noblesse 
 Who also thither hurried sword in hand ; 
 
 And when they saw our hero onward press, 
 As if he were in earnest with his brand, 
 
 They joined him ; and then all together bore 
 
 Their way unto the palace' private door. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 But here they met resistance : ten stout chaps 
 Held them in parley, till at length cross words 
 
 Increased to menaces, and led to raps, 
 
 And an appeal was made unto their swords. 
 
 Juan fought like a tiger — and perhaps 
 
 His valour also fired the young French lords, 
 
 Who well sustained th' assault which he began ; 
 
 And in a minute each had pinked his man. 
 
 N 
 
194 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 ex. 
 
 But from the palace poured a flood of those 
 Who ere now sought admission to the King- ; 
 
 And on our little squad a shower of blows 
 
 From musket and from sword began to ring-. — 
 
 Through many a grisly gash the red blood flows ; 
 And Juan, overpowered, falls weltering 
 
 And senseless in the sanguinary tide 
 
 That streams in torrents from his wounded side. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Hours pass, and he unconscious of their flight ! — 
 He wakes at length — where is he ? Stretched upon 
 
 A couch ; — and there are others left and right, 
 Also with occupants. The morning sun 
 
 Is veiled by dingy curtains from the sight ; — 
 
 But through the rents some straggling beams have won 
 
 Their way into the spacious room, and glance 
 
 On many a pale and ghastly countenance. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 And softly through the vast apartment glide 
 
 Females, whose dark blue gowns sweep on the floor : 
 
 Black veils — with which some few their faces hide — 
 Float in funereal fold their shoulders o'er : 
 
 Around their waists long strings of beads are tied, 
 That symbol of the faith which they adore ; 
 
 And in their hands medicaments they bear, 
 
 Or cooling drinks which they themselves prepare. 
 
DON JUAN. 195 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Over the sick they bend, as if the weak 
 
 And wasted forms were those of dear relations : 
 
 And from the world no recompense they seek, 
 No guerdon for their pious occupations. 
 
 Kindly they act — complacently they speak, 
 With cheerfulness pursue their avocations, 
 
 And to the wounded body or the heart 
 
 Their healing- influence alike impart. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 These were the good " Sisters of Charity," 
 And 'twas a hospital where Juan lay. — 
 
 Long was it ere unto his memory 
 
 Came the events of the preceding day ; 
 
 And then he learnt that it perchance would be 
 Some weeks before 'twere safe to move away ; — 
 
 " But," added his informant, in a tone 
 
 Of sweetness, "all attention should be shown." 
 
 cxv. 
 
 The Sister, who gave this assurance, wore 
 Her veil upon her face ; and though the eye 
 
 Of Juan sought behind it to explore, 
 
 Naught of the countenance could he espy. 
 
 And not alone her head the crape was o'er ; 
 Shoulders and neck it shrouded carefully, 
 
 As if she were most anxious to conceal 
 
 Charms which in nuns 'twere sinful to reveal. 
 
196 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 And when she spoke, 'twas in a voice so lo.w 
 And so subdued, the sense he scarcely caught 
 
 Of the few words that from her lips did flow ; — 
 And when by signs (he could not speak) he sought 
 
 Some details of the late affray to know, 
 
 She shook her head : nor could she e'en be brought, 
 
 During- the time she tended him, to say 
 
 One single syllable save "Yea" and " Nay." 
 
 CXV1I. 
 
 Nor did she ever draw the veil aside, 
 
 Which seemed fixed o'er her face just like Mokanna's.* 
 Juan knew not if shame, disgust, or pride 
 
 Retained it there, but thought 'twas not good manners ; 
 And sometimes he displeasure could not hide 
 
 Upon his face, when he essayed to scan her's ; 
 And then all her attentions were redoubled 
 As if she were by his impatience troubled. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 And by her form he judged that she was young ; 
 
 For it had all the beauty of contour 
 Possessed by youth alone. The veil, though flung 
 
 Over her features, served but to allure 
 Imagination's wings to sport among 
 
 Fancy's bright fairy realms ; — and he felt sure 
 That a sweet figure's symmetry and grace 
 Could not be coupled to an ugly face. 
 
 * See Moore's " Veiled Prophet of Khovassan.' 
 
DON JUAN. i 197 
 
 CX1X. 
 
 Then in a pleasing- reverie he'd sink, 
 
 And dream the charms he thought that she must wear 
 A cheek whereon the downy peach's pink 
 
 Struggled against the lily's hue so fair ; 
 Luxuriant ringlets waving on the brink 
 
 Of blushes born beneath that beauteous hair ; 
 Lips like the rose ; and eyes of violet hue, 
 Lighted by twin-drops of the diamond dew ! 
 
 cxx. 
 
 And when his mental portraiture was done, 
 With his soul's eyes he'd gaze on it until 
 
 He felt his heart by its soft witchery won, 
 
 And every pulse and nerve with pleasure thrill : 
 
 Till from the point whence they had first begun, 
 
 His thoughts would change — almost against his will, 
 
 So that 'twould seem at length that he beheld 
 
 His Rose in her who was so deeply veiled. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 And oft-times this idea so powerful grew 
 That he would fix his eyes upon that crape, 
 
 Forgetting that his glance could not pierce through, 
 And in his fancy Rose's features shape 
 
 As the ones at that moment hid from view ; — 
 And at this vision, deep sighs would escape 
 
 His anxious breast — sighs which he sometimes thought 
 
 From the Veiled Sister's lips an echo caught. 
 
198 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Thus did our hero's busy thoughts supply 
 An occupation, so that time ne'er hung 
 
 Heavily on his hands : — and when his eye 
 
 Grew bright again, and in his veins the young 
 
 Blood once more circulated rapidly- 
 Then the first word that trembled from his tongue, 
 
 The first his pale and quivering lips could frame, 
 
 Whispering scarce audibly, was Rose's name. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 'Twere hard to say how that sweet syllable, 
 When falling on the Sisters's ear, should be 
 
 Thrilling like the enchanter's magic spell ; 
 But the dark veil trembled exceedingly ; — 
 
 And for a moment her fair fingers fell 
 
 Upon his hand, with touch so light that he 
 
 Scarce felt the pressure soft : — he said no more ; 
 
 And she grew still and pensiveas before. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 From that day forth he gathered strength apace ; — 
 The languor of disease abandoned him ; 
 
 The rose returned unto his pallid face ; 
 His eyes regained their lustre, lately dim : 
 
 And when he left his couch for a short space, 
 He scarcely felt unsteadiness of limb ; 
 
 But being anxious a long fast to break 
 
 Clamoured for Burgundy and a beef-steak. 
 
DON JUAN. 109 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 For three long- months had he an inmate been 
 (Sweet reader, tremble not) of God's Hotel : 
 
 Spite of its name, it often is the scene 
 Of agonies which rather smack of hell ; 
 
 For there Death's servitors, pale, gaunt, and lean. 
 Palsy, Consumption, Fever, Dropsy dwell ; 
 
 But it is in a charitable view 
 
 That Frenchmen always call it " Hotel Dieu."* 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 Twas now September. Twelve short weeks were gone- 
 But not in idleness had they been past : 
 
 Around lay all the ruins of the throne — 
 Sceptre and orb upon the footway cast ; 
 
 The work of ages in a day undone, 
 The regal mantle trodden on at last ; 
 
 The populace in power — a King in chains — 
 
 And altars broken in their sacred fanes. 
 
 * The name generally given to Hospitals in France. The one here alluded to is 
 that situate in the immediate vicinity of Notre Dame, and which, in the time of Louis 
 the Sixteenth, was so crowded with patients that orders were issued to build five new 
 hospitals in difleient parts of Paris. 
 
200 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Now thundered forth the bloody eloquence 
 Of Marat asking- heads, as they had been 
 
 Apples — and with an earnestness intense 
 Craving - new victims for the guillotine.* 
 
 And thither go rank, beauty, innocence, 
 
 Fore-runners of their monarch and their queen 
 
 Frenchmen, ye sought for liberty and won 
 
 Slavery : — the Reign of Terror had begun ! 
 
 CXXVI1I. 
 
 Oh ! better far the Bastille— better still 
 The arbitrary sceptre of one hand, 
 
 Than an obedience to the hellish will 
 Of Marat, Danton, and their demon-band : 
 
 Better one monarch armed with power to kill, 
 Than hundreds nourishing the naked brand 
 
 Better have kept ail that so late had been 
 
 Than crush the throne to raise the guillotine ! 
 
 * Marat in his journal actually demanded 270,000 heads ; and when he was accused 
 Of the circumstance in the Convention, he savagely replied that he should call for as 
 many more if they were not granted. 
 
DON JUAN. 201 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 The Reign of Terror had begun ! The dread 
 Demon that mocked alike the populace 
 
 And sovereigns, trampled 'neath his iron tread 
 The rights of both — and e'en in Freedom's face 
 
 Laughed tauntingly, as she the parchment spread 
 To which her hand was vainly set to trace 
 
 The heaven-born word "republic." She aghast 
 
 Shrank back — though she will triumph at the last ! 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 All those of noble birth, or they who claimed 
 Relationship with nobles, — those allied 
 
 To refugees for royal attachment famed,— 
 Of aristocracy the flower and pride, — 
 
 And even those who dared to be ashamed 
 
 That Freedom's hands with France's blood were dyed,- 
 
 Alike the guilty and the innocent, 
 
 With the suspected, to the scaffold went. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 The Revolutionary Tribunal knew 
 
 That Juan was a royalist in heart : 
 And therefore when he convalescent grew, 
 
 And to his own abode would fain depart, 
 Orders were issued to the Hotel Dieu 
 
 That he should be sent in the prison-cart 
 Unto the Luxembourg, till a debate 
 In council might decide his future fate. 
 
202 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 Juan received the mandate with a mind 
 Prepared to meet extremities, and show 
 
 That gallant spirits, to all fates resigned, 
 Can never grovelling fear in peril know. 
 
 And, Ah ! if for a moment he repined 
 
 That tyrants doomed his blood in youth to flow, 
 
 'Twas not that for himself his soul could melt, 
 
 But for his unprotected Rose he felt. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 And ere he left the hospital, around 
 He sought for the Veiled Sister, to express 
 
 Those feelings which in grateful hearts abound, 
 Implanted by sweet solace in distress : 
 
 But she no longer at her post was found — 
 
 And wherefore she was absent none could guess ;- 
 
 A pang shot through his heart — he knew not why — 
 
 And moisture for a moment dimmed his eye. 
 
 CXXX1V. 
 
 And then ashamed this weakness to display, 
 
 The tear-drop he dashed off— suppressed the sigh 
 
 That rose within his breast,— and turned away 
 From that abode of sickness, hurriedly. — 
 
 A hospital exchanged in the same day 
 For the gloom of a prison, and none nigh 
 
 To breathe a word of solace in his ear, — 
 
 Surely this destiny was too severe ! 
 
DON JUAN. 203 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 Here rest we for a space again. The Muses 
 Grow wearied with perpetually supplying 
 
 Draughts of the spring - that from Pernassus oozes ; 
 And Pegasus can not be always flying. 
 
 The bard, moreover, who the courser uses, 
 Will find that he is rather fond of shying : 
 
 At least, I know I very often slip — 
 
 But I'm not skilled in such-like horsemanship. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 I've said before that I'm a modest bard, 
 
 Without pretension, and without conceit ; — 
 
 And finding present times a little hard, 
 Having moreover a few bills to meet ; 
 
 Also experiencing a great regard 
 
 For him of whom my epic verses treat, 
 
 I left off writing novels, and began 
 
 The present poem on its present plan. 
 
 CXXXV 1 1. 
 
 Three volume-novels are going out of fashion ; 
 
 Diaries are o'er done — travels wo'nt do ; — 
 Colburn and Bently are in quite a passion, 
 
 And don't know what to turn attention to : 
 Therefore my poem, reader, will come smash on 
 
 A public crying out for something new ; 
 And I — e'en keeping fancy within bounds — 
 Am sure to net at least a thousand pounds. 
 
204 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 And now, most courteous reader, now Farewell ! 
 
 After a pause I will pursue my song - , 
 And in a page or two resume my shell ; 
 
 For incidents by crowds already throng 
 In my imagination, which to tell 
 
 Will shortly be my business, — and I long 
 To mount my Pegasus once more — then trill I on 
 Like Mainzer with his singi.ig for the million. 
 
 END OP CANTO THE FOURTH. 
 
DON JUAN. 205 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 1 
 
 Clio inspires my song' ! Let none abuse her, 
 For she is History's Goddess — and 'tis mine 
 
 As guardian of Canto the Fifth to choose her, 
 And sing 1 beneath her influence divine. — 
 
 Within his office the Public Accuser 
 Was seated, sipping Saint Emilion wine, 
 
 And conning briefs — for Fouquier-Tinville's task 
 
 Was for the heads of all proscribed to ask. 
 
 II. 
 
 He was a short, fat, red-faced man — his eyes 
 
 Were small, but piercing ; — on his lip there curled 
 
 A smile that spoke of legal mysteries, 
 And cruelty to devastate a world. 
 
 His glances seemed to take you by surprise, 
 As if some hand the veil abruptly furled 
 
 Up from before your thoughts, and laid them bare 
 
 Unto that snake- like fascinating stare. 
 
200 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 III. 
 
 A creature of the Revolution — not 
 One of the Revolution's masters — he 
 
 Was formed for low device and legal plot, 
 And claiming- heads with technicality. 
 
 Where all was foul, he was the foulest blot 
 Upon that fearful pag-e of history ; 
 
 For he was but the base and grovelling 1 tool 
 
 Of men determined in their hellish rule. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yes — Fouquier-Tinville in his office sate : 
 Before him lay a catalogue of those 
 
 To whom his dreaded voice was that of fate ; — 
 But in his iron heart no tender throes 
 
 Taug-ht him their portion to commiserate. 
 Calmly he pondered on the thousand woes 
 
 Beneath which France was languishing- : — to him 
 
 Vainly were turned her eyes, with weeping- dim. 
 
 The Public Minister had just g-ot throug-h 
 
 Half of his bottle, and half of his brief — 
 Points where 'twas pardonable if he grew 
 
 Fatig-ued and soug-ht a temporary relief 
 In a g-ood supper. With a relish true 
 
 He fell alike on mutton and on beef ; 
 And then — no doubt to make his memory clearer- 
 He washed it all down with some old Madeira. 
 
DON JUAN. 207 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then lolling- backwards in his easy chair, 
 
 He counted on his fingers, one by one, 
 Those victims who were destined to repair, 
 
 To death with the first beam of morning's sun. 
 Long was the list — and he appeared to wear 
 
 A smile of satisfaction when 'twas done — 
 Just such a smile as on the face we read 
 Of him who does a charitable deed. 
 
 VII. 
 
 'Twas while wrapt up in pleasing contemplation 
 Of all the business he had done that day, 
 
 And mentally surveying the w r hole nation 
 To mark the ruins which around him lay, 
 
 That on a sudden a slight agitation 
 
 About the door-latch drew his eyes that way ; 
 
 The portal opened slowly — and he there 
 
 Beheld a lady, young and passing fair. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Her form matured was still of sylphid lightness ; 
 
 Her eyes were as the Persian Iris blue ; 
 Her cheeks were wet with tears of diamond brightness 
 
 Her lips were of the coral's richest hue ; 
 Her neck eclipsed the marble for its whiteness ; 
 
 Her locks were glossy, as if moist with dew ; 
 And though despair were pictured on her face, 
 Her gestures were all dignity and grace. 
 
208 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 IX. 
 
 She was arrayed in white — a fit attire 
 For her that as a suppliant came to him 
 
 Who gazed upon her beauties with desire 
 Filling- his eyes unto the very brim. 
 
 Her flowing- drapery only fanned that fire, 
 
 Shaping her perfect bust and well-formed limb ; — 
 
 And she, although indignant at his glance, 
 
 Still resolutely towards him did advance. 
 
 X. 
 
 Then, when she reached the spot where he was placed, 
 Upon her knees she fell — and the big tears 
 
 So quickly down her cheeks each other chased, 
 And her young bosom heaved so with its fears, 
 
 That for a moment sympathy was traced 
 
 E'en on that countenance o'er which long years 
 
 Had rolled without evoking from the lip 
 
 One smile bestowed on human fellowship. 
 
 XI. 
 
 She knelt, and towards him raised her tearful eyes ;- 
 Her arms, with the hands joined, hung languidly 
 
 Before her — and the sobs and heart- wrung sighs 
 Convulsed her bosom, like the stormy sea, 
 
 When from its fathomless abyss uprise 
 Volcanic fires, forcing a passage free 
 
 Through waters rolling many a fathom deep 
 
 O'er where the bursting craters used to sleep. 
 
DON JUAN. 209 
 
 XII. 
 
 'Twas Venus kneeling- unto Bacchus then : 
 Had there a Flax man or Canova been 
 
 To take her as a beauteous specimen, 
 
 More soft, more lovely than the Cnidian queen — 
 
 And him, the most abhorrent of all men, — 
 Oh ! what a glorious work of art were seen ; 
 
 In contrast and in passion more sublime 
 
 Than aught yet rescued from the hand of time. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Public Prosecutor took her hand, 
 
 Exclaiming — " Rise, and speak thy wishes ! I 
 
 May scarce refuse what must be a command 
 
 When said by lips like thine. How — no reply ? 
 
 Pardon me, damsel, if I understand 
 No gilded words of gentle courtesy. 
 
 A rough republican, I yet can feel 
 
 E'en those emotions which force you to kneel." — 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Then there is hope ! And thou art not as they 
 Would have me think — the ruthless man of blood ! 
 
 Oh ! should'st thou grant the boon I ask to-day, 
 Tears of repentance, in no niggard flood, 
 
 Shall wipe those evil thoughts of thee away !"— 
 She ceased — she rose — and motionless she stood 
 
 Before the man in whose ferocious mind 
 
 Pity no longer she despaired to find. 
 
 o 
 
210 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Damsel, my duties in this troubled time 
 
 Conciliate but few — for few can know 
 The difference between justice and crime, 
 
 When the regenerators strike a blow. 
 'Tis to raise France up to a height sublime 
 
 That on the scaffold tides of blood must flow ; 
 And with a baptism of red gore do we 
 Thus consecrate the shrine of Liberty ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Think'st thou it is to gratify a lust 
 
 Of blood that hundreds are sent forth to die ? 
 
 No — 'tis th' unequal balance to adjust 
 Between the people's rights and tyranny ! — 
 
 My name, when I am mouldering in the dust, 
 Will win the praises of posterity : 
 
 But, damsel, ages still must pass away 
 
 Ere men view rightly what is done to-day. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " This principle of justice we proclaim — 
 The few should fall to benefit the mass ; 
 
 And they who still adhere unto the name 
 Of Monarchy must to the scaffold pass. 
 
 Old steel 's re-polished by ordeals of flame — 
 And blood must purify the despot class 
 
 Whose tyranny, like an avenging brand, 
 
 Has scattered desolation o'er the land."* 
 
 * It is asserted by many French writers that Robespierre (one of the " regenerators'' 
 alluded to in the text,) was in reality of a merciful and humane disposition, correct in 
 
DON JUAN. 211 
 
 XV11I. 
 
 This torrent of demoniac argument 
 
 Fell on the lady's ear, like the simoom 
 
 On him whose steps are o'er the desart bent, 
 And who in sight of safety finds a tomb. — 
 
 Those words like daggers to her bosom went ; 
 Hope fled — and on her face a fearful gloom 
 
 Spread rapidly : — she thought she heard the knell 
 
 Of one she loved too tenderly and well ! 
 
 his private life, and a man of the strictest probity and honour. Let not the reader 
 imagine that we would attempt here to justify the enormities of which he was the 
 author, or the terrible measures which he sanctioned ; we merely wish to record our 
 sentiments relative to the motives of this diabolical conduct. We maintain that 
 Robespierre acted not from an innate love of cruelty and bloodshed, but from a con- 
 viction that the happiness of his country was only to be ensured by the death of all 
 those who were likely to oppose the principles of a complete revolution and the establish- 
 ment of a purely republican government. He was a mistaken man ; and he doubt- 
 less shuddered at the horrible alternative which he deemed himself compelled to adopt 
 But he could not persuade himself that France could be rendered happy unless the 
 very roots of aristocracy were exterminated : and under this impression he consigned 
 thousands to the scaffold. In order to regenerate his native land, he considered it 
 necessary to cut off the seniors of the existing genera 1 ion, and prepare the way for a 
 new race whose ideas should be only those of republicanism and universal equality. 
 He thought it proper to sacrifice the lives of a comparative few, in order to ensure 
 the felicity of the millions ; and it was with these views that he kept the axe of the 
 guillotine incessantly at work. He performed the disagreeable duty of a patriot, 
 according to his own ideas, and chastened the country the happiness of which he fondly 
 deemed himself called upon to establish upon a solid foundation. It cannot be said 
 that a love of gain or any exalted ideas of ambition or self-aggrandizement urged him 
 thus to act ; and when we see that he pursued so strange a path without being in- 
 fluenced by any of those motives which generally excite men to slaughter or to crime, 
 we must look for the causes in another direction. We find them in conscientious, 
 disinterested, but miserably mistaken views ; and we find also that a man of a 
 naturally humane disposition, became, by the force of idiosyncratic convictions, 
 the most sanguinary tyrant that ever deluged a country with the blood of its 
 citizens. 
 
212 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Damsel, what ails thee ? Say thy cause of woe !' 
 Again he took her hand, which he ere now 
 
 Had left ; and then a deep and sudden glow 
 Suffused her cheeks in purple, and her brow. 
 
 'Twas pride that bade those burning- torrents flow 
 Unto her face — and 'twas a solemn vow 
 
 That sent her, nerved to meet all danger there, 
 
 Iusult, reproach, or even death to dare. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Citizen, thou hast told me that the sword 
 Of justice falls without reserve on those 
 
 Who dare to own a monarch as their lord, 
 And treat his enemies as common foes : 
 
 How then can I implore thee to accord 
 Mercy to one who ventured to oppose 
 
 The populace, when they repaired to seize, 
 
 Last June, the sovereign in the Tuileries ?" — 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " The name of the delinquent ?" — " He is none 
 Of France's offspring ; but the sister-land 
 
 Trans-Pyrenean claims him as her son, 
 And Russian interests his care demand. 
 
 This day he to the Luxembourg has gone." — 
 " Enough !" and the Accuser waved his hand 
 
 Impatiently : " I know for whom you plead ; 
 
 'Tis vain — his destinv 's ere now decreed !" 
 
DON JUAN. 213 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The lady had been tranquil when she spoke, 
 
 Subduing' passions anxious to rebel : 
 But now, as if abruptly she awoke 
 
 From a deep trance within the narrow shell, 
 Forth in an agonising- shriek she broke, 
 
 So loud — so long — so wild — so terrible, 
 That the Accuser trembled — and his eye 
 Glanced on her with a strange uncertainty. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 He knew not if to banter or respect — 
 
 If to be angry or conciliate : 
 One moment he was ready to reject 
 
 The boon she sought : — and then her piteous state 
 Induced him for a moment to reflect : 
 
 And when he marked her bosom palpitate 
 With agony, as now again she knelt, 
 That stern Republican compunction felt ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Mercy !" she cried, and grasped th' Accuser's hand. 
 
 Loathed now no more : " in mercy hear my prayer ! 
 One syllable from thee is a command 
 
 That rash but brave and generous youth to spare. 
 Oh ! he is young to die, sir — he has planned 
 
 For future years so many a project fair. 
 'Twere hard to cut him short — 'twere cruel to give 
 The mandate which proclaims, ' He cannot live!' 
 
214 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Oh ! no !, — it were impossible to say 
 
 To one so youthful, ' The Tomb yawns for thee!' 
 
 No — he must flourish still for many a day, 
 
 The beautiful — the kind — the brave — the free ! 
 
 Those features must not yet return to clay, 
 Nor close the eyes that have shone bright on me. 
 
 Oh ! no — it is impossible ! I rave — 
 
 He is not destined for an early grave ' 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Say, sir — .for thou hast power — he shall not die ! 
 
 Say that he yet shall be restored to those 
 Who love him ! — By the God that rules on high, 
 
 Thee I adjure — and He all secrets knows — 
 Do not that useless deed of cruelty ! 
 
 Spare him — and take the life of her who throws 
 Herself upon thy mercy ! — Hear my prayer : 
 Heavens ! does it want an effort, then, to spare? 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Oh ! didst thou come to me and ask the life 
 
 Of my most bitter enemy — didst thou 
 Seek to redeem from the avenging knife 
 
 E'en those who cause such grief as rends me now,- 
 Not for one moment would my passion's strife 
 
 Sway my resolve ; but cheerfully I'd bow 
 To the dictates of mercy ! — Once again, 
 Let me not ask for mercy, then, in vain !" 
 
DON JUAN. 215 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The lady's supplication ceased ; — but she 
 Gazed on th' Accuser's face, as the young- lamb 
 
 Looks upward to its butcher timidly. 
 
 He answered, " Damsel, thinkest thou I am 
 
 Possessed of power to alter the decree 
 
 Of those who raised yon sacred oriflamme, 
 
 Which, Freedom's symbol, waves its ample wings 
 
 Over the halls of France's forty Kings ?" — 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 "Yes — thou hast power to pardon and to kill : 
 Thy words the council's resolution sway. 
 
 This youth's existence hangs upon thy will — 
 Thy pleasure pardons, or thy mandates slay. 
 
 But thou woulds't not inflict this grievous ill : 
 Ere now I marked a beam of pity play 
 
 Upon thy countenance. Oh ! to my heart 
 
 Let not that beam delusive hopes impart ?" — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Maiden, thou pleadest well the cause of one 
 Doubtless to thee as dear as in his cell 
 
 Unto the captive is the glorious sun, 
 Or to the Arab wanderer the well. 
 
 Sooth, I could love thee, too, as he has done, 
 And would risk honours, fame, and wealth to dwell 
 
 In thy sweet memory : — 'twere e'en worth while 
 
 A life to give for one day of thy smile. 
 
210 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Say, damsel, dost thou ask me now to spare 
 The one to whom thou hast devoted charms 
 
 With earthly beauty far beyond compare, 
 While I, to clasp thee in my longing 1 arms, 
 
 Would venture every hope of heaven — and dare 
 That hell with threat of which the priest alarms 
 
 Weak-minded man ? Can such a love as this 
 
 Restore a rival to the envied bliss I" — 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Again," the lady cried, ■' in mercy save 
 
 The life I ask — and never more on me 
 Shall his love beam on this side of the grave : 
 
 Save him — and then I will be all to thee 
 That I have been to him ! The boon I crave, 
 
 Although procured by mine own infamy, 
 Will dissipate some portion of the gloom 
 That hangs upon my soul, and bless my tomb !" 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Like the hyaena's, when he marks his prey, 
 The eyes of Tinville in their orbits rolled : 
 
 The lady felt her courage ebb away 
 
 Beneath that glance licentious, fierce, and bold. 
 
 As if a snake coiled up before her lay, 
 
 The blood seemed in her veins to circle cold ; — 
 
 And when th' Accuser pressed her hand, she thought 
 
 That in a demon's fiery grasp 'twas caught. 
 
DON JUAN. 21 7 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But, Oh ! her Spartan mind was nerved to bear 
 All this, and more — for she had vowed to earn 
 
 Her lover's grace, though she were forced to dare 
 Death— or that worse than death for which we spurn 
 
 Poor fallen woman. Ever the most fair 
 Is doomed unto the destiny most stern ! 
 
 For Fate appears with greatest care to cull, 
 
 To be plucked first, the flowers most beautiful ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " To-morrow, damsel, if it still should please 
 Thy phantasy to save the Spaniard, stray 
 
 Amidst the gardens of the Tuileries : 
 I'll meet thee on the terrace at mid-day. 
 
 Meantime, thy bosom may remain at ease 
 
 For him — he's safe ! Should'st thou the traitress play, 
 
 Hope naught of me — for he shall surely die !" — 
 
 Th' Accuser waved his hand to bar reply. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 They parted thus.— Upon th' ethereal deep, 
 
 As forth into the night the lady went, 
 The very moon and stars appeared to weep, 
 
 Though her own heart was filled with ravishment. 
 Ah ! why should she the path of honour keep, 
 
 And why determine to be innocent, 
 When she must be the sacrifice to save 
 Him whom she loved from an untimely grave ? 
 
218 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Know ye a Grecian virtue more sublime 
 Than this alacrity to plunge in guilt ? — 
 
 Go, search amid the annals of past time — 
 Ages when blood was in profusion spilt, 
 
 And e'en when suicide was not a crime,* — 
 Go, ransack ancient history as thou wilt, — 
 
 Vain will those efforts be — thou shalt not find 
 
 A grander proof of woman's noble mind ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Zenobia, led in triumph and enchained, 
 
 Although a vanquished, still a haughty prize, 
 
 When wooed by Tadmor's conqueror,! disdained 
 The Roman crown, with honour's sacrifice. 
 
 Lucretia, when her chastity was stained, 
 
 Sought death before her outraged husband's eyes. 
 
 Thus one loved honour better than a throne — 
 
 The other could not live when it was gone ! 
 
 * The Romans did not consider suicide to be a crime. 
 
 t The Emperor Aurelian conquered Talmyra, and dragged the lovely huntress- 
 queen to grace his triumph to Rome. He offered her his hand ; but that liighsouled 
 woman disdained the homage of the robber's heart — she spurned the offer of her con- 
 queror's crown. Despoiled of her kingdom, she lived a dignified matron, unsubdued in 
 mind, although denied all external honours, save, indeed, the homage of the gallant- 
 hearted. 
 
DON JUAN. 219 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 How dear was honour, then, to both ! But she 
 Of whom we write, held, in comparison 
 
 With the existence and security 
 
 Of the much-loved though too neglectful one, 
 
 Her honour as mere dross. Yet it might be 
 That she would also have refused a throne 
 
 Sooner than wed where Love preferred no claim,- 
 
 Or died to vindicate her ravished fame ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 Yet there will not be wanting- prudes to say 
 That woman ne'er is justified to yield 
 
 Her honour — no, not e'en to turn away 
 
 The shafts of death from parents, or to shield 
 
 Her tender offspring ! — Gently there, I pray, 
 Good moralists : the arguments ye wield 
 
 Are based upon those narrow views which find 
 
 A ready patron in each little mind. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 O Prudery ! like Charity, thou art 
 For a whole host of sins the covering : 
 
 Ever a hypocrite, thou play'st t"hy part — 
 A snake coiled up beneath Religion's wing ' 
 
 Thou hast the poisoned tongue, the envious heart, 
 And lust as hot as the Icelandic spring 
 
 Beneath a frozen aspect : — Oh ! to thee 
 
 How many a demirep bows down the knee ! 
 
220 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XLU. 
 
 Prudes, who love pleasures stolen — therefore sweet- 
 Arid who in private practice what they blame 
 
 Before the world — shrink back whene'er they meet 
 A member of the sisterhood of sname. 
 
 They spurn the hapless wanderer of the street, 
 Declare that contact sullies their own fame, 
 
 Avoid the air she breathes, and will not see 
 
 Extenuation for her infamy. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Say, ye who thus contemn the guilty fair 
 
 That sells her charms for bread beneath a stern 
 
 Necessity — and loathes her life of care, 
 
 Miscalled a life of joy ; — say, ye who spurn 
 
 That shamed and trembling- creature — why repair 
 To view expensive harlots nimbly turn 
 
 In some lascivious dance before a crowd — 
 
 Why smile so gracious, and applaud so loud ? 
 
 XL1V. 
 
 Why dwell in raptures on the witching song 
 Flowing from lips where the adulterous kiss 
 
 Is gathered — or whose blandishments belong- 
 To him whose gold can best afford the bliss ?_ 
 
 Say, to the Thespian temples do ye throng 
 To crush th' immodest actress with a hiss — 
 
 Or to encourage in her path of shame 
 
 The woman who has earned a harlot's name ? 
 
DON JUAN. 221 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Ah ! Prudery — like Prejudice — you strain 
 At gnats, and swallow camels ! I'm afraid 
 
 That all my fine discussions are in vain, 
 And reformation will be long- delayed ; — 
 
 For Prudery 's a garment which, 'tis plain, 
 Suits the unfaithful wife and sour old maid — 
 
 The first to hide her flirtings with her lover, 
 
 The next the motives of her spleen to cover. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 If there be anything that I detest 
 More than another, 'tis hypocrisy : — 
 
 France is the nation which I love the best, 
 For from that vice 'tis altogether free. 
 
 French married ladies — it must be confest — 
 Are p'rhaps no better than they ought to be ; 
 
 But still they are not base enough to bask 
 
 In Pleasure's smile beneath Religion's mask. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 And, by the way — when I reflect — if e'er 
 The ladies of our upper classes should 
 
 Before a Bow-Street Magistrate repair 
 Upon a charge of being- much too good, 
 
 I'd gladly be their bail to meet elsewhere 
 The accusation — certain that they stood 
 
 On the safe side, and never could be found 
 
 Guilty upon such an unlikely ground. 
 
222 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XLVI1I. 
 
 Ah ! Ladies Blessing-ton and Canterbury ! 
 
 Though ye are not received into society 
 By such as Ladies Peel and Londonderry, 
 
 Ye need not mourn your little impropriety, 
 But simply that 'twas not concealed. I very 
 
 Much think that those who gain most notoriety 
 Are the best samples of the aristocracy, 
 Because they veil not sin beneath hypocrisy. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Ah ! could some fairy draw the veil aside 
 The mysteries of the boudoir to reveal — 
 
 Lay bare the crimes that silken curtains hide — 
 And show the vice that palace-walls conceal,— 
 
 How on her seat of all complacent pride 
 Would many a haughty English beauty reel ; 
 
 And many a peeress and distinguished dame 
 
 Sink overwhelmed beneath a weight of shame ! 
 
 Yes — that which is but mere conjecture now 
 Would turn to damning certainty, — and where 
 
 Innocence seemed to crown the lofty brow, 
 
 The heart would prove the seat of guilt and care ! 
 
 Pause ere the English peeress you endow 
 At the expence of Gallia's daughter fair ; 
 
 And when you curl your lip at France in scorn, 
 
 Think of the names of Tollemache and of Strachan. 
 
DON JUAN. 223 
 
 LI. 
 
 Holland, Sykes, Norton, Paget, Heaviside 
 
 Are names as well associated with 
 Love's scandal, as vulgarity and pride 
 
 With citizens whose names are Jones or Smith. 
 Reader, I am not wont my thoughts to hide, 
 
 But give you all — the marrow and the pith ; 
 And if you find my strictures somewhat hard, 
 Remember — I'm an independant bard ! 
 
 LII. 
 
 Awoke the many-voiced and babbling day ; 
 
 Smiled the bright sun upon the Tuileries ; 
 And on the chrystal fountain glanced its ray : — 
 
 The birds sang blythely in the orange trees ; — 
 And from the fragrant flowers exhaled away 
 
 The tears of Night, which in their chalices 
 Athirst they gathered during the brief reign 
 Of chaste Diana on th' ethereal plain. 
 
 L1II. 
 
 It was a day of heaven's unclouded blue, 
 
 And Nature all her mellowest tints displayed : 
 
 The kiss of the soft zephyr seemed to woo 
 
 The leaves that broke the sun- light with their shade ;- 
 
 And children's prattle in each avenue 
 
 A music like the voice of streamlets made : 
 
 The very sentinel appeared to say, 
 
 u 'Twere sin to work the guillotine to-day I" 
 
224 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LIV. 
 
 At the appointed hour the lady came, 
 
 Resigned and calm like Jepthah's votive daughter 
 Her brow, flushed not with anger nor with shame, 
 
 Was placid as a lake's unruffled water : 
 The lightness of her step seemed to proclaim 
 
 It was a cheerful task that thither brought her ; 
 And in her dark blue eyes appeared to meet 
 A galaxy of thoughts serene and sweet. 
 
 LV. 
 
 The most delicious odours did exhale 
 
 From the rich tresses of her shining hair : 
 
 Over her bosom flowed the snowy veil, 
 
 And envious hid the ivory beauties there ; — 
 
 And if her damask cheek appeared more pale 
 Than it was wont, still did she seem the fair 
 
 Embodiment of all things beautiful — 
 
 A lovely flower for such a wretch to cull ! 
 
 LVI. 
 
 She moved along, light as the graceful deer, 
 Seeming to tread the air, and not the ground ; 
 
 And when the Public Minister drew near, 
 Her voice, mellifluous as music's sound, 
 
 Was low, and soft, and tremulously clear ; 
 
 And for a moment, by her glance spell-bound, 
 
 He stood, the prey of a remorseful feeling, 
 
 And almost ready to address her kneeling. 
 
DON JUAN. 225 
 
 LVII. 
 
 But, stifling- in his heart that sentiment, — 
 For evil men crush virtues 'neath the heel 
 
 As they would trample reptiles, — and intent 
 Upon the lust he sought not to conceal, 
 
 His glances on the lady's form he bent, 
 
 And with those searching eyes essayed to steal 
 
 A glimpse of the white bosom, round, and swelling 
 
 With the emotions that therein were dwelling. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Urged by instinctive modesty, she drew 
 
 Her shawl around her ; — and th' Accuser gave 
 
 His arm to lead her down the avenue 
 
 On either side of which the green trees wave, 
 
 But still leave open the unrivalled view 
 To where, in honour of her warriors brave, 
 
 Gallia has built that grand Triumphal Gate* — 
 
 Worthy the deeds 'tis to commemorate ! 
 
 LIX. 
 
 In silence down the avenue they passed, 
 
 And entered from the gardens on that square 
 
 Whose name has changed so often — till at last 
 " Place de la Concorde" 'tis decreed to bear.f 
 
 Then, in the midst of that arena vast, 
 Towering — a hideous omen — in the air, 
 
 With axe reflecting back the sun-light sheen, 
 
 In all its horrors stood the guillotine ! 
 
 * La Barriere de L'Etoile. 
 
 + This splendid arena, in which the Obelisk of Luxor now stands upon the very s?ot 
 
 where the guillotine was erected in the time of the Revolution, has borne at different 
 
 times the several names of Place Louis Quatorze, Place Louis Quince, Place Louis 
 
 Seize, Place de la Revolution , and Place de la Concorde. 
 
 P 
 
226 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LX. 
 
 " Oh ! why this path?" exclaimed the trembling- fair, 
 As she pressed closer to th' Accuser's side, 
 
 While her sweet countenance appeared to wear 
 A look of horror which she could not hide. 
 
 No — for her courage was not nerved to bear 
 Aught save the sacrifice of her own pride, 
 
 To meet which she had duly trained her will — 
 
 But, when alarmed, she was a woman still ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Oh ! why this path ? why seek this way ?" she said, 
 Her limbs all trembling, and her glances wild : 
 
 Contemptuously th' Accuser shook his head. 
 Looked upward to the guillotine, and smiled : 
 
 Then nearer to the fatal spot he led 
 
 His horror-struck companion : — " Silly child ' 
 
 Would'st thou not view that passport to the grave, 
 
 From which to-day your lover's life you save ?" 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Those words restored her courage — and again 
 Her countenance grew tranquil and serene ; 
 
 While the Accuser, in a horrid strain 
 Of humour, eulogised the guillotine ; — 
 
 " Which poured forth floods of gore, as clouds their rain, 
 To fertilise the soil where late had been 
 
 Naught save rank weeds, but whose new vegetation 
 
 Thus nurtured would be useful to the nation. 
 
DON JUAN. 227 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " And there is One," said he, and grimly smiled, 
 " Whose feet have hitherto on velvet trod, 
 
 Whose head has e'er reposed on cushions piled, 
 And who has swayed the sceptre of a god, — 
 
 He too," he added with a frenzy wild — 
 
 " He, who once ruled the nation with his nod" — 
 
 His voice sank to a whisper — "shall be seen 
 
 Upon the scaffold of yon guillotine !"* — 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Thou woulds't not crown the measure of thy guilt 
 With such a sacrifice !" the lady cried ; 
 
 And her cheek paled, as if, before her spilt, 
 
 Gushed from the regal corse the crimson tide. — 
 
 Th' Accuser answered, " Cavil as thou wilt 
 Against such policy, th' inhuman pride 
 
 Of Kings must fall, and an example be 
 
 Afforded unto all posterity." 
 
 LXV. 
 
 The lady, with a purpose of her own 
 
 To serve — though horror-struck at what she heard, 
 Delivered also in a threatening tone — 
 
 Restrained her feelings, nor replied a word ; 
 But her heart fluttered with a fear unknown, 
 
 Like that which seizes on the timid bird 
 Caught in the rude grasp of the falconer — 
 While the Accuser fixed his eyes on her : — 
 
 * Louis the Sixteenth. 
 
228 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " Nor shall his blood alone, to expiate 
 The crimes of all his ancestors, be shed ; 
 
 But his licentious queen* shall share the fate 
 Which she has drawn on his devoted head ! 
 
 We will prepare them a befitting- state: 
 To yonder eminence shall they be led, 
 
 'Midst crowds of freemen throng-nag- on the way 
 
 With shouts to welcome that triumphant day !" 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 The lady shuddered— and he said no more ; 
 
 For now in the Faubourg Saint Honore 
 They stopped a modest restaurant before : 
 
 And, after glancing up and down the way, 
 He hurried the fair dame the threshold o'er 
 
 Into a private chamber, where the ray 
 Of the hot sun was kept out by a blind 
 Which still admitted the refreshing wind. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Yes, thou, O Zephyr — that canst win thy way 
 Into Love's mystic bowers, to fan the cheek 
 
 Of Beauty heated with her amorous play — 
 Thou that dost waft the words which lovers speak, 
 
 Sport with their sighs, 'midst their embraces stray, 
 And echoes in their billing kisses seek — 
 
 Thou that dost wander over forms so fair, 
 
 And mingle with love's incense,-^-thou wast there ! 
 
 * Marie Antoinette. 
 
DON JUAN. 229 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 And thou too, Silence — handmaid of desire, 
 
 Mysterious influence that stealeth o'er 
 The soul, like the soft music of a lyre, 
 
 Or ocean's gentle murmur on the shore, — - 
 Thou that doth hopes and fairy dreams inspire, 
 
 And aid imagination's wings to soar 
 To realms of glory, — thou too didst maintain 
 In that apartment thy secluded reign ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 A slight repast was served — and Fonquier ate 
 In silence — and his eager eye kept moving 
 
 Quickly between the lady and his plate, — 
 
 'Twere hard to say which glance appeared more loving ! 
 
 And she seemed inwardly to meditate, 
 While o'er her charms his lustful looks were roving : 
 
 But not a single morsel passed her lip — 
 
 Nor deigned she of the generous wine to sip. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 An hour was spent — and not a syllable 
 
 Broke that strange silence. Had some Genius cast, 
 In mercy, on them both some magic spell ? — 
 
 Suddenly o'er th' Accuser's face there passed 
 A gleam — 'twere hard to say of heaven or hell, 
 
 Until he spoke ; — and then, while tears fell fast 
 Over her cheeks, like rain upon the peach, 
 To her astonished ears thus flowed his speech : — 
 
230 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " Damsel, thy beauty is thy best defence ; 
 
 Nor I — not even I — will hurt thee ! — Go — 
 For worlds I would not harm thine innocence, 
 
 Nor for one moment's pleasure seal thy woe ! 
 And blame me not, when thou art far from hence : 
 
 Borne onward by my passion's torrent-flow, 
 I doomed thee for my victim ; — but 'tis past — 
 And honour, duty sway my soul at last ! 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 " Thou hast a mind too noble for this sphere 
 
 Sublunary ! I were a wretch indeed 
 To call upon thy cheek a single tear, 
 
 Or make thy generous heart, sweet damsel, bleed. 
 Weep not — thou hast no longer cause to fear ; 
 
 Look on me as a friend to serve thy need ! 
 What — wilt thou not mine insolence forget? — 
 Then must I try a spell more potent yet !" 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 He paused, and from his breast a pacquet drew ;— 
 " Damsel, receive thy lover's pardon ! He 
 
 This day may be restored to love and you : 
 
 Accept the ordinance which sets him free !"— 
 
 Oh ! never from the bow more quickly flew 
 The arrow, than to clasp th' Accuser's knee 
 
 That lady sprang' — and to her lips she pressed 
 
 The hand by which she was supremely blest ! 
 
DON JUAN. 231 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 " Rise, damsel, rise ! To me that you should kneel 
 I am not worthy ! Ah ! let there be one 
 
 Who, 'midst the wrecks around, may live to feel 
 A single generous act by Tinville done ! — 
 
 Yes — for the heart, though fenced with triple steel, 
 By woman's tears to mercy may be won ; 
 
 And I, who to the grief of man allow 
 
 No pity, melt before a woman now ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 " Oh ! blest, then, be those magic charms which shed 
 Their genial influence on th' obdurate mind, 
 
 Rekindling sympathies deemed long since dead, 
 And rousing once again emotions kind. 
 
 'Round woman there's a glorious halo spread, 
 By which the savage nature is refined :. — 
 
 And I this day have known, 'mid years of strife, 
 
 The sweetest moment of my stormy life !" 
 
 LXXV1I. 
 
 He ceased, and raised the lady from the floor 
 
 On which she knelt ; — and on her hand he prest 
 
 His lips but for a moment — 'twas no more 
 
 Than the regard which might have been exprest 
 
 By brother unto sister. Then before 
 
 Honour had time to ooze out from his breast — 
 
 A trick which that same honour 's wont to play — 
 
 He led the lady from the house away. 
 
232 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXVI1I. 
 
 Oh ! now how changed her heart — how bright her eye- 
 How sweet the smile upon her lip that played — 
 
 How cheered the voice in which she gave reply 
 To the remarks that the Accuser made ! 
 
 This time the guillotine they passed not nigh, 
 But through the streets unto the gardens strayed ; 
 
 And in the midst of the same avenue 
 
 Where they had met, he bade her thus adieu :- 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 " Farewell, sweet lady ! Now must end for me 
 The brightest dream that I on earth may know— 
 
 The only drop of pure felicity 
 
 Mixed in rny cup of bitters here below. 
 
 We part — and different spheres in life may be 
 The points to which respectively we go : 
 
 May-days for you — for me a cold December — 
 
 But until death must both this hour remember. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " And if, when I am gone, you hear perchance 
 Contumely and reproach heaped on my name, — 
 
 If prejudice or malice should advance 
 
 To cover Tinville's memory with shame ; — 
 
 Or, lady, should your eye hereafter glance 
 
 Upon the page that marks my life with blame — 
 
 These words with truth may issue from your heart, 
 
 ' There was one deed from all the rest apart !" 
 
DON JUAN. 233 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 He pressed the lady's hand, then turned away 
 With hurried steps, and soon amidst the trees 
 
 Was out of sight. — 'Twas now the hour most gay, 
 E'en for that gay resort— the Tuileries ; 
 
 When the Parisian fashion loves to stray 
 
 Amidst the groves to catch the gentle breeze, 
 
 Eat ices and make love — discuss the news — 
 
 Quote some fresh pun, or the last book abuse. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 And at that epoch — though the gory hand 
 
 Of death seemed stretched to seize new victims daily, 
 
 Making the loveliest prospect in the land 
 
 As frightful as was wont to be th' Old Bailey, 
 
 When George the Third used to hang up a band 
 Of ten at once, that they might dance more gaily ; — 
 
 And though blood rolled through France like a swoll'n river, 
 
 Each haunt of pleasure was as blythe as ever. 
 
 LXXXI II. 
 
 The French will deck the scaffold's self with flowers ; 
 
 Their very grave is made a garden sweet :.* — 
 Laughter and love rule ever in their bowers, 
 
 Though earth be yawning underneath their feet : 
 And when the dark cloud of their fortune lowers, 
 
 Then as a play-fellow grim death they meet, 
 And yield their neck unto the fatal knife 
 With the same recklessness that marked their life. 
 
 • Witness Pcre La Chaise and other French Cemeteries, 
 
234 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 We said the Tuileries were gay, what time 
 The lady and th' Accuser parted there . — 
 
 Perchance it is the nature of the clime 
 That makes the people happier than elsewhere ; 
 
 And, were it not a very heinous crime 
 
 To run down one's own country, I declare 
 
 That I would sooner be a Frenchman, full 
 
 Of spirits, than a surly sour John Bull. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 'Tis laughable to see John Bull affect 
 
 Profound contempt for all things Gallican ; 
 
 And yet we universally detect 
 
 Him borrowing 1 from the French whene'er he can. 
 
 Mark how he treats those fashions with respect 
 Modelled upon the last Parisian plan ; 
 
 And hear him, when he 's talking 1 , introduce 
 
 French phrases wholesale into common use. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Open the popular novels of the day — 
 
 Bulwer's and Blessington's — and you will find 
 
 Their authors ever travelling from their way 
 To bring French idioms in of every kind. 
 
 John Bull too lately has ta'en much to play, 
 That being a vice in Paris deemed refined ; 
 
 And he can scarcely eat a chop unless it 
 
 Has had a French artiste (well-paid) to dress it. 
 
DON JUAN. 235 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 French patent-leather boots, too, John Bull loves, 
 And waistcoats on the best Parisian rules — 
 
 Not to forget eau-de-cologne and gloves, 
 Indecent pictures, laces, silks, and jewels : 
 
 But where the Englishman his weakness proves — 
 Indeed, where all true Britons act like fools, 
 
 Is in dispensing heaps of hard-earned money 
 
 For such as Ellsler and as Taglioni. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 The Drama, termed " Legitimate," may go 
 Unto the Devil for what John Bull cares, 
 
 So long as from th' Italian hirelings flow 
 To him the unintelligible airs ; 
 
 Or foreign figurantes on lightsome toe 
 
 Dance lewd exciting measures : — then he spares 
 
 No coin his satisfaction to evince — 
 
 But the shopkeeper* straight becomes the prince, 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Into his cloudy island everything 
 
 John Bull imports from foreign countries :— France 
 Teaches him how to game, to dress, to sing, 
 
 To dine, to drink champagne, to love, to dance ; 
 From Germany he has his queen or king ; — 
 
 But when all nations to the fight advance, 
 Getting not wiser as his years grow riper, 
 He constantly is doomed " to pay the piper." 
 
 * Napoleon called the English " a nation of shopkeepers." 
 
230 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 xc. 
 
 But to conclude this episode. — Not long 
 Lingers the lady in the garden there : 
 
 Anxious to quit that gay and busy throng-, 
 Her lover's liberty is now her care ; 
 
 And as she hastes the crowded streets among, 
 By many a dwelling vast and palace fair, 
 
 Unto the prison gate, her eyes see only 
 
 Him whom she pictures cheerless, sad, and lonely. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 How busy is imagination when 
 
 We're doomed to fancy that which others feel : 
 Shadows become realities, and then : 
 
 What horrors on the mental vision steal ! 
 We look upon a palace as a den, 
 
 When from our longing eyes its walls conceal 
 Those whom we love and whom its galling chain 
 And shackle in base servitude retain. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 The lady pictured Juan with his glance 
 
 Cast downward, and his arms crossed o'er his breast, 
 While on his pale and haggard countenance 
 
 Despair — dark, cold, and cheerless — was exprest. 
 Then as her footsteps towards the gaol advance, 
 
 Anxiety becomes her bosom's guest : — 
 Is she deceived ? and could th' Accuser dare 
 To take the life he promises to spare ? 
 
DON JUAN. 237 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 For a brief moment there was in her heart 
 
 A feeling- as if an abyss profound 
 Opened beneath her feet : her lips apart 
 
 Quivered with nervousness ; — she glanced around, 
 And even at her shadow seemed to start, 
 
 Like the young 1 deer that lists the baying hound ;— 
 Then, in another moment all was past, 
 And the tears trickled down her features fast. 
 
 XC1V. 
 
 ' Twas a relief; and the last drops that streamed 
 From her long lashes, glistening as they fell, 
 
 With rainbow hues of hopes unnumbered gleamed, 
 And left behind a calm ineffable. 
 
 There was a soft voice in her soul that seemed 
 
 To murmur in sweet notes, " Thou hast done well ! ! 
 
 And the expression of her face serene 
 
 Now gave new charms unto her gracious mien. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 And now the prison gate was reached : her hand 
 
 U ntrembling gave the order to restore 
 Her lover to his freedom — and she scanned 
 
 The face of him who read the paper o'er, 
 To mark if it were really a command 
 
 Powerful enough t' unroll that massive door : — 
 The gaoler saw the signature, and said, 
 "Enough — the Minister shall be obeyed." 
 
238 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 XCVI 
 
 Scarce from his lips had this assurance gone, 
 
 When, like a sun-beam suddenly o'er-cast, 
 The lady glided from the spot whereon 
 
 A moment she had stood — and thence she passed 
 With feet that barely seemed to tread upon 
 
 The pavement over which they sped so fast : 
 The gaoler stared, suprised to find that she 
 Had not remained to mark the prisoner free. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Following her with his eyes a little while, 
 
 He murmured — " Dieu! quelle taille — quel pied — quelle grace. 
 But, Ah !" he added with sardonic smile, 
 
 " I fear there's something wrong about the lass : 
 Else why not w T ait to greet from ' durance vile' 
 
 This stripling ? And how could it come to pass 
 That she should bring the order for release ? — 
 Wonders, upon my word, will never cease !" 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 He paused, then added — ." But with such affairs 
 'Tis not worth while, I think, my mind to puzzle : 
 
 Ma foi ! the business is not mine — but their's : — 
 And Fouquier-Tinville yet will have a tuzzle 
 
 With some of those ungovernable bears, 
 
 Who do not like to see him drink and guzzle 
 
 In this great age of moral reformation : — 
 
 Though I can't see how they've improved the nation ! 
 
DON JUAN. 239 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 " N' importe ! This business is not mine — no more 
 Than was the other ; — though 1 still must say 
 
 I ne'er saw such a pretty girl before — 
 And disappearing- too in such a way ' 
 
 'Tis true, there's not much in a prison door 
 Attractive to the fashionable and gay ; 
 
 And then, beside that reason, there may be 
 
 Some stronger motive for this mystery !" 
 
 f a 
 
 The gaoler was discreet — for he had seen 
 Too much of prisons not to know full well 
 
 That many a head, upon the guillotine, 
 The victim of a tongue imprudent, fell. 
 
 Thus with reserved, and almost sullen mien, 
 He sought our hero in his narrow cell ; 
 
 And, while Don Juan eyed him anxiously, 
 
 Said naught beside the welcome words — "You're free !" 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FIFTH. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 Printed by M. Abell, Primrose Street, 
 
 Bishopsgate. 
 

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