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POEMS 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 LORD BYRON; 
 
 HIS MEMOIRS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PUBLISHED BY JONES AND COMPANY, 
 
 No. 3, WARWICK SQUARE. 
 
 1825. 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 
 The Nobleman who at present bears the 
 hoiio\ira and the name of Byron, requires not 
 the equivocal aid of ancestry to distinguish 
 him from the common tribe, either of pfttricians 
 or of plebeians. Genius is a brilliant jewel 
 even in a coronet ; and though much depends 
 upon the setting, it generally enables its pos- 
 sessor to soar — 
 
 Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, 
 
 Beneath the good how far — yet far above the great ! 
 
 George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron, is the 
 lineal descendant of a family which was of 
 consequence even at the era of the Conquest, 
 being recorded in Doomsday Book as con- 
 siderable landholders in Lancashire. The 
 subsequent career of the Byrons, during the 
 three or four succeeding centuries, was dis- 
 tinguished in almost the only line of distinction 
 which belonged to the baronial rank before 
 the accession of the house of Tudor. Two of 
 them fell at the battle of Cressy, one of, them 
 signalized himself in the field of Bosworth, 
 in favour of Henry VII. and several shed their 
 blood in the armies of Charles I. who called 
 Sir John Byron to the peerage in the year 
 1043. 
 
 On the maternal side the ancestry of Lord 
 Byron is equally illustrious : his mother, from 
 whom he takes his second name of Gordon, 
 having been the last of a branch of that family 
 which descended from the Princess Jane 
 Stuart, daughter of James II. of Scotland, 
 who married an Earl of Huntley. A great 
 variety of contingencies opened the way to 
 Lord Byron's early accession to the title. 
 William, the fourth Lord Byron, who died in 
 1738, left five sons, of whom the eldest, the 
 late peer, William, the fifth Lord Byron, owing 
 to an unfortunate event, withdrew from Court 
 and Parliament, and lived in such strict re- 
 tirement for many years before his death, that 
 the titles were scarcely ever heard out of the 
 family circle. This nobleman had an only son, 
 William, who went into the army, and was 
 
 killed in Corsica, long before the death of his 
 father, by which means the present Lord, the 
 infant grandson of the celebrated Admiral 
 Byron, eldest brother to the existing peer, 
 became presumptive heir to the title, to which 
 he succeeded on the death of his great uncle, 
 May 19, 1708. His Lordship's fatlier was 
 twice married, first to Baroness Conyers, the 
 daughter of Lord Holdernesse, by whom he 
 had a daughter; and secondly, to the lady 
 already mentioned. Miss Gordon, of Gight, 
 who bore him the present Lord, born 22d 
 January, 1788, bo that his Lordship is at 
 present only in his thirty-fifth year. 
 
 If the general voice of rumour may be de- 
 pended upon. Lord Byron began very early to 
 discover traits of a marked and original char- 
 acter. Some of his early years were spent in 
 Scotland ; but he received the chief part of 
 his education at Harrow, from which dis- 
 tinguished school he removed to the University 
 of Cambridge ; and much is said at both places 
 of his genius and eccentricity. He early be- 
 gan to court the deathless Muse ; for it was 
 soon after his quitting school, thathe published 
 his " Hours of Idleness," which being treated 
 with a very disproportionate degree of severity 
 by the critics of the Edinburgh Review, the 
 youthful poet retorted in a Satire of great 
 spirit and severity, called " English Bards 
 and Scotch Reviewers," which is believed to 
 have had the extraordinary effect of increasing 
 the mutual esteem of the belligerent parties : 
 the Reviewers have certainly attended to the 
 subsequent productions of his Lordship with 
 great repect; and he, on bis part, has done all 
 in his power to recall his satires — preventing a 
 fifth edition from being published, even after 
 it was printed. His Lordship's sncceeding 
 intimacy with Mr. Moore, whom he had 
 pJluded to rather contemptuously in the men- 
 tion of his affair with Mr. JeflTrey, may very 
 honourably account for this solicitude in part; 
 and the general accordance of his line of 
 literary and political feeling with that of the 
 celebrated Journal in question, will readily 
 
MEMOIRS OF I.ORD BYHOW. 
 
 answer for the rest. In truth, in the end, his 
 Lordship himself became a conspicuous mem- 
 ber or f.he brilliant coterie at Holland House, 
 which he had been provoked to deride. 
 
 Ou his coming of age in 1809, Lord Byron, 
 after taking his seat in the House of Peers, 
 went abroad, and spent some time in the South 
 and East of Europe, particularly in Greece 
 and its islands. In the year 1811, he returned 
 to England, and in the Spring of 1812, publish- 
 ed his celebrated " Childe Harold's Pilgrim- 
 age," — a poem which at once established his 
 fame as a poet, and ensured the greedy 
 attention of the public to every subsequent 
 production by the same hand. In the course 
 of 1813, Lord Byron published three other 
 poems :— " The Giaour," " The Bride of 
 Abydos," and " The Corsair ;" and siuce that 
 time, " Lara," " The Siege of Corinth," and, 
 " Parisina." Of the character of these celebra- 
 ted poems, the Critical Review for February, 
 1814, may be consulted with advantage : — it 
 will apply more or less to them all. 
 
 In January, 1815, Lord Byron led to the 
 altar the accomplished Miss Milbanke, only 
 child of Sir Ralph Milbanke, (since Noel) by 
 whom he has one daughter. This union, so 
 suitable in rank, fortune, and the superior 
 mental endowments of the respective parties, 
 has been unfortunately severed by the ac- 
 knowledged indiscretion of his Lordship. Of 
 the exact tenor of that indiscretion, very little 
 is correctly known, more than what the beau- 
 tiful " Fare Thee Well!" insinuates, though 
 all manner of vague and extraordinary reports 
 have been circulated. The manner in ivhich 
 that tender expostulation, and the severe 
 " Sketch From Private Life," have been re- 
 ceived by certain Journalists, may reasonably 
 
 excite surprise ; as every thing has been taken 
 for granted against his Lordship in the strong- 
 est possible sense, and that in a tone approach- 
 ing to malignity. To speak of the " Fare Thee 
 Well !" as an insult to Lady Byron, is singu- 
 lar enough, as it is a string of emphatic 
 compliment from beginning to end ; the simple 
 factofunforgiveness only being stated, without 
 even being accompanied by the assertion of 
 deserving it. It is the humble plea of acknow- 
 ledged error which ventures to suggest the 
 beauty of mercy. The " Sketch" is another 
 affair, and so entirely depends upon the facts 
 which gave rise to it, that it will be impossible 
 to judge of any thing, except its talent, until 
 they are made known. To suppose that Lord 
 Byron did not imagine himself injured, would 
 be to infer his insanity ; and who, possessed 
 of his powers of satire under the impression of 
 an insidious influence exerted against domestic 
 peace, would not be templed to exercise them 
 as he has done. On the other hand, it is but 
 justice to the.individual attacked to admit, that 
 the agonized mind of a deeply wounded hus- 
 band might not be sufficiently cool for nice 
 discrimination; and that a strong satiric 
 talent, exerted in a moment of real or imagined 
 provocation, is always to be understood with 
 some grains of allowance. That Lord Byron 
 was originally to blame, the public knows, 
 for he has admitted it ; but that he has any 
 way aggravated his primary fault, by writing 
 his subsequent address to Lady Byron, may 
 be reasonably denied. As to the satire, with a 
 total absence of evidence, it is as difficult to 
 determine upon its justice as easy to decide 
 upon its ability. Thus much, however, is cer- 
 tain ; a formal separation has taken place, 
 and his Lordship has quitted England for the 
 present ; some of the Journalists say, fur 
 ever. 
 
HOURS OF IDLENESS: 
 
 SERIES OF POEMS, 
 
 ORJGINAL AND TRANSLATED. 
 
 M»;t o6{' fj.1 fjtuTJ flMfSS fJi'Trn n vuxst* 
 
 Homer. Iliad, 10. 
 He wliistled a3 lie went for want of thought. 
 
 DKYDtN. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 Why dost thou build the halU Son of the winged days ! 
 Thou lookest from thy tower to-day ; yet a few years, and 
 the blast of the desart cornea ; it howls in thy empty court. 
 
 OSSIAM. 
 
 Throdcii thy battlements, Newstead, the hol- 
 low winds whistle ; 
 Thou the hall of my Fathers art gone to 
 decay ; 
 In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and 
 thistle 
 Have choked up the rose, which late 
 bloom'd in the way. 
 
 Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly to 
 battle. 
 Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's 
 plain. 
 The escutcheon and shield, which with every 
 blast rattle. 
 Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. 
 
 No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing 
 numbers, 
 Raise a flame in the breast for the war- 
 laurell'd wreath ; 
 Near Askalun's Towers, John of Horistan" 
 slumbers. 
 Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by 
 death. 
 
 Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of 
 Cressy ; 
 For the safety of Edward and England they 
 fell; 
 My Fathers ! the tears of your country redress 
 ye; 
 How you fought ! how you died ! still her 
 annals can tell. 
 
 • Horislan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the 
 Byron family. 
 
 On Marston" with Rupertt 'gainst traitors 
 contending, 
 Four brothers enrich'd with their blood, 
 the bleak field ; 
 For the rights of a monarch, their country 
 defending, 
 Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. 
 
 Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant 
 departing [adieu ! 
 
 From the seat of his ancestors, bids you 
 Abroad, or at home, your remembrance im- 
 parting [you. 
 New courage, he'll think upon glory and 
 
 Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separa- 
 tion, [gret ; 
 
 'Tis nature, not fear that excites his re- 
 Far distant he goes with the same emulation. 
 
 The fame of bis Fathers he ne'er can forget. 
 
 That fame, and that memory, still will he 
 
 cherish. 
 
 He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your 
 
 renown ; [perish ; 
 
 Like you wiU he live, or like you will he 
 
 When decay'd may he mingle his dust with 
 
 your own. 1803. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A FRIEND, 
 
 Aff-Ttjg -TgiV fi.lv [Xa^fl-£f tvi luOllTIV lUOf, LaERTIUS. 
 
 Oh ! Friend ! for ever loved, for ever dpar, 
 What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd 
 
 bier! 
 What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, 
 Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of 
 
 death ! 
 Could tears retard the tyrant in his course ; 
 Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force ; 
 
 « The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of 
 Charles I. were defeated. 
 
 t Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. 
 He afterwards commajided the fleet in the reign of 
 Charles II. 
 
8 HOUHS or 
 
 Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, 
 Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey ; 
 I'liou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight, 
 Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight. 
 If yet, thy gentle spirit hover nigh [lie, 
 
 The spot, where now thy mouldering ashes 
 Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, 
 A grief too deep to (rust the sculptor's art. 
 No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, 
 But living statues there, are seen to weep ; 
 Affliction's semblance bends npt o'er thy tomb. 
 Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. 
 What though thy sire lament his failing line, 
 A father's sorrows cannot equal mine ! [cheer, 
 Though none like thee his dying hour will 
 Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here : 
 But, who with me shall hold thy former place ? 
 Thine image, what new friendship can efface ? 
 Ah ! none ! a father's tears will cease to flow, 
 Time will assuage an infant brother's wo ; 
 To all, save one, is consolation known. 
 While solitary friendship sighs alone. 
 
 1803. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 When, to their airy hall, my Father's voice 
 Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice ; 
 When poised upon the gale, my form shall 
 
 ride. 
 Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side ; 
 Oh ! may my shade behold no sculptured urns 
 To mark the spot, where earth to earth returns : 
 No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd 
 
 stone ; 
 My epitaph shall be, my name alone : 
 If thai with honour fail to crown my clay, 
 Oh ! may no other fame my deeds repay ; 
 That, only that, shall single out the spot. 
 By that remember'd^ or with that forgot. 
 
 1803. 
 
 THE TEAR. 
 
 O laclirymnrum fons, tenero sacros 
 Ducentium ortus ex animo j qiiatcr 
 Felix ! in imo qui scatentem 
 Pcctore te, pi.i Nympha, sensit. 
 
 Gray. 
 
 When friendship or love 
 Our sympathies move ; 
 When Truth, in u glance, Should appear. 
 
 IDIiENESS. 
 
 The lips may beguile, 
 With a dimple or smile, 
 But the test of aiTcction's a Tea' 
 
 Too oft is a smile 
 
 But the hypocrite's wile. 
 To mask detestation, or fear ; 
 
 Give me the soft sigh, 
 
 Whilst the soul-telling eye 
 Is dimm'd for a time, with a Tear. 
 
 Mild Charity's glow, 
 
 To us mortals below,' 
 Shows the soul, from barbaiity clear ; 
 
 Compassion will melt 
 
 Where this virtue is felt, 
 And its dew is diffused in a Tear. 
 
 The man doom'd to sail 
 
 With the blast of the gale. 
 Through billows Atlantic to steer : 
 
 As he bends o'er the wave. 
 
 Which may soon be his grave, 
 The green sparkles bright with a Tear. 
 
 The soldier braves death, 
 
 For a fanciful wreath, 
 In Glory's romantic career ; 
 
 But he raises the foe. 
 
 When in battle laid low. 
 And bathes every wound with a Tear. 
 
 If with high-bounding pride, 
 
 He return to his bride, 
 Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear : 
 
 All his toils are repaid. 
 
 When, embracing the maid, 
 From her eyelid he kisses the Tear. 
 
 Sweet scene of my youth 
 
 Seat of Friendship and Truth 
 Where love chased each fast-fleeting year; 
 
 Loath to leave thee, 1 mourn'd. 
 
 For a last look 1 turn'd. 
 But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. 
 
 Though my vows I can pour 
 
 To my Mary no more, 
 My Mary to Love once so dear ; 
 
 In the shade of her bower, 
 
 I remember the hour. 
 She rewarded those vows with a Tear. 
 
 By another possess'd. 
 May she live ever bless'd. 
 Her name still my heart must levere ; 
 
HOTTRs or IDIiBinSSS. 
 
 9 
 
 With a sigh I resign 
 AVhat I once tUought was mine. 
 And forgive her deceit with a Tear. 
 
 Ye friends of my heart, 
 
 Ere from you I depart, 
 This hope to my breast is most near ; 
 
 If again we shall meet, 
 
 In this rural retreat, 
 May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. 
 
 When my soul wings her flight, 
 
 To (he regions of night, 
 And my corse shall recline on ils bier ; 
 
 As ye pass by the tomb. 
 
 Where my ashes consume, 
 Oh ! moisten their dust with a Tear. 
 
 May no marble bestow 
 
 The splendor of wo. 
 Which the children of vanity rear ; 
 
 No fiction of fame 
 
 Shall blazon my name, 
 All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear. 
 
 1800. 
 
 AN 
 
 OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, 
 
 PELlVEItED 
 TRE^'IOUS TO THE PEBFORMAKCE 
 
 OF "THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE," 
 
 AT A PRIVATE THEATRE. 
 
 Since the refinement of this polish 'd age. 
 Has swept immoral raillery from the stage ; 
 Since taste has now expunged licentious wit. 
 Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author 
 
 writ ; 
 Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, 
 Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek ; 
 Oh ! let the modest Muse some pity claim. 
 And meet indulgence though she find not 
 
 fame. 
 Still, not for her alone, we wish respect, 
 Others appear more conscious of defect ; 
 To-night no veteran Roscii you behold. 
 In all the arts of scenic action old ; 
 No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute yon here. 
 No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear ; 
 To-night, you throng to witness the debut 
 Of embryo actors, to the Drama new; 
 Here, then, our almost unfledged wiugs we 
 
 try, 
 Clip not our pinions ere the birds can Sy ; 
 
 Failing in this our first attempt to soar. 
 Drooping, alas ! we fall to rise no more. 
 Not one poor trembler only, fear betrays. 
 Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your 
 
 praise, 
 Bnt all our dramatis peisonse wait. 
 In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate. 
 No venal views our progress can retard. 
 Your generous plaudits are our sole reward ; 
 For these, each Hero all his power displays. 
 Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze ; 
 Surely the last will some protection find, 
 None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind ; 
 Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female 
 
 shield, 
 The sternest Censor to the fair must yield. 
 Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, 
 Should, after all, our best endeavours fail ; 
 Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live. 
 And if you can't applaud, at least forgive. 
 
 THE DEATH OF MR. FOX. 
 
 The following Illiberal Impromptu appeared in a Morning 
 Paper. 
 
 " Our nation's foes lament on Fox's death. 
 But bless the hour, when Pitt resign'd his 
 
 breath ; 
 These feelings wide, let sense and truth nnclue. 
 We give the palm, where Justice points its 
 
 due." 
 
 To which the Avthor of these Pieces sent the 
 following reply. 
 
 Oh ! factious viper ! whose envenom'd tooth. 
 Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth ; 
 What, though our " nation's foes" lament the 
 
 fate. 
 With generous feeling, of the good and great ; 
 Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name 
 Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame t 
 AVhen Pitt expired in plenitude of power, 
 Though ill success obscured his dying hour, 
 Pity her dewy wings before him spread, 
 For noble spirits " war not with the dead," 
 His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, 
 As all his errors slumber'd in the grave ; 
 He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight 
 Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state ; 
 When, lo ! a Hercules in Fox appear'd. 
 Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd ; 
 He, too, is fallen, who Britain's loss supplied. 
 With him our fast reviving hopes have died ; 
 Not one great people, only, raise his urn, 
 All Europe's far-extended regions mourn. ■ 
 B 
 
10 
 
 HOURS OF ICI.ENESS. 
 
 " These feelings ^vide, let Sense and Truth 
 
 undue, 
 To give the palm where Justice points it 
 
 due ;" 
 Yet let not canker'd calumnj assail, 
 Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. 
 Fox ! o'er whose corse a mourning world must 
 
 weep, 
 Whose dear remains in honotsr'd marble sleep. 
 For whom, at last, even hostile nations groan, 
 While friends and foes, alike his talents own. 
 Fox ! shall in Britain's future annals shine, 
 Nor even to Pitt the patriot's palm resign ; 
 Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask, 
 For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dared to ask. 
 
 STANZAS TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOENS. 
 
 This votive pledge of fond esteem. 
 Perhaps, dear Girl ! from me thou'lt prize ; 
 
 It sings of Love's enchanting dream, 
 A theme we never can despise 
 
 Who blames it but the envious fool. 
 The old and disappointed maid 7 
 
 Or pupil of the prudish school, 
 lu single sorrow doom'd to fade. 
 
 Then read, dear Girl ! with feeling read, 
 For thou wilt ne'er be one of those, 
 
 To thee, in vain, I shall not plead 
 In pity for the Poet's woes. 
 
 He was in sooth a genuine bard ; 
 
 His was no faint, fictitious Same ; 
 Like his, may love be thy reward ; 
 
 But not thy hapless fate the same. 
 
 TO M. . . . 
 
 Oh ! did those eyes, instead of fire, 
 With bright, but mild affection shine ; 
 
 Though they might kindle less desire, 
 Love, more than mortal, would be thine. 
 
 For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, 
 Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam. 
 
 We must admire, but still despair; 
 That fatal glance forbids esteem. 
 
 When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth. 
 So much perfection in thee shone, 
 
 She fear'd, that, too divine for earth. 
 The skies might claim thee for their own ; 
 
 Therefore, to guard her dearest work. 
 Lest angels might dispute the prize, 
 
 She bade a secret lightning lurk, 
 Within those once celestial eyes. 
 
 These might the boldest sylph appal, 
 When gleaming with meri(^ian blaze ; 
 
 Thy beauty must enrapture all. 
 But, who can dare thine ardent gaze 2 
 
 'Tis said, that Berenice's hair. 
 
 In stars adorns the vault of heaven ; 
 
 But, they would ne'er permit thee there, 
 Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. 
 
 For did those eyes as planets roll. 
 Thy sister lights would scarce appear : 
 
 Even suns, which systems now control, 
 
 Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. 
 
 1806. 
 
 TO WOMAN. 
 
 RAGMAN ! experience might have told me, 
 
 That all must love thee who behold thee ; 
 
 Surely experience might have taught, 
 
 Thy firmest promises are nought ; 
 
 But placed in all thy charms before me. 
 
 All I forget but to adore thee. 
 
 Oh I Memory ! thou choicest blessing, 
 
 When join'd with hope, when still possessing. 
 
 But how much cursed by every lover. 
 
 When hope is fled, and passion's over. 
 
 Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, 
 
 How prompt are striplings to believe her; 
 
 How throbs the pulse, when first we view 
 
 The eye that rolls in glossy blue ; 
 
 Or sparkles black, or mildy throws 
 
 A beam from under hazel brows ; 
 
 How quick we credit every oath, 
 
 And hear her plight the willing troth ; 
 
 Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye, 
 
 When lo ! she changes in a day : 
 
 This record will for ever stand, 
 
 " Woman, thy vows are traced in sand."* 
 
 " TO M. S. G. 
 
 When I dream that you love me, you'll surely 
 forgive, 
 Extend not your anger to sleep ; 
 
 » nie last line is almost a literal tranfiation from a 
 Spaniiili Proverb. 
 
For m visions alone, yonr aSection can live, 
 I rise and it leaves me to weep. 
 
 Then, Morpheus ! envelop my faculties fast, 
 " Shed o'er me your languor benign ; 
 Should the dream of tonight but resemble the 
 last, 
 What rapture celestial is mine ! 
 
 HOXTSS OF IBIiENESS. j] 
 
 One image alone, on my bosom impress'd 
 I lo^ed my bleak regions nor panted for 
 new. 
 And few were my wants, for my wishes were 
 bless'd, 
 And pure were my thoughts, for my soul 
 was with you. 
 
 They tell us, that slumber, the sister of death, 
 
 Mortality's emblem is given ; 
 To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, 
 
 If this be a foretaste of Heaven. 
 
 Ah ! frown not sweet Lady, unbend your soft 
 brow. 
 
 Nor deem me too happy in this ; 
 If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, 
 
 Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss. 
 
 Though in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps you 
 may smile. 
 Oh ! think not my penance deficient; 
 When dreams of your presence my slumbers 
 beguile, 
 To awake will be torture sufficient. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Whi-n I roved a young Highlander, o'er the 
 dark heath. 
 And climb 'd thy steep summit, oh ! Morven 
 of snow ;* 
 To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath, 
 Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd 
 below ;t 
 Untulor'd by science, a stranger to fear. 
 And rude as the rocks where my infancy 
 grew, 
 No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear. 
 Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred 
 in you. 
 
 Yet, it could not be love for I knew not the 
 
 name, [child ? 
 
 What passion can dwell in the heart of a 
 
 But still I perceive an emotion the same 
 
 As I felt, when a. boy, on the crag-cover'd 
 
 wild : 
 
 * Morven : a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire : « Gor- 
 mal of 6now," is an expression frequently to be found in 
 Ossian. 
 
 + This will not appear extraordinary to tliose wlio have 
 been accustomed to the Mountains ; it is by no means un- 
 common on attaining tlie top of Bcn-e-ris, Ben-y-bourd 
 &c.-to perceive between the summit and the valley, clouds 
 pouring down rain, and occasionally accompanied by light- 
 ning, while the Spectator literally looks down upov Uie 
 storm serfcctly secure from its effects. 
 
 I arose with the davrn, with my dog as my 
 guide, [along, 
 
 From mountain to mountain I bounded 
 I breasted* the billows of JDce'st rushing tide. 
 And beard at a distance, the Highlzinder's 
 song: 
 At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose. 
 No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to 
 my view. 
 And warm to the skies my devotions arcs-, 
 For the first of my prayers was a b'essing 
 on you. 
 
 I left my bleak home and my visions are 
 gone. 
 The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is 
 no more ; 
 As the last of my race I must wither alone, 
 And delight but in days 1 have witness'd 
 before ; [lot. 
 
 Ah ! splendor has raised, but enibitler'd my 
 More dear were the scenes which my infancy, 
 knew ; 
 Though- my hopes may have fail'd, yet they 
 
 are not forgot. 
 Though cold is my heart still it lingers with 
 jou. 
 
 When I see some dark hill point its crest to 
 the sky, 
 I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Col- 
 bleen ;{ [eye. 
 
 When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking 
 I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude 
 scene ; [hold 
 
 When, liaply, some light-waving locks I be- 
 That faintly resemble mj Mary's in hue, 
 I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold. 
 The locks that were sacred to beauty and 
 you. 
 
 Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains 
 
 once more [snow : 
 
 Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of 
 
 But while these soar above me, unchanged as 
 
 before. 
 
 Will Mary be there to receive me ? ah no ! 
 
 * Breasting the lofly mountain. Shakspeare. 
 
 + The Dee is a.beautiful river, which rises near &li\r 
 Lodge, and falls into the sea at New Aberdeen. 
 
 t Colblecn is a mountain near the verge of lh6 High- 
 lands, not far from the ruins of Dec Castle. 
 
12 
 
 BOUHS OF IDIiENESS. 
 
 Adieu! then, ye hills, wliere iny childhood 
 
 was bred, [adieu ! 
 
 Thou sweet flowing Doe, to thy waters 
 
 No home in the forest shall shelter my head, 
 
 Ah! Mary, what home could be mine but 
 
 with you ? 
 
 TO 
 
 Oh ! yes, I will own we were dear to each 
 other, 
 The friendships of childhood, though fleeting 
 are true ; 
 The love which you felt, was the love of a 
 brother. 
 Nor less the affection I clierish'd for you. 
 
 But friendship can vary her gentle dominion. 
 The attachment of years in a moment ex- 
 pires ; 
 liike love too, she moves on a swiit wav- 
 ing pinion. 
 But glows not, like Love, with unquench- 
 able fires. 
 
 Full oft have we wander'd through Ida to- 
 gether. 
 And bless'd were the scenes of our youth 
 I allow ; 
 In the spring of our life, how serene is the 
 weather ; [now. 
 
 But winter's rude tempests are gathering 
 
 No more with affection shall memory blend- 
 ing, [trace ; 
 The wonted delights of our childhood re- 
 When pride steels the bosom the heart is un- 
 bending, [grace. 
 And what would be justice, appears a dis- 
 
 However, dear S , for I still must esteem 
 
 you, 
 The few whom I love, 1 can never upbraid. 
 The chance which has lost, may in future re- 
 deem you, [made. 
 Repentance will cancel the vow you have 
 
 I will not complain, and though chiU'd is 
 affection. 
 With me no corrodingresentment shall live : 
 My bosom is calm'dby the simple reflection, 
 That both may be wrong, and that both 
 should forgive. 
 
 You knew that my soul, that my heart, my 
 existence, , 
 
 If danger demanded, were wholly your own ; 
 
 Vou knew me unalter'd by years or by dia« 
 tance. 
 Devoted to love and to friendshi alone. 
 
 You knew, but away with tlie vain retro- 
 spection, 
 Tlie bond of affection no longer endures; 
 Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollec- 
 tion, [yours. 
 And sigh for the friend who was formerly 
 
 For the present, we part 1 will hope not 
 
 for ever. 
 For time and regret will restore you at last ; 
 To forget our dissension we both should 
 endeavour, 
 I ask no atonement, but days like the past. 
 
 TO MARY, 
 
 ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. 
 
 This faint resemblance of thy charms. 
 Though strong as mortal art could give, 
 
 My constant heart of fear disarms. 
 Revives my hopes, and bids me live. 
 
 Here, I can trace the locks of gold, 
 Which round thy snowy forehead wave ; 
 
 The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's 
 mould. 
 The lips wliich made me Beauty's slave. 
 
 Here I can trace — ah, no ! that eye 
 Whose azure floats in liquid fire. 
 
 Must all the painter's art defy. 
 And bid him from the task retire. 
 
 Here I behold its beauteous hue. 
 
 But Where's the beam so sweetly straying ? 
 Which gave^a lustre to its blue, 
 
 Like Luna o'er the ocean playing. 
 
 Sweet copy ! far more dear to me, 
 
 Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, 
 Than all the living forms could be. 
 
 Save her who placed thee next my heart. 
 
 She placed it, sad, with needless fear. 
 Lest time might shake my wavering soul, 
 
 Unconscious, that her image there. 
 Held every sense in fast control. 
 
 Through hours, through years, through time 
 'twill cheer ; 
 
 My hope, in gloomy moments, raise ; 
 In life's last conflict, 'twill appear. 
 
 And meet my fond expiring gaze. 
 
HOURS OF IDIiEHKSS. 
 
 IS 
 
 DAM^TAS. 
 
 In law an infant,* and in years a boy, 
 In mind a slave to every vicious joy, 
 From every sense of shame and virtue vpean'd, 
 In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend ; 
 Versed in iiypocrisy, while yet a child ; 
 Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild ; 
 Woman his dupe, his lieedless friend a tool, 
 Old in the world, though scarcely broke from 
 
 school ; 
 Damaetas ran through all the maze of sin, 
 And found the goal, when others just begin ; 
 Even still conflicting passions shake his soul. 
 And bid him drjain the dregs of pleasure's 
 
 bowl ; [chain. 
 
 But pall'd with vice, he breaks his former 
 And, what was once his bliss, appears his 
 
 bane. 
 
 TO MARION. 
 
 Marion ! Why that pensive brow ? 
 
 What disgust to life hast thou ? 
 
 Change that discontented air ; 
 
 Frowns become not one so fair. 
 
 Tis not love disturbs thy rest. 
 
 Love's a stranger to thy breast ; 
 
 He, in dimpling smiles, appears. 
 
 Or mourns in sweetly timid tears ; 
 
 Or bends the languid eyelid down, 
 
 But shuns the cold forbidding frown ; 
 
 Then resume thy former fire 
 
 Some will love, and all admire ; 
 
 While that icy aspect chills us, 
 
 Nought but cool indifference thrills us. 
 
 Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile. 
 
 Smile at least, or seem to smile ; 
 
 Eyes like thine were never meant 
 
 To hide their orbs, in dark restraint ; 
 
 Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, 
 
 Still in truant beams they play. 
 
 Thy lips, — but here my modest Muse 
 
 Her impulse chaste must needs refuse. 
 
 She blushes, courtesies, frowns, — in short she 
 
 Dreads lest the subject should transport me ; 
 
 And fljing oifin search of reason. 
 
 Brings prudence back in proper season. 
 
 All I shall therefore say (whate'er 
 
 I think, is neither here nor there,) 
 
 Is that such lips, of looks endearing. 
 
 Were forra'd for belter things than sneering; 
 
 Of soothing compliments divested. 
 
 Advice at least's disinterested ; 
 
 * In Law, every person is an infant, who has not 
 attained the age of 21. 
 
 Such is my artless song to thee, 
 From all the flow of flattery free ; 
 Counsel like mine is as a brother's, 
 My heart is gii en to some others ; 
 That is to say, unskill'd to cozen, 
 It shares itself among a dozen. 
 Marion! adieu! oh! pr'ythee slight not 
 This warning, though it may delight not, 
 And, lest my precepts be displeasing 
 To those who think remonstrance teasing. 
 At once I'll tell thee our opinion. 
 Concerning woman's soft dominion : 
 Howe'er we gaze with admiration. 
 On eyes of blue, or lips carnation ; 
 Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, 
 Howe'er those beauties may distract us, 
 Still fickle we are prone to rove. 
 These cannot fix our souls to love ; 
 It is not too severe a stricture. 
 To say they form a pretty picture, ^ 
 But wouldst thou see the secret chain, 
 Which binds us in your humble train, 
 To hail you queens of all creation. 
 Know in a word, 'tis Animation. 
 
 OSCAR OF ALVA.* 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 How sweetly shines through azure skies. 
 The lamp of Heaven on Lora's shore ; 
 
 Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, 
 And hear the din of arms no more. 
 
 But often has yon rolling moon. 
 On Alva's casques of silver play'd : 
 
 And view'd at midnight's silent noon. 
 Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd. 
 
 And on the crimson'd rocks beneath. 
 Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, 
 
 Pale in the scatter'd ranks of deathj 
 She saw the gasping warrior low. 
 
 While many an eye which ne'er again, 
 Coiild mark the rising orb of day, 
 
 Turn'd feebly from the gory plain. 
 Beheld in death her fading ray. 
 
 Once to those eyes, the lamp of Love, 
 They bless'd her dear, propitious light ; 
 
 But now she glimmer'd from above, 
 A sad, funereal torch of night. 
 
 * The catastrophe of this talc was suggested by tl;e 
 story of " Jeronymo and Lorenzo," in iJie first volume of 
 the " Armenian, or Gliost-Secr :" It also bears some re 
 semblance to a scene in tlie third Act of "Macbeth." 
 
u 
 
 HOURS OF IDIiENESS. 
 
 Faded is Alva's noble race, 
 And gray her towers are seen afar ; 
 
 No more her heroes urge the chase, 
 Or roll the crimson tide of war. 
 
 But who was last of Alva's clan ? 
 
 Why grows the moss on Alva's stone ? 
 Her towers resound no steps of man. 
 
 They echo to the gale alone. 
 
 And when that gale is fierce and high, 
 A sound is heard in yonder hall, 
 
 It rises hoarsely through the sky. 
 And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall. 
 
 Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs. 
 It shakes the shield of Oscar brave ; 
 
 But there no more his banners rise, 
 No more his plumes of sable wave. 
 
 Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, 
 When Angus hail'd his eldest born ; 
 
 The vassals round their chieftain's hearth, 
 Crowd to applaud the happy morn. 
 
 They feast upon the mountain deer, 
 The pibroch raised its piercing note, 
 
 To gladden more their highland cheer, 
 The strains in martial numbers float. 
 
 And they who heard the war-notes wild 
 Hoped that, one day, the pibroch's strain, 
 
 Should play before the hero's child 
 While he should lead the Tartan train. 
 
 Another year is quickly past. 
 
 And Angus hails another son, 
 His natal day is like the last. 
 
 Nor soon the jocund feast was done. 
 
 Taught by their sire to bend the bow. 
 
 On Alva's dosky hills of wind : 
 The boys in childhood chased the roe, 
 
 And left their hounds in speed behind. 
 
 But ere their years of youth are o'er, 
 They mingle in the ranks of war ; 
 
 They lightly wheel the bright claymore. 
 And send the whistling arrow far. 
 
 Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair, 
 Wildly it stream'd along the gale ; 
 
 But Allan's locks were bright and fair. 
 And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale. 
 
 But Oscar own'd a hero's soul, 
 
 His dark eye shone through beams of truth ; 
 Allan had early learn'd control, 
 
 And smooth his words had been from youth. 
 
 Both, both were brave, the Saxon spear, 
 Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel ; 
 
 And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear. 
 But Oscar's bosom knew to feel. 
 
 While Allan's soul belied his form. 
 Unworthy with such charms to dwell ; 
 
 Keen as the lightning of the storm 
 On foes his deadly vengeance fell. 
 
 From high Southannon's distant tower 
 Arrived a young and noble dame ; 
 
 With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, 
 Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came ; 
 
 4nd Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride. 
 And Angus on his Oscar smiled. 
 
 It soothed the father's feudal pride. 
 Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child. 
 
 Hark ! to the pibroch's pleasing note, 
 Hark ! to the swelling nuptial song ; 
 
 In joyous strains the voices float. 
 And still the choral peal prolong. 
 
 See how the heroes' blood-red plnmes. 
 Assembled wave in Alva's hall ; 
 
 Each youth his varied plaid assumes. 
 Attending on their chieftain's call. 
 
 It is not war their aid demands. 
 
 The pibroch plays the song of peace ; 
 I To Oscar's nuptials throng the band. 
 Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. 
 
 But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late : 
 Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame ? 
 
 While thronging guests, and ladies wait, 
 Nor Oscar nor his brother came. 
 
 At length young Allan join'd the bride, 
 " Why comes not Oscar?" Angus said . 
 
 " Is he not here ?" the youth replied, 
 " With me he roved not o'er the glade, 
 
 " Perchance, forgetful of the day, 
 'Tis his to chase the bounding roe ; 
 
 Or Ocean's waves prolong his stay, 
 Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 
 
 •' Oh, no !" the anguish'd Sire rejoin'd, 
 " Nor chase, nor wave my boy delay ; 
 
 Would he to Mora seem unkind? 
 Would aught to her impede his way ? 
 
 " Oh ! search, ye Chiefs ! oh ! search around ) 
 
 Allan, with these, through Alva fly ; 
 Till Oscar, till my son is found, 
 . Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply !" 
 
HOURS OF ISIiENESS. 
 
 15 
 
 All is confusion — through the vale, 
 The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, 
 
 It rises on the murmuring gale. 
 Till night expands her dusky wings. 
 
 It breaks the stillness of the night, 
 But echoes through her shades in vain ; 
 
 It sounds through morning's misty light, 
 But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. 
 
 Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief 
 For Oscar search'd each mountain cave ; 
 
 Then hope is lost, in boundless grief, 
 His locks in gray-torn ringlets wave. 
 
 " Oscar! my son ! — thou God of heaven ! 
 
 Restore the prop of sinking age ; 
 Or, if that hope no more is given, 
 
 Yield his assassin to my rage. 
 
 " Yes, on some desart, rocky shore, 
 My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie; 
 
 Then grant thou God ! I ask no more. 
 With him his frantic sire may die. 
 
 " Yet, he may live, — away despair 
 
 Be calm my soul ! he yet may live ; 
 To arraign my fate, my voice forbear, 
 
 God ! my impious prayer forgive. 
 
 " What, if he live for me no more, 
 
 1 sink forgotten in the dust, 
 The hope of Alva's age is o'er, 
 
 Alas ! can pangs like these be just ?" 
 
 Thus did the hapless parent mourn. 
 Till Time, who soothes severest wo, 
 
 Had bade serenity return, 
 And made the tear-drop cease to flow. 
 
 For still, some latent hope survived. 
 That Oscar might once more appear ; 
 
 His hope now droop'd, and now revived. 
 Till Time had told a tedious year. 
 
 Days roU'd along, the orb of light 
 Again had run his destined race ; 
 
 No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, 
 And sorrow left a fainter trace. 
 
 For youthful Allan still remain'd. 
 
 And now his father's only joy : 
 And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd. 
 
 For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy. 
 
 She thought that Oscar low was laid, 
 And Allan's face was wondrous fair ; 
 
 If Oscar lived, some other maid 
 Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care. 
 
 And Angus said, if one year more. 
 In fruitless hope was pass'd away ; 
 
 His fondest scruples should be o'er. 
 And he would name their nuptial day. 
 
 Slow roll'd the moons, but bless'd at last, 
 Arrived the dearly destined morn ; 
 
 The year of anxious trembling past 
 What smiles the lover's cheeks adorn. 
 
 Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note ! 
 
 Hark to the swelling nuptial song ! 
 In joyous strains the voices float. 
 
 And still the choral peal prolong. 
 
 Again the clan in festive crowd, 
 Throng through the gate of Alva's hall ; 
 
 The sounds of mirth re-echo loud. 
 And all their former joy recall. 
 
 But who is he, whose darken'd brow 
 Glooms in the midst of general mirth ? 
 
 Before bis eyes' far fiercer glow, 
 The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. 
 
 Dark is the robe which wraps his form. 
 And tall his plume of gory red ; 
 
 His voice is like the rising storm. 
 But light and trackless is bis tread. 
 
 'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round. 
 The bridegroom's health is deeply quati 'd ; 
 
 With shouts the vaulted roofs resound. 
 And all combine to hail the draught. 
 
 Sudden, the stranger chief arose, 
 And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd ; 
 
 And Angus's cheek with wonder glows. 
 And Mora's tender bosom blush'd. 
 
 " Old man !" he cried " this pledge is done. 
 Thou saw'st 'twas truly drank by me. 
 
 It hail'd the nuptials of thy son. 
 Now will I claim a pledge from thee. 
 
 " While all around is mirth and joy, 
 To bless thy Allan's happy lot : 
 
 Say, hadst thou ne'er another boy? 
 Say, why should Oscar be forgot 1" 
 
 " Alas I" the hapless Sire replied, 
 The big tear starting as he spoke, 
 
 " When. Oscar left my hall, or died, 
 This aged heart was almost broke. 
 
 " Thrice has the earth revolved her course, 
 Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight ; 
 
 And Allan is my last resource. 
 Since martial Oscar's death or flight." 
 
16 
 
 HOURS OF IDIiSHESS. 
 
 " 'Tis well," replied the stranger, stern. 
 And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye, 
 
 " Thy Oscar's fate, I fain would learn. 
 Perhaps the hero did not die. 
 
 " Perchance, if those whom most he loved 
 Would call, thy Oscar might return, 
 
 Perchance the chief has only roved, 
 For him thy Beltane," yet may burn. 
 
 " Fill high the bowl, the table round, 
 We will not claim the pledge by stealth ; 
 
 With wine let every cup be crown'd, 
 Pledge me departed Oscar's health." 
 
 " With all my soul," old Angus said, 
 And £ird his goblet to the brim ; 
 
 " Here's to my boy alive, or dead, 
 I ne'er shall find a son like him." 
 
 " Bravely, old man, this health has sped, 
 But why does Allan trembling stand 1 
 
 Come, drink remembrance of the dead. 
 And raise thy cup vpith firmer hand." 
 
 The crimson glow of Allan's face, 
 Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue ;, 
 
 The drops of death, each other chase, 
 Adown in agonizing dew. 
 
 Thrice did he raise the goblet high. 
 And thrice his lips refused to taste ; 
 
 Fur thrice he caught the stranger's eye. 
 On his with deadly fury placed. 
 
 " And is it thus a brother hails 
 A brother's fond remembrance here? 
 
 If thus affection's strength prevails, 
 Wh^t might we not espect frqm fear 2" 
 
 Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, 
 " Would ! Oscar now could share our mirth ;' 
 
 Internal fear appall'd his soul, 
 He said, and dash'd tlie cup to earth. 
 
 " 'Tis he, I hear my murderer's voice," 
 Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form ; 
 
 "A murderer's voice!" the roof replies, 
 And deeply swells the bursting storm. 
 
 The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink. 
 The stranger's gone, — amidst the crew 
 
 A form was seen in tartan green, 
 And tall the shade terrific grew. 
 
 His waist was bound, with abroad belt round, 
 His plume of sable stream'd on high ; 
 
 But his breast was bare, with red wounds there, 
 And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye. 
 
 • Beltana Tree, a Highland festival on the 1st of May, 
 held near fires lighted for the occasion. 
 
 And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild, 
 On Angus bending low the knee ; 
 
 And thrice he frown'd, on a chief on the 
 ground, 
 Whom shivering crowds with horror see. 
 
 The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole, 
 The thunders through the welkin ring, 
 
 And the gleaming form, through the mist of 
 the storm, 
 Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing. 
 
 Cold was the feast, the revel ceased : 
 
 W ho lies upon the stony floor ! 
 Oblivion press'd old Angus's breast, 
 
 At length bis life-pulse throbs once more. 
 
 " Away, away, let the leech essay. 
 To pour the light on Allan's eyes;" 
 
 His sand is done, — his race is run, 
 Oh ! never more shall Allan rise ! 
 
 But Oscar's breast is cold as clay. 
 
 His locks are lifted by the gale ; 
 And Allan's barbed arrow lay 
 
 With him in dark Gleutanar's vale. 
 
 And whence the dreadful stranger came, 
 Or who, no mortal wight can tell ; 
 
 But no one doubts the form of flame. 
 For Alva's sons knew Oscar well. 
 
 Ambition nerved yonng Allan's hand. 
 Exulting demons wing'd his dart, 
 
 While envy waved her burning brand, 
 And pour'd her venom round his heart. 
 
 Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow, 
 Whose streaming life-blood stains his side, 
 
 Dark Oscar's sable crest is low. 
 The dart has drunk his vital tide. 
 
 And Mora's eye could Allan move. 
 She bade his wounded pride rebel : 
 
 Alas ! that eyes which beam'd with love. 
 Should urge the soul to deeds of hell. 
 
 Lo ! seest thou not a lovely tomb 
 Which rises o'er a warrior dead? 
 
 It glimmers through the twilight gloom ; 
 Oh ! that is Allan's nuptial bed. 
 
 Far, distant far, the noble grave 
 Which held his clan's great ashes stood ; 
 
 And o'er his corse no banners wave, 
 For they were stain'd with kindred blood. 
 
 What minstrel gray, what hoary bard. 
 Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise? 
 
 The song is glory's chief reward. 
 But who can strike a murderer's praise! 
 
HOUHS OF 
 
 Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp mnst stand, 
 No minstrel dare the theme awake ; 
 
 Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, 
 His harp in shuddering chords would break. 
 
 No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse. 
 Shall sound his glories high in air, 
 
 A dying father's bitter curse, 
 A brother's death-groan echoes there. 
 
 TO THE DUKE OF D. 
 
 Iji looking over my papers, to select a few additional 
 Poems for this second edition, I found the following 
 lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the 
 summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure 
 from H . They were addrc^cd to a young school- 
 fellow of high rank, who had been my frcqueiit com- 
 panion in some rambles, through the neighbouring 
 country ; however he never saw the line.', and most 
 probably never will. As, on a reperusal, I found them 
 not worse than some otlier pieces in the collection, I 
 have now publiahed them, for tlie first time after a slight 
 revision. 
 
 D — n — T ! whose early steps with mine have 
 
 stray 'd, 
 Exploring every path of Ida's glade, 
 AVhom still afl'eclion taught me to defend, 
 And made me less a tyrant than a friend ; 
 Tbough the harsh custom of our youthful 
 
 band. 
 Bade thee obey, and gave me to command ;* 
 Thee on whose head a few sbort years niU 
 
 shower 
 The gift of riches, and the pride of power ; 
 Even now a name illustrious is thine own, 
 Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne. 
 Yet D — r — t, let not this seduce thy soul, 
 To shun fair science, or evade control ; 
 Though passive tutors, t fearful to dispraise 
 The titled child, whose future breath may 
 
 raise, 
 View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, 
 And wink at faults they tremble to chastise. 
 
 When youthful parasites, ^ho bend tiie 
 knee 
 To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee ! 
 
 * At every public School, the junior boys are completely 
 subservient to the upper forms, till they attain a seat in the 
 higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly 
 no rank is exempt ; but after a certain period, they com- 
 mand in turn those who succeed. 
 
 + Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even tlie 
 most distant; I merely mention generally, what is too 
 often the weakness of i>rcceptors. 
 
 IDI.E1VESS. 1 7 
 
 And, even in simple boyhood's opening dawn. 
 Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn ; 
 When these declare, " that pomp alone should 
 
 wait 
 On one by birth predestined to be great; 
 That books weie only meant for drudging 
 
 fools. 
 That gallant spirits scorn the common rules ;" 
 Believe them not, — they point the path lo 
 
 shame. 
 And seek to bla.st the honours of thy name : 
 Turn to the few in Ida's early throng. 
 Whose souls disdain not to condemn the 
 
 wrong ; 
 Or, if amidst the comrades of thy youth. 
 None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth. 
 Ask thine own heart ! 'twill bid thee, boy, 
 
 forbear. 
 For iccll I know, that virtue liugers there.. 
 
 Yes ! 1 have mark'd thee many a passing day_ 
 But, now new scenes invite me far away ; 
 Yes! I have mark'd v^ilhio that generous 
 
 mind, 
 A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind ; 
 Ah! though myself, by nature haughly, 
 
 wild. 
 Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child ; 
 Though every error stamps me for her own. 
 And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone ; 
 Tiiough my proud heart no precept, now can 
 
 tame, 
 I love the virtues which I cannot claim. 
 
 'Tis not enough, with other sons of power. 
 To gleam, the lambent meteor of an hour. 
 To swell some peerage page in feeble pride. 
 With long-drawn names, that grace no [age 
 
 beside ; 
 Then share with titled crowds the common lot. 
 In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot ; 
 While naught divides thee from the vulgar 
 
 dead. 
 Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head. 
 The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the Herald's 
 
 roll. 
 That well eniblazon'd, but neglected scroll. 
 Where Lords, unbonour'd, in the tomb may 
 
 find 
 One spot, to leave a worthless name behind. — 
 There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults 
 That veil their dust, their follies, and their 
 
 faults ; 
 A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread. 
 In records destined never to be read. 
 Fain would I view thee with prophetic eyes, 
 Exalted more among the good and wise ; 
 A glorious and a long career pursue. 
 As first in rank, the first in talent too ; 
 Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun. 
 Not fortune's miuiou but her noblest son. 
 C 
 
18 
 
 HOURS OF IBXiENESS. 
 
 Turn to the annals of a former day, 
 Bright are the deeds thite earlier sires 
 
 display ; 
 One, though a Courtier, lived a man of 
 
 worth. 
 And call'd, proud boast ! the drama forth.* 
 Another view, not less renown'd for wit. 
 Alike, for courts, and camps, or senates fit ; 
 Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine, 
 In every splendid part ordain'd to shine ; 
 Far, far, distinguish'd from the glittering 
 
 throng. 
 The pride of princes, and the boast of Song.t 
 Such were thy Fathers, thus preserve tJieir 
 
 name. 
 Not heir to titles only, but to Fame. 
 The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will 
 
 close 
 To me, this little scene of joys and woes ; 
 Each knell of Time now warns me to resign 
 Shades, where Hope, Peace, and Friendship 
 
 all were mine ; 
 Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue. 
 And gild their pinions as the moments flew ; 
 
 » " Thomas S— k— He, Lord B— k— st, created Earl of 
 
 D by James the First, was one of the earliest, and 
 
 brightest ornaments to the poetry of his country, and the 
 first who produced a regular drama." 
 
 Anderson's British Poets. 
 
 t Charles S— k— lie. Earl of D , esteemed the most 
 
 nccomplished man of this day, was alike distinguished in 
 the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of 
 William III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea- 
 fight with the Dutch, in 1665, on the day previous to 
 which he composed his celebrated song. His character 
 has been' drawn in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, 
 Prior, and Congrevc. 
 
 Vide Anderson's British Poets. 
 
 Peace, that reflection never frown'd away, ; 
 By dreams of ill, to cloud some future day ; 
 Friendship, whose truth let childhood only 
 
 tell, 
 Alas ! they love not long, who love so well. 
 To these adieu ! nor let me linger o'er 
 Scenes hail'd, as exiles bail their native 
 
 shore, 
 Receding, slowly, through the dark-blue deep, 
 Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep. 
 
 D — r — t ! farewell ! I will not ask one part 
 Of sad remembrance in so young a heart ; 
 The coming morrow from thy youthful mind. 
 Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace be- 
 hind. 
 And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year. 
 Since chance has thrown us in the self same 
 
 sphere. 
 Since the same senate, nay the same debate, 
 May one day claim our sufirage for the state,' 
 We hence may meet, and pass each other by 
 With faint regard, or cold and distant eye. 
 For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, 
 A stranger to thyself, thy weal nor wo ; 
 With thee no more again, X hope to trace, 
 The recollection of our early race ; 
 No more, as once in social hours rejoice. 
 Or hear unless in crowds, thy~well-known 
 
 voice. 
 Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught 
 To veil those feelings which perchance, it 
 ought, [strain. 
 
 If these — but let me cease the lengthen'd 
 Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, 
 The guardian seraph who directs thy fate. 
 Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee 
 great. 
 
TR ANSLATIONS 
 
 AND IMITATIOxXS. 
 
 ADRIAN'S ADDRESS 
 
 TO HIS SOUL, WHEN DVING. 
 
 Anihula ! vagula, blandula, 
 Hospes, comesque, corporis, 
 QuEe nunc abibis in loca! 
 Pallidula, rigida, nudula, 
 Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 Ah ! gentle, fleeting, wavering sprite, 
 Friend and associate of tliis clay ! 
 
 To what unknown region borne, 
 AVilt thou now wing thy distant iiight 1 
 No ir.ore, with wonted humour gay, 
 
 But pallid, cheerless and forlorn. 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 
 
 AD LESBIAM. 
 
 Equal to Jove, that youth must be 
 Greater than Jove, he seems to me, 
 Who free from Jealousy's alarms. 
 Securely views thy matchless cbarms ; 
 That cheek which ever-dimpling glows. 
 That mouth from whence such music flows. 
 To him alike, are always known. 
 Reserved for him, and him alone. 
 Ah ! Lesbia ! though 'tis death to me, 
 I cannot choose but look on thee ; 
 But, at the sight, my senses fly, 
 I needs must gaze, but gazing die ; 
 Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, 
 Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres. 
 My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, 
 My limbs deny their slight support; 
 Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, 
 With deadly languor droops my head. 
 My ears with tingling echoes ring, 
 And life itself is on the wing ; 
 
 My eyes refuse the Peering light, 
 Their orbs are veil'd in starless night ; 
 Such pangs my nature sinks beneath. 
 And feels a temporary death. 
 
 TRANSLATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS. 
 
 BY DOMITIUS MARSUS. 
 
 He, who sublime in epic numbers roll'd. 
 And he who struck the softer lyre of love, 
 
 By Death's* unequal hand alike controll'd. 
 Fit comrades in Elysian regions move ! 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 
 
 '*Luctusde.morte passcris." 
 
 Ye Cupids, droop each little head, 
 Nor let your wings with joy be spread. 
 My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, 
 
 Whom dearer than her eyes she loved ; 
 For he was gentle, and so true. 
 Obedient to her call he flew. 
 No fear, no wild alarm he knew. 
 
 But lightly o'er her bosom moved : 
 
 And softly fluttering here and there, 
 He never sought to cleave the air. 
 But chernp'd oft, and free from care. 
 
 Tuned to her ear his grateful strain ; 
 Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn. 
 From whence he never can return. 
 His death, and Lesbia's grief I mourn^ 
 
 Who sighs, alas ! but sighs in Tain. 
 
 « Thd hand of Deatli is said to be unjust, or unequal, 
 as VirgU was considerably older than 'llbuUus at hifl 
 decease. 
 
20 HOUHS OF IDLENESS 
 
 Oh ! curs'd be thou, devouring grave ! 
 Whose jawrs eternal victims crave, 
 From whom no earthly power can save, 
 
 For thou hast ta'en the bird away : 
 From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erfiow, 
 Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow, 
 Thou art the cause of all her wo. 
 
 Receptacle of Life's decay. 
 
 IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. 
 TO ELLEN. 
 
 Oh ! might I kiss those eyes of fire, 
 A million scarce would quench desire ; 
 Still would I steep my lips in bliss. 
 And dwell an age on every kiss. 
 Nor then my soul should sated be, 
 Still would I kiss and cling to thee : 
 Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, 
 Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever ; 
 Even though the numbers did exceed 
 The yellow harvest's countless seed ; 
 To part would be a vain endeavour. 
 Could I desist ? — ah ! never — never. 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON. 
 
 TO HIS LYRE. 
 
 I WISH to tune my quivering lyre. 
 To deeds of fame, and notes of fire ; 
 To echo from its rising swell, 
 How heroes fought and nations fell : 
 When Atreus' sons advanced to war 
 Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar : 
 But still to martial strains unknown. 
 My lyre recurs to love alone. 
 Fired with the hope of future fame, 
 I seek some nobler hero's name ; 
 The dying chords are strung anew, 
 To war, to war, my harp is due ; 
 With glowing strings, the epic strain. 
 To Jove's great son 1 raise again ; 
 Alcides aad his glorious deeds. 
 Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds ; 
 All, all in vain, my wayward lyre. 
 Wakes silver notes of soft desire. 
 Adieu ! ye chiefs ! renown'd in arms ! 
 Adieu ! the clang of war's alarms. 
 To other deeds my soul is strung. 
 And sweeter notes shall now be sung ; 
 My harp shall all its powers reveal. 
 To tell the tale my heart must feel. 
 Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim. 
 In songs of bliss, and sighs of flame. 
 
 ODE III. 
 
 'TwAS now the hour, when night had driven 
 
 Htr car half round yon sable heaven ; 
 
 Biiotes, only, seem'd to roll 
 
 His arctic charge around the pole ; 
 
 While mortals lost in gentle sleep, 
 
 Forgot to smile, or ceased to weep. 
 
 At this lone hour, the Paphian boy. 
 
 Descending from the realms of joy. 
 
 Quick to my gate, directs his course. 
 
 And knocks with all his little force ; 
 
 My visions fled, alarm'd I rose, 
 
 " What stranger breaks my bless'd repose ?" 
 
 " Alas !" replies the wily child, 
 
 In faltering accents sweetly mild ; 
 
 " A hapless Infant here I roam, 
 
 Far from my dear maternal home ; 
 
 Oh ! shield me from the wintry blast, 
 
 The nightly storm is pouring fast. 
 
 No prowling robber lingers here, 
 
 A wandering baby who can fear !" 
 
 I heard his seeming artless tale, 
 
 I heard his sighs upon the gale ; 
 
 My breast was never pity's foe. 
 
 But felt for all the baby's wo ; 
 
 I drew the bar, and by the light, 
 
 Young Love, the infant, met my sight ; 
 
 His bow across his shoulders flung. 
 
 And thence his fatal quiver hung, 
 
 (Ah ! little did I think the dart 
 
 Would rankle soon within my heart ;) 
 
 With care I tend my weary guest, 
 
 His little fingers chill my breast. 
 
 His glossy curls, his azure wing. 
 
 Which droop with nightly showers, I wring : 
 
 His shivering limbs the embers warm, 
 
 And now reviving from the storm. 
 
 Scarce had he felt his wonted glow. 
 
 Than swift he seized his slender bow ; 
 
 " I fain would know, my gentle host," 
 
 He cried, " if this its strength has lost ; 
 
 I fear, relax'd with midnight dews, 
 
 The strings their former aid refuse :" 
 
 With poison tipp'd, his arrow flies, 
 
 Deep in my tortured heart it lies ; 
 
 Then loud the joyous urchin laugh 'd, 
 
 " My bow can still impel the shaft ; 
 
 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it, 
 
 Say courteous host, canst thou not feel it ?" 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL 
 EXERCISES, 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 rnOMETHEUS VINCTUS OF aiSCKVLCS. 
 
 CiiKAT Jove, to whoseAlmighty thmm-, 
 Both Gods and mortals homage pay, 
 
HOtTHS 
 
 Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, 
 
 Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. 
 Oft shall the sacred victim fall, 
 In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall ; 
 My voice shall raise no impious strain, 
 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure 
 main. 
 
 How different now thy joyless fate. 
 
 Since first Hesione thy bride, 
 When placed aloft in godlike state, 
 The blushing beauty by thy side, 
 Thou sat'st while reverend Ocean smiled. 
 And mirthful strains the hours beguiled ; 
 The Nymphs and Tritons danced around, 
 ■ Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless 
 frown'd. 
 
 Harrow, Dec. 1, 1804. 
 
 EPISODE OF NISUS ANB EURYALUS, 
 
 PARAPHBASE FROM THE iENElD, Lib. 9. 
 
 Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood 
 Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood ; 
 Well skill'd in fight, the quivering lance to 
 
 wield. 
 Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field ; 
 From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave, 
 And sought a foreign home, a distant grave. 
 To watch the movements of the Daunian host; 
 With him Euryalus sustains the post. 
 No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy, 
 And beardless bloom yet graced the gallant 
 
 boy. 
 Though few the seasons of his youthful life, 
 As yet a novice in the, martial strife, 
 'Twas his with beauty, valour's gifts to share, 
 A soul heroic, as his form was fair, 
 These burn with one pure flame of generous 
 
 love. 
 In peace, in war united, still they move ; 
 Friendship and glory form their joint reward. 
 And now combined, they hold their nightly 
 
 guard. 
 
 " What god !" exclaim'd the first! " instils 
 
 this fire ? 
 Or, in itself a god, what great desire ? 
 My labouring soul, with aroyous thought op- 
 
 press'd. 
 Abhors this station of inglorious rest ; 
 
 OF idi.knt:ss. zi 
 
 The love of fame with this can ill accord, 
 Be't mine to seek for glory with my sword. 
 Seest thou yon camp, with torches twinkling 
 
 dim, [limb? 
 
 Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy 
 Where confidence and ease the watch disdain 
 And drowsy silence holds her sable reign 2 
 Then hear my thought : — In deep and sullen 
 
 grief. 
 Our troops and leaders mourn their absent 
 
 chief, [thine. 
 
 Now could the gifts, and promised prize be 
 (The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine ;) 
 Were this decreed; — beneath yon rising mound, 
 Methinks, an easy path perchance were found, 
 Which past> I speed my way to PaUas' walls ; 
 And lead jEneas from Evander's halls." 
 With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy, 
 His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy, 
 " These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare 
 
 alone, 
 
 Must all the fame, the peril be thine own ? 
 Am I by thee despised, and left afar. 
 As one unfit to share the toils of war? 
 Not thus, his son, the great Opheltes taught, 
 Not thus, my sire, in Argive combats fought : 
 Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, 
 I track'd jEneas through the walks of fate ; 
 Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of 
 
 fear. 
 And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear ; 
 Here is a soul, with hope immortal burns. 
 And life, ignoble life, for glory spurns : 
 Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by fleeting 
 
 breath, • 
 
 The price of honour is the sleep of death." 
 Then Nisus, — " Calm thy bosom's fond 
 
 alarms. 
 Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms ; 
 More dear thy worth and valour than my own, 
 I swear by him who fills Olympus' throne ! 
 So may I triumph, as I speak the truth, 
 And clasp again the comrade of my youth? 
 But should I fall, (and he who dares advance. 
 Through hostile legions, must abide by 
 
 chance ;) 
 If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow. 
 Should lay the friend who ever loved thee low : 
 Live thou, such beauties I would fain pre- 
 serve. 
 Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve ; 
 When humbled in the dust, let some one be. 
 Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me ; 
 Whose manly arm may snatch me back by 
 
 force. 
 Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse ; 
 Or, if my destiny these last deny. 
 If, in the spoiler's power my ashes lie ; 
 Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb. 
 To mark thy love, and signalize my doom 
 
22 
 
 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 
 
 M'hy should thy doting wretched mother 
 
 weep 
 Ker only boy, reclined in endless sleep ? 
 Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dared, 
 Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shared ; 
 Who braved what woman never braved before. 
 And left her native, for the Latian shore." 
 " In vain you damp the ardour of my soul," 
 Replied Euryalus, " it scorns control ! 
 Hence, let us haste,"— their brother guards 
 
 arose, 
 Roused by their call, nor court again repose ; 
 The pair, buoy'd up on hope's exulting wing. 
 Their stations leave, and speed to seek the 
 
 king. 
 Now o'er the eaith'a solemn stillness ran, 
 And luU'd alike the cares of brute and man ; 
 Save where the Dardan leaders, nightly hold 
 Alternate converse, and their plans unfold ; 
 On one great point the council are agreed, 
 An instant message to their prince decreed ; 
 Each lean'd upon the lance he well could 
 
 wield. 
 And poised with easy arm, his ancient shield ; 
 When Nisus and his friend their leave request, 
 To offer something to their high behest. 
 With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, 
 The faithful pair before the throne appear ; 
 lulus greets them ; at his kind command, 
 The elder first address'd the hoary band. 
 " With patience," (thus Hyrtacides began,) 
 "Attend, nor judge,' from youth, our humble 
 
 plan ; 
 Where yonder beacon's half expiring beam, 
 Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream. 
 Nor heed that we a secret path have traced, 
 Between the ocean and the portal placed : 
 Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke. 
 Whose shade, securely, our design will cloak! 
 If you, ye chiefs and fortune will allow. 
 We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's 
 
 brow : 
 Where Pallas' walls at distance meet the sight. 
 Seen o'er the glade, when not obscured by 
 
 night ; 
 Then shall £neas, in his pride return. 
 While hostile matrons raise their offspring's 
 
 urn ; 
 And Lafian spoils, and purpled heaps of dead. 
 Shall mark the havoc of our hero 's tread ; 
 Such is our purpose, not unknown the way. 
 Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray ; 
 Oft have we seen, when hunting by the 
 
 stream, 
 The distant spires above the vallies gleam." 
 
 Mature in years, for sober wisdom famed, 
 Moved by the speech, Alethes here exclaim'd ! 
 " Ye parent gods ! who rule the fate of Troy, 
 Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy ; 
 
 When minds like these, in striplings thus ye 
 
 raise. 
 Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise ; 
 In gallant youth, my fainting hopes-revive. 
 And Ilion's wonted glories still survive ;" 
 Then, in his warm embrace, the boys he 
 
 press'd. 
 And quivering, strain'd them to his aged 
 
 breast ; 
 With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd 
 And sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd : 
 " What gift, my countrymen, what martial 
 
 prize 
 Can we bestow, which you may not despise ? 
 Our deities the first best boon have given, 
 Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven, 
 What poor rewards can bless yoOr deeds on 
 
 earth. 
 Doubtless await such young exalted worth ; 
 j^neas and Ascanius shall combine. 
 To yield applause, far, far surpassing mine." 
 lulus then : " By all the powers above ! 
 By those Penates,* who my country love ! 
 By hoary Vesta's sacred fane, I swear. 
 My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair ! 
 Restore my father, to my grateful sight. 
 And all my sorrows yield to one delight. 
 Nisus ! two silver goblets are thine own, 
 Saved from Arisba's stately domes o'erthrown ; 
 My sire secured them on that fatal day ; 
 Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey. 
 Two massy tripods, also shall be thine. 
 Two talents polished from the glittering mine ; 
 An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave. 
 While yet our vessels press'd the Punic wave ; 
 But, when the hostile chiefs at length bow 
 
 down. 
 When great jEneas wears Hesperia's crown, 
 The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed, 
 Which Turnus guides with more than mortal 
 
 speed, 
 Are thine ; no envious lot shall then be cast, 
 I pledge my word, irrevocably past ; 
 Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six cap- 
 tive dames, [flames, 
 To soothe thy softer ^^lours with amorous 
 And all the realms, which now the Latins sway. 
 The labours of to-night shall well repay. 
 But thou, my generous youth, whose tender 
 
 years , [veres. 
 
 Are near my own, whose worth my heart re- 
 Henceforth, afiTection sweetly thus begun, 
 Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one ; 
 Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine. 
 Without thy dear advice, no great design ; 
 Alike through life estecm'd, thou godlike 
 
 boy. 
 In war my bulwark, and in my peace my joy,' 
 
 * Household gods. 
 
HOURS OF IDLENESS. 
 
 23 
 
 To him Euryalus, " no day shall shame 
 The rising glories which from this I claim, 
 Fortune may favour, or the skies may frown, 
 I But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown. 
 Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart, 
 One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart : 
 My mother, sprung from Priam's royal line. 
 Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine. 
 Nor Troy, nor King Acestes' realms restrain 
 Her feeble age from dangers of the main ; 
 Alone she came, all selfish fears above, 
 A bright example of maternal love. 
 Unknown the secret enterprize I brave, 
 Lest grief should bend my parent to the 
 
 grave ; 
 From this alone, no fond adieus I seek. 
 No fainting mother's lips have press'd my 
 
 cheek ; 
 By gloomy night, and thy right hand I vow. 
 Her parting tears would shake my purpose 
 
 now: 
 Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain, 
 In thee her much loved child may live again ; 
 Her dying hours, with pious conduct bless. 
 Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress : 
 So dear a hope must all my soul inflame. 
 To rise in glory, or to fall in fame." 
 Struck with a filial care, so deeply felt, 
 In tears, at once the Trojan warriors melt ; 
 Faster than all, lulus' eyes o'erflow. 
 Such love was his, and such had been his wo. 
 " All thou hast ask'd, receive," the Prince re- 
 plied, 
 Nor this alone, but many a gift beside ; 
 To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim, 
 Creusa's* style but wanting to the dame ; 
 Fortune an adverse, wayward course may run. 
 But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son. 
 Now, by my life, my sire's most sacred oath, 
 To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth, 
 All the revfards which once to thee were 
 
 vow'd, [stow'd." 
 
 If thon shouldst fall, on her shall be be- 
 Thus spoke the weeping Prince, then forth 
 
 to view, 
 A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew ; 
 Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel, 
 For friends to envy and for foes to feel ; 
 A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil, 
 Slain 'midst the forest, in the hunter's toil, 
 Mnestheus to guard the elder youth bestows. 
 And old Alethes' casque defends his brows; 
 Arm'd, thence they go, while all th' assembled 
 
 train. 
 To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain ; 
 More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace, 
 lulus holds amidst the chiefs his place, 
 
 * 'Hie mother of IiUus, lost* on tlic nig'nt_^wlien_ Troy 
 was taken. 
 
 His prayers he sends, but what can prayers 
 
 avail ! 
 Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale ! 
 
 The trench is past, and favour'd by the 
 night, [flight ! 
 
 Through sleeping foes, they wheel their wary 
 When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er? 
 Alas ! some slumber who shall wake no more I 
 Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms are 
 seen, [tween ; 
 
 And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops be- 
 Bacchus and Mars, to rule the camp combine, 
 A mingled chaos this, of war and wine, [pare. 
 Now cries the first, "for deeds of blood pre- 
 With me the conquest, and the labour share ; 
 Here lies our path, lest any hand arise. 
 Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain 
 dies ; [foe, 
 
 I'll carve our passage through the heedless 
 And clear thy road with many a deadly blow." 
 His whispering accents, then the youth re- 
 
 press'd, 
 And pierced proud Rhamnes through his pant- 
 ing breast, [posed, 
 Stretch'd at his ease, the incautious king re- 
 Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed ; 
 To Turnus dear, a prophet, and a prince. 
 His om_ens more than augur's skill evince : 
 But he, who thus foretold the fate of all. 
 Could not avert his own untimely fall. 
 Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell, 
 And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell ; 
 The charioteer, along his courser's sides 
 Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides ; 
 And last, his lord is number'd with the dead. 
 Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head ; 
 From the swollen veins the blackening torrents 
 pour, [gore. 
 Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting 
 Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire. 
 And gay Serranus, fiU'd with youthful fire ; 
 Half the long night in childish games were 
 
 pass'd, 
 LuU'd by the potent grape, he slept at last ; 
 Ah ! happier far, had he the morn survey'd. 
 And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd. 
 
 In slaughter'd folds, the keepers lost in 
 sleep. 
 His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep ; 
 Mid the sad flock, at dead of night he prowls, 
 With murder glntted, and in carnage rolls ; 
 Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams. 
 In seas of gore, the lordly tyrant foams. 
 
 Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came, 
 But falls on feeble crowds without a name 
 His wound, unconscious Fadus scarce can feel. 
 Yet wakefulRbsesus sees the threatening steel ; 
 
24 
 
 HOURS or IDLENESS. 
 
 His coward breast behind a jar he hides, 
 And vainly in the weak defence conDdes ; 
 Full in his heart, the falchion searched his 
 
 veins. 
 The reeking weapon bears alternate strains ; 
 Through wine and blood, commingling as they 
 
 flow, 
 The feeble spirit seeks the shades below. 
 Now, where Messapus dwelt, they bend their 
 
 way, 
 Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray; 
 There unconfined, behold each grazing steed, 
 Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed ; 
 Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm. 
 Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest 
 
 warm : 
 " Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is 
 
 pass'd, [last ; 
 
 Full foes enough to night, have breathed their 
 Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn. 
 Now let us speed nor tempt the rising morn." 
 
 What silver arms, with various arts em- 
 
 boss'd ; 
 What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd. 
 They leave regardless !, yet, one glittering 
 
 prize 
 Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes ; 
 The gilded harness Uhamnes' coursers felt. 
 The gems which stud the monarch's golden 
 
 belt ; 
 This from the pallid corse was quickly torn. 
 Once by a line of former chieftains worn. 
 Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears, 
 Messapus' helm, his head in triumph bears ; 
 Then from the tents their cautious steps they 
 
 bend. 
 To seek the vale where safer paths extend. 
 
 Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse 
 To Turnus' camp pursue their destin'd course ; 
 While the slow foot their tardy march delay. 
 The knights, impatient, spur along the way : 
 Three hundred mail-clad men by Volscens led 
 To Turnus, with their master's promise sped ; 
 Now they approach the trench, and view the 
 
 walls. 
 When, en the left, a light reflection falls. 
 The plunder'd helmet, through the warning 
 
 night, 
 Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright; 
 Volscens, with questions loud, the pair alarms. 
 Stand, stragglers ! stand ; why early thus in 
 
 arms ? [reply, 
 
 " From whence, to whom?" he meets with no 
 Trusting the covert of the night, they fly ; 
 The thicket's depth, with hurried pace they 
 
 tread, [spread. 
 
 While round the wood the hostile squadron 
 
 With brakes entangled, scarce a pafa be- 
 tween. 
 Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene, 
 Euryalus, his heavy spoils impede. 
 The boughs and winding turns his steps mis- 
 lead ; 
 But Nisus scours along the forest's maze, 
 To where Latinus' steeds in safety graze. 
 Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend 
 On every side they seek his absent friend, 
 " Oh God, my boy," he cries, " of me bereft, 
 In what impending perils art thou left '." 
 Listeningthe runs — above the waving trees. 
 Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze ; 
 The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around. 
 Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground. 
 Again he turns — of footsteps hears the noise. 
 The sound elates — the sight his hope destroys,. 
 The hapless boy a ruflian train surround. 
 While lengthening shades, his weary way con- 
 found ; 
 Him, with loud shouts, the furious knights 
 
 pursue. 
 Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew. 
 What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers 
 
 dare? 
 Ah ! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share ! 
 What force, what aid, what stratagem essay, 
 Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey ? 
 His life a votive ransom nobly give, 
 Or die with him, for whom he wish'd to live ! 
 Poising with strength his lifted lance on high. 
 On Luna's orb, he cast his frenzied eye : 
 " Goddess serene, transcending every star ! 
 Queen of the sky, whose beams are seen afar; 
 By night. Heaven owns thy sway, by day the 
 grove; [rove; 
 
 When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to 
 If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace 
 Thine altars with the produce of the chase ; 
 Speed, speed my darl, to pierce yon vaunting 
 
 crowd. 
 To free my friend, and scatter far the proud." 
 Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung ; 
 Through parted shades the hurtling weapon 
 
 sung; 
 The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay, 
 Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the 
 
 clay : 
 He sobs, he dies, — the troop in wild amaze. 
 Unconscious whence the death, with horror 
 gaze ; [riven, 
 
 While pale they stare, through .4ngus' temples 
 A second shaft with equal force is driven ; 
 Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes, 
 Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies. 
 Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers 
 
 fall, 
 " Thou youth accursed ; thy life shall pay for 
 all." 
 
Quick from the sheath, his flaming glaive he 
 
 drew. 
 And raging, on the boy defenceless flew, 
 Nisus, no more the blackening shade conceals. 
 Forth, forth he starts, and all bis love re- 
 veals ; 
 Aghast, confused, his fears to madness jise, 
 And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies : 
 " Me, Me, your vengeance hurl, on me alone, 
 Here sheath the steel, my blood is all your 
 
 own ; 
 Ye starry spheres ! thou conscious Heaven 
 
 attest ! 
 He could not ! — durst not ! — lo ! the guile con- 
 
 fess'd ! 
 All, all was mine, — his early fate suspend. 
 He only loved, too well, his hapless friend ; 
 Spare, spare ye chiels ! from him your rage 
 
 remove, 
 His fault was friendship, all his crime was 
 
 love." 
 He pray'd in vain, the dark assassin's sword 
 Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored ; 
 Lowly to earth, inclines his plume-clad crest. 
 And sanguine torrents, mantle o'er his breast ; 
 As some young rose, whose blossom scents the 
 
 air. 
 Languid in death, expires beneath the share ; 
 Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower. 
 Declining gently, falls a fading flower ; 
 Thus, sweetly drooping, bends bis lovely 
 
 head, 
 And lingering Beauty hovers round the dead. 
 
 But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide. 
 Revenge his leader, and Despair his guide ; 
 Volscens he seeks, amidst the gathering host, 
 Volscens must soon appease his comrade's 
 
 ghost ; 
 Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on 
 foe, [blow. 
 
 Rage nerves his arm. Fate gleams in every 
 In vain, beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds, 
 Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus 
 
 heeds; 
 In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion flies. 
 Nor quits the hero's grasp, iill Volscens dies. 
 Deep in his throat, its end the weapon found. 
 The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the 
 
 wound. 
 Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved, 
 Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved ; 
 Then, on his bosom, sought his wonted place. 
 And death was heavenly in his friend's em- 
 brace ! 
 
 Celestial pair ! if aught my verse can claim, 
 Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame ! 
 Ages on ages, shall your fate admire. 
 No future day shall see your names expire ; 
 
 HOURS OF IDIiENESS. 35 
 
 While stands the Capitol, immortal dome I 
 And vanquish'd millions hail their Empress, 
 
 Rome ! 
 
 TRANSLATION 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. 
 
 When fierce conflicting passions urge 
 
 The breast where love is wont to glow. 
 What mind can stem the stormy surge 
 
 Which rolls the tide of human wo? 
 The hope of praise, the dread of shame. 
 
 Can rouse the tortured breast no more ; 
 The wild desire, the guilty flame. 
 
 Absorbs each wish it felt before. 
 
 But, if aflfection gently thrills 
 
 The soul, by purer dreams possess'd. 
 The pleasing balm of mortal ills, 
 
 In love can sooth the achiug breast ; 
 If Ihus thou comest in disguise. 
 
 Fair Venus ! from thy native heaven, 
 What heart unfeeling would despise 
 
 The svpeetest boon the Gods have given . 
 
 But never from thy golden bow. 
 
 May I beneath the shaft expire, 
 Whose creeping venom, sure and slow. 
 
 Awakes an all-consuming fire ; 
 Ve racking doubts ! ye jealous fears ! 
 
 With others wage internal war ; 
 Repentance ! source of future tears. 
 
 From me be ever distant far. 
 
 May no distracting thoughts destroy 
 
 The holy calm of sacred love ! 
 May all the hours be wing'd with joy, 
 
 Which hover faithful hearts above ; 
 Fair Venus ! on thy myrtle shrine. 
 
 May I with some fond lover sigh ! 
 Whose heart may mingle pure with mine. 
 
 With me to live, with me to die. 
 
 My native soil ! beloved before. 
 
 Now dearer as my peaceful home, 
 Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore, 
 
 A hapless, banish'd wretch to roam ; 
 This very day, this very hour, 
 
 May I resign this fleeting breath, 
 Nor quit my silent, humble bower ; 
 
 A doom to me far worse than death. 
 
 Have I not heard the exile's sigh? 
 
 And seen the exile's silent tear? 
 Through distant climes condemn'd to fly, 
 
 A pensive, weary wanderer here ; 
 D 
 
26 
 Ah ! hapless dame !* no sire bewails, 
 
 No friend thy wretched fate deplores 
 No kiLdred voice with rapture hails 
 
 Thy steps, within a stranger's doors. 
 
 Perish the fiend ! whose iron heart, 
 To fair affection's truth unknown. 
 
 HOURS or IDLENESS. 
 
 Bids her he fondly loved depart, 
 Unpitied, helpless and alone ; 
 
 Who ne'er unlocks with silver key* 
 The milder treasures of his soul. 
 
 May such a friend be far from me. 
 And Ocean's storms between us roll ! 
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 THOUGHTS 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION.f 
 
 High in the midst, surrounded by his peers, 
 Magnus his ample front sublime uprears ; 
 Placed on his chair of state, he seems a god. 
 While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his 
 
 nod ; 
 As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, 
 His voice in thunder shakes the sounding 
 
 dome ; 
 Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, 
 UnskiU'd to plod in mathematic rules. 
 
 Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried, 
 Though little versed in any art beside ; 
 Who scarcely skill'd an English line to pen. 
 Scans attic metres with a critic's ken, 
 What ! though he knows not how his fathers 
 
 bled, 
 When civil discord piled the fields with dead ; 
 When Edward bade his conquering bands 
 
 advance, 
 Or Henry trampled on the crest of France ; 
 
 * Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was de- 
 serted by him for the daughter of Creon, King of that 
 City. The Chorus, from which tliis is taken, here ad. 
 dresses Medea ; though a considerable liberty is taken 
 with the original, by expanding the idea, as also in some 
 other parts of the translation. 
 
 + No reflection is iierc intended against the person men- 
 tioned under the name of Magnus. He is merely repre- 
 sented as Jierforming an unavoidable function of his office : 
 indeed, such an attempt could only recoil upon myself : 
 as that gentleman is now as mucli distinguished by his 
 eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he fills 
 his situation, as he was in his younger days, for wit and 
 conviviahty. 
 
 Though marvelling at the name of Magna 
 
 Charta, 
 Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta ; 
 Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made, 
 Vyhile Blackstone's on the shelf neglected 
 
 laid ; 
 Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame. 
 Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the 
 
 name. 
 
 Such is the youth, whose scientific pate. 
 Class honours, medals, fellowships, await ; 
 Or, even perhaps, the declamation prize. 
 If, to such glorious height, he lifts his eyes. 
 But, lo ! no common orator can hope. 
 The envied silver cup within his scope ; 
 Not that our heads much eloquence require, 
 Th' Athenian's glowing style, or TuUy's fire. 
 A manner clear, or warm, is useless, since 
 We do not try by speaking, to convince ; 
 Be other orators of pleasing proud. 
 We speak to please ourselves, not move the 
 
 crowd : 
 Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, 
 A proper mixture of the squeak and groan ; 
 No borrow'd grace of action must be seen. 
 The slightest motion would displease the 
 
 Dean ; 
 Whilst every staring Graduate would prate, 
 Against what he could never imitate. 
 
 The man who hopes t' obtain the promised 
 cup. 
 Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up ; 
 Nor stop, but rattle over every word. 
 No matter what, so it can not be heard : 
 
 * The original is " K&3-x^xv xveilm'rt KXi^iet ^iyut ;" 
 literally " disclosing the bright key of the mind." 
 
HOURS OF IDI.ENESS. 
 
 27 
 
 Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest ; 
 Who speaks the ftistest's sure to speak the 
 
 best ; 
 Who utters most -withio the shortest space. 
 May safely hope to win the wordy race. 
 
 The sons of science, these, who thus repaid. 
 Linger in ease, in Granta's sluggish shade ; 
 Wliere on Cam's sedgy bank, supine they lie. 
 Unknown, unhonour'd live, — unwept for die ; 
 Dull as the pictures whicli adorn their halls. 
 They think all learning fijt'd within their 
 
 walls ; 
 In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, 
 All modern arts affecting to despise ; 
 Yet prizing Bentley's,* Brunk's,* or Por- 
 
 Eon'st note, 
 More than tlie verse on which the critic wrote ; 
 Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale, 
 Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale ; 
 To friendship dead, though not untaught to 
 
 feel. 
 When Self and Church, demand a Bigot zeal. 
 With eager haste they court the Lord of 
 
 power. 
 Whether 'lis Pitt, or P— tty rules the hour,t 
 To hiin with suppliant smiles they bend the 
 
 head, 
 Wliile distant mitres to their eyes are spread. 
 But should a storm o'erwhelm him with dis- 
 grace. 
 They'd iiy to seek the next who fiU'd his place. 
 Such are the men who learning's treasures 
 
 guard. 
 Such is their practice, such is their reward ; 
 This much, at least, we may presume to say. 
 The premiuiji can't exceed the price they pay. 
 
 1806. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF 
 
 I 
 
 Tu semper amoris 
 •' Sis meDiOr, et cari comitis ne abscedat Imago." 
 
 Valerius Flaccus. 
 
 Friend of my youth I when young we roved, 
 Like striplings mutually beloved, 
 With Friendship's purest glow ; 
 
 « Celebrated Critics. 
 + Tlic present Greek professor at Trinity College, Cam. 
 bridge ; a man whose powers of mind and writings, may 
 perhaps justify their preference. 
 
 } Since this was written Lord H. P y has lost his 
 
 ce, and subsequently, (I had almost said consequently,) 
 the honour of representing the University ; a fact so glar- 
 ing requires no comment. 
 
 The bliss which wing'd those rosy hours, 
 AVas such as pleasure seldom showers 
 On mortals here below. 
 
 The recollection seems alone. 
 Dearer than all the joys I've known, 
 
 When distant far from you ; 
 Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain. 
 To trace those days and hours again. 
 
 And sigh again, adieu 1 
 
 My pensive memory lingers o'er 
 Those scenes to be enjoy 'd no more, 
 
 Those scenes regretted ever ; 
 The measure of our youth is full. 
 Life's evening dream is dark and dull. 
 
 And we may meet — ah ! never ! 
 
 As when one parent spring supplies 
 
 Two streams which from one fountain rise, 
 
 Together join'd in vain ; 
 How soon, diverging from their source. 
 Each murmuring, seeks another course. 
 
 Till mingled in the main. 
 
 Our vital streams of weal or wo. 
 Though near, alas ! distinctly flow. 
 
 Nor mingle as before : 
 Now swift or slow, now black or clear, 
 Till death's unfathom'd gulph appear, 
 
 And both shall quit the shore. 
 
 Our souls, my friend ! which once supplial 
 One wish, nor breathed a thought beside. 
 
 Now flow in different channels; 
 Disdaining humbler rural sports, 
 Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts, 
 
 And shine in Fashion's annals. 
 
 'Tis mine to waste on love my time. 
 Or vent my reveries in rhyme, 
 
 AVithout the aid of Reason ; 
 For sense and reason (Critics know if,) 
 Have quitted every amorous Poet, 
 
 Nor left a thought to seize on. 
 
 Poor Little ! sweet, melodious bard ; 
 Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard, 
 
 That he who sang before all ; 
 He who the lore of love expanded. 
 By dire Reviewers should be branded, 
 
 As void of wit and moral.* 
 
 And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine. 
 Harmonious favourite of the Nine, 
 Repine not at thy lot ; 
 
 ♦ These stanzas were written soon after the appearance 
 of a severe Critique in a Northern Review, on a new pub- 
 lication of the British Anacreon. 
 
28 
 
 Thy soothing lays may still be read, 
 Wheu Persecution's arm is dead, 
 And Critics are forgot. 
 
 HOURS OF IDI-XiNESS; 
 
 Whilst blessing your beloved name, 
 I'd ivave at once, a Puei's fame. 
 To prove a Prophet here. 
 
 Still I must yield those worthies merit, 
 Who chasten with unsparing spirit. 
 
 Bad rliymes, and those who write them ; 
 And though myself may be the next. 
 By Critic sarcasm to be vex'd, 
 
 I really will not fight them.* 
 
 Perhaps they would do quite as well. 
 To break the rudely sounding shell, 
 
 Of such a yonng beginner ; 
 He who offends at pert nineteen, 
 Er? thirty, may become, I ween, 
 
 A very hardened sinner. 
 
 Now 1 must return to you, 
 
 And sure apologies are due. 
 
 Accept then my concession ; 
 
 In truth, dear , in fancy's flight, 
 
 I soar along from left to right. 
 
 My Muse admires digression. 
 
 I think I said 'twould be your fate 
 To add one star to royal state. 
 
 May regal smiles attend you ; 
 And should a noble monarch reign, 
 ' You will not seek his smiles in vain. 
 
 If worth can recommend you. 
 
 Yet, since in danger courts abound, 
 Where specious rivals glitter round, 
 
 From snares may Saints preserve you ; 
 And grant your love or friendship ne'er 
 From any claim a kindred care, 
 
 But those who best deserve you. 
 
 Not for a moment may you stray 
 From Truth's secure, unerring way. 
 
 May no delights decoy ; 
 O'er roses may your footsteps move, 
 Your smiles be ever smiles of love. 
 
 Your tears be tears of joy. 
 
 Oh ! if you wish that happiness 
 
 Your coming days and years may bless, 
 
 And virtues crown your brow ; 
 Be still as you were wont to be. 
 Spotless as you've been known to me, 
 
 Be still as you are now. 
 
 And though some trifling share of praise. 
 To cheer my last declining days 
 To me were doubly dear : 
 
 * A Bard (Horresco refercns,) defied his reviewer to 
 mortal combat : if this example becomes prevalent, our 
 periodical Censors must be dipped in the Kivcr Styx, for 
 ivhat else can secure lUcm from the numerous host of 
 their enraged .issailanls ? 
 
 GRANTA, A MEDLEY. 
 
 AgyygEw.'s Xay^aitri f^ctx*t xxt tr«vT» K^»TViffals, 
 
 Oh ! could Le Sage's* demon's gift 
 
 Be realized at my desire ; 
 This night my trembling form he'd lift. 
 
 To place it on St. Mary's spire. 
 
 Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls 
 
 Pedantic inmates full display ; 
 Fellows who dream on lawn, or stalls. 
 
 The price of venal votes to pay. 
 
 Then would I view each rival wight, 
 
 P — tty and P — Im — s — n survey : 
 Who canvass there, with all their might, 
 
 Against the next elective day. 
 
 Lo ! candidates and voters lie 
 All luU'd in sleep, a goodly number ! 
 
 A race renown'd for piety. 
 Whose conscience wont disturb their slumber 
 
 Lord H , indeed, may not demur, 
 
 Fellows are sage, reflecting men ; 
 
 They know preferment can occur 
 But very seldom, now and then. 
 
 They know the Chancellor has got 
 
 Some pretty livings in disposal ; 
 Each hopes that one may be his lot. 
 
 And, therefore, smiles on his proposal. 
 
 Now, from the soporific scene 
 
 I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later. 
 To view unheeded, and unseen, 
 
 The studious sons of Alma Mater. 
 
 There, in apartments small and damp, 
 The candidate for college prizes. 
 
 Sits poring by the midnight lamp. 
 Goes late to bed, yet early rises. 
 
 He surely well deserves to gain them. 
 With all the honours of his college. 
 
 Who, striving hardly to obtain them. 
 Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge. 
 
 * The Diable Boiteux of 1« Sage, where Asmodeus, (he 
 Demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and 
 unroofs the houses for inspection. 
 
HOURS OF 
 
 Who sacrifices hours of rest 
 
 To scan precisely, metres attic ; 
 Or agitates his anxious breast, 
 
 In solving problems mathematic. 
 
 Who reads false quantities in Sele,* 
 Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle ; 
 
 Deprived of many a wholesome meal, 
 In barbarous Latinf doom'd to wrangle. 
 
 Renouncing every pleasing page, 
 
 From authors of historic use; 
 Preferring to the letter'd sage, 
 
 The square of the hypotenuse.! 
 
 Still harmless are these occupations, 
 That hurt none but the hapless student. 
 
 Compared with other recreations, 
 Which bring together the imprudent. 
 
 Whose daring revels shock the sight, 
 When vice and infamy combine ; 
 
 When drunkenness and dice invite, 
 As every sense is steep'd in wine. 
 
 Not so the methddistic crew, 
 
 Who plans of reformation lay ; 
 In humble attitude they sue. 
 
 And for the sins of others pray. 
 
 Forgetting that their pride of spirit, 
 
 Their exultation in their trial, 
 Detracts most largely from their merit, 
 
 Of all their boasted self-denial. 
 
 "Tis morn : from these I turn my sight ; 
 
 What scene is this, which meets the eye ? 
 A numerous crowd array'd in white, § 
 
 Across the green in numbers fly. 
 
 Loud rings in air the chapel bell ; 
 
 'Tis husb'd : — what sounds are these I hear ? 
 The organ's soft celestial swell. 
 
 Rolls deeply on the listening ear. 
 
 To this is join'd the sacred song. 
 The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain ; 
 
 Though he who hears the music long. 
 Will never wish to hear again. 
 
 Our choir would scarcely be excused, 
 Even as a band of raw beginners, 
 
 * Sele's publication on Greek metres, displays consider- 
 able talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so 
 difficult a work, is not remarkable for accuracy. 
 
 t The Latin of the scliools is of the canine species, and 
 not very intelligible. 
 
 } The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the 
 hypotenuse, is equal to the squares of the other two sides 
 of a right angled triangle. 
 
 ^ On a Saint's day, the Students wear surplices in ChapcL 
 
 ISIiEBrESS, 
 
 All mercy now miist be refused 
 To such a set of croaking sinners. 
 
 29 
 
 If David, when his toils were ended, 
 Had heard these blockheads sing before him, 
 
 To us his psalms had ne'er descended. 
 In furious mood he would have tore 'em. 
 
 The luckless Israelites, when taken, 
 IJy some inhuman tyrant's order, 
 
 Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken. 
 On Babylonian river's border 
 
 Oh ! had they sung in notes like these, 
 
 Inspired by stratagem, or fear ; 
 They might have set their hearts at ease. 
 
 The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. 
 
 But, if I scribble longer now, 
 The deuce a soul will stay to read ; 
 
 My pen is blunt, my ink is low, 
 'Tis almost time to stop, indeed. 
 
 Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires 
 
 No more like Cleofas I fly, 
 No more thy theme my muse inspires. 
 
 The reader's tired, and so am I. 
 
 1806. 
 
 LACHIN Y GAIR. 
 
 Lachin y Gair, or as it is pronounced in the Gaelic, Loch 
 na Garr, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern 
 Highlands, necr Invercauld. One of our modern tour 
 ists mentions it as the highest mountain perhaps, in Great 
 Britain; be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most 
 sublime and picturesque, amongst our " Caledonian 
 Alps." Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the sum- 
 mit is the seat of eternal snows. Near Lachin y Gair, 
 1 spent some of the early part of my life, the recollec- 
 tion of which has given birth to the following stanzas. 
 
 Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses, 
 
 In you let the minions of luxury rove ; 
 Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake 
 reposes. 
 Though still they are sacred to freedom and 
 love : 
 Yet, Caledonia, beloved are the mountains. 
 Round their white summits though elements 
 war ; 
 Though cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth flow- 
 ing fountains, 
 I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. 
 
so 
 
 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 
 
 Ah ! there my young footsteps in infancy wan- 
 der'd, [plaid ;* 
 
 My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the 
 On chieltains long perish'd, my memory pon- 
 der 'd, [glade; 
 As daily 1 strode through the pine-cover'd 
 I sought not my home till the day's dying glory 
 Gave place to the rays of the bright polar 
 star: 
 For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, 
 Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na 
 Garr. 
 
 " Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your 
 voices. 
 Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale !" 
 Surely the soul of the hero rejoices. 
 
 And rides on the wind, o'er his own High- 
 land vale : [gathers, 
 Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist 
 
 Winter presides in his cold icy car ; 
 Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers, 
 They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na 
 Garr: 
 
 " III starr'd,t though brave, did no vision's 
 foreboding, 
 Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ?" 
 Ah ! were you destined to die at Culloden,t 
 
 Victory crown'd not your fall with applause ; 
 Still were you happy in death's earthly slum- 
 ber, [Braemar :§ 
 You rest with your clan, in the caves of 
 The Pibroch {| resounds, to the piper's loud 
 number. 
 Your deeds, on the echoes of dark Loch na 
 Garr! 
 
 Years have roU'd on, Loch naGarr, since I left 
 you, 
 
 Years must elapse ere I tread you again ; 
 Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, 
 
 Yet, still, are you dearer than Albion's plain : 
 
 * Tills word is erroneously pronounced Plad, tlie proper 
 pronunciation (according to ttie Snotcli) is known by tlie 
 Ortliograpliy. 
 
 + 1 allude here to my maternal ancestors, " the Gordons," 
 many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, 
 better known by tile name of the Pretender. This branch 
 was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment to the 
 Stewarts. George, the second Earl of Huntley, married 
 the Princess Annabella Stewart, daughter of James the 
 First of Scotland ; by her he left four sons : the third. Sir 
 ■William Gordon, I have tlie honour to claim as one of my 
 progenitors. 
 
 X Whether any perished in the battle of CuUoden, I 
 am not certain : but as many, fell in tlie insurrection, I 
 have used the name of the principal action, " pars pro 
 toto.'* 
 
 ^ A tract of the Highlands so called j there is also a Cas- 
 tle of Braemar. 
 
 II The Bagpipe. 
 
 England ! thy beauties are tame and domestic, 
 To one who has roved on the mountains afar ; 
 
 Oh ! for the crags that are wild and majestic. 
 The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na 
 Garr ! 
 
 TO ROMANCE. 
 
 Parent of golden dreams, Romance ! 
 
 Auspicious Queen of childish joys ! 
 Who lead'st along in airy dance. 
 
 Thy votive train of girls and boys; 
 At length, in spells no longer bound, 
 
 I break the fetters of my youth : 
 No more I tread thy myslic round, 
 
 But leave thy realms ibr those of Truth. 
 
 And yet, 'tis hard to quit the dreams 
 
 Which haunt the unsuspicious soul. 
 Where every nymph a goddess seems. 
 
 Whose eyes through rays immortal roll ; 
 While Fancy holds her boundless reign, 
 
 And all assume a varied hue. 
 When virgins seem no longer vain, 
 
 And even Woman's smiles are true. 
 
 And must we own thee, but a name. 
 
 And from thy hall of clouds descend ? 
 Nor find a Sylph in every dame, 
 
 A Pylades* in every friend : 
 But leave, at once, thy realms of air, 
 
 To mingling bands of fairy elves ; 
 Confess that woman's false as fair. 
 
 And friends have feeling for — themselves 
 
 With shame, I own, I've felt thy sway. 
 
 Repentant, now thy reign is o'er, 
 No more thy precepts I obey. 
 
 No more on fancied pinions soar : 
 Fond fool ! to love a sparkling eye. 
 
 And think that eye to truth was dear ; 
 To trust a passing Wanton's sigh. 
 
 And melt beneath a Wanton's tear. 
 
 Romance ! disgusted with deceit, 
 
 Far from thy motely court 1 fly, 
 Where Affectation holds her seat, 
 
 And sickly Sensibility ; 
 Whose silly tears can never flow. 
 
 For any pangs excepting thine; 
 Who turns aside from real wo. 
 
 To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. 
 
 * It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the 
 companion oCOrestes, anda partner in oneof those friend- 
 ships, which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus 
 and JKuryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed 
 down to posterity as remarkable instances of attachments 
 which in all probability never existed, beyond the imagin- 
 ation of thopoet, the pageof an historian, or modern no- 
 velist. 
 
HOURS OF IDZiENESS. 
 
 31 
 
 Now join with sable Sympathy, 
 
 With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, 
 Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, 
 
 Whose breast for every bosom bleeds ; 
 And call thy sylvan female quire. 
 
 To mourn a swain for ever gone, 
 Who once could glow with equal fire. 
 
 But bends not now before thy throne. 
 
 Ye genial Nymphs, whose ready tears. 
 
 On all occasions swiftly flow ; 
 Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears. 
 
 With fancied flames and frenzy glow ; 
 Say, will you mourn my absent name. 
 
 Apostate from your gentle train ? 
 An infant Bard, at least may claim. 
 
 From you a sympathetic strain. 
 
 Adieu ! fond race, a long adieu ! 
 
 The hour of fate is hovering nigh, 
 Even now the gulph appears in view, 
 
 Where unlamented you must lie ; 
 Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, 
 
 Convulsed by gales you cannot weather, 
 Where you, and eke your gentle queen, 
 .Alas ! must perish altogether. 
 
 ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY.* 
 
 IT is the voice of years that are gone ! they roll before me 
 with all tlielr deeds. 
 
 OssiAN. 
 
 Newstead ! fast falling, once resplendent 
 
 dome ! 
 
 fteligion's shrine ! repentant Henry'sf pride ! 
 
 Of Warriors, Monks, and Dames thecloister'd 
 
 tomb ; [glide. 
 
 Whose pensive shades around thy ruins 
 
 Hail to thy pile ! more honour'd in thy fall. 
 Than modern mansions in their pillar'd 
 state ; 
 
 Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall. 
 Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. 
 
 No mail-clad serfst obedient to their Lord, 
 In grim array, the crimson cross§ demand ; 
 
 * As one poem, on this subject is printed in the begin- 
 ning, the author had originally no intention of inserting 
 the following: it is now added at the particular request of 
 some friends. 
 
 t Henry II. founded Newstead, soon after the murder 
 of Thomas a EeckeLt. 
 
 JThis word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem" The 
 Wild Huntsman," synonymous with vassal. 
 
 It The red Cross wa« the t»dge of the Cnuaders. 
 
 Or gay assemble round the festive board, 
 Their chiefs retainers, an immortal band. 
 
 Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye. 
 Retrace their progress, through the lapse of 
 time. 
 
 Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die, 
 A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime. 
 
 But not from thee, dark pile ! departs the 
 chief. 
 
 His feudal realm in other regions lay ; 
 In thee, the wounded conscience courts relief. 
 
 Retiring from the garish blaze of day. 
 
 Yes, in thy gloomy cells and shades profound. 
 The monk abjured a world he ne'er could 
 view ; 
 
 Or blood-stain'd guilt, repenting solace found 
 Or Innocence from stern Oppression flew. 
 
 A monarch bade thee from that wild arise. 
 Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont 
 to prowl, 
 
 And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes. 
 Sought shelter in the Priest's protecting cowl. 
 
 VYhere now the grass exhales a murky dew, 
 The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay ; 
 
 In sainted fame, the sacred Fathers grew. 
 Nor raised their pious voices, but to pray. 
 
 Where now the bats their wavering wings ex- 
 tend, [shade ; 
 
 Soon as the gloaming* spreads her waning 
 The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend 
 
 Or matin orisons to Mary* paid. 
 
 Years roll on years ; to ages ages yield ; 
 
 Abbots to Abbots, in a line succeed : 
 Religion's charter their protecting shield. 
 
 Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed. 
 
 One holy Henry} rear'd the gothic walls. 
 And bade the pious inmates rest in peace ; 
 
 Another Henry the kind gift recalls. 
 And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes ceass 
 
 Vain is each threat, or supplicating prayer. 
 He drives them, exiles, from their bless'd 
 abode ; 
 
 To roam a dreary world, in deep despair, 
 No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God. 
 
 * As " Gloaming," the Scottish word for Twilight, is 
 far more poetical, and has been recommended by many 
 eminent literary men, particularly by Dr. Moore, in his 
 Letters to Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of 
 its harmony. 
 
 t The priory was dedicated to the Virgin. 
 
 t At the dissolution of the Monasteries, Henry VIII. 
 Ijestowed Newstead Abbey on Sir John Byron. 
 
32 
 Hark ! how Ihe hall, resounding to the strain, 
 Shakes with the martial music's novel din ! 
 The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign, 
 High crested banners wave thy walls 
 within. 
 
 Of changing sentinels the distant hum. 
 The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd 
 arms. 
 
 The braying trumpet and the hoarser drum. 
 Unite in concert with encreased alarms. 
 
 An Abbey once, a regal fortress* now. 
 Encircled by insulting rebel powers ; 
 War's dread machines o'erhang thy threaten- 
 ing brow, 
 And dart destruction in sulphureous shower?.. 
 
 Ah ! vain defence ! the hostile traitor's siege, 
 
 Though oft repulsed by guile, o'ercomes the 
 
 brave ; 
 
 His thronging foes oppress the faithful Liege, 
 
 Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him 
 
 wave. 
 
 Not unavenged the raging Baron yields. 
 The blood of traitors smears the purple 
 plain ; 
 
 Unconquer'd still, his falchion there he wields, 
 And days of glory yet for him remain. 
 
 Still in that hour, the warrior wish'd to strew. 
 Self gather'd laurels, on a self-sought grave ; 
 
 But Charles' protecting genius hither flew. 
 The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope 
 to save. 
 
 Trembling, she snalch'd himf from the une- 
 qual strife. 
 In other fields the torrent to repel ; 
 For nobler combats, here, reserved his life. 
 To lead the band where £od-like Falkland}: 
 fell. 
 
 From thee, poor pile ! to lawless plunder given. 
 While dying groans their painful requiem 
 sound, 
 
 Far different incense now ascends to Heaven, 
 Such victims wallow on the gory ground. 
 
 4t Ncwstead sustained a considerable siege in the war 
 between Charles I. and h's Parliament. 
 
 t Lord Byron, and his brother Sir William, held high 
 commands in the Koyal army ; the former was General in 
 Chief, in Ireland, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Governor 
 to James Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James II. 
 The latter had a principal shiire in many actions. Vide 
 Clarendon, Hume, &c. 
 
 J Lucius Gary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the raostaccom- 
 plishcd man of his age, was killed at the battle of New- 
 berry, charging in the ranks of Lord Byron's Kegiment of 
 Cavalry. 
 
 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 
 
 There many a pale and ruthless robber's 
 corse. 
 Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod ; 
 O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with 
 horse. 
 Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers trod. 
 
 Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds 
 o'erspread, 
 Ransack'd, resign, perforce, their mortal 
 mould ; 
 From ruffian fangs, escape not e'en the dead, 
 Raked from repose, in search for buried 
 gold. 
 
 Husli'd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre, 
 
 The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in 
 
 death ; [fire, 
 
 No more he strikes tha quivering chords with 
 Or sings the glories of the martial wreath. 
 
 At length, the sated murderers, gorged with 
 prey. 
 
 Retire, the clamour of the fight is o'er 
 Silence again resumes her awful sway. 
 
 And sable Horror guards the massy door. 
 
 Here Desolation holds her dreary court. 
 What satellites declare her dismal reign ! 
 
 Shrieking their dirge, ill-omen'd birds resort, 
 To flit their vigils in the holy fane. 
 
 Soon a new morn's restoring beams dispel 
 The clouds of Anarchy from Britain's skies ; 
 
 The fierce usurper seeks his native hell. 
 And Nature triumphs, as the Tyrant dies. 
 
 With storms she welcomes his expiring groans. 
 Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring 
 breath ; ■ 
 
 Earth shudders as her cave receives his bones,] 
 Loathing* the offering of so dark a death. I 
 
 i 
 
 The legal Ruler.t now resumes the helm, 
 He guides through gentle seas, the prow of 
 state ; 
 Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peace- 
 ful realm, [hate. 
 And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied 
 
 The gloomy tenants, Newstead ! of thy cells. 
 Howling, resign their violated nest ; 
 
 * This is an historic.nl fact ; a violent tempest occurred 
 immediately subsequent to the death or interment of 
 Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes between his 
 Partizans and the Cavaliers. Both interpreted the circum. 
 stance into divine interposition, but whether as approba- 
 tion or condemnation, we leave to the Casuists of that age 
 to decide ; I have made such use oP the occurrence as 
 suited the subject of my poem. 
 
 t Charles II. 
 
HOURS OP IDLENESS. 
 
 Again, the master on his tenure dwells, 
 Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest. 
 
 Vassals, within thy hospitable pale. 
 
 Loudly carousing, bless their Lord's return ; 
 Culture again adorns the gladdening vale, 
 And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn. 
 
 A thousand songs, on tuneful echo, float. 
 Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees ; 
 
 And hark ! the horns proclaim a mellow note. 
 The hunter's cry hangs lengthening on the 
 breeze. 
 
 Beneath their coursers' hoofs the vallies shake. 
 What fears ! what anxious hopes, attend the 
 chase ! 
 
 The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake. 
 Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race. 
 
 Ah ! happy days ! too happy'to endure. 
 Such simple sports our plain forefathers 
 knew ; 
 
 No splendid vices glitter'd to allure, [few. 
 Their joys were many, as their cares were 
 
 From these descending, sons to sires succeed. 
 Time steals along, and Death uprears his 
 dart, 
 
 Another Chief impels the foaming steed. 
 Another Crowd pursue the panting hart. 
 
 Newstead ! what saddening change of f ccne 
 Is thine ! 
 Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay ; 
 The last and youngest of a noble line. 
 Now holds thy mouldering turrets in its 
 sway. 
 
 Deserted now, he scans thy gray worn towers ; 
 
 Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep ; 
 Thy cloisters, per^'ious to the wintry showers ; 
 
 These, these he views, and views them but 
 to weep. 
 
 Yet are his tears no emblem of regret ; 
 
 Cherish'd affection only bids them flow ; 
 Pride, Hope, and Love, forbid liim to forget. 
 
 But warm his bosom with Impassion 'd glow. 
 
 Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes. 
 Or gewgaw grottos of the vainly great ; 
 
 Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs, 
 Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of 
 fate. 
 
 Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine. 
 
 Thee to irradiate, with meridian ray ; 
 Hours, splendid as the past, may still be thine, 
 I And bless thy future as thy former day. 
 
 THE 
 
 DEATH OF CALMAR AND ORLA. 
 
 AN IMITATION OF 
 
 MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN.* 
 
 Dear are the days of youth ! Age dwells on 
 their remembrance through the mist of time. 
 In (he twilight, he recalls the sunny hours of 
 morn. He lifts his spear with trembling hand. 
 " Not thus feebly did 1 raise the steel before 
 my fathers ! Past is the race of heroes ! but 
 their fame rises on the harp ; their souls ride 
 on the wings of the wind ! they hear the sound 
 through the sighs of the storm ; and rejoice in 
 their hall of clouds ! Such Is Calmar. The 
 gray stone marks his narrow house. He looks 
 
 down from eddying tempests ; he rolls his 
 form in the whirlwind, and hovers on the blast 
 of the mountain. 
 
 In Morven dwelt the Chief; a beam of war 
 to Fin^al, His steps in the field were marked 
 In bloody Lochlin's Sons had fled before his 
 angry spear ; but mild was the eye of Calmar; 
 soft was the flow of his yellow locks ; they 
 streamed like the meteor of the night. No 
 maid was the sigh of his soul ; his thought? 
 
 * Tt may be necessary to olrsen-o that the story, though considerably Vciried in the Catastrophe, is tr.kcn l.-o r 
 • Nisus and Euryalus," of wliicti Episode a Translation is already given in the present volume. 
 
 R 
 
Si 
 
 HOURS 
 
 were given to friendship, to dark-haired Oria, 
 destroyer of heroes ! Equal were their swords 
 in battle ; but fierce was the pride of Orla : 
 gentle alone to Calmar. Together they dwelt 
 in the cave of Oithona. 
 
 From Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the blue 
 waves. Erin's sons fell beneath his might. 
 Fingal roused his chiefs to combat. Their 
 ships cover the ocean ! Their hosts throng on 
 the green hills. They come to the aid of Erin. 
 
 Night rose in clouiis. Darkness veils the 
 armies. But the blazing oaks gleam through 
 the valley. The Sons of Lochlin slept ; their 
 {reams were of blood. They lift the spear, in 
 thought, and Fingal flies. Not so the Host of 
 Morven. To vatch was the post of Orla. 
 Calmar stood by his side. Their spears were 
 in their hanls. Fingal called his chiefs : they 
 stood around. Tlie king was in the midst. 
 Gray were his looks, but strong was the arm of 
 the king. Age withered not his powers. 
 " Sons of Morven," said the hero, " to-morrow 
 we meet the foe; but where is CuthuUin, the 
 shield of Erin? He rests in the halls of Tura; 
 he knows not of our coming. Who will speed 
 through Lochlin to the hero, and call the chief 
 to arms. The path is by the swords of foes, 
 but many are my heroes. They are thunder- 
 bolts of war, speak, ye chiefs! Who will arise 1" 
 
 " Son of Trenmor ! mine be the deed," said 
 dark-haired Orla, " and mine alone. What is 
 death to me ? I love the sleep of the mighty, 
 but little is the danger. The sons of Lochlin 
 dream. I will seek car-borne Cuthullin. If I 
 fall, raise the song of bards ; and lay me by 
 the stream of Lubar." — " And shalt thou fall 
 alone ?" said fair-haired Calmar. " Wilt thou 
 leave thy friend afar ? Chief of Oithona ! not 
 feeble is my arm in fight. Could I see thee 
 die, and not lift the spear ? No, Orla ! ours has 
 been the chase of the roebuck, and the feast 
 of shells ; ours be the path of danger ; ours has 
 been the cave of Oithona ; ours be the narrow 
 dwelling on the banks of Lubar." '' Calmar," 
 said the Cliief of Oithona, " why should thy 
 yellow locks be darkened in the dust of Erin ? 
 Let me fall alone. My Father dwells in his 
 hall of air : he will rejoice in his boy ; but the 
 Dlue-eyed Mora spreads the feast for her son 
 in Morven. She listens to the steps of the 
 hunter on the heath, and thinks it is the tread 
 of Calmar. Let him not say ' Calmar has 
 fallen by the steel of Lochlin ; he died with 
 gloomy Orla : the Chief of the dark brow.' 
 Why should tears dim the azure eye of Mora? 
 Why should her voice curse Orla, the de- 
 stroyer of Calmar ? Live Calmar. Live to raise 
 my stone of mos9 ; live to revenge me in the 
 
 OF ISIiENESS. 
 
 blood of Lochlin. Join the song of bards above 
 my grave. Sweet will be the song of death to 
 Orla, from the voice of Calaiar. My ghost 
 shall smile on the notes of praise." " Orla," 
 said the son of Mora, " could I raise the song 
 of death to my friend? Could I give his fame 
 to the winds ? No, my heart would speak in 
 sighs ; faint and broken are the sounds ot 
 sorrow. Orla ! our souls shall hear the song 
 together. One cloud shall be ours on high; 
 the bards will mingle the names of Orla and 
 Calmar." 
 
 They quit the circle of the chiefs. Their 
 steps are to the Host of Lochlin. The dying 
 blaze of oak, dim-twinkles through the night. 
 The northern star points the path to Tura. 
 Swaran, the King, rests on his lonely hill. 
 Here the troops are mixed ; they frown in 
 sleep. Their shields beneath their heads. 
 Their swords gleam at distance in heaps. 
 The fires are faint ; their embers fail in smoke. | 
 All is hushed ; but the gale sighs on the rocks 
 above. Lightly wheel the heroes through the 
 slumbering band. Half the journey is past, 
 when Mathon, resting on his shield, meets the 
 eye of Orla. It rolls in flame, and glistens 
 through the shade : his spear is raised on high. 
 " Why dost thou bend thy brow, chief of 
 Oithona ?" said fair-haired Calmar, " we are 
 in the midst of foes. Is this a time for delay ?" 
 " It is a time for vengeance," said Orla, of the 
 gloomy brow. " Mathon of Lochlin sleeps : 
 seest thou his spear? Its point is dim with the 
 gore of my father. The blood of Mathon shall 
 reek on mine ; but shall I slay him sleeping, 
 Son of Mora ? No ! he shall feel his wound ; 
 my fame shall not soar on the blood of slum- 
 ber ; rise ! Mathon ! rise ! the sou of Connal 
 calls, thy life is his ; rise to combat." Mathon 
 starts from sleep, but did he rise alone ? No : ' 
 the gathering chiefs bound on the plain. Fly ! ; 
 Calmar! fly I" said dark-haired Orla, "Ma- 
 thon is mine ; I shall die in joy, but Lochlin 
 crowds around ; fly through the shade of 
 night." Orla turns, the helm of Mathon is i 
 cleft ; his shield falls from his arm : he shud- ] 
 ders in his blood. He rolls by the side of the 
 blazing oak. Strumon sees him fall : his wrath 
 rises : his weapon glitters on the head of Orla : 
 but a spear pierced his eye. His brain gushes 
 through the wound, and foams on the spear of 
 Calmar. As roll the waves of the Ocean, on 
 two mighty barks of the Noith, so pour the 
 men of Lochlin on the chiefs. As breaking 
 the surge in foam, proudly steer the barks of 
 the North ; so rise the chiefs of Morven, on 
 the scattered crests of Lochlin. The din of 
 arms came to the ear of Fingal. He strikes 
 his shield ; his sons throng around ; the people 
 
HOURS OF ISIiENESS. 
 
 35 
 
 pour along the heath. Ryno bounds in joy. 
 Ossian stalks in his arms. Oscar shakes the 
 spear. The eagle wing of Fillan floats on the 
 wind. Dreadful is the clang of death ! many 
 are the widows of liOchlin. Morven prevails 
 in its strength. 
 
 Morn glimmers on the hills ; no living foe is 
 seen ; but the sleepers are many ; grim they 
 lie on Erin. The breeze of ocean lifts their 
 locks ; yet they do not awalte. Tlie hawks 
 scream above their prey. 
 
 Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast of a 
 chief! bright as the gold of the stranger, they 
 mingle with the dark hair of his friend. " 'Tis 
 Calmar, he lies on the bosom of Orla. Theirs 
 is one stream of blood. Fierce is the look of 
 the gloomy Orla. He breathes not ; but his 
 eye is still a flame. It glares in death unclosed. 
 His hand is grasped in Calmar's ; but Calmar 
 lives ! he lives, though low. " Rise," said the 
 king, " rise, son of Mora, 'tis mine to heal the 
 wounds of Heroes. Calmar may yet bound on 
 the hills of Morven." 
 
 " Never more shall Calmar chase the deer 
 of Morven with Orla ;" said the Hero ; " what 
 were the chase to rae alone ? Who would share 
 the spoils of battle with Calmar ? Orla is at 
 rest ! Rough was thy soul, Orla ! yet soft to 
 me as the dew of morn. It glared on others, 
 in lightning; to me, a silver beam of night. 
 Bear my sword to blue-eyed Mora; let it hang 
 
 in my empty hall. It is not pure from blood : 
 but it could not save Orla. Lay me with my 
 friend : raise the song when I am dark '." 
 
 They are laid by the stream of Lubar. Four 
 gray stones mark the dwelling of Orla and 
 Calmar. 
 
 When Swaran was bound, our sails rose on 
 the blue waves. The winds gave our barks to 
 Morven. The bards raised the song. 
 
 " What Form rises on the roar of clouds ? 
 Whose dark Ghost gleams on the red streams 
 of tempests ? his voice rolls on the thunder ; 
 'tis Orla : the brown Chief of Oithona. He 
 was unmatched in war. Peace to thy soul, 
 Orla ! Thy fame will not perish. Nor thine ! 
 Calmar ! Lovely wast thou, son of blue-eyed 
 Mora ; but not harmless was thy sword. It 
 hangs in thy cave. The Ghosts of Lochlia 
 shriek around its steel. Hear thy praise, Cal- 
 mar! It dwells on the voice of the mighty. 
 Thy name shakes on the echoes of Morven. 
 Then raise thy fair locks, Son of Mora. Spread 
 them on the arch of the rainbow ; and smile 
 through the tears of the storm.* 
 
 * I fear, Laing's late edition lias completely overthrown 
 every hope that fliacphersoii's Ossian might prove the 
 Translation of a series of Foems, complete in themselves ; 
 but, while the imposture is discovered, the merit of the 
 work remains undisputed, though not without faults, par- 
 ticularly, in some parts, turgid and bombastic diction..— 
 The present humble imitation, will be pardoned ty the 
 admirers of the original, as an attempt, however inferior, 
 which evinces an attachment to their favourite author. 
 
TO E. N. L. Esq. 
 
 NU ego contuleiim jucundo sanus amico. 
 
 Hon. E. 
 
 Dear L , in this sequester'd scene, 
 
 While all around in slumber lie, 
 The joyous days which ours have been. 
 
 Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye ; 
 Thus if amidst the gathering storm, 
 AVhile clouds the darken'd noon deform. 
 
 Yon heaven assumes a varied glow, 
 
 I hail the sky's celestial bow. 
 Which spreads the sign of future peace. 
 And bids the war of tempests cease. 
 Ah! though the present brings but pain, 
 I think those days may come again ; 
 Or, if in melancholy mood. 
 Some lurking envious fear intrude, 
 To check my bosom's fondest thought. 
 
 And interrupt the golden dream — 
 I crush the fiend with malice fraught, 
 
 And still indulge my wonted theme ; 
 Although we ne'er again can trace, 
 
 In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore, 
 Nor through the grove's of Ida 2hase 
 
 Our raptured visions as before ; 
 Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion, 
 And Manhood claims his stern dominion, 
 Age will not every hope destroy, 
 But yield some hours of sober joy. 
 
 Yes, I will hope that time's broad wing 
 Will shed around some dews of spring ; 
 But, if his sithe must sweep the flowers, 
 Which bloom among the fairy bowers. 
 Where smiling youth delights to dwell. 
 And hearts with early rapture swell ; 
 If frowning Age, with cold control. 
 Confines the current of the soul. 
 Congeals the tear of Pity's eye. 
 Or checks the sympathetic sigh, 
 Or hears unmoved. Misfortune's groan. 
 And bids me feel for self alone ; 
 Oh ! may my bosom never learn. 
 
 To soothe its wonted heedless flow. 
 Still, still despise the censor stern. 
 
 But ne'er forget another's wo. 
 
 Ves, as you knew me in the days 
 O'er which Remembrance yet delays, 
 Still may I rove, untutor'd, wild. 
 And even in age, at heart a child. 
 
 Though now on airy visions borne. 
 
 To you my soul is still the same. 
 Oft has it been my fate to mourn, 
 
 And all my former joys are tame ; 
 But, hence ! ye hours of sable hue, 
 
 Your frowns are gone, my sorrow's o'er, 
 By every bliss my childhood knew, 
 
 I'll think upon your shade no more ! 
 Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past. 
 
 And caves their sullen roar enclose ; 
 We heed no mire the wintry blast. 
 
 When luU'd by zephyr to repose. 
 Full often has my infant Muse, 
 
 Attuned to Love her languid lyre, 
 But now, without a theme to chuse, 
 
 The strains in stolen sighs expire : 
 My youthful nymphs, alas I are flown, 
 
 E is a wife, and C a mother, 
 
 And Carolina sighs alone, 
 
 And Mary's given to another ; 
 And Cora's eye which roU'd on me, 
 
 Can now no more my love recall, 
 In truth dear L , 'twas time to flee, 
 
 For Cora's eye will shine on all. 
 And though the Sun with genial rays. 
 His beams alike to all displays, 
 And every lady's eye's a sun. 
 These last should be confined to one. 
 The soul's meridian don't become her. 
 Whose sun displays a general summer ! 
 Thus faint is every former flame. 
 And Passion's self is now a name ; 
 As when the ebbing flames are low. 
 
 The aid which once improved their light, 
 And bade them burn with fiercer glow, 
 
 Now quenches all their sparks in night ; 
 Thus has it been with Passion's fires. 
 
 As many a boy and girl remembers. 
 While all the force of love expires, 
 
 Extinguish'd with the dying embers. 
 
HOURS OF rOIiENESS. 
 
 37 
 
 jijt now dear L , 'tis midnight's noon, 
 
 And clouds obscure the watery mooo, 
 Whose beauties I shall not rehearse, 
 Described in every stripling's verse ; 
 For why should 1 the path go o'er, 
 Which every bard has trod before? 
 Yet ere yon silver lamp of night. 
 
 Has thrice perform'd her stated round. 
 Has thrice retraced her path of light. 
 
 And chased away the gloom profound, 
 1 trust that we, my gentle Friend, 
 Shall see her rolling orbit wend. 
 Above the dear loved peaceful seat, 
 Which once contain'd our youth's retreat ; 
 And then with those our childhood knew, 
 We'll mingle with the festive crew ; 
 While many a tale of former day 
 Shall wing the laughing hours away ; 
 And all the flow of souls shall pour, 
 The sacred intellectual shower. 
 Nor cease till Luna's waning horn. 
 Scarce glimmers through the mist of morn. 
 
 TO 
 
 Oh ! had my fate been join'd with thine, 
 As once this pledge appear'd a token ; 
 
 These follies had not then been mine, 
 For then my peace had not been broken. 
 
 To thee, these early faults I owe, 
 To thee, the wise and old reproving ; 
 
 They know my sins, but do not know 
 'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. 
 
 For once my soul like tliine was pure, 
 And all its rising fires could smother ; 
 
 But now thy vows no more endure, 
 Bestow'd by thee upon another. 
 
 Perhaps his peace I could destroy. 
 
 And spoil the blisses that await him ; 
 Ifet let my rival smile in joy, 
 I For thy dear sake I cannot hate him 
 
 Ah! since thy angel form is gone. 
 
 My heart no more can rest with any ; 
 I But what it sought in thee alone, 
 ] Attempts, alas ! to find in many. 
 
 jThen fare thee well, deceitful maid, 
 I 'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee ; 
 ilNor hope, nor memory, yield their aid, 
 I But pride may teach me to forget thee. 
 
 ;Yet all this giddy waste of years, 
 
 Tliis tiresome round of palling pleasures ; 
 
 These varied loves, these matron's fears. 
 These thoughtless strains to passion's mea- 
 
 If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd : — 
 This cheek now pale from early riot. 
 
 With passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, 
 But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. 
 
 Yes, once the rural scene was sweet. 
 For Nature seem'd to smile before thee ; 
 
 And once my breast abhorr'd deceit, 
 For then it beat but to adore thee. 
 
 But now I seek for other joys. 
 
 To think, would drive my soul to madness ; 
 In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise, 
 
 I conquer half my bosom's sadness. 
 
 Yet, even in these a thought will steal. 
 In spite of every vain endeavour ; 
 
 And fiends might pity what I feel, 
 To know that thou art lost for ever. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 I WOULD I were a careless child. 
 
 Still dwelling in my Highland cave. 
 Or roaming through the dusky wild. 
 
 Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave ; 
 The cumbrous pomp of Saxon* pride. 
 
 Accords not with the freeborn soul. 
 Which loves the mountain's craggy side, 
 
 And seeks the rocks where billows roll. 
 
 Fortune I take back these cultured lands. 
 
 Take back this name of splendid sound' 
 I hate the touch of servile hands, 
 
 I hate the slaves that cringe around : 
 Place me along the rocks I love. 
 
 Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar, 
 I ask but this— again to rove. 
 
 Through scenes ray youth hath known be- 
 fore. 
 
 Few are my years, and yet 1 feel 
 
 The world was ne'er design'd for me — 
 Ah I why do darkening shades conceal 
 
 The hour when man must cease to be ? 
 Once I beheld a splendid dream, 
 
 A visionai'y scene of bliss ; 
 Truth ! — wherefore did thy hated beam 
 
 Awake me to a world like this ? 
 
 t * Siisseiiagh, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, sigmrying cither 
 I Lowland or English. 
 
38 
 
 HOURS OF IDLSKBSS. 
 
 I loved— but those I loved are gone ; 
 
 Had friends — my early friends are fled ; 
 How clieerless feels the heart alone 
 
 When all its former hopes are dead ! 
 Though gay companions, o'er the bowl, 
 
 Dispel awhile the sense of ill, 
 Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul, 
 
 The heart — the heart is lonely still. 
 
 How dull ! to hear the voice of those 
 
 Whom rank, or chance, whom wealth or 
 power. 
 Have made, though neither friends, nor foes, 
 
 Associates of the festive hour : 
 Give me again, a faithful few. 
 
 In years and feelings, still the same, 
 And I will fly the midnight crew, 
 
 Where boisterous joy is but a name. 
 
 And Woman ! lovely Woman, thou ! 
 
 My hope, my comforter, my all ! 
 How cold must be my bosom now, 
 
 When even thy smiles begin to pall ! 
 Without a sigh would I resign 
 
 This busy scene of splendid wo. 
 To make that calm Contentment mine, 
 
 Which Virtue knows, or seems to know. 
 
 Fain would I fly the haunts of men, 
 
 I seek to shun, not hate mankind. 
 My breast requires the sullen glen. 
 
 Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind : 
 Oh ! that to me the wings were given. 
 
 Which bear the turtle to her nest ! 
 Then would I cleave the vault of heaven, 
 
 To flee away, and be at rest.* 
 
 LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM, 
 IN THE 
 
 CHURCH YARD OF HARROW ON 
 THE HILL, 
 
 SEPTEMBER S, 1807. 
 
 Spot of my youth ! whose hoary branches sigh, 
 Sweptbythe breeze that fans thy cloudless sky, 
 
 * Psalm Iv. verse 6— 
 
 ' And \ said, Oh ! that I 
 
 had wings like a dove, then would I fly away and be at 
 rest." This verse also constitutes a part of the most 
 beautiful anthem in our language. 
 
 Where now, alone I muse, who oft have 
 trod, 
 
 With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod ; 
 
 With those who, scattered far, perchance de. 
 plore, 
 
 Like me, the happy scenes they knew before ; 
 
 Oh ! as I trace again thy winding hill. 
 
 Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still. 
 
 Thou drooping Elm ! beneath whose boughs I 
 lay. 
 
 And frequent mused the twilight hours away ; 
 
 Where, as they once were wont, my limbs re- 
 cline. 
 
 But, ah! without the thoughts' which then 
 were mine ; 
 
 How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, 
 
 Invite the bosom to recall the past, 
 
 And seem to whisper as they gently swell, 
 
 " Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last 
 farewell '." 
 
 When fate shall chill, at length, this fever'd 
 
 breast. 
 And calm its cares and passions into rest ; 
 Oft have I thought 'twould soothe my dying 
 
 hour. 
 If aught may soothe, when Life resigns her 
 
 power ; 
 To know some humbler grave, some narrow 
 
 cell. 
 Would hide my bosom where it loved to 
 
 dwell. 
 With this fond dream methinks 'twere sweet 
 
 to die, 
 And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie. 
 Here might I sleep where all my hopes 
 
 arose, 
 Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose : 
 For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling 
 
 shade, 
 Press'd by the turf where once my childhood 
 
 pla/d ; 
 Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, 
 Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps 
 
 moved ; 
 
 Bless'd by the tongues that charm'd my youth- 
 ful ear, 
 Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged 
 
 here, 
 Deplored by those, in early days allied. 
 And unremember'd by the world beside 
 
ENGLISH BARDS, 
 
 SCOTCH REVIEWERS 
 
 A SATIRE. 
 
 1 had ratlier be a kiUen, and cry, mew ! 
 Than one of these same metre ballad-mongerf. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Such shameless Bards wc have ; and yet 'tis true. 
 There are as mad, abandon'd Critics too. 
 
 Popr. 
 
FREFACE 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 All my friends, learned and unlearned, have 
 urged me not to publish this Satire with my 
 name. If I were to be " turned from the career 
 of my humour by quibbles quiclc, and paper 
 bullets of the brain," I should have complied 
 with their counsel. But 1 am not to' be terri- 
 fied by abuse, or bullied by reviewers, with or 
 without arms. I can safely say that I have 
 attacked none personally who did not com- 
 mence on the offensive. An Author's works 
 are public property : he who purchases may 
 judge, and publish his opinion if he pleases; 
 and the Authors I have endeavoured to com- 
 memorate may do by me as I have done by 
 them : I dare say they will succeed better in 
 condemning my scribblings, than in mending 
 their own. But my object is not to prove that 
 I can write well, but, if possible, to make others 
 write better. 
 
 As the Poem has met with far more suc- 
 cess than I expected, I have endeavoured in 
 this Edition Co make some additions and 
 alterations to render it more worthy of public 
 perusal. 
 
 In the First Edition of this Satire, published 
 anonymously, fourteen lines on the subject of 
 Bowles's Pope, were written and inserted at 
 the request of an ingenious friend of mine, who 
 has now in the press a volume of Poetry. In 
 the present Edition they are erased, and some 
 of my own substituted in their stead ; my only 
 reason for this being that which I conceive 
 would operate with any other person in the 
 same manner : a determination not to publish 
 with my name any production which was not 
 
 entirely and exclusively my own composi- 
 tion. 
 
 With regard to the real talents of many of 
 the poetical persons whose performances are 
 mentioned, or alluded to in the following 
 pages, it is presumed by the Author that there 
 can be little difference of opinion in the Public 
 at large ; though, like other sectaries, each 
 has his separate tabernacle of proselytes, by 
 whom his abilities are overrated, his faults 
 overlooked, and his metrical canons received 
 without scruple and without consideration. 
 But the unquestionable possession of consider- 
 able genius by several of the writers here cen- 
 sured, renders their mental prostitution more 
 to be regretted. Imbecility may be pitied, or, 
 at worst laughed at and forgotten ; perverted 
 powers demand the most decided reprehension. 
 No one can wish more than the Author, that 
 some known and able writer had undertaken 
 their exposure, but Mr. Gifford has devoted 
 himself to Massinger, and in the absence of 
 the regular physician, a country practitioner 
 may, in cases of absolute necessity, be allowed 
 to prescribe his nostrum to prevent the exten- 
 tion of so deplorable an epidemic, provided 
 there be no quackery in his treatment of the 
 malady. A caustic is here offered, as it is to 
 be feared nothing short of actual cautery can 
 recover the" numerous patients afBicted with 
 the present prevalent and distressing rabies for 
 rhyming. — As to the Edinburgh Reviewers : it 
 would, indeed, require a Hercules to crush the 
 Hydra; but if the Author succeeds in merely 
 "bruising one of the heads of the serpent," 
 though his own hand should suffer in the en- 
 counter, he will be amply satisfied. 
 
ENGLISH BARDS 
 
 ©(B®^©ia lEii'^iiiswisiBg)^ 
 
 Still must 1 hear?— shall hoarse • Fitzgerald 
 
 ba-.vl 
 His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, 
 And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews . 
 Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my 
 
 Bluse ? 
 Prepare for rhyme— I'll publish, right or 
 
 wrong : 
 Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song. 
 
 Oh ! Nature's noblest gift— my gray goose- 
 quill ! 
 Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, 
 Torn from thy parent bird lo form a pen, 
 That mighty instrument of little men ! 10 
 
 The pen ! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes 
 Of brains that labour, big with Verse or Prose, 
 Though Nymphs forsake, and Critics may de- 
 ride 
 The Lover's solace, and the Author's pride. 
 What Wits ! what Poets dost thou daily raise ! 
 How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise ! 
 Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite, 
 With all the pages which 'twas thine to write. 
 But thou, at least, mine own especial pen ! 
 Once laid aside but now assumed again, 20 
 Our task complete, like Hamet'st shall be 
 
 free ; 
 Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me : 
 Then let us soar to-day, no common theme, 
 No Eastern vision, no distemper'd dream 
 Inspires- our path, though full of thorns, is 
 
 plain ; 
 Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain. 
 
 * IMITATION. 
 
 " Semper ego auditor tontum i nunquamno reponam 
 
 Vexatus toties rauci Theseide Codri ?'* 
 
 Juvenal, Sat. I. 
 
 Mr. Fitzgerald, racetiously termed by Cobbett the " Small 
 Beer Poet," inflicts his annual tribute of verse on the 
 « Literary Fund ;" not content with writing, he spouts in 
 person alter the company have imbibed a reasonable quan- 
 tity of bad port, to enable them to sustain the operation. 
 
 ■)■ Cid Hamet Benengeli promises repose to his pen in 
 llie last chapter of Don Quixote. Oh ! that our volumin- 
 ous gentry would follow the example of Cid Hamct Ben- 
 engeli. 
 
 When Vice triumphant holds her sovereign 
 sway, [obey; 
 
 And men, through life her willing slaves, 
 When folly, frequent harbinger of crime, 
 Unfolds her motley store to suit the time ; 30 
 When Knaves and Fools combined o'er all 
 
 prevail, 
 When Justice halts, and Right begins to fail ; 
 Even then the boldest start from public sneers, 
 Afraid of Shame, unknown to other fears, 
 More darkly sin, by Satire kept in awe, 
 And shrink from Ridicule though not from 
 Law. 
 
 Such is the force of Wit ! but not belong 
 To me the arrows of satiric song : 
 The royal vices of our age demand 
 A keener weapon, and a mightier hand. 40 
 Still there are follies, even for me to chase, 
 And yield at least amusement in the race : 
 Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame, 
 The cry is up, and scribblers are my game : 
 Speed Pegasus ! — ye strains of great and small, 
 Ode ! Epic ! Elegy ! — have at you all ! 
 I, too, can scrawl, and once npon a time 
 I pour'd along the town a flood of rhyme, 
 A school-boy freak, unworthy praise or blame ; 
 I printed^ — older children do the same. 50 
 
 'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print ; 
 A Book's a Book, although there's nothing 
 
 in't. 
 Not that a Title's sounding charm can save 
 Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave : 
 This Lambe must own, since bis patrician name 
 Fail'd to preserve the spurious Farce from 
 
 shame.* 
 No matter, George continues still to write,t 
 Though now the name is veil'd from pub'i- 
 
 sight. 
 Moved by the great example I pursue 59 
 
 The self-same road, but make my own review : 
 Not seek great Jeffrey's, yet like him will be 
 Self-constituted Judge of Poesy. 
 
 * This ingenuous youth is mentioned more particularly, 
 with his production, in another place. 
 ■, t In the Edinburgh Review. 
 F 
 
42 
 
 ENGLISH BAHDS 
 
 A man must serve his time to «ver; trade 
 Save Censure, — ^Critics all are ready-made. 
 Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by 
 
 rote. 
 With just enough of learning to misquote ; 
 A mind well skiU'd to find or forge a fault, 
 A turn for punning, call it Attic salt ; 
 To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, 
 His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet: 
 Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit, 71 
 Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for 
 
 wit; 
 Care not for feeling-r-pass your proper jest, 
 And stand a Critic hated yet caress'd. 
 
 And shall we own such judgment? no — as 
 soon 
 Seek roses in December — ice in June ; 
 Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff, 
 Believe a woman, or an epitaph. 
 Or any other thing that's false, before 
 You trust in Critics who themselves are sore ; 
 Or yield one single thought to be misled 81 
 By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.* 
 
 To these young tyrants,t by themselves mis- 
 placed, 
 
 Combined usurpers on the "Throne of Taste ; 
 
 To these when Authors bend in humble awe 
 
 And hail their voice as Truth, their word as 
 Law ; 
 
 While these are Censors, 'twould be sin to 
 spare : 
 
 While such are Critics, why should I forbear ? 
 
 But yet so near all modern worthies run, 89 
 
 'Tis doubtful whoin to seek, or whom to shun ; 
 
 Nor know we when to spare, or where to 
 strike. 
 
 Our Bards and Censors are so much alike. 
 
 i Then should you ask me, why I venture 
 o'er 
 The path that Pope and Gifford trod before? 
 If not yet sicken'd, you can still proceed ; 
 Go on ; my rhyme will tell you as yon read. 
 
 Time was, ere yet, in these degenerate days, 
 Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise, 
 When Sense and Wit with Poesy allied. 
 No fabled Graces, flourish'd side by side, 100 
 
 * Messrs. Jeffrey and Lambe are the Alpha and Omega, 
 the first and last of the Edinburgh Review ; the others are 
 mentioned hereafter. 
 f " Stulta est Clementia, cum tot ubique 
 
 . —- occurras periturs parcere chartae." 
 
 Juvenal, Sat. 1. 
 i IMITATION. 
 •* Cur tamen hoc libeat potius decurrere campo 
 Per quem magnus equos Auruncffi flexit alumnus : 
 Si vacat, et placidi rationem admittitis, edam." 
 
 JpvENALj Sat. 1. 
 
 From the same fount their inspiration drew. 
 And, rear'd by Taste, bloom'd fairer as they 
 
 grew. 
 Then, in this happy Isle, a Pope's pure strain 
 Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in 
 
 vain ; 
 A polish'd nation's praise aspired to claim. 
 And raise the peojple's, as the poet's fame. 
 Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song, 
 In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly 
 
 strong. 
 Then Congreve's scenes could cheer, or 
 
 Otway's melt ; 109 
 
 For Nature then an English audience felt — 
 But why these names, or greater still, retrace. 
 When all to feebler Bards resigu their place ? 
 Vet to such times our lingering looks are cast. 
 When taste and reason with those times are 
 
 past. 
 Now look around, and turn each trifling page, 
 Survey the precious works that please the age ; 
 This truth at least let Satire's self allow, 
 No dearth of Bards can be complain'd of now : 
 The loaded Press beneath her labour groans, 
 And printers' devils shake their weary bones, , 
 While Southey's Epics cram the creaking 
 
 shelves, 121 
 
 And Little's Lyrics shine in hot-press'd 
 
 twelves. 
 
 Thus saith the Preacher;* " nought beneath 
 the sun [run : 
 
 Is new ;" yet still from change to change we 
 What varied wonders tempt us as they pass ! 
 The Cow-pox, Tractors, Galvanism, and Gas 
 In turns appear to make the vulgar stare 
 Till the swoln bubble bursts— and all is air ! 
 Nor less new schools of poetry arise, 129 
 
 Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize : 
 O'er Taste awhile these Pseudo-bards prevail ; 
 Each country Book-club bows the knee to 
 
 Baal, 
 And, hurling lawful Genius from the throne. 
 Erects a shrine and idol of its own ; 
 Some leaden calf— but whom it matters not, 
 From soaring Southey down to grovelling 
 Stott.t 
 
 * Ecclesiastes, Chap. 1. 
 t Stott, better known in the " Morning Post" by the 
 name of Hafiz. This person is at present tJie most pro- 
 found explorer of the Bathos. I remember, when the 
 reigning family left Portugal, a special ode of Master 
 Stott 's beginning thus : 
 
 (Stotl loquitur quoad Hibernia.) 
 «* Princely offspring of Braganza, 
 Erin greets tliee with a Stanza," &c. &c. 
 Also a sonnet to Rats, well worthy of the subject ; and a 
 most thundering ode, commencing as follows : 
 " Oh ! for a Lay ! loud as the surge 
 That lashes Lapland's sounding sliore." 
 Lord have mercy on u^ ! the " Lay of the Ltst Minstrel 
 was nothing to this. 
 
AND SCOTCH 
 
 Behold! in various throngs the scribbling 
 
 crew, 
 For notice eager, pass in long review : 
 Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace, ISO 
 
 And Rhyme and Blank maintain an equal race; 
 Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode ; 
 And Tales of Terror jostle on the road ; 
 Immeasurable measures move along, 
 For simpering Folly loves a varied song, 
 To strange mysterious Dullness still the friend, 
 Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. 
 Thus Lays of Minstrels* — may they be the last ! 
 On half-strung harps whine mournful to the 
 
 blast. 
 While mountain spirits prate to river sprites. 
 That dames may listen to the sound at nights ; 
 And goblin brats of Gilpin Homer's broodf 151 
 Decoy young Border-nobles through the wood, 
 And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, 
 And frighten foolish babes the Lord knows 
 
 why. 
 While high-born ladies in their magic cell. 
 Forbidding Knights to read who cannot spell, 
 Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave. 
 And fight with honest men to shield a knave. 
 
 Next view in state, proud prancing on his 
 roan. 
 The golden-crested, haughty Marmion, 160 
 Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight. 
 Not quite a Felon, yet but half a Knight, 
 The gibbet or the field prepared to grace ; 
 A mighty mixture of the great and base. 
 
 * See the « Lay of the Last Minstrel," passim. Never 
 wa5 any plan so incongruous and absurd as the ground- 
 work of this production. Tlie entrance of Thunder and 
 Lightning prologuising to Bayes' Tragedy, unfortunately 
 takes away the merit of originality from the dialogue be- 
 tween Messieurs the Spirits of Flood and Fell in tlie first 
 canto. Then we have the amiable William of Deloraine, 
 •* a stark moss-trooper," videlicet, a happy compound of 
 poacher, sheep-stealer, and highwayman. The propriety 
 of his magical lady's injunction not to read can only be 
 equalled by his candid acknowledgment of his indepen- 
 dence of the trammels of spelling, altliough, to use his 
 own elegant phrase, " *twas his neck-verse at hairibee," 
 i. e. the gallows, 
 
 + The biography of Gilpin Horner, and the marvellous 
 pedestrian page,who travelled twice as fast as his master's 
 horse, without the aid of seven-leagued boots, are cht^ 
 d'cswres in the improvement of taste. For incident we 
 have the invisible, but by no means sparing, box on the ear, 
 bestowed on the page, and the entrance of a Knight and 
 Charger into the castle, under the very natural disguise of a 
 wain of hay. Mannion, the hero of the latter romance, is 
 exactly what William of Deloraine would have been, had 
 he been able to read and write. The Poem was manufac- 
 tured for Messrs. Constable, Murray, and Miller, worship- 
 ful Booksellers, in consideration of the receipt of a sum of 
 money, and truly, considering the inspiration, it is a very 
 creditable production. If Mr. Scott will write for hire, 
 let him do his best for his paymasters, but not disgrace his 
 genius, which is undoubtedly great,by a repetition of black 
 letter Ballad imitations. 
 
 REVISWEHS. 43 
 
 And think'stthou, Scott ! by vaio conceit per- 
 chance. 
 On public taste to foist thy stale romance. 
 Though Murray with his Miller may combine 
 To yield thy musejust half-a-crown per line ? 
 No ! when the sons of song descend to trade. 
 Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. 
 Let such forego the poet's sacred name, 171 
 Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame : 
 Low may they sink to merited contempt. 
 And scorn remunerate the mean attempt ! 
 Such be their meed, snch still the just reward 
 Of prostituted Muse and hireling bard ! 
 For this we spurn Apollo's venal son. 
 And bid a long, " good night to Marmion."* 
 
 These are the themes that claim our plaudits 
 now ; [bow ; 
 
 These are the Bards to' whom the Muse must 
 While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot. 
 Resign their hallow'd Bays to Walter Scott. 
 
 The time has been, when yet the Muse was 
 
 young, 
 ^i'hen Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung, 
 .4n Epic scarce ten centuries could claim. 
 While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic 
 
 name : 
 The work of each immortal Bard appears 
 The single wonder of a thousand years. t 
 Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth. 
 Tongues have expired with those who gave 
 
 them birth 190 
 
 Without the glory such a strain can give, 
 As even in ruin bids the language live. 
 Not .so with us, though minor Bards, content. 
 On one great work a life of labour spent. 
 With eagle pinion soaring to the skies, 
 Behold the Ballad-monger Sou they rise ! 
 To him let Camoens, Milton, Tasso, yield. 
 Whose annual strains, like armies, take the 
 
 field. 
 First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, 
 The scourge of England, and the boast of 
 
 France ! 
 Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch. 
 Behold her statue placed in Glory's niche ; 
 Her fetters burst, and just released from 
 
 prison, 
 A virgin Phoenix from her ashes risen. 
 
 « « Good night to Marmion" — the pathetic and also 
 prophetic exclamation of Henry Blount, Esquire, on the 
 death of honest Marmion. 
 
 t As the Odyssey Ls so closely connected with the story 
 of the Iliad, they may almost l)c classed, as one gmnd 
 historical poem. In alluding to Milton and Tasso, we 
 consider the " Paradise Lost," and " Gierusalemme Lib- 
 erata," as their standard efforts, since neither the " Jeru- 
 salem conquered'* of the Italian, nor the " Paradise 
 Regained" of the English Bard, obtained a proportionate 
 celebrity to their former poems. Query : Which of Mr, 
 Southey's will siuvive ? 
 
44 
 
 ENGLISH BAUDS 
 
 Next see tremendous Thalal)a come on,* 
 Arabia's monstrous, wild, and wondrous son ; 
 Domdauiel's dread destroyer, who o'ertlirew 
 More mad magicians llian the world e'er 
 
 knew. 
 Immortal Hero ! all thy foes o'ercorae. 
 For ever reign — the rival of Tom Thumb ! 210 
 Since startled metre fled before thy face, 
 Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy 
 
 race ! 
 Well might triumphant Genii bear thee 
 
 hence, 
 Illustrious conqueror of common sense ! 
 Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his 
 
 sails, 
 Cacique in Mexico, and Prince in Wales ; 
 Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do, 
 More old than Mandeville's, and not so true. 
 Oh! Southey, Southey !t cease thy varied 
 
 song! 
 A Bard may chant too often and too long : 220 
 As thou art strong In verse, in mercy spare I 
 A fourth, alas ! were more than we could 
 
 bear. 
 But if, in spite of all the world can say. 
 Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary 
 
 way; 
 If still in Berkley Ballads most uncivil. 
 Thou wilt devote old women to the devil, t 
 The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue ; 
 " God help thee," Southey, and thy readers 
 
 too.ll 
 
 Next comes the dull disciple of thy school. 
 That mild apostate from poetic rule, 230 
 
 The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay 
 As soft as evening in his favourite May, 
 
 # Thalaba, Mr. Southey's second poem, is written in 
 open defiance of precedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished to 
 produce something novel, and succeeded to a miracle. 
 Joan of Arc was marvellous enough, but Thalaba was one 
 of those poems " which," in the wordsof Porson, " will be 
 _ read when Homer and Virgil are forgotten, but^— no/ till 
 
 f We beg Mr. Southey's pardon : " Madoc disdains the 
 degraded title of Epic.'* See his preface. Why is Epic 
 degraded ? and by whom ? Certainly the late Homaunts of 
 Masters Cottle, Laureat Pye, Ogilvy, Hole, and gentle 
 ' Mistress Cowley, have not exalted the Epic Muse ; but as 
 Mr. Southey's poem *' disdains the appellation," allow us 
 to ask — has he substituted any thing better in its stead ? or 
 '. must he be content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore, in the 
 quantity as well as quality of his verse ? 
 
 t See the Old Woman of Berkley, a Ballad by Mr. 
 Southey, wherein an aged gentlewoman is carried away by 
 Beelzebub, on a " high trotting horse." 
 
 II The last line, " God help thee," is an evident plagiar- 
 ism from the Anti.j.icobin to Mr. Southey, on his 
 Dactylics ; 
 
 " God help tliae silly one." — Poetry of the Anti-jacobin, 
 page 23. 
 
 Who warns his friend " To shake off toil and 
 
 trouble. 
 And quit his books for fear of growing 
 
 double ;"* 
 Who, both by precept and example, shows 
 That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose, 
 Convincing all by demonstration plain, 
 Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; 
 And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme, 
 Contain the essence of the true sublime : 240 
 Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, 
 The idiot mother of " an idiot Boy ;" 
 A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, 
 And, like his bard, confounded night with 
 
 day,t 
 So close on each pathetic part he dwells, 
 And each adventure so sublimely tells, 
 That all who view the " idiot in his glory," 
 Conceive the Bard the hero of the story. 
 
 Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here. 
 To turgid ode, and tumid stanza dear ? 2j0 
 Though themes of innocence amuse him best, 
 Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest. 
 If inspiration should her aid refuse, 
 To him who takes a Pixy for a Muse, J 
 Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass 
 The Bard who soars to eulogize an ass. 
 How well the subject suits his noble mind ! 
 " A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind." 
 
 Oh ! wonder-working Lewis ! Monk, or 
 Bard, 
 
 Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church- 
 yard ! 2G0 
 
 Lo ! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow. 
 
 Thy Muse a Sprite, Apollo's sexton thou ! 
 
 Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy 
 stand. 
 
 By gibbering spectres hail'd, thy kindred 
 baud; 
 
 * Lyrical Ballads, page 1- 
 Stanza 1. 
 
 -" The tables turned.* 
 
 " Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks. 
 
 Why all this toil and trouble ? 
 Up, up, my friend, and quit your books. 
 
 Or surely you'll grow double." 
 
 f Mr. W. in his preface l.nbours hard to prove, Hut 
 prose and verse are much the same, and certainly his pre- 
 cepts and practice are strictly conformable. 
 
 " And thus to Betty's question he 
 Made answer, like a traveller bold. 
 The cock did crow to-whoo, to-whoo, 
 And the sun did shine so cold," i<ic. &c. 
 
 Lyrical Ballads, page 129. 
 
 i Coleridge's Poems, page 11. Songs of the Pixie:;, i. e. 
 Devonshire Fairies : page 42, we have, " Lines to a Young 
 Lady:" and page 52, " Lines to a Young Ass." 
 
AND SCOTCH HEVIEWERS. 
 
 45 
 
 Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page, 
 To please the females of our modest age, 
 All hail, M. P.!* from whose infernal brain 
 Tliin sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ; 
 At whose command " grim women" throng in 
 
 crowds. 
 And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, 270 
 With " Small gray men,"—" wild yagers," 
 
 and what-not, [Scott : 
 
 To crown with honour, thee, and Walter 
 Again all hail ! if tales like thine may please, 
 St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease ; 
 Even Satan's self with thee might dread to 
 
 dwell, 
 And in thy skull discern a deeper hell. 
 
 Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir 
 Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire. 
 With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion 
 
 flush'd. 
 Strikes his wild Lyre, whilst listening dames 
 
 are husli'd ? 280 
 
 'Tis Little! young Catullus of his day. 
 As sweet, but as immoral in his lay ! 
 Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be 
 
 just. 
 Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. 
 Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns ; 
 From grosser incense with disgust she turns ; 
 Yet, kind to youth, this expiation o'er. 
 She bids thee, " mend thy line and sin no 
 
 more," 
 
 For thee, translator of the tinsel song. 
 To whom such glittering ornaments be- 
 long, 290 
 Hibernian Strangford ! with thine eyes of 
 
 blue,t 
 And boasted locks of red, or auburn hue. 
 Whose plaintive strain each love-sick Miss 
 
 admires, 
 And o'er harmonious fustian half expires, 
 Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's 
 
 sense, 
 Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence. 
 Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place 
 Hy dressing Camoens in a suit of lace ? 
 Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy 
 
 taste ; 
 Be warm, but pure, be amorous, but be 
 chaste : 300 
 
 * « For every one knows little Matt's an M. P." See 
 
 a Poem to Mr. Lewis, in The Statesman, supposed to be 
 written by Mr. Jekyll. 
 
 + The reader wlio may wish for an explanation of this, 
 may refer to •' Strangford's Camoens," page 127, note to 
 page 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh Review of 
 Str.ingford'6 Camoens. 
 
 It is also to be remarked, that the tilings given to the 
 public as Poems of Camoens, arc no more to be found in 
 tlie original Portuguese, than hi the Song of Solomon. 
 
 Cease to deceive ; thy pilfer'd harp restore. 
 Nor teach the Lusian Bard to copy Moore. 
 
 In many marble-cover'd volumes view 
 Hayley, in vain attempting something new : 
 Whether he spin his comedies in rhyme. 
 Or scrawl, as Wood and Barclay walk, 'gainst 
 
 time. 
 His stile in youth or age is still the same ; 
 For ever feeble and for ever tame. 
 Triumphant first see " Temper's Triumphs" 
 
 shine ! 
 At least I'm sure they triumph'd ovpr 
 
 mine. 310 
 
 Of "Music's Triumphs" all who read may 
 
 swear 
 That luckless Music never triumph'd there.* 
 
 Moravians rise I bestow some meet re- 
 ward 
 On dull Devotion— lo ! the Sabbath Bard, 
 Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublime, 
 In mangled prose, nor even aspires to 
 
 rhyme. 
 Breaks into blank the Gospel of St Luke, 
 And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch ; 
 And, undisturb'd by conscientious qualms. 
 Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the 
 Psalms, t 320 
 
 Hail Sympathy I thy soft idea brings 
 A thousand visions of a thousand things, 
 And shows, dissolved in thine own melting 
 
 tears. 
 The maudlin Prince of mournful sonneteers. 
 And art thou not their Prince, harmonious 
 
 Bowles ! 
 Thou first, great oracle of tender sonls? 
 Whether in sighing winds thou seek'st re- 
 lief, 
 Or consolation in a yellow leaf ; 
 Whether thy muse most lamentably tells 
 What merry sounds proceed from Oxford 
 bells.t 330 
 
 Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend. 
 In every chime that jingled from Ostend ? 
 Ah ! how much juster were thy Muse's hap, 
 If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap ! 
 
 * Hayley's two most notorious verse productions, are 
 " Triumphs of Temper," and " Triumphs of Music." He 
 has also written much Comedy in rhyme, Epistles, &c. &c. 
 As he is rather an elegant writer of notes and biography, 
 let us recommend Pope's Advice to Wycherley, to Mr. 
 H's. consideration : viz. " to convert his poetry into 
 prose," which may be easily done by taking away the final 
 syllable of each couplet. 
 
 t Mr. Grahame has poured forth two volumes of Can' 
 under the name of " Sabbath Walks," and " Biblical 
 Pictures." 
 
 t See Bowles's Sonnets, &c " Sonnet to Oxford,"ana 
 
 '* Stanzas on hciring the bcUs of OsLcoU." 
 
46 
 
 BNGZiISK BARDS 
 
 Delightful Bowles! still blessing, and still 
 
 bless'd, 
 All love thy strain, but children like it best 
 'Tis thine with gentle Little's moral song, 
 To soothe the mania of the amorous throng ! 
 With thee our nursery damsels shed their 
 
 tears, 
 Ere Miss, as yet, completes her infant 
 
 years : 340 
 
 But in her teens thy whining powers are vain ; 
 She quits poor Bowles, for Little's purer 
 
 strain. 
 Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine 
 The lofty numbers of a harp like thine : 
 " Awake a louder and a loftier strain,"* 
 Such as none heard before, or will again ; 
 Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood, 
 Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud, 
 By more or less, are sung in every book. 
 From Captain Noah down to Captain 
 
 Cook. 350 
 
 Nor this alone, but pausing on the road. 
 The Bard sighs forth a gentle episode ;t 
 And gravely tells — attend each beauteous 
 
 Miss !— 
 When first Madeira trembled to a kiss, 
 Bowles ! in thy memory, let this precept 
 
 dwell, 
 Stick to thy Sonnets, man ! at least they sell. 
 But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe 
 Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a 
 
 scribe, 
 If 'chance some bard, though once by dunces 
 
 fear'd. 
 Now, prone in dust, can only be revered ; 360 
 If Pope, whose fame and genius from the first 
 Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst. 
 Do thou essay ; each fault, each failing scan ; 
 The first of poets was, alas ! but man ! 
 Kake from each ancient dunghill every pearl. 
 Consult Lord Fanny, and confide in Curll ;t 
 
 * *« Awake a louder," &c. &c. is the first line in 
 Bowleses *' Spirit of Discovery ;"a very spirited and pretty 
 dwarf Epic. Among other exquisite lines we have the 
 following : 
 
 " A kiss 
 
 Stole on the listening silence, never yet 
 Here heard ; they trembled even as if the power," 
 &c, fiC, 
 
 That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, very 
 much astonished, as well they might be, 'at such a pheno- 
 menon. 
 
 t The Episode above alluded to, is the story of •' Robert 
 fL Machin," and " Anna d'Arfet," a pair of constant 
 lovers, who performed tlie kiss above-mentioned, that 
 startled the woods of Madeira. 
 
 t Curll is one of the Heroes of the Dunciad, and was a 
 bookseller. Lord Fanny is the poetical name of Lord Her. 
 vey, author of "Lines to the Imitator of Horace." 
 
 Let all the scandals of a former age, 
 Perch on thy pen and flutter o'er thy page ; 
 Affect a candour which thou canst not feel, 
 Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal ; 370 
 Write, as if St. John'g^soul could still inspire. 
 And do from hate, what Mallet * did for hire. 
 Oh ! hadst thou lived in that congenial time, 
 To rave witli Dennis, and with Ralph to 
 
 rhyme, t 
 Throng'd with the rest around his living head, 
 Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead, 
 A meet reward had crown'd thy glorious 
 
 gains, 
 And link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains.j: 
 
 Another Epic ! who inflicts again 379 , 
 
 More books of blank upon the sons of men ? i 
 Boeotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast, 1 
 
 Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast. 
 And sends his goods to market — all alive ! 
 Lines forty-thousand. Cantos twenty-five ! 
 Fresh fish from Helicon ! who'll buy ? who'll! 
 
 buy? 
 The precious bargain's cheap — in faith, not I, 
 Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight, 
 Too much o'er bowls of Rack prolong the 
 
 night ; 
 If Commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain, 
 And Amos Cottle strikes the Lyre in vain. 390 
 In him an author's luckless lot behold ! 
 Condemn'd to make the books which once he 
 
 sold. 
 Oh ! Amos Cottle — Phoebus I what a name 
 To fill the speaking trump of future fame! — 
 Oh ! Amos Cottle ! for a moment think 
 What meagre profits spring from pen and ink ! 
 When thus devoted to poetic dreams, 
 Who will peruse thy prostituted reams ? 
 Oh ! pen perverted ! paper misapplied ! 389 
 Had Cottle || still adorn'd the counter's side, 
 Bent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils, 
 Been taught to make the paper which he 
 
 soils, 
 
 « Lord Bolingbroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope after 
 his decease, because the Poet had retained some copies of 
 a work by Lord Bolingbroke, (the Patriot King) which 
 that splendid, but malignant geniys, had ordered to be de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 f Dennis, the critic, and Balph, the rhymester. 
 "Silence, ye wolves ! while llalph to Cynthia howls. 
 Making night hideous, answer him ye owls !" 
 
 Dunciad. 
 
 t See Bowles's late edition of Pope's works, for which 
 he received 300 pounds : thus Mr. B. has experienced, how 
 much easier it is to profit by thercputationof another, than 
 to elevate his own. 
 
 II Mr. Coltle, Amos, or Joseph, I don't know which, but 
 one or both, once sellers of books, they did not write, and 
 now writers of books that do not sell, have published a pair 
 of Epics. " Alfred," (poor Alfred I Pye has been at hiu 
 too !) " Alfred" and the " Fall of Cambria." 
 
AND SCOTCH 
 
 PloughM, delved, or plied the oar with lasty 
 
 limb, 
 He had not sung of Wales, nor I of him. 
 
 As Sisyphus against the infernal steep 
 Kolls the huge rock, whose motions ne'er may 
 
 sleep, 
 So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond! heayes 
 Dull Maurice • all his granite weight of leaves : 
 Smooth, solid monuments of mental pain ! 
 The petrifactions of a plodding brain, 410 
 
 That ere they reach the top fall lumbering back 
 ttgain. 
 
 With broken lyre and cheek serenely pale, 
 liO ! sad Alcaeus wanders down the vale ! 
 Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd 
 
 at last, 
 His hopes have perish'd by the Northern blast : 
 Nipp'd in the bud by Caledonian gales, 
 His blossoms wither as the blast prevails ! 
 O'er his lost works let classic Sheffield weep : 
 May no rude hand disturb their early sleep !t 
 
 Yet, say! why should the Bard, at once, 
 resign 420 
 
 His claim to favour from the sacred Nine 
 For ever startled by the mingled howl 
 Of Northern wolves that still in darkness 
 
 prowl ; 
 A coward brood which mangle as they prey. 
 By hellish instinct, all that cross their way : 
 Aged or young, the living or the dead. 
 No mercy find, — these harpies must be fed. 
 Why do the injured unresisting yield 
 Tlie calm possession of their native field ? 429 
 Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat. 
 Nor hunt the blood-hounds back to Arthur's 
 seat't 
 
 Health to immortal Jeffrey ! once, in name, 
 England could boast a judge almost the 
 
 same : 
 In soul so like, so merciful, yet just. 
 Some think that Satan has resign'd his trust. 
 And given the Spirit to the world again. 
 To sentence Letters, as he sentenced men. 
 With hand less mighty, but with heart as 
 
 black. 
 With voice as willing to decree the rack ; 439 
 
 * Mr. Maurice hath manufactured the component parts 
 of a ponderous quarto, upon the beauties of "Richmond 
 Hill," and the like : — it also takes in a charming view of 
 Tumham Green, Hammersmith, Brentford, Old and New, 
 and the parts adjacent. 
 
 f Poor Montgomery ! though praised by every English 
 Keview, has been bitterly reviled by the Edinburgh. After 
 all, the Bard of Sheffield is a man of considerable genius : 
 his " Wanderer of Switzerland" is worth a thousand 
 " Lyrical Ballads," and at least fifty " Degraded Epics." 
 
 X Arthur's seat ; the hill which overhangs Edinburgh. 
 
 REVIEWERS. 47 
 
 Bred in the Courts betimes, though all that Ian 
 As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw. 411 
 Since, well instructed in the patriot school 
 To rail at party, though a party tool. 
 Who knows, if chance his patrons should re- 
 store 
 Back to the sway they forfeited before, 
 His scribbling toUs some recompense may 
 
 meet 
 And raise this Daniel to the Judgment seat ? 
 Let Jeffries' shade indulge the pious hope. 
 And greeting thus, present him with a rope ; 
 " Heir to my virtues ! man of equal mind ! 450 
 Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind. 
 This cord receive ! for thee reserved with care. 
 To wieldinjudgment,andatlength to wear." 
 
 Health to great Jeffrey ! Heaven preserve 
 
 his life. 
 To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, 
 And guard it sacred in his future wars, 
 Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars ! 
 Can none remember that eventful day. 
 That ever-glorious, almost fatal fray. 
 When Little's leadless pistol met his eye, 4fi0 
 And Bow-street Myrmidons stood laughing 
 
 by?» 
 Oh ! day disastrous ! on her firm-set rock, 
 Dunedin's castle felt a sacred shock ; 
 Dark roU'd the sympathetic waves of Forth, 
 Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the 
 
 North , 
 Tweed ruffled half his waves to form a tear. 
 The other half pursued its calm career ;t 
 Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base. 
 The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place ; 
 The Tolbooth felt — For marble sometimes can, 
 On such occasions, feel as much as man — 471 
 The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms. 
 If Jeffrey died, except within her arms :t 
 Nay, last not least, on that portentous morn 
 The sixteenth story, where himself was born, 
 
 * In 1806, Messrs. JefTreyand Moore, metat Chalk-Farm. 
 The duel was prevented by the interference of the Magis- 
 tracy; and, on examination, the balls of the pistols, like 
 the courage of the combatants, were found to have eva- 
 porated. This incident gave occasion to much waggery in 
 the Daily Prints. 
 
 f Tlie Tweed hero behaved with proper decorum ; it 
 would have been highly reprehensible in the English hU. 
 of tlie River to have shown the smallest eympton of appre 
 bension. 
 
 X This display of sympathy on the part of the Tolbooth, 
 (the principal prison in Edinburgh) which truly seems to 
 have been most affected on this occasion, Is much to be 
 commended. It was to be apprehended, that the many 
 unhappy criminals executed in the front, might hjive ren 
 dered the Edifice more callous. She is said to be of the 
 softer sex, because her delicacy of feeling on this day was 
 truly feminine, though, like most feminine impulses, per- 
 haps a Utile selfish. 
 
48 ENGLISH 
 
 rtis patrimonial garret fell to ground. 
 And pale Edina shudder'd at the sound : 
 Stiew'd were the streets around with milk- 
 white reams, 
 Flovv'd all the Canongate with inky streams; 
 This of bis candour seem'd the sable dew, 480 
 That of his valour show'd the bloodless hue. 
 And all with justice deem'd the two combined 
 The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. 
 But Caledonia's Goddess hover'd o'er 
 The field, and saved him from the wrath of 
 
 Moore, 
 From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead 
 And straight restored it to her favourite's head. 
 That head, with greater than magnetic power. 
 Caught it, as Danse caught the golden shower. 
 And, though the thickening dross v/ill scarce 
 refine, 491/ 
 
 Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. 
 " My son," she cried, " ne'er thirst for gore 
 
 again, 
 Resign the pistol, and resume the pen ; 
 O'er politics and poesy preside, 
 Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide ! 
 For long as Albion's heedless sons submit, 
 Or Scottish taste decides on English wit. 
 So long shall last thine unmolested reign, 
 Nor any dare to take thy name in vain. 
 Behold a chosen band shall aid thy plan, 500 
 And own thee chieftain of the critic clan. 
 First in the ranks illustrious shall be seen 
 The travell'd Thane ! Athenian Aberdeen.* 
 Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer,t and 
 
 sometimes 
 In gratitude thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes. 
 Smug Sydneyt too thy bitter page shall seek, 
 And classic Hallam|| muchrenown'dfor Greek. 
 
 * His lordship has been much abroad, is a member of 
 the Athenian Society, and Reviewer of " Gell's Topogra- 
 phy of Troy." 
 
 f Mr. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other 
 poetry. One of the principal pieces is a •' Song on the Re- 
 covery of Thor's Hammer;" the tmnslation is a pleasant 
 chaunt in the vulgar tongue, and endeth thus: — 
 
 " Instead of money and rings, I wot, 
 Tlie hammer's bruises were her lot. 
 Thus Odin's son his hammer got. 
 
 t The Rev. Sydney Smith, the reputed Autlior of Peter 
 Plymlcy's Letters, and sundry criticisms. 
 
 II IVIr. Hallam reviewed Payne Knigltt's Taste, and was 
 exceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein : it was 
 not discovered that the lines were Pindar's till the Press 
 rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which still 
 stands an everlasting monument of Hallam's ingenuity. 
 
 The said Hallam is incensed, because he is falsely ac- 
 cused, seeing that he never dineth at Holland House. — If 
 this bo true, I am sorry — notfor having said so, but on his 
 account, as I understand his Lnrdsliip's feasts are prefer- 
 able to his compositions. — If he did not review Lord 
 Holland's performance, 1 am glad, because it must have 
 been painful to read, and irksome to praise it. If Mr. 
 
 BARBS 
 
 Scott may perchance his name and influence 
 lend, 508 
 
 .4nd paltry Pillans* shall traduce his friend. 
 While gay Thalia's luckless votary, Lambe.t 
 As he himself was damn'd, shall try to damn. 
 Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway ; 
 Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay ! 
 While grateful Britain yields the praise she 
 owes, [foes. 
 
 To Holland's hirelings, and to Learning's 
 Yet mark one caution, ere thy next Review 
 Spread its light wings of Saflron and of Blue, 
 Beware lest blundering Brougham^ destroy 
 
 the sale, 
 "Purn Beef to Bannocks, Cauliflowers to Kail." 
 Thus havingsaid, the kilted Goddess kiss'd 520 
 Her son, and vanished in a Scottish mist.jj 
 
 Illustrious Holland ! hard would be his lot 
 His hirelings mentiou'd, and himself forgot ! 
 Holland, with Henry Petty at his back. 
 The wliipper-in and huntsman of the pack. 
 Bless'd be the banquets spread at Holland 
 
 House, [rouse ! 
 
 Where Scotchmen feed, and Critic's may ca- 
 Long, long beneath that hospitable roof, 
 Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept 
 
 aloof. 
 See honest Hallam lay aside his fork, 530 
 
 Resume his pen, review his Lordship's work, 
 
 Hallam will tell rne who did review it, the real name shall 
 find a place in the text, provided nevertheless the said 
 name be of two orthodox musical syllables, and will come 
 into the verse, till then, Hallam must stand for want of a. 
 better, 
 
 * Pillans is a tutor at Eton. 
 
 f The honourable G, Lambe reviewed " Beresford's 
 Miseries," and is moreover Author of a Farce enacted 
 with much applause at the Priory, Stanmore; and 
 damned with great expedition at the late Tlieatre, Covent 
 Garden. It was entitlea " Whistle for it." 
 
 t Mr. Brougham, in No. XXV. of the Edinburgh Re- 
 view, throughout the article concerning Don Pedro de 
 Cevallos, has displayed more politics than policy : many of 
 the worthy Burgesses of Edinburgh i)eing so incensed at 
 tlie infamous principles it evinces, as to have withdrawn 
 their subscriptions. 
 
 It seems that Mr. Brougham is not a Pict, as 1 sup- 
 posed, but a Borderer, and his name is pronounced Broom, 
 from Trent to Tay:— So be it. 
 
 II I ought to apologize to the worthy Deities for intro. 
 ducing a new Goddess with short petticoats to their notice; 
 but, alas! what was to be done? I could not s.iy Cale- 
 donia's Genius, it being well known there is no Genius to be 
 found from Clackmannan to Caithness, yet without super- 
 natural agency, how was JeiFrey to be saved ? The national 
 " Kelpies," &c. are too unpoetical, and the " Brownies" 
 and " gude neighbours," (spirits of a good disposition) re. 
 fused to extricate him. A Goddess therefore has been 
 called for the purpose, and great ought to be the gratitude 
 of Jeffrey, seeing it is the only communication he ever 
 held, or is likely to Iiold, with any thing heavenly. 
 
AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 
 
 49 
 
 And grateful to the founder of the feast. 
 Declare his landlord can translate, at least I* 
 Dimedin ! view thy children with delight. 
 They write for food, and feed because they 
 
 write : 
 And lest, when heated with th' unusual grape, 
 Some glowing thoughts should to the press 
 
 escape. 
 And tinge with red the female reader's cheek, 
 My lady skims the cream of each critique ; 
 Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul, 540 
 Reforms each error and refines the whole.t 
 
 Now to the Drama turn— oh ! motley sight ! 
 What precious scenes the wondering eyes in- 
 vite ! 
 Puns, and a Prince within a barrel pent,t 
 And Dibdin's nonsense yield complete content. 
 Though now, thank Heaven! the Eoscio- 
 
 mania's o'er. 
 And full-grown actors are endured once more ; 
 Yet, what avails their vain attempts to please. 
 While British critics sufifer scenes like these ? 
 While Reynolds vents his " dammes, poohs," 
 and " zounds,"|| 550 
 
 And common place, and common sense con- 
 founds 1 
 WTiile Kenny's World just suffered to proceed , 
 Proclaims the audience very kind indeed ? 
 And Beaumont's pilfer'd Caratach affords 
 A tragedy complete in all but words 1^ 
 Who but must mourn, while these are all the 
 
 rage, 
 The degradation of our vaunted stage 1 
 Heavens ! is all sense of shame, and talent 
 
 gone ? 
 Have we no living Bard of merit ? — none ? 
 Awake, George Colman, Cumberland, awake! 
 Ring the alarum bell, let folly quake ! 561 
 Oh! Sheridan! if aught can move thy pen. 
 Let Comedy resume her throne again. 
 Abjure the mummery of German schools, 
 Leave new Pizarros to translating fools ; 
 Give, as thy last memorial, to the age. 
 One classic drama, and reform the stage. 
 
 * Lord H. has translated some specimens of Lope De 
 Vega, inserted in his life of the Author : both are be- 
 praiscd by his disinterested guests. 
 
 + Certain it is, her ladyship is suspected of having dis- 
 played her matchless wit in the Edinburgh Review : how- 
 ever that may be, we know from good authority, that the 
 manuscripts are submitted to her perusal— no doubt for 
 correction, 
 
 t In the melo.drama of Tekeli, that heroic prince is 
 clapt into a barrel on the stage, a new asylum for dis- 
 tressed heroes. 
 
 11 All these are favourite expressions of Mr. R. and 
 prominent in his Comedies, living and defunct. 
 
 ^ Mr. T. Sheridan, the new Manager of Drury.Lane 
 Theatre, stripped the Tragedy of Bonduca of the Dialogue, 
 and exhibited the scenes as the spectacle of Caractacus— 
 Was this worthy of his sire ? or of himself? 
 
 Gods ! o'er those boards shall Folly rear her 
 
 head 
 Where Garrick trod, and Kemble lives to 
 tread 1 669 
 
 On those shall Farce display buffoonery's mask, 
 And Hook conceal his heroes in a cask ? 
 Shall sapient managers new scenes produce 
 From Cherry, Skeffington, and Mother Goose ? 
 While Shakspeare, Otway, Massinger, forgot. 
 On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot ? 
 Lo ! with what pomp the daily prints proclaim. 
 The rival candidates for Attic fame ! 
 In grim array though Lewis' spectres rise. 
 Still Skeffington and Goose divide the prize. 
 And sure great SkefSngton must claim oui 
 
 praise. 
 For skirtlesa.coats, and skeletons of plays 
 Renown'd alike ; whose genius ne'er confines 
 Her Sight to garnish Greenwood's gay de- 
 signs;* [anon, 
 Nor sleeps with " Sleeping Beauties," but. 
 In five facetious acts comes thundering on,t 
 While poor John Bull, bewilder'd with the 
 
 scene. 
 Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean ; 
 But as some hands applaud, a venal few ! 
 Rather than sleep, why John applauds it too. 
 
 Such are we now, ah ! wherefore should wa 
 turn 
 To what our fathers were, unless to mourn ? 
 Degenerate Britons !' are ye dead to shame, 
 Or, kind to dullness, do you fear to blame ? 
 Well may the nobles of our present race 
 Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face ; 
 Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons, 
 And worship Catalani's pantaloons, t 
 Since their own Drama yields go fairer trace 
 Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace. 
 
 Then let Ausonia, skill'd in every art 600 
 To soften manners, but corrupt the heart, 
 Pour her exotic follies o'er the town, 
 To sanction Vice and hunt decorum down : 
 Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes, 
 And bless the promise which his form dis- 
 plays : 
 While Gayton bounds before the enraptured 
 
 looks 
 Of hoary Marquises and stripling Dukes : 
 
 * Mr. Greenwood is, we believe, Scene.PaJnterto Drury 
 Lane Theatre — as such, Mr. S. is much indebted to him, 
 
 t Mr. S. is theillustriousauthor of the"SleepingBeau- 
 ty ;" and some Comedies, particularly " Maids and Bach- 
 elors :" Baculaurii baculo magis quam lauro digni. 
 
 t Naldi and Catalan! require little notice — for the visage 
 of the one, and the salary of the other, will enable us long 
 to recollect these amusing V3gal}onds ; besides, we are still 
 black and blue from the squeeze on the first night of the 
 lady's appearance in trowsers. 
 G 
 
30 
 
 ENGI.ISH BARDS 
 
 Let high-born lechers eye the lively Presle 
 Twirl her light limbs that spurn the needless 
 
 teil ; 
 Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow, 610 
 Wave the white arm and point the pliant toe ; 
 CoUini trill her love-inspiring song, 
 Strain her fair neck and charm the listening 
 
 throng ! [Vice ! 
 
 Raise not your sithe, Suppressors of our 
 Reforming Saints ! too delicately nice ! 
 By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save^ 
 No Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave ; 
 And beer undrawn and beards unroown dis- 
 Your holy reverence for the Sabbath-day. [play 
 
 Or, hall, at once the patron and the pile 620 
 Ofvice and folly, Greville and Argyle !• [fane, 
 Where yon proud palace. Fashion's hallow'd 
 Spreads wide her portals for the motley train. 
 Behold the new Petroniust of the day, 
 The Arbiter of pleasure and of play ! 
 There the hired Eunnch, the Hesperian choir. 
 The melting lute, the soft, lascivious lyre, 
 The song from Italy, the step from France, 
 The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance 
 The smile of beauty, and the flush of wine. 
 For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and Lords 
 
 combine ; _ 631 
 
 Each to his humour, — Comus all allows ; 
 Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's 
 
 spouse. 
 Talk not to us, ye starving sons of trade ! 
 Of piteous rnin, which ourselves have made : 
 In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask. 
 Nor think of Poverty, except " en masque," 
 When, for the night, some lately titled ass 
 Appears the beggar which his grandsire was. 
 The curtain dropp'd, the gay Burletta o'er, 640 
 The audience take their turn upon the floor ; 
 Now round the room the circling dow'gers 
 
 sweepj [leap : 
 
 Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters 
 
 * To prevent any blunder, sucli as mistaking a street 
 for a man, I t)eg leave to state, that it is the Institution, 
 and not the Duke of that name, which is here alluded to. 
 A gentleman, with whom 1 am slightly acquainted, lost 
 in the Argyle Rooms several thousand pounds at backgam- 
 mon i it is but justice to the manager in this instance to 
 say, that some degree of disapprobation was manifested, 
 but why are theimplements of gaming allowedinaplacede- 
 voted to the society of both sexes i A pleasjint thing for 
 the wives and daughters of those who are blessed or cur. 
 scd with such connections, to hear the billiard-tables rattling 
 in one room and the dice in another ! That this is the case 
 1 myself can testify, as a late unworthy member of an In- 
 stitution which materially affects tlie morals of the higher 
 orders, while the lower may not even move to the sound 
 of a tabor and fiddle without a chance of indictment for 
 riotous behaviour. 
 
 t Petronius ** Arbiter elegantiarum" to Nero, " and a 
 very pretty fellow in his day," as Mr. Congreve's Old 
 Bachelor saith. 
 
 The first in lengthen'd line majestic Swim, 
 The last display the free, unfetter'd limb : 
 Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair, 
 With art, the charms which Nature could not 
 
 spare ; 
 These after husbands wing their eager flight. 
 Nor leave much mystery for the nuptial night. 
 
 Oh bless'd retreats of infamy and ease '. 050 
 Where, all forgotten but the power to please. 
 Each maid may give a loose to genial thought, 
 Each swain may teach new systems, or be 
 
 taught : 
 There the blithe youngster, just returned from 
 
 Spain, 
 Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main ; 
 The jovial Caster's set, and seven's the nick. 
 Or — done ! — a thousand on the coming trick ! 
 If, mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire. 
 And all your hope or wish is to expire, 
 Here's Powel's pistol ready for your life, 660 
 And, kinder still, a Paget for your wife : 
 Fit consummation of an earthy race 
 Begun in folly, ended in disgrace. 
 While none but menials o'er the bed of death. 
 Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering 
 
 breath ; 
 Traduced by liars, and forgot by all, 
 The mangled victim of a drunken brawl. 
 To live like Clodius,* and like Falklandf fall. 
 
 Truth ! rouse some genuine Bard, and guide 
 
 his hand 
 To drive this pestilence from out the land. 670 
 Even I — least thinking of a thoughtless throng. 
 Just skill'd to know the right and choose the 
 
 wrong. 
 Freed at that age when Reason's shield is lostj 
 To fight my course through Passion's countles^^ 
 
 host, 
 Whom every path of pleasure's flowery way 
 Has lured in turn, and all have led astray — 
 E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel 
 Such scenes, such men destroy the public weal i| 
 Although some kind, censorious friend will 
 
 say, [they ?" 
 
 " What art thou better, meddling fool, than 
 
 * Mutato nomine de te 
 Fabula narratur. 
 t I knew the late Ix)rd Falkland well. On Sunday 
 night I beheld him presiding at his own table, in all tlie 
 honest pride of hospitality; on "Wednesday morning, at 
 three o'clock, I saw stretched before me all that remained 
 of courage, feeling, -end a host of passions. He was a gal- 
 lant, unsuccessful officer ; his faults were the faults of a 
 sailor j as such, £riton& will forgive them. He died like a 
 brave man in a better cause ; for bad he fallen in like 
 manner on the deck of Ihe frigate to which he was just l 
 appointed, his last moments would have been held up by [ 
 his countrymen as an example to succeeding heroes. 
 
And every Brother Rake will smile to see 
 That miracle, a Moralist in me. 
 No matter — when some Bard in virtue strong, 
 Gifford, perchance, shall raise the chastening 
 
 AND SCOTCH HEVIEWERS. 51 
 
 Yes ! doff that covering where Morocco 
 
 shines. 
 And bang a calf-skin* on those recreant lines- 
 
 Then sleep my pen for ever ! and my voice 
 Be only beard to hail him and rejoice ; 
 Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I 
 May feel the lash that virtue must apply. 
 
 As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals 
 From silly Hafiz* up to simple Bowles, C90 
 Why should we call them from their dark 
 
 abode. 
 In broad St. Giles's, or inTottenham Road ? 
 Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare 
 To scrawl in verse) irora Bond-street or the 
 
 Square ? 
 If things of ton their harmless lays indite. 
 Most wisely doom'd to shun the public sight, 
 Wh.it harm ? in spite of every critic elf, 
 Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself; [try, 
 Bliles Andrews still his strength in couplets 
 And live in prologues, though his dramas 
 
 die, 700 
 
 Lords too are Bards, such things at times 
 
 befall, 
 And 'tis some praise in Peers to write at all. 
 Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times. 
 Ah! who would take their titles with their 
 
 rhymes 1 
 Roscommon ! Sheffield ! with your spirits fled> 
 No future laurels deck a noble head ; 
 No Muse will cheer, with renovating smile. 
 The paralytic puling of Carlisle : 
 The puny Schoolboy and his early lay 
 Men pardon, if his follies pass away ; 710 
 But who forgives the Senior's ceaseless verse, 
 Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow 
 
 worse ? 
 What heterogeneous honours deck the Peer ! 
 Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer !t 
 So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age. 
 His scenes alone had damn'd oursinkingstage ; 
 But Managers for once cried, " Hold, enough !" 
 Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic 
 
 stuff. 
 Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh. 
 And case his volumes in congenial calf; 720 
 
 * What would be the sentiments of the Persian Ana- 
 creon, Haflz, could he rise from his splendid sepulchre at 
 Shccraz, where iie reposes with Ferdousi and Sadi, the 
 Oriental Homer and Catullus, and behold his name 
 assumed by one Stott of Dromore, the most impudent 
 and execrable of literary poachers for the Daily Prints ? 
 
 + The Earl of Carlisle has lately published an cigtitcen- 
 penny pamphlet on the state of the Stage, and offers his 
 plan for builduig a new theatre : it is to be hoped his 
 I/ordship will be permitted to bring forward any thing for 
 the Stage, except his own tragedies. 
 
 With you, ye Druids I rich in native lead, 
 Who daily scribble for your daily bread ; 
 M ith you I war not : Gifford'a heavy hand 
 Has crush'd, without remorse, your numerous 
 
 band. 
 On " all the Talents" vent your venal spleen, 
 Want your defence, let Pity be your screen. 
 Let Monodies on Fox regale your crew. 
 And Melville's Mantlet prove a blanket 
 too ! 730 
 
 One common Lethe waits each hapless Bard, 
 And peace be with you I 'tis your best re- 
 ward. 
 Such damning fame as Duuciads only give 
 Could bid your lines beyond a morning live; 
 But now at once your fleeting labours close. 
 With names of greater note in bless'd repose. 
 Far be't from me unkindly to upbraid 
 The lovely Rosa's prose in masquerade. 
 Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her 
 
 mind. 
 Leave wondering comprehension far be- 
 hind.t 740 
 
 Though Bell has lost his nightingales and 
 
 owls, 
 Matilda snivels still, and Hafiz howls. 
 And Crusca's spirit, rising from the dead, 
 Revives in Laura, Quiz, and X. Y. Z.|| 
 
 When some brisk youth, the tenant of a 
 
 stall, 
 Employs a pen less pointed than his awl. 
 Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of 
 
 shoes, 
 St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the Muse, 
 Heavens ! how the vulgar stare ! how crowds 
 
 applaud ! 
 How ladies read ! and Literati laud ! 750 
 
 If chance some wicked wag should pass his 
 
 jest, [best? 
 
 'lis sheer ill nature ; don't the world know 
 
 » " Doff that lion's hide 
 And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs," 
 
 Shak : King John. 
 
 Lord C's. works, most resplendently bound, form a con- 
 spicuous ornament to his book-shelves : 
 
 " The rest is all but leather and prunella." 
 
 f Melville's Mantle, a parody on <' Elijah's Mantle," 
 a poem. 
 
 t This lovely little Jessica, the daughter of the noted 
 
 Jew K , seems to be a follower of the Delia Crusca 
 
 School, and has published two volumes of very respectable 
 absurdities in rhyme, as times go ; besides sundry novels, 
 in the style of the first edition of the Monk. 
 
 11 These are the signatures of various worthies who figure 
 in the poetical departments of the newspapers. 
 
<S3 ENGI.ISH BARDS 
 
 Genius must guide \vheii ^its admire the 
 
 rhyme. 
 And Capel Lofft* declares 'tis quite sublime. 
 Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade ! 
 Swains ! quit the plough, resign the useless 
 
 spade ! 
 Lol Burns and Bloom£[eld,t nay, a greater 
 
 far, 
 Gifford was born beneath an adverse star. 
 Forsook the labours of a servile state, 
 Stemm'd the rude storm, and triumph'd over 
 
 Fate : 760 
 
 Then why no more 1 if Phoebus smiled on you, 
 Bloomfield ! why not on brother Nathan too ? 
 Him too the Mania; not the Muse, has seized ; 
 Not inspiration, but a mind diseased : 
 And now no Boor can seek his last abode. 
 No common be enclosed without an ode. 
 Oh ! since increased refinement deigns to 
 
 smile 
 On Britain's sons and bless our genial Isle, 
 Let Poesy go forth, pervade the whole. 
 Alike the rustic, and mechanic soul : 770 
 
 Ye tuneful cobblers ! still your notes prolong, 
 Compose at once a slipper and a song ; 
 So shall the fair your handy-work peruse, 
 Your sonnets sure shall please — perhaps your 
 
 shoes. 
 May Moorland weaversj boast Pindaric skill. 
 And taylors' lays be longer than their bill ! 
 While punctual beaux reward the grateful 
 
 notes. 
 And pay for poems — when they pay for coats. 
 
 To the famed throng now paid the tribute 
 
 due. 
 Neglected Genius ! let me turn to you. 780 
 Come forth, oh Campbell !|| give thy talents 
 
 scope ; 
 Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope ? 
 And thou, melodious Rogers ! rise at last. 
 Recall the pleasing memory of the past; 
 Arise ! let bless'd remembrance still inspire. 
 And strike to wonted tones thy hallow'd 
 
 lyre; 
 Restore Apollo to his vacant throne. 
 Assert thy country's honour and thine own. 
 
 * Capel Lofft, Esq. the Miecenas of shoemakers, and 
 Preface-writer-general to distressed versemen j a kind of 
 gratis Accoucheur to those who wish to be delivered of 
 rhyme, but do not know how to bring it forth. 
 
 t See Nathaniel Bloomfield's ode, elegy, or whatever 
 he or any one else chooses to call it, on the enclosure of 
 " Honington Green.'* 
 
 t Vide " Recollections of a Weaver in the Moorlands of 
 Staffbrdshire." 
 
 II It would be superfiuouB to recall to the mind of tho 
 reader the author of " The Pleasures of Memory" and 
 " The Pleasures of Hope," the most beautifiul didactic 
 poems in our language, if we except Pope's Essay on Man : 
 but so many poetasters have started up, that even the 
 names of Campbell and Rogers are become strange. 
 
 What ! must deserted Poesy still weep 
 Where her last hopes with pious Cowper 
 
 sleep 1 790 
 
 Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she 
 
 turns, [Burns ! 
 
 To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel. 
 No ! though contempt hathmark'd the spurious 
 
 brood, 
 The race who rhyme from folly, or for food ; 
 Yet still some genuine sons 'tis hers to boast, 
 Who least affecting, still affect the most ; 
 Feel as they write, and write but as they 
 
 feel- 
 Bear witness, Gifford, Sotheby, Macneil.* 
 " Why slumbers Gifford?" once was ask'd in 
 
 vain :t 
 Why slumbers Gifford ? let us ask again. 800 
 Are there no follies for his pen to purge ? 
 Are there no fools whose backs demand the 
 
 scourge ? 
 Are there no sins for Satire's Bard to greet » 
 Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street ? 
 Shall Peers or Princes tread pollution's path. 
 And 'scape alike the Law's and Muse's 
 
 wrath 1 
 Nor blaze with guilty glare through future 
 
 time. 
 Eternal beacons of consummate crime ? 
 Arouse thee, Gifford ! be thy promise claim'd. 
 Make bad men better, or at least ashamed. 810 
 
 Unhappy White !t while life was in ils 
 
 spring. 
 And thy young Muse just waved her joyous 
 
 wing. 
 The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair 
 Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. 
 Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, 
 When Science 'self destroy'd her favourite 
 
 son ! 
 Yes she too much indulged thy fond pursuit. 
 She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the 
 
 fruit. 
 
 * Gifford, author of tlie Eaviad and Mxviad, the fir* 
 satires of the day, and translator of Juvenal. 
 
 Sotheby, translator of Wieland's Oberon, and Virgil's 
 Georgics, and author of Saul, an epic poem. 
 
 Macneil, whose poems are deservedly popular; particu- 
 larly " Scotland's Scaith, or the Waes of War," of which 
 ten thousand copies were sold in one month. 
 
 f Mr. Gifiord promised publicly that the Baviad and 
 Msviad should not be his last original works ; let him 
 remember ; " Mox in reluctantes Dracones." 
 
 t Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October 
 ISOff, in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit 
 of studies that would have matured a mind which disease 
 and poverty could not impair, and which Death itself 
 destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in 
 such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest 
 regret that so short a period was allotted to talents, which 
 would have dignified even the sacred functions he was 
 destined to assume. 
 
AND SCOTCH REVIEWEHS. 
 
 53 
 
 'Twas thine own Genius gave the final blow. 
 And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee 
 
 low: 
 So the struck Eagle stretch'd upon the plain, 
 No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 
 View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, 
 And wing'd the shaft that quirer'd in his 
 
 heart : 
 Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 
 He nursed the pinion which impell'd the steel. 
 While the same plumage that had warm'd his 
 
 nest, 
 Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. 
 
 There be who say, in these enlighten'd days 
 That splendid lies are all the poet's praise ; 830 
 That strain'd invention, ever on the wing, 
 Alone impels the modern Hard to sing : 
 'Tis true, that all who rhyme, nay, all who 
 
 write. 
 Shrink from that fatal word to Genius — Trite : 
 Yet Truth sometimes will lend her noblest 
 
 fires, 
 And decorate the verse herself inspires : 
 This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe attest. 
 Though Nature's sternest Painter, yet the 
 
 best. 
 
 And here let Shee* and genius find a place. 
 Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace ; 
 To guide whose hand the sister Arts com- 
 ■ bine, 811 
 
 And trace the Poet's or the Painter's line ; 
 Whose magic touch can bid the canvass glow. 
 Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious flow. 
 While honours doubly merited attend 
 The Poet's rival, but the Painter's friend. 
 
 Bless'd is the man ! who dares approach the 
 bower 
 
 Where dwelt the Muses at their natal hour ; 
 
 Whose steps have press'd, whose eye has 
 mark'd afar, 
 
 The clime that nursed the sons of song and 
 war, 850 
 
 The scenes which glorj- still must hover o'er ; 
 
 Her place of birth, her own Achaian shore : 
 
 But doubly bless'd is he, whose heart ex- 
 pands 
 
 With hallow'd feelings for those classic lands ; 
 
 Who rends the veil of ages long gone by. 
 
 And views their remnants with a poet's eye ! 
 
 Wright !t 'twas thy happy lot at once to view 
 
 Those shores of glory, and to sing them too; 
 
 * Mr. Shoe, author of " Rhymes on Arl," and " Ele- 
 ments of Art" 
 
 + Mr. Wright, late Consul-general for the Seven 
 Islands, is author of a very beautiful poem just published : 
 it is entitled, *' Horffi lonica?," and is descriptive of thp. 
 Isles and the adjacent coast of Greece. j 
 
 And sure no common Mnse inspired thy pen 
 To hail the land of Gods and Godlike men. 860 
 
 And you, associate Bards!* who snatch'd 
 to light. 
 Those Gems too long withheld from modern 
 
 sight ; 
 Whose mingling taste combined to cull the 
 
 wreath 
 Where Attic flowers Aonian' odours breathe. 
 And all their renovated fragrance flung. 
 To grace the beauties of your native tongue; 
 Now let those minds that nobly could trans- 
 fuse 
 The glorious Spirit of the Grecian Muse, 
 Though soft the echo, scorn a borrow'd tone : 
 Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. STO 
 
 Let these, or such as these, with just ap- 
 plause. 
 Restore the Muse's violated laws ; 
 But not in flimsy Darwin's pompous chime, 
 That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme ; 
 Whose gilded cymbals more adorn'd than 
 
 clear, 
 The eye delighted, but fatigued the ear. 
 In show the simple lyre could once surpass, 
 But now worn down, appear in native brass ; 
 While all his train of hovering sylphs around, 
 Evaporate in similes and sound : 880 
 
 Him let them shun, with him let tinsel die : 
 False glare attracts, but more ofi'ends the 
 eye.t 
 
 Yet let them not to vulgar Wordsworth 
 
 stoop. 
 The meanest object of the lowly group. 
 Whose verse, of all but childish prattle void. 
 Seems blessed harmony to Lambe and Lloyd :} 
 Let them — but hold my Muse, nor dare to 
 
 teach 
 A strain, far, far beyond thy humble reach ; 
 The native genius with their feeling given 
 Will point the path, and peal their notes to 
 
 heaven. 890 
 
 And thou, too, Scott !|| resign to minstrels 
 
 rude. 
 The wilder Slogan of a Border feud: 
 Let others spin their meagre lines for hire ! 
 Enough for Genius if itself inspire ! 
 
 * The translators of the Anthology have since published 
 separate poems, which evince genius that only requires 
 opportunity to attain eminence. 
 
 t The neglect of the " Botanic Garden," is some proof 
 of returning taste; the scenery is its sole recommendation. 
 
 X Messrs. Lambe and Lloyd, the most ignoble followers 
 of Southey and Co. 
 
 [| By the bye, I hope that in Mr. Scott's next poetn his 
 hero or lleroinc will be less addicted to « Gramarye," and 
 more to Gr.immar, than the Lady of the Lay, and her 
 Bravo WilUam of Delorainc. 
 
54 
 
 ENGLISH BARDS 
 
 Let Southey sing, although his teeming muse, 
 
 Prolific every spring, be too profuse ; 
 
 Let simple Wordsworth chime his childish 
 
 verse. 
 And brother Coleridge lull the babe at nurse ; 
 Let Spectre-mongering Lewis aim, at most. 
 To rouse the Galleries, or to raise a ghost ; 900 
 Let Moore be lewd ; let Strangford steal from 
 
 Moore, 
 And swear that Camoens sang such notes of 
 
 yore ; 
 Let Hay ley hobble on ; Montgomery rave ; 
 And godly Grahame chant a stupid stave ; 
 Let Sonneteering Bowles his strains refine. 
 And whine and whimper to the fourteenth line ; 
 Let Stott, Carlisle,* Matilda, and the rest 
 Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-place the 
 
 best. 
 Scrawl on, 'till death release us from the strain. 
 Or common sense assert her rights again ; 910 
 But thou, with powers that mock the aid of 
 
 praise, 
 Shouldst leave to humbler Bards ignoble lays, 
 Thy country's voice, the voice of all the Nine, 
 Demand a hallow'd harp — that harp is thine. 
 Say ! will not Caledonia's annals yield 
 The glorious record of some nobler field. 
 Than the vile foray of a plundering clan, 
 Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name of 
 
 man? 
 
 » It may he asked why 1 have censured the Earl of 
 Carlisle, my guardian and relative, to whom I dedicated a 
 volume of puerile poems a few years ago. The guardian- 
 ship was nominal, at least as far as I have been able to dis- 
 cover ; the relationship I cannot help, and am very sorry 
 for it ; but as his Lordship seemed to forget it on a very 
 essential occasion to me, I shall not burthen my memory 
 with the recollection. I do not think that personal differ- 
 ences sanction the unjust condemnation of a brother scrib- 
 bler ; but I see no reason why they should act as a pre- 
 ventive, when the author, noble or ignoble, has for a 
 series of years beguiled a '* discerning public" (as the ad- 
 vertisements have it) with divers reams of most orthodox, 
 imperial nonsense. Besides, 1 do not step aside to 
 vituperate the Earl ; no — his works come fairly in, review 
 with those of other Patrician Literati. If, before I escaped 
 from my teens, I said any thing in favour of his Lordship's 
 paper books, it was in the way of dutiful dedication, and 
 more fVom the advice of others than my own judgment, 
 and I seize the first opportunity of pronouncing my sincere 
 recantation. I have heard that some persons conceive me 
 to he under obligations to Lord Carlisle; if so, I shall be 
 most particularly h.ippy to learn what they are, pud when 
 conferred, that they may be duly appreciated, and pub- 
 licly acknowledged. What I have humbly advanced as 
 an opinion on his printed things, I am prepared to support 
 if necessary, by quotations from Elegies, Eulogies, Odes, 
 b^pisodes, and certain facetious and dainty tragedies bear- 
 ing his name and mark : 
 
 ** What can ennoble knaves, ot fools, or cowards? 
 Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards !'* 
 
 So says Pope. Amen ! 
 
 Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food 919 
 Foroutlaw'd Sherwood's tales of Robin Hood? 
 Scotland \ still proudly claim thy native Bard, 
 And be thy praise his first, his best reward ! 
 Yet not with thee alone his name should live. 
 But own the vast renown a world can give ; 
 Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more. 
 And tell the tale of what she was before ; 
 To future times her faded fame recall, 
 And save her glory, though his country fall. 
 
 Yet what avails the sanguine Poet's hope ? 
 To conquer ages, and with Time to cope ! 930 
 New eras spread their wings, new nations rise, 
 And other Victors* fill th' applauding skies ; 
 A few brief generations fleet along, 
 Whose sons forget the. Poet and his song : 
 Even now, what once-loved Minstrels scarce 
 
 may claim 
 The transient mention of a dubious name ! 
 When Fame's loud trump hath blown its no- 
 blest blast, 
 Though longthe sound, the echo sleeps at last. 
 And glory, like the Phoenix 'midst her fires, 
 Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires. 940 
 
 Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons. 
 Expert in science, more expert at puns ? 
 Shall these approach the Muse ? ah no ! she 
 
 flies. 
 And even spurns the great Seatonian prize. 
 Though Printers condescend the press to soil 
 With rhyme by " Hoare, and epic blank by 
 
 Hoyle : 
 
 Not him whose page, if still upheld by whist, 
 Requires no sacred theme to bid us list.t 
 Ye ! who in Granta's honours would surpass 
 Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown ass ; 950 
 A foal well worthy of her ancient dam, 
 Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam. 
 
 There Clarke, still striving piteously " to 
 please," 
 Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees, 
 A would-be satirist, a hired Buffoon, 
 A monthly scribbler of some low Lampoon, 
 Condemn'd to drudge the meanest of the mean, 
 ."ind furbish falsehoods for a magazine. 
 Devotes to scandal his congenial niind; 
 Himself a living libel on mankind.): 9G0 
 
 * " ToUere humo, victorque virum volitare per ora." 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 f The « Games of Hoyle," well known to tlie votaries of 
 Whist, Chess,, &c, are not to be superseded by the vaga- 
 ries of his poetical namesake, whose poem comprised, as 
 expressly stated in the advertisement, all the " Plagues of 
 Egypt." 
 
 t This person, who has lately betrayed the most rapid 
 symptoms of confirmed authorship, is writer of a poem de- 
 nominated the " Art of Pleasuig," as '* Lucus a uoa 
 
Oh dark asylum of a randal race !* 
 At once the boast of learning, and disgrace ; 
 So sunk in dullness and so lost in shame 
 That Smythe and Hodgsont scarce redeem thy 
 
 fame ! 
 But where fair Isis rolls her purer wave. 
 The partial Muse delighted loves to lave, 
 On her green banks a greener wreath is wove, 
 To crown the Bards that haunt her classic 
 
 grove. 
 Where Richards wakes a genuine poet's fires, 
 And modern Britons justly praise their 
 
 Sires.t S^O 
 
 For me, who thus unask'd have dared to tell 
 My country, what her sons should know too 
 
 well. 
 Zeal for her honour bade me here engage 
 The host of idiots that infest her age. 
 No just applause herhonour'd name shall lose, 
 As first in freedom, dearest to the Muse. 
 Oh ! would thy Bards but emulate thy fame 
 And rise, more worthy, Albion, of thy name ! 
 What Athens was in science, Rome in power. 
 What Tyre appear'd in her meridian hour, 980 
 'Tis thine at once, fair Albion, to have been, 
 Earth's chief dictatress, Ocean's mighty queen 
 But Rome decay'd, and Athens strew'd the 
 
 plain, [main ; 
 
 And Tyre's proud piers lie shatter'd in the 
 Like these thy strength may sink in ruin hurl'd. 
 And Britain fall, the bulwark of the World. 
 But let me cease, and dread Cassandra's fate. 
 With warning ever scoff'd at, till too late ; 
 To themes less lofty still my lay confine, 989 
 And urge thy Bards to gain a name like thine. 
 
 Then, hapless Britain ! be thy rulers bless'd 
 The senate's oracles, the people's jest I 
 Still hear thy motley orators dispense 
 The flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense. 
 
 lucendo," containing little pleasantry, and lesspoetry. He 
 also acts as monthly stipendiary and collector of calumnieB 
 for the Satirist. If this unfortunate young man would 
 exchange the magazines for tlie mathematics, and endear, 
 our to take a decent degree in his university, it might 
 eventually prove more serviceable than his present sal- 
 ary. 
 
 * " Into Cambridgeshire the Emperor Probus transport- 
 ed a considerable body of Vandals." — Gibbon's Decline 
 and Fall, pag. S3, vol. S. There is no reason to doubt the 
 truth of this assertion j the breed is still in high perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 + ITiis gentleman's name requires no praise; theTnan 
 who in translation displays unquestionable genius, may 
 well be expected to excel in original composition, of 
 which it is to be hoped we shall soon see a splendid speci- 
 men. 
 
 t The " Aboriginal Britons," an excellent poem by 
 Bichards. 
 
 AND SCOTCH HEVIEWEHS. 55 
 
 While Canning's colleagues hate him for his 
 
 wit. 
 And old dame Portland* fills the place of Pitt. 
 
 Yet once again adieu ! ere this the sail 
 That wafts me hence is shivering in the gale ; 
 And Afric's coastand Calpe'st adverse height. 
 And Stamboul'sJ minarets must greet my sight; 
 Thence shall I stray through beauty's^ native 
 
 clime, 1001 
 
 Where Kaff|| is clad in rocks, and crown'd 
 
 with snows sublime, 
 But should I back return, no lettcr'd rage 
 Shall drag my common-place book on the stage: 
 Let vain ValentialT rival luckless Carr, 
 And equal him whose work he sought to mar ; 
 Let Aberdeen and Elgin** still pursue 
 The shade of fame through regions of Virtu ; 
 Waste useless thousands on their Phidian 
 
 freaks, ' 1009 
 
 Misshapen monuments, and maim'd antiques ; 
 And make their grand saloons a general mart 
 For all the mutilated blocks of art r 
 Of Dardan tours, let Dilettanti tell, 
 I leave topography to classic Gell ;tt 
 And, quite content, no more shall interpose, 
 To stun mankind with Poesy, or Prose. 
 
 Thus far I've held my undisturb'd career. 
 Prepared for rancour, steel'd 'gainst selfish 
 
 fear : 1018 
 
 This thing of rhyme I ne'er disdain'd to own — ■ 
 Though not obtrusive, yet not quite unknown. 
 My voice was heard again ; though not so loud. 
 My page, though nameless, never disavow'd, 
 
 And now at once I tear the veil away : 
 
 Cheer on the pack ! the Quarry stands at bay, 
 Unscared by all the din of Melbourne house 
 By Lambe's resentment, or by Holland's 
 
 spouse, 
 
 » A friend of mine being asked why his Grace of P. 
 was likened to an old woman ? replied, " he supposed it 
 was because he was past bearing." 
 
 f Calpe is the ancient name of Gibraltar. 
 
 t Stamboul is the Turkish word for Constantinople. 
 
 5 Georgia, remarkable for the beauty of its inhabitants. 
 
 II Mount Caucasus. 
 
 H Lord Valentia (whose tremendous travels are forth- 
 coming with due decorations, graphical, topographical, am\ 
 typographical) deposed, on Sir John Carr's unlucky suit, 
 that Dubois's satire prevented his purchase of the « Stran- 
 gerin Ireland."— Oh fy, my Lord! has your Lordship no 
 more feeling for a fellow-tourist ? but " two of a trade," 
 they say, &c. 
 
 ** Lord Elgin would fain persuade us that all the figures, 
 with and without noses, in his stone-shcp, are the work of 
 Phidias ; *' Credat Judffius ! " 
 
 ++ Mr. Gell's Topography of Troy and Ithaca cannot fail 
 to ensure tlie approbation of every man possessed of clas- 
 sical taste, as well for the information Mr. G. conveys to 
 tlie mind of the reader, as for the ability and research the 
 respective works display. 
 
66 
 
 ENGIiISH BARDS AND SCOTCH TtEVIEWERS. 
 
 By Jeffrey's harmless pistol, Hallara's rage, 
 Edina's brawny sons and brimstone page. 
 Out men in Buckram shall have blowsenough. 
 And feel they too are " penetrable stuff: 1030 
 And though I hope not hence unscathed to go, 
 Who conquers me, shall find a stubborn foe. 
 The time hath been, when no harsh sound 
 
 would fall. 
 From 1 ips that now may seem imbued with gall, 
 Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise 
 The meanest thing that crawl'd beneath my 
 
 eyes; 
 But now so callous grown, so changed since 
 
 youth, [truth ; 
 
 I've learn'd to think, and sternly speak the 
 
 Learn'd to deride the critic's starch decree. 
 And break him on the wheel he meant fol 
 
 me; 104(^ 
 
 To spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss. 
 Nor care if courts and crowds applaud or hiss 
 Nay more, though all my rival rhymester 
 
 frown, 
 I too can hunt a Poetaster down : 
 And, arm'd in proof, the gauntlet cast at once 
 To Scotch marauder, and to Southern dunce. 
 Thus mucKl've dared to do ; how far my lay 
 Hath wrong'd these righteous times, let others 
 
 say : [spare, 
 
 This, let the world, which knows not how to 
 Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare. lOSO 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 I HAVR been informed, since the present 
 edition went to the PiesB, that my trusty and 
 weli-beloved cousins, the Edinburgh Re- 
 viewers, are preparing a most veliement cri- 
 tique on my poor, gentle, unresisting Muse, 
 whom they have already so bedeviled witli 
 their ungodly ribaldry : 
 
 " Tanlaene animis caclestibus Iras !" 
 
 1 suppose I must say of Jeflrey as Sir Antliony 
 .4guecheek saith, " an I had known he was 
 so cunning of fence, I had seen him damned 
 ere 1 had fought him." What a pity it is that 
 I shall be beyond the Bosphorus, before the 
 next number has passed the Tweed. But I yet 
 hope to ligiit my pipe with it in I'ersia. 
 
 My Northern friends have accused me, with 
 justice, of personality towards tliejr great 
 literary Anthropophagus, Jeffrey ; but what 
 else was to be done with him and his dirty 
 pack, who feed by " lying and slandering," 
 and slake their thirst by " evil speaking ?"I have 
 adduced facts already well known, and of 
 Jeffrey's mind I have stated my free opinion, 
 nor has he thence sustained any injury ; — what 
 scavenger was ever soiled by being pelted with 
 mud ? It may be said that 1 quit England be- 
 cause I have censured there " persons of honour 
 and wit about town," but I am coming back 
 again, and their vengeance will keep hot till 
 my return. Those who know me can testify 
 that my motives for leaving England are very 
 different from fears, literary or personal ; those 
 who do not, may one day be convinced. Since 
 the publication of this thing, my name has not 
 been concealed ; I have been mostly in London, 
 ready to answer for my transgressions, and in 
 daily expectation of sundry cartels ; but, alas ! 
 
 " (he age of chivalry is over," or, in the vulgar 
 tongue, there is no spirit now-a-days. 
 
 There is a youth ycleped Hewson Clarke 
 (Subaudi, Esquire,) a Sizer of Emanuel Col- 
 lege, and I believe a Denizen of Berwick 
 upon Tweed, whom I have introduced in these 
 pages to much better company than he has 
 been accustomed to meet : he is notwithstand- 
 ing, a very sad dog, and for no reason that I 
 can discover, except a personal quarrel with a 
 bear, kept by me at Cambridge to sit for a fel- 
 lowship, and whom the jealousy of his Trinity 
 cotemporaries prevented from success, has 
 been abusing me, and what is worse, tlie 
 defenceless innocent above-mentioned, in the 
 Satirist, for one year and some months. 1 am 
 utterly unconscious of having given him any 
 provocation ; indeed, I am guiltless of having 
 heard his name coupled with the Satirist. He 
 has therefore no reason to complain, and 1 dare 
 say that, like Sir Fretful Plagiary, lie is rather 
 pleased than otherwise. I have now menlioned 
 all who have done me the honour to notice me 
 and mine, that is, my Bear and my Book, 
 except the Editor of the Satirist, who, it 
 seems, is a gentleman, God wot ! I wish he 
 could impart a little of his gentility to his 
 subordinate scrib)?lers. 1 hear that Mr. 
 Jerningham is about to take up the cudgels 
 for his Maecenas, Lord Carlisle ; 1 liope not : 
 he was one of the few, who, in the very short 
 intercourse I had with him, treated me with 
 kindness when a boy, and whatever he may 
 say or do, " pour on, I will endure." I have 
 nothing further to add, save a general note of 
 thanksgiving to readers, purchasers, and pub- 
 lisher, and in the words of Scott, I wish 
 
 " To all and each a fair good night, 
 And rosy dreams and slumbers light." 
 
 H 
 
POEMS 
 
 ON 
 
 ©(Ds^jiiM© (@am©iirM^^^i^©ii^a 
 
 
 S^c. 8sc. 
 
 FARE THEE WELL! 
 
 Fare thee well ! and if for ever — 
 
 Still for ever, fare Wiec well — 
 Even though unforgiving, never 
 
 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.^ 
 
 Would that breast were bared before thee 
 Where thy head so oft hath lain. 
 
 While that placid sleep came o'er thee 
 Which thou ne'er canst know again ; 
 
 AVould that breast by thee glanced over, 
 Every inmost thought could show ! 
 
 Then, thou vpouldst at last discover 
 'Twas not well to spurn it so — 
 
 Though the world for this commend thee — 
 Though it smile upon the blow, 
 
 Even its praises must offend thee, 
 Founded on another's wo — 
 
 Though my many faults defaced me ; 
 
 Could no other arm be found 
 Than the one which once embraced me 
 
 To inflict a cureless wound ? 
 
 Yet — oh, yet — thyself deceive not — 
 Love may sink by slow decay. 
 
 But by sudden wrench, believe not. 
 Hearts can thus be torn away : 
 
 Slill thine own its life relaineth — 
 Still must mine — though bleeding— beat. 
 
 And th' undying thought which paineth 
 Is — that we no more may meet. — 
 
 These are words of deeper sorrow 
 Than Uie wail above the dead : 
 
 i Both shall live — but every morrow 
 I Wake us from a widow'd bed. — 
 
 : .'Vnd when thou wouldst solace gather — 
 
 ! When our child's first accents flow — 
 
 ! Wilt thou teach her to say, — " Father \" 
 
 ' Though his care she must forego ? 
 
 I 
 
 j When her little hands sliall press thee — 
 
 When her lip to thine is press'd — 
 I Think of him whose prayer shall bless 
 thee— 
 
 Tliink of him thy love had bless'd. 
 
 Should her lineaments resemble 
 
 Those thou never more may'st see — 
 Then thy heart will softly tremble 
 ] VVith a pulse yet true to me. — 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 ' All my faults — perchance thou knowest — 
 I All my madness — none can know ; 
 All my hopes — where'er thou goest — 
 Wither — yet with thee they go — 
 
 Every feeling hath been shaken, 
 Pride— which not a world could bow — 
 
 Bows to thee— by thee forsaken. 
 Even my soul forsakes me now. — 
 
 i 
 
 1 But 'tis done — all words are idle — • 
 
 i Words from me are vainer still ; 
 
 But the thoughts we cannot bridle 
 
 I Force their way without the will. 
 
 i Fare thee well ! — thus disunited — 
 
 I Toru from every nearer tie — 
 
 ' Sear'd in heart — arid lone — and blighted — 
 
 I More than this 1 scarce can die. — 
 
SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE. 
 
 " Honest— Honest lago ! 
 If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee." 
 Shaespeare. 
 
 Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, 
 Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head ; 
 Next — for some gracious service unexpress'd, 
 And from its wages only to be guess'd — 
 Raised from the toilet to the table, — where 
 Her wondering betters wait behind her chair. 
 With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd. 
 She dines from off the plate she lately wash'd. 
 Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie — 
 The genial confidante, and general spy — 10 
 Who could, ye gods! her next employment 
 
 guess — 
 An only infant's earliest governess ! 
 She taught the child to read, and taught so 
 
 well, 
 That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spell. 
 An adept next in penmanship she grows. 
 As many a nameless slander deftly shows : 
 What she had made the pupil of her art. 
 None know — but that high Soul secured the 
 
 heart. 
 And panted for the truth it could not hear. 
 With longing breast and undeluded ear. 20 
 
 Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind, 
 Which Flattery fool'd not — Baseness could not 
 
 blind. 
 Deceit infect not — near Contagion soil — 
 Indulgence weaken — nor Example spoil — 
 Nor master'd Science tempt her to look down 
 On humbler talents with a pitying frown — ■ 
 Nor Genius swell — nor Beauty render vain — 
 Nor Envy rufile to retaliate pain — 
 Nor Fortune change — Pride raise — nor Passion 
 
 bow. 
 Nor Virtue teach austerity — till now. 30 
 
 Serenely purest of her sex that live. 
 But wanting one sweet weakness — to forgive, 
 Too shock'd at faults her sonl can never 
 
 know. 
 She deems that all could be like her below : 
 Foe to all Vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend. 
 For Virtue pardons those she would amend. 
 
 But to the theme : — now laid aside too long, 
 The baleful burthen of this honest song — 
 Though all her former functions are no more. 
 She rules the circle which she served be- 
 fore. 40 
 
 SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LITE. 59 
 
 If mothers — none know why — before hor 
 
 quake ; 
 If daughters dread her for the mother's sake j 
 If early habits — those false links, which bind 
 At times the loftiest to the meanest mind — 
 Have given her power too deeply to instil 
 The angry essence of her deadly will ; 
 If like a snake she steal within your walls, 
 Till the black slime betray her as she crawls ; 
 If like a viper to the heart she wind. 
 And leave the venom there she did not 
 find ;— 50 
 
 What marvel that this hag of hatred works 
 Eternal evil latent as she lurks, 
 To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, 
 And reign the Hecate of domestic hells ? 
 Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints 
 With all the kind mendacity of hints. 
 While mingling truth with falsehood — sneers 
 
 with smiles — 
 A thread of candour with a web of wiles ; 
 A plain, blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming, 
 To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd 
 scheming ; CO 
 
 A lip of lies — a face form'd to conceal ; 
 And, without feeling, mock at all who feel: 
 With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown ; 
 A cheek of parchment — and an eye of stone. 
 Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood 
 Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud, 
 Cased like the centipede in safl'ron mail. 
 Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale — 
 (For drawn from reptiles only may we trace 
 Congenial colours in that soul or face)— 70 
 Look on her features ! and behold her mind 
 As in a mirror of itself defined : 
 Look on the picture ! deemitnoto'ercharged — 
 There is no trait which might not be en- 
 larged : — [made 
 Yet true to " Nature's journeymen," who 
 This monster when their mistress left off 
 
 trade, — 
 This female dog-star of her little sky. 
 Where all beneath her influence droop or die. 
 
 Oh I wretch without a tear — without a 
 
 thought 
 Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought — 80 
 The time shall come, nor long remote, when 
 
 thuQ 
 Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now ; 
 Feel for thy vile, self-loving self in vain, 
 .■\nd turn thee howling in unpitied pain. 
 May the strong curse of crush'd aQ'ections 
 
 light 
 Back on thy bosom with reflecled blight I 
 And make thee in thy leprosy of mind 
 As loathsome to thyself as to mankind ' 
 Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, 
 Black — as thy will for others would create ; 90 
 
60 
 
 FAREWEI.I. TO ENGLAND. 
 
 Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, 
 And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. 
 Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed, — 
 The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast 
 
 , spread ! 
 Then," when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven 
 
 with prayer, * 
 Look on thine earthly victims — and despair ! 
 Down to the dust ! — and, as thou rott'st away, 
 Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous 
 
 clay. 
 But for the love I bore, and still must bear, 
 To her thy malice from all ties would 
 
 tear— 100 
 
 Thy name — thy human name — to every eye 
 The climax of all scorn, should hang on high. 
 Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers — 
 And festering in the infamy of years. 
 
 31arch 30, 1816. 
 
 FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 
 
 Oh ! land of my fathers and mine, 
 The noblest, the best, and the bravest ; 
 
 Heart-broken, and lorn, I resign 
 The joys and the hopes which thou gavest ! 
 
 Dear mother of Freedom ! farewell ! 
 
 Even Freedom is irksome to me ; 
 Be calm, throbbing heart, nor rebel. 
 
 For reason approves the decree. 
 
 Did I love ? — Be my witness, high heaven ! 
 
 That mark'd all my frailties and fears ; 
 I adored — but the magic is riven : 
 
 Be the memory expunged by my tears ! 
 
 The moment of rapture how bright, 
 How dazzling, how transient its glare ; 
 
 A comet in splendor and flight, 
 The herald of darkness and care, 
 
 KecoUections of tenderness gone, 
 Of pleasure no more to return ; 
 
 A wanderer, an outcast, alone, 
 Oh ! leave me, untortured, to mourn. 
 
 Where — where shall my heart find repose ? 
 
 A refuge from memory and grief? 
 The gangrene, wherever it goes, 
 
 Disdains a fictitious relief. 
 
 Could I trace out that fabulous stream, 
 Which washes remembrance away, 
 
 Again might the eye of Hope gleam 
 The dawn of a happier day. 
 
 Hath wine an oblivious power ? 
 
 Can it pluck out the sting from the brain ? 
 The draught might beguile for an hour. 
 
 But still leaves behind it the pain. 
 
 Can distance or time heal the heart 
 That bleeds from the innermost pore ? 
 
 Or intemperance lessen its smart ? 
 Or a cerate apply to its sore ? 
 
 If I rush to the ultimate pole. 
 
 The form I adore will be there, 
 A phantom to torture my soul 
 
 And mock at my bootless despair. 
 
 The zephyr of eve, as it flies. 
 Will whisper her voice in mine ear, 
 
 And, moist with her sorrows and sighs, 
 Demand for love's altar a tear. 
 
 And still in the dreams of the day. 
 And still in the visions of night. 
 
 Will fancy her beauties display, 
 Disordering, deceiving the sight. 
 
 Htnce, vain, fleeting images, hence ! 
 
 Grim phantoms that 'wilder my brain 
 Mere frauds upon reason and sense, 
 
 Engender'd by folly and pain ! 
 
 Did I swear on the altar of Heaven 
 
 My fealty to her I adored ? 
 Did she give back the vows I had given. 
 
 And plight back the plight of her lord ? 
 
 If I err'd for a moment from love. 
 
 The error I flew to retrieve ; 
 KIss'd the heart I had wounded, and strove 
 
 To soothe, ere it ventured to grieve 
 
 Did I bend, who had ne'er bent before ? 
 
 Did 1 sue, who was used to command? 
 Love forced me to weep and implore. 
 
 And pride was too weak to withstand. 
 
 Then why should one frailty, like mine. 
 Repented, and wash'd with my tears. 
 
 Erase those impi'essions divine. 
 The faith and aflfection of years ? 
 
 Was it v/ell, between anger and love. 
 That Pride the stern umpire should be ; 
 
 And that heart should its flintiness provo 
 On none, till it proved it on me? 
 
FAHEWELI. TO ENGLAND 
 
 And, all ! was it well, when 1 knelt, 
 
 Thy tenderness so to conceal. 
 That witnessing all which I felt. 
 
 Thy sternness forbade thee to feel 1 
 
 61 
 
 They hated us both, who destroy'd 
 The buds and the promise of Spring, 
 
 For who, to replenish the void. 
 New ties, new affections, can bring? 
 
 Then, when the dear pledge of our love 
 Look'd up to her mother and smiled. 
 
 Say, was there no impulse that strove 
 To back the appeal of the child ? 
 
 That bosom, so callous and chill, 
 So treacherous to love and to me : 
 
 Ah ! felt it no heart-rending thrill. 
 As it turn'd from the innocent'^ plea? 
 
 That ear which was open to all, 
 Was ruthlessly closed to its lord ; 
 
 Those accents which fiends would enthral. 
 Refused a sweet peace-giving word. 
 
 And think'st thou, dear object — for still 
 To my bosom thou only art life. 
 
 And spite of my pride and my will, 
 I bless thee, I woo thee, my wife ! 
 
 Oh ! think'st thou that absence shall bring 
 The balm which will give thee relief: 
 
 Or time, on its life-wasting wing. 
 An antidote yield for thy grief? 
 
 Thy hopes will be frail as tlie dream 
 
 Which cheats the long moments of night, 
 
 But melts in the glare of the beam 
 Which breaks from the portal of light. 
 
 For when on thy babe's smiling face 
 Thy features and mine intertwined. 
 
 Til? iinger of Fancy shall trace. 
 The spell shall resistlessly bind. 
 
 The dimple that dwells on her cheek, 
 The glances that beam from her eye, 
 
 The lisp as she struggles to speak, 
 Sliall dash every smile with a sigh. 
 
 Then I, though whole oceans between 
 Their billowy barriers may rear. 
 
 Shall triumph, though far and unseen, 
 Unconscious, uncall'd, shall be there. 
 
 The cruelty sprang not from thee, 
 'Twas foreign and foul to thy heart. 
 
 That levell'd its arrow at me, 
 Aud fix'd the incurable smart. 
 
 Alas ! to the heart that is rent. 
 What nostrums can soundness restore ? 
 
 Or what, to the bow over-bent. 
 The spring which it carried before ? 
 
 The rent heart will fester and bleed. 
 And fade like the leaf in the blast ; 
 
 The crack'd yew bo more will recede. 
 Though vigorous and tough to the last 
 
 I wander — ^it matters not where ; 
 
 No clime can restore me my peace, 
 Or snatch from the frown of despair, 
 
 A cheering — a fleeting release ! 
 
 How slowly the moments will move ! 
 
 How tedious the footsteps of years ! 
 When valley and mountain and grove 
 
 Shall change but the scene of my tears. 
 
 The classic memorials which nod, 
 The spot dear to science and lore, 
 
 Sarcophagus, temple, and sod. 
 Excite me and ravish no more. 
 
 The stork on the perishing wall 
 
 Is better and happier than T, 
 Content in his ivy-built hall. 
 
 He hangs out his homo in the sky. 
 
 Kilt houseless and heartless I rove 
 -My bosom all bared to the wind, 
 The victim of pride, and of love, 
 1 seek — but, ah ! where can 1 find ? 
 
 I seek what no tribes can bestow ; 
 
 1 ask what no clime can impart ; 
 A charm which can neutralize wo. 
 
 And dry up the tears of the heart. 
 
 I ask it — I seek it — in vain — 
 From Ind to the northernmost pole. 
 
 Unheeded — unpitied — complain. 
 And pour out the grief of my soul. 
 
 What bosom shall heave when I sigh 
 What tears shall respond when I weep 
 
 To my wailings what wail shall reply .' 
 What eye mark the vigils 1 keep ? 
 
 Ah, no ! 'twas another than thine, 
 The hand which assail'd my repose. 
 
 It struck — and too fatally mine 
 The wound, and its oflspring of woes. 
 
 Even thou, as thou learnest to prate, 
 
 Dear babe — while remotely I rove- 
 Shall count it a duty to hate 
 
 Where nature commands thee to hue. 
 
62 
 
 TO MY BAUGHTEH. 
 
 The foul tongue of malice shall peal 
 My vices, my faults, in thine ear, 
 
 And teach thee, with demon-like zeal, 
 A father's affection to fear. 
 
 And oh ! if in some distant day, 
 Thine ear may be struck -with my lyre. 
 
 And nature's true index may say, 
 " It may be^ — it must be my sire !" 
 
 Perchance to thy prejudiced eye 
 Obnoxious my form may appear. 
 
 Even nature be deaf to my sigh, 
 And duty refuse me a tear. 
 
 Yet sure in this isle, where my songs 
 Have echo'd from mountain and dell. 
 
 Some tongue the sad tale of my wrongs 
 With grateful emotion may tell. 
 
 Some youth, who had valued my lay, 
 And warm'd o'er the tale as it ran, 
 
 To thee even may venture to say, 
 " His frailties were those of a man." 
 
 They were ; they were human, but swell'd 
 
 By envy and malice and scorn, 
 Each feeling of nature rebell'd, 
 
 And hated the mask it had worn. 
 
 Though human the fault — how severe, 
 How harsh the stern sentence pronounced ; 
 
 Even pride dropp'd a niggardly tear 
 My love as it grimly denounced. 
 
 'Tis past : the great struggle is o'er ; 
 
 The war of my bosom subsides ; 
 And passion's strong current no more 
 
 Impels its impetuous tides. 
 
 'Tis past : my affections give way. 
 The ties of my nature are broke, 
 
 The summons of pride I obey, 
 And break love's degenerate yoke. 
 
 I fly, like a bird of the air, 
 
 In search of a home and a rest ; 
 A balm for the sickness of care, 
 
 A bliss for a bosom unbless'd. 
 
 And swift as the swallow that floats. 
 And bold as the eagle that soars. 
 
 Yet dull as the owlet, whose notes 
 The dark fiend of midnight deplores ! 
 
 -Where gleam the gay splendors of East, 
 
 The dance and the bountiful board ; 
 I'll bear me to Luxury's feast. 
 To exile the form I adored. 
 
 In full brimming goblets I'll quaff' 
 The sweets of the Lethean spring, 
 
 And join in the Bacchanal's laugh, 
 And trip in the fairy-form'd ring. 
 
 Where pleasure invites will I roam, 
 To drown the dull memory of care, 
 
 An exile from hope and from home, 
 A fugitive chased by despair. 
 
 Farewell to thee, land of the brave ! 
 
 Farewell to thee, land of my birth ! 
 When tempests around thee shall rave, 
 
 Still — still may they homage thy worth ! 
 
 Wife, infant, and country, and friend. 
 Ye wizard my fancy no more, 
 
 I fly from your solace, and wend 
 To weep on some kindlier shore. 
 
 The grim-visaged fiend of the storm 
 That raves in this agonized breast, 
 
 Still raises his pestilent form, 
 Till Death calm the tumult to rest. 
 
 TO MY DAUGHTER, 
 
 ON THE MORNING OF HER BIRTH. 
 
 Hail to this teeming stage of life ! 
 Hail, lovely miniature of life ! 
 Pilgrim of many cares untold ! 
 Lamb of the world's extended fold ! 
 Fountain of hopes and doubts and fears ! 
 Sweet promise of extatic years ! 
 How could I fainly bend the knee, 
 And turn idolater to thee ! 
 
 'Tis nature's worship — felt — confess'd, 
 Far as the life which warms the breast : 
 The sturdy savage, 'midst his clan. 
 The rudest portraiture of man. 
 In trackless woods and boundless plains. 
 Where everlasting wildness reigns, 
 Owns the still throb — the secret start — 
 The hidden impulse of the heart. 
 
 Dear babe ! ere yet upon thy years 
 The soil of human vice appears, 
 Ere passion hath disturb'd thy cheek. 
 And prompted what thou dar'st not speak 
 Ere that pale lip is blanch'd with care. 
 Or from those eyes shoot fierce despair. 
 Would I could wake thy untuned ear, 
 And gust it with a father's prayer. 
 
 But little reck'st thou, oh my child i 
 Of travail on life's thorny wild ! 
 
TO JESSY. 
 
 63 
 
 Of all the dangers, all the woes, 
 
 Each tottering footstep which inclose ; 
 
 Ah, little reck'st thou of the scene 
 
 So darkly wrought, that spreads between 
 
 The little all we here can find. 
 
 And the dark mystic sphere behind ! 
 
 Little reck'st thou, my earliest born, 
 
 Of clouds which gather round thy morn, 
 
 Of acts to lure thy soul astray. 
 
 Of snares that intersect thy way. 
 
 Of secret foes, of friends untrue, 
 
 Of fiends who stab the hearts they woo — 
 
 Little thou reck'st of this sad store — 
 
 Would thou might'st never reck them more ! 
 
 But thou wilt burst this transient sleep, 
 
 And thou wilt wake, my babe, to weep ; 
 
 The tenant of a frail abode. 
 
 Thy tears must flow, as mine have flow'd ; 
 
 Beguiled by follies every day. 
 
 Sorrow must wash the faults away, 
 
 And thou may'st wake perchance to prove 
 
 The pang of unrequited love. 
 
 Unconscious babe, though on that brow 
 No half-fledged misery nestles now, 
 Scarce round thy placid lips a smile 
 Maternal fondness shall beguile 
 Ere the moist footsteps of a tear 
 Shall plant their dewy traces there, 
 And prematurely pave the way 
 For sorrows of a riper day : 
 
 Oh ! could a father's prayer repel 
 
 The eye's sad grief, the bosom's swell ; 
 
 Or could a father hope to bear 
 
 A darling child's allotted care. 
 
 Then thou, my babe, shouldst slumber still. 
 
 Exempted from all human ill, 
 
 A parent's love thy peace should free. 
 
 And ask its wounds again for thee. 
 
 Sleep on my child ; the slumber brief 
 Too soon shall melt away to grief, . 
 Too soon the dawn of wo shall break, 
 And briny rills bedew that cheek ; 
 Too soon shall sadness quench those eyes, 
 That breast be agonized with sighs. 
 And anguish o'er the beams of noon 
 Lead clouds of care, — ah, much too soon ! 
 
 Soon wilt thou reck of cares unknown. 
 Of wants and sorrows all their own, 
 Of many a pang, and many a wo. 
 That thy dear sex alone can know — 
 Of many an ill, untold, unsung. 
 That will not — may not find a tongue, 
 But kept conceal'd without control, 
 Spread the fell cancers of the ooul, 
 
 Yet be thy lot, my babe, more bless'd, 
 May joy still animate thy breast ; 
 Still, 'midst thy least propitious days, 
 Shedding its rich inspiring rays ; 
 A, father's heart shall daily bear 
 Thy name upon its secret prayer. 
 And as he seeks his last repose, 
 Thine image ease life's parting throes. 
 
 Then hail, sweet miniature of life ! 
 Hail to this teeming stage of strife ! 
 Pilgrim of many cares untold 
 Lamb of the world's extended fold ! 
 Fountain of hopes and doubts and fears ! 
 Sweet promise of extatic years ! 
 How could I fainly bend the knee. 
 And turn idolator to thee ! 
 
 TO JESSY. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING STANZAS WERE ADDRESSED BY 
 LORD BYRON TO HIS LADY, A FEW MONTHS 
 BEFORE THEIR SEPARATION. 
 
 There is a mystic thread of life 
 So dearly wreath'd with mine alone, 
 
 That Destiny's relentless knife 
 At once must sever both or none. 
 
 There is a form on which these eyes 
 Had often gazed with fond delight ; 
 
 By day that form their joy supplies. 
 And dreams restore it through the night. 
 
 There is a voice whose tones inspire 
 Such thrills of rapture through my breast ; 
 
 I would not hear a seraph choir 
 Unless that voice could join the rest. 
 
 There is a. face whose blushes tell 
 
 Affection's tale upon the cheek ; 
 But pallid at one fond farewell. 
 
 Proclaims more love than words can speak. 
 
 There is a lip which mine hath press'd, 
 And none had ever press'd before. 
 
 It vowed to make me sweetly bless'd. 
 And mine — mine only, press it more. 
 
 There is a bosom — all my own — 
 Hath pillow'd oft this aching head ; 
 
 A mouih which smiles on me alone. 
 An eye whose tears with mine are shed. 
 
 There are two hearts whose movements thiill 
 
 In unison so closely sweet ! 
 That, pulse to pulse responsive still, 
 
 That both must heave— or cease to beat. 
 
ODE TO THE ISLAND OP ST. HELENA. 
 
 There are two souls whose eqnal flow, 
 In gentle Btreams so calmly run, 
 
 That when they \a.rt—thcij part ! — ah, no ! 
 They cannot part — those souls are one. 
 
 TO 
 
 When we two parted 
 In silence and tears, 
 
 Half broken-hearted, 
 To sever for years. 
 
 Pale grew thy cheek and cold- 
 Colder thy kiss ; 
 
 Truly that hour foretold 
 Sorrow to this. 
 
 The dew of the morning 
 
 Sunk chill on my brow — ■ 
 It felt like the warning 
 
 Of what I feel now. 
 Thy vows are all broken. 
 
 And light is thy fame, 
 I hear thy name spoken. 
 
 And share in lis shame. 
 
 They name thee before me — 
 
 A knell to mine ear ; 
 A shudder comes o'er me — 
 
 Why wert thou so dear? 
 They know not I knew thee, 
 
 Who knew thee too well : 
 Long, long shall I rue thee. 
 
 Too deeply to tell. 
 
 In secret we met — 
 
 In silence I grieve, 
 That thy heart could forget. 
 
 Thy spirit deceive. 
 If I should meet thee, 
 
 After long years, 
 How should I greet thee ! 
 
 With silence and tears. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer 
 
 For other's weal avail'd on high, 
 Mine will not all be lost in air. 
 
 But waft thy name beyond the sky. 
 'Twas vain to speak, to weep, to sigh : 
 
 Oh ! more than tears of blood can tell. 
 When wrung from guilt's expiring eye. 
 
 Are in that word — Farewell ! — Farewell ! 
 
 These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; 
 But in my breast, and in my brain. 
 
 Awake the pangs that pass not by. 
 The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. 
 
 My soul nor deigns nor dares complain. 
 Though grief and passion there rebel ; 
 
 I only knew we loved in vain — 
 I only feel — Farewell ! — Farewell ! 
 
 SONG TO INEZ. 
 
 When late I saw thy favourite child, 
 I thonght my jealous heart would break ; 
 
 But when th' unconscious infant smiled, 
 I kiss'd it — for its mother's sake, 
 
 I kiss'd it — and repress'd my sighs, 
 
 Its father in its face to see; 
 But then it had its mother's eyes — 
 
 And they were all to love and me. 
 
 Fair one, adieu ! I must away ; 
 
 Since thou art bless'd, I'll not repine ; 
 But near thee I can never stay, ^ 
 
 My heart again would soon be thine. 
 
 ODE TO THE ISLAND OF ST. HELENA. 
 
 Peace to thee, isle of the ocean ! 
 
 Hail to thy breezes and billows! 
 Where, rolling its tides, in perpetual devotion, 
 The white wave its plumy surf pillows ! 
 Rich shall the chaplet be history shall weave 
 thee ! [brow. 
 
 Whose undying verdure shall bloom on thy , 
 When nations that now in obscurity leave 
 thee. 
 To the wand of oblivion alternately bow ! 
 Unchanged in thy glory — unstain'd in thy 
 
 fame — 
 The homage of ages shall hallow thy name. 
 
 Hail to the chief who reposes 
 
 On thee the rich weight of his glory ! 
 When fiU'd to its limit, life's chronicle 
 closes. 
 His deeds shall be sacred in story ! 
 His prowess shall rank with the first of all 
 ages, [worth— 
 
 And monarchs hereafter shall bow to his 
 The songs of the poets — the lessons of sages — 
 Shall hold him the wonder and grace of the 
 earth. 
 The meteors of history before thee shall fall, 
 Eclipsed by thy splendor, thou meteor of 
 Gaul. 
 
STANZAS FOH MUSIC. 
 
 Hygeian breezes shall fan thee, 
 
 Island of glory resplendent ! 
 Pilgrims from nations far distant shall man 
 thee, 
 Tribes, as thy waves, independent ! 
 On thy lar gleaming strand the wanderer 
 shall stay him, [nown'd — 
 
 To snatch a brief glance at a spot so re- 
 Each turf and each stone, and each cliff shall 
 delay him, [ground ! 
 
 AVhere the step of thy exile hath hallow'd thy 
 From him shall thou borrow a lustre divine. 
 The wane of his sun was the rising of thine. 
 
 65 
 
 Whose were the hands that enslaved him ? 
 
 Hands which had weakly withstood him — 
 Nations which while they had oftentimes 
 braved him. 
 Never till now had subdued him ! 
 Monarchs, who oft to his clemency stooping. 
 Received back their crowns from the plun- 
 der of war — [drooping, 
 The vanquisher vanquish'd, the eagle now 
 Would quench with their sternness the ray of 
 his star ! [pears. 
 But clothed in new splendor the glory ap- 
 And rules the ascendant, the planet of years. 
 Pure be the health of thy mountains ! 
 
 Rich be the green of thy pastures ! [tains ! 
 Limpid and lasting the streams of thy foun- 
 
 Thine annals unstain'd by disasters ! 
 Supreme in the ocean a rich altar swelling 
 Whose shrine shall be hail'd by the prayers 
 of mankind — [ling — 
 
 Thy rock-beach the rage of the tempest repel- 
 The wide-wasting contest of wave and of 
 wind^ 
 Aloft on thy battlements long be unfurl'd 
 The eagle that decks thee, the piide of the 
 world. 
 
 Fade shall the lily, now blooming,' 
 
 Where is the hand which can nurse it? 
 Nations who rear'd it shall watch its con- 
 suming. 
 Untimely mildews shall curse it. 
 Then shall the violet that blooms in the vallies 
 
 Impart to the gale its reviving perfume, 
 Then when the spirit of Liberty rallies [tomb, 
 To chant forth its anthems on Tyranny's 
 Wide Europe shall fear lest thy star should 
 
 break forth. 
 Eclipsing the pestilent orbs of the north. 
 
 TO 
 
 And Hope but shed a dying spark. 
 Which more misled my lonely way ; 
 
 In that deep midnight of the mind. 
 And that internal strife of heart, 
 
 When dreading to be deem'd too kind, 
 The weak despair, the cold depart; 
 
 When fortune changed and love fled fiir. 
 And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, 
 
 Thou wert the solitary star 
 Which rose and set not to the last. 
 
 Whkn all around grew drear and dark. 
 And Reason half withheld her ray— 
 
 Oh ! bless'd be thine unbroken light ! 
 
 That watch'd me as a seraph's eye. 
 And stood between me and the night. 
 
 For ever shining sweetly nigh. 
 
 And when the cloud upon us came, 
 Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray — 
 
 Then purer spread its gentle flame. 
 And dash'd the darkness all away. 
 
 Still may thy spirit dwell on mine, 
 And teach it what to brave or brook — 
 
 There's more in one soft word of thine, 
 Than in the world's defied rebuke. 
 
 Thou stood'ot, as stands a lovely tree. 
 Whose branch unbroke, but gently bent. 
 
 Still waves with fond fidelity 
 Its boughs above a monument 
 
 The winds might rend, the skies might pour 
 But there thou wert, and still wouldst ba 
 
 Devoted, in the stormiest hour. 
 To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. 
 
 But thou and thine shall know no blight. 
 Whatever fate on me may fall ; 
 
 For heaven in sunshine will requite 
 The kind — and thee the most of all, 
 
 Then let the ties of baffled love 
 
 Be broken — thine will never break ; 
 
 Thy heart can feel — but will not move ; 
 Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. 
 
 And these, when all was lost beside. 
 Were found and still are fix'd in theo — 
 
 And bearing still a breast so tried. 
 Earth is no desert — even to me. 
 
 Bright be the place of thy. soul '. 
 
 No lovelier spirit than thine 
 E'er burst from its mortal control, 
 
 In the orbs of the blessed to shine. 
 I 
 
66 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 On earth thou wert all but divine, 
 As thy soul shall immortally be ; 
 
 And our sorrow may cease to repine, 
 When we know that thy God is with thee. 
 
 Light be the turf of thy tomb ! 
 
 May Its verdure like emeralds be : 
 There should not be the shadow of gloom, 
 
 In aught that reminds us of thee. 
 Young flowers and an evergreen tree 
 
 May spring from the spot of thy rest ; 
 But not cypress nor yew let us see ; 
 
 For why should we mourn for the bless'd ? 
 
 TO 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 ' All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer 
 who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. 
 He clung to hia master's knees — wrote a letter to Lord 
 Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even 
 in the most menial capacity, which could not be ad- 
 mitted." 
 
 Must thou go, my glorious Chief, 
 
 Sever'd from thy faithful few ? 
 Who can tell thy warrior's grief, 
 
 Maddening o'er that long adieu ? 
 Woman's love and friendship's zeal, 
 
 Dear as both have been to me — 
 What are they to all I feel, 
 
 With a soldier's faith for thee 1 
 
 Idol of the soldier's soul ! 
 
 First in fight, but mightiest now ; 
 Many could a world control ; 
 
 Thee alone no doom can bow. 
 By thy side for years I dared 
 
 Death, and envied those who fell, 
 When their dying shout was heard, 
 
 Blessing him they served so well.* 
 
 Would that I were cold with those 
 
 Since this hour I live to see ! 
 When the doubts of coward foes 
 
 Scarce dare trust a man with thee, 
 
 * " At Waterloo, one man was seen, whose left arm 
 was shattered by a cannon-ball, to wrench it off with the 
 other, and throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his 
 comrades, • Vive I'Empereur, jusqu'a la mort !* There 
 were many other instances of the like; this you may 
 however, depend on as true." A private Letter from 
 Brussels. 
 
 Dreading each should set thee free. 
 
 Oh ! although in dungeons pent, 
 All their claims were light to me, 
 
 Gazing on thy soul unbent. 
 
 Would the sycophants of him, 
 
 Now so deaf to duty's prayer. 
 Were his borrow'd glories dim, 
 
 In his native darkness share ? 
 Were that world this hour his own, 
 
 All thou calmly dost resign, 
 Could he purchase with that throne 
 
 Hearts like those which still are thine ? 
 
 My chief, my king, my friend, adieu ! 
 
 Never did I droop before ; 
 Never to my sovereign sue, 
 
 As his foes I now implore. 
 All I ask is to divide 
 
 Every peril he must brave — 
 Sharing, by the hero's side, 
 
 His fall, his exile, and his grave. 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC* 
 
 There's not a joy the world can give like that 
 
 it takes away. 
 When the glow of early thought declines in 
 
 feeling's dull decay; 
 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush 
 
 alone, which fades so fast. 
 But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere 
 
 youth itself be past. 
 
 Then the few whose spirits float above the 
 
 wreck of happiness, 
 Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of 
 
 excess ; 
 The magnet of their course is gone, or only 
 
 points in vain 
 The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall . 
 
 never stretch again. 
 
 Then the mortal coldness of the soul, like 
 
 death itself comes down ; 
 It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not 
 
 dream its own 
 That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fonntain 
 
 of our tears. 
 And, though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis 
 
 where the ice appears. 
 
 * These verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr. Pow«, 
 Strand, who has published chom, with very beautiful 
 music by Sir John Stevenson. 
 
TO THE I.II.Y 
 
 Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and 
 
 mirth distract the breast, 
 Through midnight hours that yield no more 
 
 their former hope of rest : I 
 
 'Tis but as ivy leaves around the ruin'd turret ' 
 
 wreath, j 
 
 All green and wildly fresh without, but worn 
 
 and gray beneath. 
 
 Oh ! could I feel as 1 have felt— or be what I 
 
 have been 
 Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er 
 
 many a vanish'd scene. 
 As springs in deserts found seem'd sweet, all 
 
 brackish though they be, 
 So 'inidst the wither'd waste of life, those 
 
 tears would flow to me. 
 
 TO THE LILY OF FRANCE. 
 
 Ere thou scatterest thy leaf to the wind, 
 False emblem of innocence, stay. 
 
 And yields as thoufad'st for the useof mankind. 
 The lesson that marks thy decay. 
 
 Thou wert fair as the beam of the morn. 
 And rich as the pride of the mine : 
 
 Thy charms are all faded, and hatred and 
 The curses of freedom, are thine. [scorn,. 
 
 Thou wert gay in the smiles of the world. 
 Thy shadow protection and power, 
 
 But now thy bright blossom is shrivell'd and 
 The grace of thy country no more, [curl'd, 
 
 ]''or corruption hath fed on thy leaf. 
 
 And bigotry weaken'd thy stem, 
 Now those who have fear'd thee, shall smile 
 at thy grief. 
 
 And those who adored thee condemn. 
 
 The valley that gave thee thy birth 
 Shall weep for the hope of its soil, 
 
 The legions that fought for thy beauty and 
 Shall hasten to share in thy spoil. [woilh, 
 
 As a bye-word thy blossom shall be, 
 
 A mock and a jest among men. 
 The proverb of slaves and the sneer of the free, 
 
 In city, and mountain, and glen I 
 
 i 
 Oh ! 'twas tyranny's pestilent gale i 
 
 That scatter'd thy buds on the ground, j 
 
 That threw the blood-stain on thy virgin-while 
 veil, j 
 
 And pierced thee wilh many a wound ! I 
 
 OF FRANCE. 67 
 
 I Then thy puny leaf shook to the wind, 
 I Thy stem gave its strength to the blast, 
 Thy full bursting blossom its promise resigii'd< 
 And fell to the storm as it pass'd. 
 
 For no patriot vigour was there. 
 No arm to support the weak flower, 
 
 Destruction pursued its dark herald — Despair, 
 And wither'd its grace in an hour. 
 
 Yet there were who pretended to grieve. 
 There were who pretended to save. 
 
 Mere shallow empyrics, who came to deceive, 
 To revel and sport on its grave. • 
 
 O thou land of the lily, in vain 
 Thou strugglest to raise its pale head ! 
 
 The faded bud never shall blossom again. 
 The violet will bloom in its stead. 
 
 As thou scatterest thy leaf to the wind, 
 False' emblem of innocence, stay. 
 
 And yield, as thou fad'st for the use of man. 
 This lesson to mark thy decay ! [kind , 
 
 FOLLOWING LINES 
 
 WERE WRITTEN EXTEMPORE BY LORD BYRON TO 
 HIS FRIEND T. MOORE, ESQ. THE AUTHOR OF 
 LALLA ROOKH, 
 
 My boat is on the shore, 
 
 And my bark is on the sea : 
 But, before I go, Tom Moore, 
 
 Here's a double health to thee. 
 
 Here's a sigh to those who love me 
 And a smile to those who hate. 
 
 And whatever sky's above me. 
 Here's a heart for every fate. 
 
 Though the ocean roar around me, 
 Yet it still shall bear me on ; 
 
 Though a desert should surround me. 
 It hath springs that may be won. 
 
 Were't the last drop in the well, 
 
 As I gasp'd upon the brink. 
 Ere my fainting spirit fell, 
 
 'Tis to thee that I would drink. 
 
 In that water, as this wine. 
 
 The libation I would pour 
 Should be — Peace to thine and mine, 
 
 And a health to thee Tom Moore. 
 
68 
 
 ODE. 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters 
 
 With a magic like thee ; 
 And like music on the Vfaters 
 
 Is thy sweet voice to me. 
 When, as if its sound were causing 
 The charmed ocean's pausing, 
 The waves lie still and gleaming, 
 And the luU'd vrinds seem dreaming: 
 
 And the midnight moon is weaving 
 
 Her bright chain o'er the deep, 
 Whose breast is gently heaving. 
 
 As an infant's asleep ; — 
 So the spirit bows before thee, 
 To listen and adore thee. 
 With a full bntsoft emotion, 
 liike the swell of Summer's ocean. 
 
 ON THE STAR 
 
 « THE LEGION OF HONOUR." 
 
 1. 
 
 Star of the brave ! — whose beam hath shed 
 Such glory o'er the quick and dead — 
 Thou radiant and adored deceit ! 
 Which millions rush'd in arms to greet, — 
 Wild meteor of immortal birth! 
 Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth ? 
 
 Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays ; 
 Eternity flash'd through thy blaze ; 
 The music of thy martial sphere 
 Was fame on high, and honour here ; 
 And thy light broke oo human eyes, 
 Like a Volcano of the skies. 
 
 Like lava roU'd thy stream of blood. 
 And swept down empires with its flood ; 
 Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base. 
 As thou didst lighten through all space ; 
 And the shorn Sun grew dim in air, 
 And set while thou wert dwelling there. 
 
 Before thee rose, and with thee grew, 
 A rainbow of the loveliest hue. 
 
 Of three bright colours,* each divine, 
 And fit for that celestial sign ; 
 For Freedom's hand had blended them. 
 Like tints in an immortal gem. 
 
 One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes ; 
 One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes ; 
 One, the pure Spirit's veil of white 
 Had robed in radiance of its light : 
 The three so mingled, did beseem 
 The texture of a heavenly dream. 
 
 6. 
 
 Star of the brave ! thy ray is pale. 
 And darkness must again prevail ! - 
 But, oh, thou Rainbow of the free ! 
 Our tears and blood must flow for thee. 
 When thy bright promise fades away. 
 Our life is but a load of clay. 
 
 And Freedom hallows with her tread 
 The silent cities of the dead ; 
 For beautiful in death are they 
 Who proudly fall in her array ; 
 Aiid soon, oh Goddess ! may we be 
 For evermore with them or thee ! 
 
 ODE, 
 
 Oh, shame to thee, Land of the Gauli 
 Oh, shame to thy children and thee ! 
 Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall. 
 How wretched thy portion shall be ! 
 Derision shall strike thee forlorn, 
 A mockery that never shall die ; 
 The curses of Hate, and the hisses of Scorn 
 
 Shall burden the winds of thy sky ; 
 And, proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurl'd 
 The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the 
 World ! 
 
 Oh, where is thy spirit of yore. 
 The spirit that breathed in thy dead. 
 When gallantry's star was the beacon before. 
 And honour the passion that led ! 
 Thy storms have a.waken'd their sleep. 
 They groan from the place of their rest. 
 And wrathfuUy murmur, and sullenly weep. 
 
 To see the foul stain on thy breast ; 
 For where is thef glory they left thee in trust ! 
 'Tis scatter'd in darkness, 'tis trampled in 
 dust ! 
 
 * The tri-colour. 
 
WATESIiOO. 
 
 Go, look through the kingdoms of earth, 
 From Indus, all round to the Pole, 
 And something of goodness, of honour, and 
 worth. 
 Shall brighten the sins of the soul : 
 But thou art alone in thy shame, 
 The world cannot liken thee there ; 
 Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thy 
 name 
 Beyond the low reach of compare ; 
 Stupendous in guilt, thou shaltlendus through 
 
 time 
 A proverb, a bye-word, for falsehood and 
 crime ! 
 
 69 
 the spirit that never should 
 
 While conquest illumined his sword, 
 While yet in his prowess he stood, 
 Thy praises still foUow'd the steps of thy 
 Lord, 
 And welcomed the torrent of blood ; 
 Though tyranny sat on his crown. 
 And wither'd the nations afar. 
 Yet bright in thy view was that despot's re- 
 nown. 
 Till Fortune deserted his car ; 
 Then, back from the Chieftain thou slunkest 
 
 away — 
 The foremost t' insult, the first to betray ! 
 
 Forgot were the feats he had done. 
 The toils he had borne in thy cause ; 
 Thou turnedst to worship a new rising sun. 
 And waft other songs of applause ; 
 But the storm was beginning to lour. 
 Adversity clouded the beam ; 
 And honour and faith were the brag of an 
 hour. 
 And loyalty's self but a dream : — 
 To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows were re- 
 stored ; 
 And the first that had scoff'd, were the first 
 that adored ! 
 
 What tumult thus burthens the air, 
 What throng that encircles his throne ? 
 Tis the shout of delight, 'tis the millions thai 
 swear 
 Hiis sceptre shall rule them alone. 
 Reverses shall brighten their zeal, 
 Misfortune shall hallow his name. 
 And the world that pursues him shall mourn- 
 fully feel 
 How quenchless the spirit and flame 
 That Frenchmen will breathe, when their 
 
 hearts are on fire, 
 For the Hero they love, and the Chief they ad- 
 mire. 
 
 Their hero has rush'd to the field : 
 His laurels are cover'd with shade — 
 
 But where 
 
 yield. 
 The loyalty never to fade ! 
 In a moment desertion and guile 
 Abandon'd him up to the foe ; 
 The dastards that flourish'd and grew at his 
 smile. 
 Forsook and renounced him in wo ; 
 I And the millions that swore they would perisli 
 j to save. 
 
 Beheld him a fugitive, captive, and slave ! 
 
 The Savage all wild in his glen 
 Is nobler and better than thou ; 
 Thou standest a wonder, a marvel to men, 
 Such perfidy blackens thy brow ! 
 If thou wert the place of my birth. 
 At once from thy arms would 1 sever ; 
 I'd fly to the uttermost ends of the earth, 
 
 And quit thee for ever and ever ; 
 And thinking of thee in my long after-years. 
 Should but kindle ray blushes and waken my 
 tears. 
 
 Oh, shame to thee. Land of the Gaul 
 Oh, shame to thy children and thee ! 
 Unwise in thy glory and base in thy fall. 
 How wretched thy portion shall be' 
 Derision shall strike thee forlorn, 
 A mockery that never shall die ; 
 The curses of Hate and the hisses of Scorn 
 
 Shall burthen the winds of thy sky ; 
 And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurl'd 
 The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the 
 World. 
 
 WATERLOO. 
 
 The French have their Poems and Odes on the famous 
 Battle of Waterloo as well as ourselves. — Nay, they 
 seem to glory in the battle, as the source of great events 
 to come. We have received the following poetical 
 version of a poem, the original of which is circulating in 
 Paris — and which is ascribed, we know not with what 
 justice, to the muse of M. De Chateaubriand. If so, it 
 may be inferred that, in the Poet's eye, a new change is 
 at hand— and he wishes to prove his secret indulgence 
 of old principle?, by reference to this effusion. 
 
 Morning Chronicle. 
 
 FRENCH ODE, 
 
 SAID TO BE DONE INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY R. 
 S*****, P. L. MASTER OF THE ROYAL SPANISH 
 INQN. &C. &C. &C. 
 
 VTe do not curse thee, Waterloo ! 
 Though freedom's blood thy plain bedew ; 
 
70 
 
 MADAME LAV ALETTE. 
 
 There 'twas shed, bnt is not sunk — 
 Rising from each gory trunk- 
 Like the water-spout from ocean, 
 With a strong and growing motion — 
 It soars, and mingles in the air, 
 With that of lost Labedoyere — 
 With that of him whose honour'd grave 
 Contains the " bravest of the bra\e ;" 
 A crimson cloud it spreads and glows, 
 But shall return to whence it rose ; 
 When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder — 
 Never yet was heard such thunder 
 As then shall shake the world with won- 
 der — 
 Never yet was seen such lightning 
 As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning ! 
 
 The Chief has fallen, but not by you. 
 
 Vanquishers of Waterloo ! 
 
 When the soldier-citizen, 
 
 Sway'd not o'er his fellow-men — 
 
 Save in deeds that led them on 
 
 Where glory smiled on Freedom's son — 
 
 Who of all the despots banded. 
 
 With that youthful chief competed ? 
 
 Who could boast o'er France defeated 
 Till lone tyranny commanded 1 
 Till, goaded by ambition's sting. 
 The Hero sunk into the King 1 
 Then he fell — so perish all, 
 Who would men b man enthral ! 
 
 And thou too of the snow-white plume ? 
 Whose realm refused thee even a tomb ;" 
 Better hadst thou stiil been leading 
 France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding, 
 Than sold thyself to death and shame 
 For a meanly royal name ; 
 Such as he of Naples wears, 
 
 AVho thy blood-bought title bears. 
 
 Little didst thou deem, when dashing 
 
 On thy war-horse through the ranks. 
 
 Like a stream which bursts its banks, 
 While helmets cleft and sabres clashing, 
 Shone and shiver'd fast around thee— 
 Of the fate at last which found thee ! 
 Was that haughty plume laid low 
 By a slave's dishonest blow ? 
 Once it onward bore the brave, 
 Like foam upon the highest wave. — 
 There, where death's brief pang was quick- 
 est, 
 And the battle's wreck lay thickest, 
 Strew'd beneath the advancing banner 
 
 Of the Eagle's burning crest — 
 (There with thunder clouds to fan her. 
 
 Who could then her wing arrest — 
 
 Victory beaming from her breast?) 
 
 * Murat's remains are said to tiavc been torn from the 
 grave and burnt. 
 
 While the broken line enlarging 
 
 Fell or fled along the plain ; 
 There be sure, was Murat charging ! 
 
 There he ne'er shall charge again ! 
 O'er glories gone, the invaders march, 
 Weeps Triumph o'er each levell'd arch- 
 But let Freedom rejoice, 
 With her heart in her voice ; 
 But her hand on her sword. 
 Doubly shall she be adored. 
 France hath twice too well been taught 
 The " moral lesson" dearly bought — 
 Her safety sits not on a throne, 
 With Capet or Napoleon ; 
 But in equal rights and laws. 
 Hearts and hands in one great cause — 
 Freedom, such as God hath given 
 Unto all beneath his heaven. 
 With their breath, and from their birth. 
 Though guilt would sweep it from the earth, 
 With a fierce and lavish hand, 
 Scattering nations' wealth like sand ; 
 Pouring nations' blood like water. 
 In imperial seas of slaughter ! 
 But the heart, and the mind, 
 And the voice of mankind 
 Shall arise in communion — 
 And who shall resist that proiid union ? 
 The time is past when swords subdued 
 Man may die — the soul's renew'd : 
 Even in this low world of care. 
 Freedom ne'er shall want an heir. 
 Millions breathe but to inherit 
 Her unconquerable spirit — 
 When once more her hosts assemble 
 Let the tyrants only tremble ; — 
 Smile they at this idle threat ? 
 Crimson tears will follow yet. 
 
 MADAME LAVALETTE. 
 
 Let Edinburgh Critics o'erwhelm with thei 
 praises [L'Epinasse ; 
 
 Their Madame de Stael, and their famed 
 Like a meteor atbest, proud Philosophy blazes. 
 And the fame of a Wit is as brittle as glass : 
 But cheering the beam, and unfading the splen- 
 dor 
 Of thy torch. Wedded Love ! and it never 
 has yet 
 Shone with lustre more holy, more pure, or 
 more tender, [valette. 
 
 Than it sheds on the name of the fair La- 
 Then fill high the wine-cup, e'en Virtue shall 
 bless it, [name ; 
 
 And hallow the goMet which foams to het 
 
rhe warm lip of Beauty shall piously press it, 
 And Hymen shall honour the pledge to her 
 fame : 
 ro the health of the Woman, who freedom and 
 life too 
 Has risk'd for her Husband, we'll pay the 
 just debt; [too, 
 
 And hail with applauses the Heroine and wife 
 The constant, the noble, the fair Lavalette. 
 
 ADIEU TO MALTA. 71 
 
 Yet, yet I may baffle the hosts that surround 
 
 us, [voice — 
 
 And yet may thy heart leap awake to my 
 
 There are links which must break in the chain 
 
 that has bound us, [choice ! 
 
 Then turn thee and call on the chief of thy 
 
 Her foes have awarded, in impotent malice. 
 To their captive a doom, which all Europe 
 abhors, 
 And turns from the Slaves of the Priest-haunt- 
 ed palace. 
 While those who replaced them there, blush 
 for their cause : [glory 
 
 But, in ages to come, when the blood-tarnish'd 
 Of Dukes, and of Marshals, in darkness 
 hath set. 
 Hearts shall throb, eyes shall glisten, at read- 
 ing the story 
 Of the fond self-devotion of fair Lavalette. 
 
 FAREWELL TO FRANCE. 
 
 Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of 
 
 my glory [name ; — 
 
 Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her 
 
 >he abandons me now, — but the page of her 
 
 story, [fame. 
 
 The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my 
 
 : have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd 
 
 me only [far, — 
 
 When the meteor of Conquest allured me too 
 
 [ have coped with the Nations which dread 
 
 me thus lonely. 
 
 The last single Captive to millions in war ! 
 
 ?arewell to thee, France — when thy diadem 
 crown'd me, [earth, — 
 
 I made thee the gem and the wonder of 
 Jut thy weakness decrees I should leave as I 
 found thee, 
 Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth. 
 3h ! for the veteran hearts that were wasted 
 In strife with the storm, when their battles 
 were won, — 
 Fhen the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment 
 was blasted, [Sun ! 
 
 Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on Victory's 
 
 farewell to thee, France — ^but when liberty 
 
 rallies [then — 
 
 Once more in thy regions, remember me 
 
 fhc Violet grows in the depth of thy valleys. 
 
 Though withcr'd, thy tears will unfold it 
 
 again — 1 
 
 ADIEU TO MALTA. 
 
 Adieu the joys of La Valette ; 
 
 Adieu sirocco, sun, and sweat ; 
 
 Adieu thou palace, rarely enter'd ; 
 
 Adieu ye mansions, where I've ventured ; 
 
 Adieu ye cursed streets of stairs — 
 
 How surely he who mounts them swears ; 
 
 Adieu ye merchants, often failing ; 
 
 Adieu thou mob for ever railing; 
 
 Adieu ye packets without letters ; 
 
 Adieu ye fools, who ape your betters ; 
 
 Adieu thou damn'dest quarantine, 
 
 That gave me fever and the spleen ; 
 
 Adieu that stage which makes us yawn. Sirs ; 
 
 Adieu His Excellency's dancers ; 
 
 Adieu to Peter, whom no fault's in. 
 
 But could not teach a Colonel waltzing ; 
 
 Adieu ye females, fraught with graces ; 
 
 Adieu red coats, and redder faces ; 
 
 Adieu the supercilious air. 
 
 Of all that strut en militaire ; 
 
 I go — but God knows where or why — 
 
 To smoky towns and cloudy sky ; 
 
 To things, the honest truth to say, 
 
 As bad, but in a different way : — 
 
 Farewell to these, but not adieu 
 
 Triumphant sons of truest blue, 
 
 While either Adriatic shore, 
 
 And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more, 
 
 And nightly smiles, and daily dinners. 
 
 Proclaim you war and women's winners. 
 
 Pardon my muse, who apt to prate is, 
 And take my rhyme because 'tis gratis : 
 And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser, 
 Perhaps you think I mean to praise her ; 
 And were I vain enough to think 
 My praise was worth this drop of ink, 
 A line or two were no hard matter. 
 As here, indeed, I need not flatter : 
 But she must be content to shine 
 In better praises than in mine : 
 With lively air and open heart, 
 And fashion's ease without its art. 
 Her hours can gaily glide along. 
 Nor ask the aid of idle song. 
 
 And now, Oh, Malta ! since thou'st got us. 
 Thou little military hot-house I 
 
72 
 
 THE CURSX: OF KEINEHVA. 
 
 ni not offend with words uncivil, 
 And wisii tliee rudely at the devil — 
 But only stare from out my casement, 
 And ask — for what is such a place meant ; 
 Then, in my solitary nook, 
 Return to scribbling, or a book ; 
 Or take my physic, while I'm able. 
 Two spoonfuls, hourly by this label ; 
 Prefer my nightcap to my beaver. 
 And bless my stars, I've got a fever. 
 
 THE CURSE OF MINERVA. 
 
 Slow sinks now lovely ere his race be run 
 Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; 
 Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, 
 But one unclouded blaze of living light ; 
 O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he 
 
 throws, 
 Gilds the green wave that trembles as it flows ; 
 On old jEgea's rock and Hydra's isle, 
 The God of gladness sheds his parting smile. 
 
 Long had I mused and measured every trace 
 The wreck of Greece recorded of her race, 
 When lo ! a giant-form before me strode. 
 And l^allas hail'd me in her own abode. 
 Yes — 'twas Minerva's self^but ah ! how 
 changed [ranged ! 
 
 Since o'er the Dardan fields in arms she 
 Not such as erst by her divine command. 
 Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic hand, 
 Gone were the terrors of her awful brow, 
 Her idle aegis bore no Gorgon now ; 
 Her helm was deep indented, and her lance 
 Seem'd weak and shaftless e'en to mortal 
 glance : [clasp, 
 
 The olive branch, which still she deign'd to 
 Shrunk from her hand and wither'd in her 
 
 grasp. 
 And ah ! though still the brighest of the sky, 
 Celestial tears bedew'd her large blue eye ; 
 Round her rent casque her owlet circled low. 
 And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek of wo. 
 
 " Mortal !" ('twas thus she spoke) " that 
 
 blush of shame 
 Proclaims thee Briton — once a noble name — 
 First of the mighty, foremost of the free, 
 Now honour'd less by all, but least by me ; 
 Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found : 
 Seek'st thou the cause ? oh, Mortal ! look 
 
 around. 
 Lo ! here, in spite of war and wasting fire, 
 I saw siiCcessive tyrannies expire ; 
 'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, 
 Thy Country sends a spoiler worse than both. 
 
 Survey this vacant violated fane, 
 Recount the relics torn that yet remain ; — 
 These Cecrops placed — this Pericles adorn'd— 
 That Hadrian rear'd when drooping Science 
 
 mourn'd ; 
 What more I owe let gratitude attest. 
 Know, Alaric and * « * * » did the rest. — 
 That all may learn from whence the plunderer 
 
 came, 
 Th' insulted wall sustains his hated name.* 
 For « * • » "s fame thus grateful Pallas 
 
 pleads ; 
 Below, his name ; above, behold his deeds 
 Be ever hail'd with equal honour here, 
 The Gothic monarch, and the British. * * 
 Arms gave the first his right, the last had none! 
 But basely stole what less Barbarians won : 
 So, when the lion quits the fell repast, 
 Next prowls the wolf, the filthy jackal last ; 
 Flesh, limbs, and blood, the former make theij 
 
 own, 
 
 The last base brute securely gnaws the bone. 
 Yet still the Gods are just, and crimes an 
 
 cross'd : [losti 
 
 See here, what ***** won, and what he 
 Another name with his pollutes my shrine ; 
 Behold, where Dian's beams disdain to shine : 
 Some retribution still might Pallas claim. 
 When Venus half-avenged Minerva's shame. "t 
 
 She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, 
 To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye :— 
 Daughter of Jove I in Britain's injured name,( 
 A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim. 
 Frown not on England — England owns hiin 
 
 not: — 
 Athena ? no the plunderer was a Scot. J 
 Ask'st thou the difference ? From fair Phyle's 
 
 towers 
 Survey Boeotia : — Caledonia's powers — 
 
 " * It is related by a late oriental traveller that when the 
 wholesale spoliator visited Athens, he caused his own 
 name, with that of his wife, to be inscribed on a pillar ol 
 one of the principal temples, this inscription was executed 
 in a very conspicuous manner, and deeply engraved in the 
 marble, at a very considerable elevation. Notwithstanding 
 which precautions, some person (doubtless inspired by th( 
 patron-goddess) has been at the pains to gethimself raisei 
 up to the requisite .height, and has obliterated the nam( 
 of the laird, but left that of the lady untouched. Thi 
 traveller in question accompanied this story by el remarS 
 that it must have cost some labour and contrivance to gd 
 at the place, and could only have been effected by muc> 
 Zealand determination. 
 
 f The Portrait of Sir Wm. D'Avenant illustrates thi 
 line. 
 
 t The plaster wall on the west side of the^TempIe of Mi' 
 nerva-Polias bears the following inscription, cut in vefj 
 deep characters ; — 
 
 ** Quod nonfecaimt Goti 
 Hocfecerunt Scott." 
 
 (HobhousE's Travels in Greece, &c. p. MS 
 
 I 
 
THE CURSE OF MINERVA. 
 
 73 
 
 And well 1 know within that murky land 
 
 ■ « « • K 
 
 Despatch her reckoning children far and wide : 
 Sonae east, some west, some — every where but 
 north. 
 
 And thus accursed be the day and year 
 She sent a Pict to play the felon here. 
 Yat Caledonia claims some native worth, 
 And dull Boeotia gave a Pindar birth. ^ 
 So may her few, the lettered and the brave, 
 Bound to no clime, and victors o'er the grave, 
 Shake off the mossy slime of such a land, 
 And shine like children of a happier strand. 
 
 "Mortal!" (the blue-eyed maid resumed 
 once more) 
 " Bear back my mandate to thy native shore ; 
 Tliough fallen, alas ! this vengeance yet is 
 
 mine, 
 To turn my counsels far from lands like thine. 
 Hear, then, in silence, Pallas' stern behest, 
 Hear and believe, for time will tell the rest : 
 First on the head of him who did the deed 
 My curse shall light, on him and all his seed; 
 Without one spark of intellectual fire, 
 Be all his sons as senseless as their sire : 
 If one with wit the parent-breed disgrace, 
 Believe him bastard of a better race ; 
 Still with his hireling Artists let him prate, 
 And folly's praise repay for wisdom's hate." 
 Long of their patron's giisto let them tell, 
 "Whose noblest native ^usto — is to sell : 
 To sell, and make (may shame record the day) 
 The State receiver of his pilfer'd prey ! 
 
 And last of all, amidst the gaping crew, 
 Some calm spectator, as he takes his viewt 
 
 « Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui Tadmire.— 
 (Boileau, La Rochefoucault, &c.} 
 
 + » Nor will this conduct Cthe sacrilegious plunder of 
 ancient edifices] appear wonderful in men, either by birth, 
 or by habits and grovelling passions, barbarians, (i. e. 
 Goths) when in our own times, and almost before our own 
 eyes, persons of rank and education have not hesitated to 
 disfigure the most ancient and the most venerable monu- 
 ments of Grecian architecture ; to tear the works of Phi- 
 dias and Praxiteles from their original position, and de- 
 molish fabrics, which time, war, and barbarism, had re- 
 spected during twenty centuries. The French, whose 
 rapacity the voice of Europe has so loudly and so justly 
 censured, did not incur the guilt of dismantling ancient 
 ediflcee : they spared the walls, and contented themselves 
 wlih statues and paintings, and even these they have col- 
 lected and arranged in halls and galleries, for the inspec- 
 tion of travellers, of all nations ; while, if report does 
 not deceive us, our plunderers have ransacked the temple 
 
 In silent admiration, mix'd with grief. 
 Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief* 
 Loathed in life, scarce pardon'd in the dust. 
 May hate pursue his sacrilegious lust ; 
 Link'd with the fool who fired th' Ephesian 
 
 dome, 
 Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb. 
 ErostratuB and • • » » * e'er shall shine 
 In many a branding page and burning line. 
 Alike condemn'd for aye to stand accursed, 
 Perchance the second viler than the first : 
 So let him stand, through ages yet unborn, 
 Fix'd statue on the pedestal of scorn !" 
 
 LINES 
 
 ADDRESSED BY LORD BYRON TO MR. HOBHOUSE 
 ON HIS ELECTION FOR WESTMINSTER. 
 
 •* Mors Janua viUe.** 
 
 Would you get to the house thro' the true gate. 
 Much quickerthan even Whig Charley went; 
 
 Let Parliament send you to Newgate — 
 And Newgate will send you to — Parliament. 
 
 of Greece to eell their booty to the highest bidder, or, at 
 best, to piece the walls of some obscure old mansion with 
 fragments of Parian marble, and of attic sculpture." 
 {Eustace*s Classical Tour through Italy, p. 158 ) **%■*■% 
 ** But alas ! all the monuments of ftoman magnificence, all 
 the remains of Grecian taste, so dear to the artist, the 
 liistorian, the antiquary ; all depend on the will of an ar- 
 bitrary sovereign, and that will is influenced too often by 
 interest or vanity, by a nephew, or a sycophant \i a new 
 palace to be erected (at Rome,) for an upstart family ? the 
 Coliseum is stripped to furnish materials. Does a foreign 
 minister wish to adorn the bleak walls of a northern cas- 
 Ue with antiques? the temples of Theseus or Minerva 
 must be dismantled, and the works of Phidias or Praxi- 
 teles be torn from the shattered frieze. That a dccrepid 
 uncle, wrapped up in the religious duties of his age and 
 station, should lisLon to the suggestions of an interested 
 nephew, is natural ; and that an oriental despot should 
 undervalue the master-pieces of Grecian art, is to Ije ex- 
 pected, though in both cases the consequences of such 
 weakness are much to be lamented ; but tliat the minister 
 of a nation, famed for its knowledge of the language, and 
 it*i veneration for the monuments of ancient Greece, 
 should have been the prompter and the instrument oi 
 these destructions is almost incredible. Such rapacity is a 
 crime against all ages and all generations: it deprives the 
 past, of the trophies of their genius and the title-deeds of 
 their fame; the present, of the strongest inducements to 
 exertion, the noblest exhibitions that curiosity can con- 
 template; the future, of the master-pieces of art, the mo- 
 dels of imitation. To guard against the repetition of such 
 depredations is the wish of every man of genius, the duty 
 of every man in power, and the common interest of every 
 civilized nation." (Ibid. p. 269.) * * * ♦ " Thisattemptto 
 transplant the temple of Vesta from Italy to England may, 
 perhaps, do honour to the late Lord Bristol's patriotism, or 
 to his magnificence ; but it cannot be considered as an. 
 indication of either taste or judgment." (Ibid. p. 419. 
 
 K 
 
74 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 'TwAS whisper'd in heaven, 'twas mutter'd in 
 
 hell, 
 And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell. 
 On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to 
 rest, [fess'd. 
 
 And the depths of the ocean its presenca con- 
 'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven 
 
 asunder ; 
 Be^een in the Iightning,and heard in the thun- 
 der. 
 Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath. 
 Attends at his birth : and awaits him in death ; 
 
 It presides o'er his happiness^ honour and 
 
 health. 
 Is the prop of his house, and the end of his 
 
 wealth ;. 
 Without it the soldier, the seaman may roam, 
 But wo to the wretch that expels it from home. 
 In the whispers of conscience its voice will be 
 
 found, [drown'd : 
 
 Nor even in the whirlwind of passion be 
 'Twill not soften the heart, and though deaf to 
 
 the ear, 
 'Twill make it acutely and instantly bear. 
 In shade let it'rest, like a delicate flower, 
 Oh ! breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 ** Difficileestpropnecommunta dicere." 
 
 HoR. Epist. ad f'tson. 
 
®®ir awAs^Q 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 I. 
 
 I WANT a hero : an uncommon want, 
 When every year and month sends forth a 
 new one, ' 
 
 Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, 
 The age discovers he is not the true one ; 
 
 Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, 
 I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don 
 Juan, 
 
 We all have seen him in the Pantomime 
 
 Sent to the Devil somewhat ere his time. 
 
 II. 
 
 Vernon the hutcher, Cumberland, Wolfe, 
 Hawke, 
 Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Kep- 
 pel, Howe, 
 Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk. 
 And fill'd their sign-posts then, like Welles- 
 ley now ; 
 Eaeh in their turn, like Banquo's monarchs, 
 stalk, [sow : 
 
 Followers of Fame, " nine farrow" of that 
 France, too, had Buonaparte and Dumourier, 
 Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier. 
 
 III. 
 
 Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet Mirabeau, 
 Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette. 
 
 Were French, and famous people as we know ; 
 And there were others, scarce forgotten yet, 
 
 Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Dessaii, 
 Moreau, 
 With many of the military set, 
 
 Exceedingly remarkable at times. 
 
 But not at all adapted to my rhymes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nelson was once Britannia's god of war, 
 .\nd still should be so, but the tide is turn'd ; 
 
 There's no more to be said of Trafalgar, 
 'Tis with our hero quietly inurn'd ; 
 
 Because the army's grown more popular. 
 At which the naval people are concern'd ; 
 
 Besides, the Prince is all for the land-service. 
 
 Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jer- 
 vis. 
 
 Brave men were living before Agamemnon » 
 And since, exceeding valorous and sage, 
 
 A good deal like him too, though quite the 
 same none ; 
 But then they shone not on the poet's page. 
 
 And so have been forgotten: — I condemn 
 none. 
 But can't find any in the present age 
 
 Fit for my poem, (that is for my new one ;) 
 
 So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Most epic poets plunge in " medias res," 
 (Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road) 
 
 And then your hero tells, whene'er you 
 please. 
 What went before — by way of episode. 
 
 While seated after dinner at his ease. 
 Beside his mistress in some soft abode. 
 
 Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern, 
 
 Which serves the happy couple for a tavern. 
 
 VII. 
 
 That is the usual method, but not mine — 
 My way is to begin with the beginning. 
 
 The regularity of my design 
 Forbids all wandering as the worst of sin- 
 ning. 
 
 And therefore I shall open with a line 
 (Although it cost me half an hour in spin- 
 ning) 
 
 Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father, 
 
 And also of bis mother, if you'd rather. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In Seville was he born, a pleasant city. 
 Famous for oranges and women — he 
 
 Who has not seen it will be much to pity. 
 So says the proverb — and I quite agree ; 
 
 Of all the Spanish towns there is none more 
 pretty, 
 Cadiz perhaps — but that you soon may se^ : 
 
 Don Juan's parents lived beside the river, 
 
 A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquiver. 
 
78 
 
 DON JUAW. 
 
 IX. 
 
 His father's name was J6se — Don of course, 
 
 A true Hidalgo, free from every stain 
 Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced bis 
 source, 
 Through the most gothic gentlemen of 
 Spain : 
 A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse. 
 
 Or, being mounted, e'er got down again, 
 Than J6se, who begot our hero, who 
 Begot — but that's to come Well, to re- 
 new; 
 
 X. 
 
 His mother was a learned lady, famed 
 For every branch of every science known — 
 
 In every Christian language ever named, 
 With virtues equall'd by her wit alone. 
 
 She made the cleverest people quite ashamed. 
 And even the good with inward envy groan, 
 
 Finding themselves so very much exceeded 
 
 In their own way by all the things that she 
 did. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Her memory was a mine : she knew by heart 
 All Calderon and greater part of Lop^, 
 
 So that if any actor miss'd his part 
 She could have served bira for the prompter's 
 copy; 
 
 For her Feinagle's were a useless art, 
 And he himself obliged to shut up shop— 'be 
 
 Could never make a memory so fine as 
 
 That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inez. 
 
 xn. 
 
 Her favourite science was the mathematical, 
 
 Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity. 
 Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was 
 Attic all, 
 Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity ; 
 In short, in all things she was fairly what I 
 call 
 A prodigy — her mining dress was dimity, 
 Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin. 
 And other stuffs, with which I wont stay 
 puzzling. 
 
 XIH. 
 
 She knew the Latin — that is, " the Lord's 
 prayer," 
 And Greek — ^the alphabet — I'm nearly sure ; 
 She read some French romances here and 
 there, [pure ; 
 
 Although her mode of speaking was not 
 For native Spanish she had no great care. 
 At least her conversation was obscure ; 
 
 Her thoughts were theorems, her words a 
 problem, 
 
 As if she deem'd that mystery would en- 
 noble 'em. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue. 
 
 And said there was analogy between 'em ; 
 She proved it somehow out of sacred song. 
 But I must leave the proofs to those who've 
 seen 'em. 
 But this I heard her say, and can't be wrong, 
 And all may think which way their judg- 
 ments lean 'em. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In^hort, she was a walking calculation, 
 Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from 
 their covers. 
 
 Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education. 
 Or " Coeleb's Wife" set out in quest of- 
 lovers, 
 
 Morality's prim personification. 
 In which not Envy's self a flaw discovefs. 
 
 To others' share let " female errors fall," 
 
 For she had not even one — the worst of all. 
 
 XVIL 
 
 Oh ! she was perfect past all parallel — 
 
 Of any modern female saint's comparison ; 
 So far above the cunning powers of hell. 
 Her guardian angel had given np hjs gar- 
 rison ; 
 Even her minutest motions went as well 
 As those of the best time-piece made by^ 
 Harrison : 
 In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, 
 Save thine " incomparable oil " Macas- 
 sar! t 
 
■DOTS JTXAII'. 
 
 XVllI. 
 
 f erfect she was, but as perfection is 
 
 Insipid in this naughty world of ours, 
 iVhere our 6rst parents never learn'd to kiss, 
 Till they were exiled from their earlier 
 bowers, 
 ^hcrc all was peace, and ionocence, and 
 bliss, 
 (I wonder how they got through the twelve 
 hours) 
 5cn J6se, like a lineal son of Eve, 
 iVent plucking various fruit without her leave. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Hfc was a mortal of the careless kind. 
 With no great love for learning or the 
 learn'd, 
 
 iVho chose to go where'er he had a mind, 
 And never dream'd his lady was concern'd : 
 
 fhe world, as usual, wickedly inclined 
 To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd, 
 
 iVhisper'd he had a mistress, some said two, 
 
 iut for domestic quarrels one will do. 
 
 XX. 
 
 IJow Donna Inez had, with all her merit, 
 A great opinion of her own good qualities : 
 
 Veglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it, 
 And such, indeed, she was in her morali- 
 ties ; 
 
 But then she had a devil of a spirit, 
 And sometimes mix'd up fancies with 
 realities, 
 
 And let few opportunities escape 
 
 Of getting her liege lord into a scrape. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 rWs was an easy matter with a man 
 Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard : 
 
 And even the wisest, do the best they can. 
 Have moments, hours, and days, so unpre- 
 pared. 
 
 That you might " brain them with their lady's 
 fan ;" 
 And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard, 
 
 And fans turn into falchions in fair hands. 
 
 And why and wherefore no one understands. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 "Tis pity learned virgins ever wed 
 With persons of no sort of education, 
 
 Or gentlemen, who, though well born and 
 bred, 
 Grow tired of scientific conversation : 
 
 I don't choose to say much upon this head, 
 I'm a plain man, and in a single station, 
 
 But — oh ! ye lords of ladies intellectual. 
 
 Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you 
 all? 
 
 XXIIl. 
 
 Don J6se and his lady quarrell'd,— ti7iy 
 Not any of the many could divine. 
 
 Though several thousand people chose to try, 
 'Twas surely no concern of theirs or mine ; 
 
 I loathe that low vice curiosity. 
 But if there's any thing in which I shine, 
 
 'Tis in arranging all my friends' affairs, 
 
 Not having, of my own, domestic cares. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And so I interfered, and with the best 
 Intentions, but their treatment was not 
 kind ; 
 
 I think the foolish people were possess'd, 
 For neither of them could I ever find, 
 
 Although their porter afterwards confess'd — 
 But that's no matter, and the worst's be- 
 hind. 
 
 For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs, 
 
 A pail of housemaid's water unawares. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 A little curly-headed, good for-nothing, 
 And mischief-making monkey from his 
 birth ; 
 His parents ne'er agreed except in doting 
 
 Upon the most unquiet imp on earth, 
 Instead of quarrelling, had they been but both 
 in 
 Their senses, they'd have sent young mas- 
 ter forth 
 To school, or had him soundly whipp'd at 
 
 home, 
 To teach him manners for the time to come. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Don J6se and the Donna Inez led 
 For some time an unhappy sort of life, 
 
 Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead : 
 They lived respectably as man and wife. 
 
 Their conduct was exceedingly well-bred, 
 And gave no outward signs of inward 
 strife. 
 
 Until at length the smother'd fire broke out. 
 
 And put the business past all kind of doubt.. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 For Inez call'd some druggists and phy- 
 sicians, 
 
 And tried to prove her loving lord was mad, 
 But as he had some lucid intermissions, 
 
 She next decided he was only bad ; 
 Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions. 
 
 No sort of explanation could be had, 
 Save that her duty both to man and God 
 Required this conduct— which seem'd very 
 odd. 
 
so 
 
 SON JUAN. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 She kept a jonrnal, where his faults were 
 noted, 
 And open'd certain trunks of books and 
 letters, 
 All which might, if occasion served, be quoted ; 
 
 And then she had all Seville for abettors. 
 Besides her good old grandmother (who 
 doted:) 
 The hearers of her case became repeaters, 
 Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges. 
 Some for amusement, others for old grudges. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And then this best and meekest woman bore 
 With such serenity her husband's woes. 
 
 Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore. 
 
 Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly 
 chose 
 
 Never to say a word about them more — 
 Calmly she heard each calumny that rose, 
 
 And saw his agonies with such sublimity. 
 
 That all the world exclaim'd, " What mag- 
 nanimity !" 
 
 XXX. 
 
 No doubt, this patience, when the world is 
 damning us. 
 
 Is philosophic in our former friends ; 
 'Tis also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous. 
 
 The more so in obtaining our owu ends ; 
 And what the lawyers call " mains animns," 
 
 Conduct like this by no means comprehends : 
 Revenge in person's certainly no virtue. 
 But then 'tis not my fault, if others hurt you. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And if our quarrels should rip up old stories. 
 And help them with a lie or two additional ; 
 I'm not to blame, as you well know, no more is 
 Any one else — they were become tradi- 
 tional ; 
 Besides, their resurrection aids our glories 
 By contrast, which is what we just were 
 wishing all, 
 And science profits by this resurrection — 
 Dead scandal forms good subjects for dissec- 
 tion. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Their friends had tried at reconciliation, 
 Then their relations, who made matters 
 worse ! 
 
 ('Twere hard to tell upon a like occasion 
 To whom it may be best to have recourse — 
 
 I cau't say much for friend or yet relation :) 
 The lawyers did their utmost for divorce, 
 
 But scarce a fee was paid on either side 
 
 Before, unluckily, Don J6se died. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He died : and most unluckily, because 
 According to all hints I could collect 
 
 From counsel learned in those kind of laws, 
 (Although their talk's obscure and circui 
 spect) 
 
 His death contrived to spoil a charming cans 
 A thousand pities also with respect 
 
 To public feeling, which on this occasion 
 
 Was manifested in a great sensation. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But ah ! he died ; and buried with him lay 
 The public feeling and the lawyers' fees : 
 
 His house was sold, his servants sent away, 
 A jew took one of his two mistresses, 
 
 A priest the other — at least so they say ; 
 I ask'd the doctors after his decease, 
 
 He died of the slow fever, call'd the tertian, 
 
 And left his widow to her own aversion. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Yet J6se was an honourable man. 
 That I must say who knew him very well : 
 
 Therefore his frailties I'll no further scan. 
 Indeed there were not many more to tell ; 
 
 And if his passions now and then outran 
 Discretion, and were not so peaceable 
 
 As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius,) 
 
 He had been ill brought up, and was born 
 bilious. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Whate'er might be his worthlessness or worth. 
 Poor fellow ! he had many things to wound 
 him. 
 Let's own, since it can do no good on earth ; 
 It was a trying moment that which found 
 him 
 Standing alone beside his desolate earth, 
 Where all his household gods lay shiver'd 
 round him ; 
 No choice was left his feelings or his pride. 
 Save death or Doctor's Commons — so he di eJ, 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir 
 To a chancery suit, and messuages, and 
 lands. 
 
 Which, with a long minority and care, 
 Promised to turn out well in proper hands : 
 
 Inez became sole guardian, which was fair. 
 And answer'd but to Nature's just de- 
 mands ; 
 
 An only son left with an only mother '■ 
 
 Is brought up much more wisely than another. 
 
BON JUAN. 81 
 
 XXXVIII. I But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid 
 
 one 
 Beginning with " Fm-mosum Pastor Cory don." 
 
 Sagest of women, even of widows, she 
 Kesolved that Juan should be quite a para- 
 gon. 
 And worthy of the noblest pedigree ; 
 ( His sire was of Castile, his dam from Arra- 
 gon.) 
 Then for accomplishments of chivalry, 
 In case our lord the king should go to war 
 again, 
 He learn'd the artsof riding, fencing, gunnery, 
 And how to scale a fortress — or a nunnery. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But that which Donna Inez most desired. 
 And saw into herself each day before all 
 
 The learned tutors whom for him she hired. 
 Was, that his breeding should be strictly 
 moral ; 
 
 Much into all his studies she inquired. 
 
 And so they were submitted first to her ; all 
 
 Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery 
 
 To Juan's eyes, except natural history. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The languages, especially the dead, 
 The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, 
 
 The arts, at least all such as could be said 
 To be the most remote from common use. 
 
 In all these he was much and deeply read ; 
 but not a page of any thing that's loose. 
 
 Or hints continuation of the species. 
 
 Was ever sufiFer'd, lest he should grow vicious. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 His classic studies made a little puzzle. 
 Because of filthy lores of gods and god- 
 desses, 
 Vho in the earlier ages raised a bustle. 
 
 But never put on pantaloons or boddices ; 
 His reverend tutors had at times a tussle, 
 And for their ^neids, Iliads, and Odys- 
 seys. 
 Were forced to make an odd sort of an 
 
 apology, 
 For Donna Inez dreaded the mythology, 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him, 
 
 Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample, 
 Catullus scarcely has a decent poem, 
 
 I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example. 
 Although ° Longinus tells us there is no 
 hymn 
 Where the sublime soars forth on wings 
 more ample ; 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Lucretius' irreligion is too strong. [food ; 
 
 For early stomachs, to prove wholesome 
 I can't help thinkiag Juvenal was wrong. 
 
 Although no doubt his real latent was 
 good. 
 For speaking out so plainly in his song,. 
 
 So much indeed as to be downright rude ; 
 And then what proper person can be partial 
 To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial ? 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Juan was taught from out the best edition, 
 Expurgated by learoed men, who place. 
 
 Judiciously from out the school-boy's vision, 
 The grosser parts ; but fearful to deface 
 
 Too much their modest bard by this omission, 
 And pitying sore his mutilated case, 
 
 They only add them all in an appendix, * 
 
 Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index ; 
 
 XLV. 
 
 For there we have them all at one fell swoop. 
 Instead of being scatter'd through the 
 pages ; 
 
 They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome 
 
 troop, [ages. 
 
 To meet the ingenuous youth of future 
 
 Till some less rigid editor shall stoop 
 To call them back into their separate cages. 
 
 Instead of standing staring altogether. 
 
 Like garden gods — and not so decent either. 
 
 XLVI. ^ 
 
 The Missal, too (it was the family Missal) 
 Was ornamented in a sort of way 
 
 Which ancient mass-books often are, and this 
 all 
 Kinds of grotesques illumined ; and how 
 they. 
 
 Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all. 
 Could turn their optics to the text and pray 
 
 Is more than I know — but Don Juan's mother 
 
 Kept this herself, and gave her son another. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Sermons he read, and lectures he endured. 
 And homilies, and lives of all the saints ; 
 
 To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured. 
 He did not take such studies for restraints ; 
 
 But how faith is acquired, and then insured 
 So well not one of the aforesaid paints 
 
 As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions, 
 
 Which make the reader envy his transgres- 
 sions. 
 L 
 
82 
 
 DON JUAir. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 This, lo<f, was a seal'd book to little Juan — 
 I can't but say that his mamma was right, 
 
 If such an education was the trae one. 
 She scarcely trusted him from out her sight ; 
 
 Her maids were old, and if she took a new 
 one 
 You might be sure she was a perfect fright, 
 
 She did this during even her husband's life — 
 
 I recommend as much to every wife. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace ; 
 
 At six a charming child, and at eleven 
 With all the promise of as fine a face 
 
 As e'er to man's maturer growth was given; 
 He studied steadily, and grew apace, 
 
 And seem'd, at least, in the right road to 
 heaven 
 For half his days were pass'd at church, the 
 
 other 
 Between his tutors, confessor, and mother. 
 
 At six, I said, he was a charming child. 
 
 At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy ; 
 Although in infancy a little wild. 
 They tamed him down amongst them ; to de- 
 stroy 
 ==5Jjsnatural spirit not in vain they toil'd, 
 At least it seem'd so ; and his mother's joy 
 Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady. 
 Her young philosopher was grown already. 
 
 LI. 
 
 I had my doubts, perhaps I hare them still. 
 But what I say is neither here nor there : 
 
 I knew his father well, and have some skill 
 In character — but it would not be fair 
 
 From sire to son to augur good or ill : 
 He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair — 
 
 But scandal's my aversion — I protest 
 
 Against all evil speaking, even in jest. 
 
 LII. 
 
 For my part I say nothing — nothing— but 
 
 This 1 will say— my reasons are my own- 
 That if I had an only son to put 
 To school (as God be praised that I have 
 none) 
 'Tis not with Donna Inez I would shut 
 Him up to learn his catechism alone. 
 No — no — I'd send him out betimes to college 
 For there it was I pick'd up my own know- 
 ledge. 
 
 For there one learns— 'tis not for me to boast. 
 Though I acquired — but I pass over that, 
 
 As well as all the Greek I since have lost, 
 I say that there's the place — but " Verbtim 
 sat." 
 
 I think I pick'd up too, as well as most. 
 Knowledge of matters— but no matter tcAof — 
 
 I never married — but I think, I knovir 
 
 That sons should not be educatedi so. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Young Juan jiow was sixteen years of age. 
 Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit ! he 
 seem'd 
 
 Active, though not so sprightly as a page ; 
 And every body but his motlier deem'd 
 
 Him almost man ; but she flew in a rage 
 And bit her lips (for else she might have 
 scream'd) 
 
 If any said so, for to be precocious 
 
 Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all 
 Selected for discretion and devotion. 
 
 There was the Donna Julia, whom to call 
 Pretty were but to give a feeble notion 
 
 Of many charms in her as natural 
 As sweetness to the flower, or salt to 
 ocean. 
 
 Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid, 
 
 (But this last simile is trite and stupid.) 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The darkness of her oriental ey e 
 Accorded with her Moorish origin ! 
 
 (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by ; 
 In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin.) 
 
 When proud Grenada fell, and, forced to fly, 
 Bpbadil wept, of Donna Julia's kin 
 
 Some went to Africa, some staid in Spain, 
 
 Her great great grandmamma chose to re- 
 main. 
 
 , LVII. 
 
 She married (I forget the pedigree) 
 
 With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down 
 His blood less noble than such blood should 
 be ; 
 At such alliances his sires would frown, 
 In that point so precise in each degree 
 That they bred in and in, as might be 
 shown 
 Marrying their cousins — nay, their aunts and 
 
 nieces, 
 Which always spoils the breed, if it increases. 
 
BON JUAN. 
 
 83 
 
 Lvm. 
 
 This healhenish cross restored the breed again, 
 Ruin'd its blood, but much improi'ed its 
 flesh; 
 For, from a root, the ugliest in Old Spain 
 
 Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh ; 
 The sons no more were short, the daughters 
 plain : 
 But there's a rumour which I fain would 
 hush, 
 'TIS said that Donna Julia's grandmamma 
 Produced her Don more heirs at love than law. 
 
 HX. 
 
 However this might be, the race went on 
 Improving still through every generation. 
 
 Until it centred in an only son, 
 Who left an only daughter ; my narration 
 
 May have suggested that this single one 
 Could be but Julia (whom on this occasion 
 
 I shall have much to speak about,) and she 
 
 Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty- 
 three. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes) 
 Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire 
 
 Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise 
 Flash'd an expression more of pride than 
 ire. 
 
 And love than either ; and there would arise 
 A something in them which was not desire, 
 
 But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul 
 
 Which struggled through and chasten'd down 
 the whole. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow 
 Bright with intelligence, and fair and 
 smooth ; . 
 
 Her eyebrow's shape was like the asrial bow. 
 Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, 
 
 Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow. 
 As if her veins ran lightning ! she, in sooth, 
 
 Vossess'd an air and grace by no means com- 
 mon : 
 
 Her stature tall — I hate a dumpy woman. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Wedded she was some years, and to a man 
 Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty ; 
 
 And yet, I think, instead of such a one 
 'Twere better to have two of five and twenty, 
 
 Especially in countries near the sun : 
 And now I think on't " mi vien in mente," 
 
 Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue 
 
 Prefer a spouse T7hose age is short of thirty. 
 
 LXIIl. 
 
 'Tis a sad thing, I cannot choose but say. 
 And all the fault of that indecent sun 
 
 Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay, 
 But will keep baking, broiling, burning on, 
 
 That howsoever people fast and pray 
 The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone : 
 
 What men call gallantry, and gods adultery. 
 
 Is much more common where the climate's 
 sultry. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Happy the nations of the moral north ! 
 
 Where all is virtue, and the winter season 
 Sends sin, without a rag on, shivering forth! 
 ('Twas snow that brought St. Anthony to 
 reason ;) 
 Where juries cast up what a wife is worth 
 ,By laying whate'er sum, in mulct, they please 
 on 
 The lover, who must pay a handsome price. 
 Because it is a marketable vice. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord, 
 A man well looking for his years, and who 
 
 Was neither much beloved nor yet ab- 
 horr'd ; 
 They lived together as most people do, 
 
 Suflering each other's foibles by accord. 
 And not exactly either one or two ; [it. 
 
 Yet he was jealous, though he did not show 
 
 For jealousy dislikes the world to know it. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Julia was— yet I never could see why — 
 With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend ; 
 
 Between their tastes there was small sym- 
 pathy. 
 For not a line had Julia ever penn'd : 
 
 Some people whisper (but, no doubt, they lie, 
 For malice still imputes some private end) 
 
 That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage, 
 
 Forgot with him her very prudent carriage ; 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 And that still keeping up the old connection 
 Which time had lately render'd much more 
 chaste. 
 She took his lady also in aifection. 
 And certainly this course was ranch the 
 best: 
 She flatter'd Julia with her sage protection. 
 And complimented Don Alfonso's taste ; 
 And if she could not (who can ?) silence scan- 
 dal. 
 At least she left it a more slender handle. 
 
84 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 I can't tell whether Julia saw the affair 
 With other people's eyes, or if her own 
 
 Discoveries made, but none could be aware 
 Of this, at least no symptom e'er was 
 shown ; 
 
 Perhaps she did not know, or did not care, 
 Indifferent from the first, or callous grown. 
 
 I'm really puzzled what to think or say, 
 
 She kept her counsel in so close a way. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child, 
 Caress'd him often, such a thing might be 
 
 Quite innocently done, and harmless styled 
 When she had twenty years, and thirteen 
 he; 
 
 But I am not so sure I should have smiled 
 When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three. 
 
 These few short years make wonderbus altera- 
 tions, 
 
 Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Whate'er the cause might be, they had become 
 Changed; for the dame grew distant, the 
 youth shy. 
 
 Their looks cast down, their greetings almost 
 dumb. 
 And much embarrassment in either eye ; 
 
 There surely will be little doubt with some 
 That Donna Julia knew the reason why, 
 
 But as for Juan, he had no more a notion 
 
 Than he who never saw the sea or ocean. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind, 
 And tremulously gentle her small hand 
 
 Withdrew itself from his, but left behind 
 A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland 
 
 And slight, so very slight, that to the mind 
 'Twas but a doubt ; but ne'er magician's 
 wand 
 
 Wrought change with all Armida's fairy art 
 
 Like what this light tonchleft on Juan's heart. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 A nd if she met him, though she smiled no more, 
 She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile, 
 
 As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store 
 She must not own, but cherish'd more the 
 while, 
 
 For that compression in its burning core ; 
 Even innocence itself has many a wile, 
 
 And will not dare to trust itself with truth. 
 
 And love is taught hypocrisy from youth. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 But passion most dissembles yet betrays 
 E7en by its darkness ; as the blackest sky 
 
 Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays 
 Its working through the vainly guarded eye. 
 
 And in whatever aspect it arrays 
 Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy ; 
 
 Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate. 
 
 Are masks it often wears, and still too late. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Then there were sighs, the deeper for sup- 
 pression, 
 And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft. 
 And burning blushes, though for no transgres- 
 sion, 
 Tremblings when met, and restlessness 
 when left ; 
 All these are little preludes to possession. 
 
 Of which young Passion cannot be bereft. 
 And merely tend to show how greatly Love is 
 Embari-ass'd at first starting with a novice. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state ; 
 
 She felt it going, and resolved to make 
 The noblest efforts for herself and mate. 
 
 For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's 
 sake : 
 Her resolutions were most truly great. 
 
 And almost might have made a Tarquls 
 quake ; 
 She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace, 
 As being the best judge of a lady's case. 
 
 LXXVL 
 
 She vow'd she never would see Juan more. 
 And next day paid a visit to his mother. 
 
 And look'd extremely at the opening door. 
 Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in an- 
 other; 
 
 Grateful she was, and yet a little sore — 
 Again it opens, it can be no other, 
 
 'Tis surely Juan now — No ! I'm afraid 
 
 That night the Virgin was no further pray'd. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 She now determined tliat a virtuous woman 
 Should rather face and overcome temptation. 
 
 That flight was base and dastardly, and no man 
 Should ever give her heart the least sensa- 
 tion ; 
 
 That is to say, a thought beyond the common 
 Preference, that we must feel upon occasion. 
 
 For people who are pleasanter than others. 
 
 But then they only seem so many brothers. 
 
 \ 
 
DOM JXTAM. 
 
 85 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 And eTen if by chance — and who can tell ? 
 
 The devil's so very sly — she shonid discover 
 That all within was not so very well, 
 
 And, if still free, that sach or such a lover 
 Might please, perhaps, a virtuous wife can 
 quell 
 
 Such thoughts, and be the better when 
 they're over ; 
 And if the man should ask, 'tis but denial : 
 I recommend young ladies to make trial. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 And then there are such things as love divine. 
 Bright and immaculate, unmix'd and pure. 
 
 Such as the angels think so very fine. 
 And matrons, who would be no less secure, 
 
 Platonic, perfect, " just such love as mine :" 
 Thus Julia said— and thought so, to be sure. 
 
 And so I'd have her think, were I the man 
 
 On whom her reveries celestial ran. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Such love is innocent, and may exist 
 Between young persons without any danger, 
 
 A hand may first, and then a lip be kiss'd ; 
 For my part, to such doings I'm a stranger. 
 
 But hear these freedoms form the utmost list 
 Of all o'er which such love may be a ranger ; 
 
 If people gobeyond, '(is quite a crime, 
 
 But not my fault — I tell them all in time. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Love, then, but love within its proper limits. 
 Was Julia's innocent determination 
 
 In young Don Juan's favour, and to him its 
 Exertion might be useful on occasion ; 
 
 And, lighted at too pure a shrine to dim its 
 Ethereal lustre, with what sweet persuasion 
 
 He might be taught, by love and her together — 
 
 I really don't know what, nor Julia either. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Fraught with (his fine intention, and well 
 fenced- 
 in mail of proof— her purity of soul. 
 
 She, for the future of her strength convinced, 
 And that her honour was a rock, or mole 
 
 Exceeding sagely from that hour dispensed 
 With any kind of troublesome control ; 
 
 But whether Julia to the task was equal 
 
 Is that which must be mention'd in the sequel. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Her plan she deem'd both innocent and feasi- 
 ble. 
 And, surely, with a stripling of sixteen 
 Not scandal's fangs conid fix on much that's 
 seizable, 
 Or if they did so, satisfied to mean 
 Nothing but what was good, her breast was 
 peaceable — 
 A quiet conscience makes one so serene ! 
 Christians have burnt each other, quite per- 
 suaded [did. 
 That all the Apostles would have done as they 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 And if in the mean time her husband died, 
 But heaven forbid that such a thought 
 should cross 
 Her brain, though in a dream ! (and then she 
 sigh'd) 
 Never could she survive that common loss ; 
 But just suppose that moment should betide, 
 
 I only say suppose it — inter nos, 
 (This should be entre nous, for Julia thought 
 In French, but then the rhyme would go for 
 nought.) 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 I only say suppose this supposition : 
 Juan being then grown up to man's estate 
 
 Would fully suit a widow of condition. 
 Even seven years hence it wo<ild not be too 
 late; 
 
 And in the interim (to pursue this vision) 
 The mischief, after all, could not be great. 
 
 For he would learn the rudiments of love, 
 
 I mean the seraph way of those above. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 So much for Julia. Now we'll turn to Juan, 
 Poor little fellow ! he had no idea 
 
 Of his own case, and never hit the true one ; 
 In feelings quick as Ovid's Miss Medea, 
 
 He puzzled over what he found a new one. 
 But not as yet imagined it could be a 
 
 Thing quite in course, and not at all alarming. 
 
 Which, with a little patience, might grow 
 charming. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Silent and pensive, idle, restless, slow. 
 His home deserted for the lonely wood. 
 
 Tormented with a wound he could not know. 
 His, like all deep grief, plunged in solitude ; 
 
 I'm fond myself of solitude or so, 
 But then, I beg it may be understood, 
 
 By solitude I mean a sultan's (not 
 
 A hermit's) with a haram for a grot. 
 
86 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 " Oh Love ! in such a wilderness as Ihis, 
 Where transport and security entwine, 
 
 Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, 
 And here thou art a god indeed divine." 
 
 The bard I quote from does not sing amiss, ' 
 With the exception of the second line, 
 
 For that same twining " transport and se- 
 curity" 
 
 Are twisted to a phrase of some obscurity. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals. 
 
 To the good sense and senses of manl^ind. 
 The very thing which every body feels. 
 
 As all have found on trial, or may find. 
 That no one likes to be disturb'd at meals 
 
 Or love — I wont say more about " en- 
 twined" 
 Or " transport," as we knew all that before. 
 But beg " Security" will bolt the door. 
 
 XC. 
 
 Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks 
 
 Thinking unutterable things ; he threw 
 Himself at length within the leafy nooks 
 Where the wild branch of the cork forest 
 grew; 
 There poets find materials for their books, 
 And every new and then we read them 
 through. 
 So that their plan and prosody are eligible. 
 Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unin- 
 telligible. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 He, Juan (and not Wordsworth) so pursued 
 His self-communion with his own high 
 soul, 
 
 Until his mighty heart, in its great mood, 
 Had mitigated part, though not the whole 
 
 Of its disease ; he did the best he could 
 With things not very subject to control. 
 
 And turn'd, without perceiving his condition, 
 
 Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 He thought about himself, and the whole 
 earth. 
 
 Of man the wonderful, and of the stars. 
 And how the deuce they ever could have birth; 
 
 And then he thought of earthquakes, and of 
 wars. 
 How many miles the moon might have in girth; 
 
 Of air-balloons, and of the many bars 
 To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies ; 
 And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 In thoughts like these true wisdom may dis- 
 cern 
 Longings sublime, and aspirations high, 
 Which some are born with, but the most part 
 learn [why : 
 
 To plague themselves withal, they know not 
 'Twas strange that one so young should thus 
 concern 
 His brain about the action of the sky ; 
 If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, 
 I can't help thinking puberty assisted. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 He pored upon the leaves, and on the flowers, 
 And heard a voice in all the winds ; and 
 then 
 He thought of wood-nymphs and immortal 
 bowers, 
 And how the goddesses came down to men : 
 He miss'd the pathway, he forgot the hours, 
 
 And when he look'd upon his watch again, 
 He found how much old Time had been a 
 
 winner- 
 He also found that he had lost his dinner. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Sometimes he turnM to gaze upon his book| 
 Boscan, or Garcilasso ; — by the wind 
 
 Even as the page is rustled while we look. 
 So, by the poesy of his own mind. 
 
 Over the mystic leaf his soul was shook. 
 As if 'twere one whereon magicians bind 
 
 Their spells, and give (hem to the passing geile. 
 
 According to some good old woman's tale. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Thus would he while his lonely hours away 
 Dissatisfied, not knoyring what he wanted ; 
 
 Nor glowing reverie, nor poet's lay. 
 Could yield his spirit that for which it pant- 
 ed, 
 
 A bosom whereon he his head might lay, 
 And bear the heart beat, with the love it 
 granted. 
 
 With several other things which I forget, 
 
 Or which, at least, I need not mention yet. 
 
 XCVlI. 
 
 Those lonely walks, and lengtheningreveries. 
 Could not escape the gentle Julia's eyes ; 
 
 She saw that Juan was not at bis ease ; 
 But that which chiefly may, and must sur- 
 prise, 
 
 Is, thabithe Donna Inez did not tease 
 Her only son with question or surmise : 
 
 Whether it was she did not see, or would not. 
 
 Or, like all very clever people, could not. 
 
 I 
 
SON JUAN. 
 
 87 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Phis may seem strange, but yet 'tis very com- 
 mon ; 
 For instance— gentlemen, -whose ladies take 
 Leave to o'erstep the written rights of woman, 
 
 And break the Which commandment is't 
 
 they break ? 
 
 I have forgot the number, and think no man 
 
 Should rashly quote, for fear of a mistake.) 
 
 ! say, when these same gentlemen are jealous, 
 
 rhey make some blunder, which their ladies 
 
 tell us. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 \ real husband always is suspicious, ^ 
 
 But still no less suspects in the wrong place, 
 
 lealous of some one who had no such wishes. 
 Or pandering blindly to his own disgrace 
 
 Sy harbouring some dear friend extremely 
 vicious ;' 
 The last indeed's infallibly the case : 
 
 Vnd when the spouse and friend are gone off 
 wholly. 
 
 He wonders at their vice, and not his folly. 
 
 rhus parents also are at times short-sighted ; 
 
 Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er 
 discover, 
 rhe while the wicked world beholds delighted. 
 
 Young Hopeful's mistress, or IVIiss Fanny's 
 lover, 
 rill some confounded escapade has blighted 
 
 The plan of twenty years, and all is over; 
 And then the mother cries, the father swears. 
 And wonders why the devil he got heirs. 
 
 CI. 
 
 But Inez was so anxious, and so clear 
 Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion, 
 
 She had some other motive much more near 
 For leaving Juan to his new temptation : 
 
 But what that motive was, I sha'n't say here , 
 Perhaps to finish Juan's education. 
 
 Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes, 
 
 [n case he thought his wife too great a prize. 
 
 CII. 
 
 It was upon a day, a summer's day ; — 
 
 Summer's indeed a very dangeroiis season, 
 A nd so is spring about the end of May ; 
 
 The Sun, no doubt, is the prevailing reason 
 But whatsoe'er the cause is, one may say, 
 And stand convicted of more truth than 
 treason, 
 That there are months which nature grows 
 
 more merry in, 
 March has its hares, and May must have its 
 heroine. 
 
 cm. 
 
 'Twas on a summer's day — the sixth of June :— 
 
 I like to be particular in dates. 
 Not only of the age, and year, but moon ; 
 
 They are a sort of post-house, where the Fates 
 Change horses, making history change its tune, 
 
 Then spur away o'er empires and o'er states. 
 Leaving at last not much besides chronology. 
 Excepting the post-obits of theology. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 'Twas on the sixth of June, about the hour 
 Of half-past six — perhaps still nearer seven, 
 
 When Julia sate within as pretty a bower 
 As e'er held houri in that heathenish heaven 
 
 Described by Mahomet, and Anacreon Moore, 
 To whom the lyre and laurels have been 
 given, 
 
 With all the trophies of triumphant song — 
 
 He won them well, and may he wear them 
 long! 
 
 CV. 
 
 She sate, but not alone ; I know not well 
 
 How this same interview had taken place. 
 And even if I knew, I should not tell — 
 
 People should hold their tongues in any case; 
 No matter how orwhy the thing befel. 
 
 But there were she and Juan, face to face- 
 When two such faces are so, 'twould be wise, 
 But very difficult, to shut their eyes. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 How beautiful she look'd! her conscious heart 
 Glow'd in her cheek and yet she felt no 
 wrong. 
 
 Oh Love ! how perfect is thy mystic art. 
 Strengthening the weak, and trampling on 
 the strong, 
 
 How self-deceitful is the sagest part 
 Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along— 
 
 The precipice she stood on was immense. 
 
 So was her creed in her own innocence. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 She thought of her own strength and Juan's 
 youth 
 
 And of the folly of all prudish fears. 
 Victorious virtue, and domestic truth. 
 
 And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years ; 
 I wish these last had not occur'd, in sooth, 
 
 Because that number rarely much endears. 
 And through all climes the snowy and the 
 
 sunny, 
 Sounds ill in love, whate'er it may in money. 
 
88 
 
 DOM JXTAN. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 When people say, " I've told yoM fifty times," 
 They mean to scold, and very often do : 
 
 When poets say, " I've written ^ifj; rhymes," 
 They make you dread that they'll recite 
 them too ; 
 
 In gangs ol fifty thieves commit their crimes ; 
 At fifty love for love is rare, 'tis true, 
 
 But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, 
 
 A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love. 
 For Don Alfonso ; and she inly swore. 
 
 By all the vows below to powers above, 
 She never would disgrace the ring she wore. 
 
 Nor leave a wish which wisdom might re- 
 prove ; 
 And while she ponder'd this, besides much 
 more. 
 
 One hand on Juan's carelessly was thrown. 
 
 Quite by mistake — she thought it was herown ; 
 
 ex. 
 
 Unconsciously she lean'd upon the other. 
 Which play'd within the tangles of her hair ; 
 
 And to contend with thoughts she could not 
 smother. 
 She seem'd by the distraction of her air, 
 
 Twas surely very wrong in Juan's mother 
 To leave together this imprudent pair. 
 
 She who for many years had watch'd her son 
 * so — 
 
 I'm very certain mine would not have done so. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 The hand which still held Juan's, by degrees 
 Gently, but palpably confirm'd its grasp 
 
 As if it said, " detain me, if you please;" 
 Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp 
 
 His fingers with a pure Platonic squeeze ; 
 She would have shrunk as from a toad, or 
 asp. 
 
 Had she imagined such a thing could rouse 
 
 A feeling dangerous to a prudent spouse. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 I cannot know what Juan thought of this. 
 But what he did, is much what yon would 
 do ; 
 
 His young lip thank'd it with a grateful kiss. 
 And then abash'd at its own joy, withdrew 
 
 In deep despair, lest he had done amiss. 
 Love is so very timid when 'tis new : 
 
 She blush'd, and frown'd not, but she strove 
 to speak, [weak. 
 
 And held her tongue, her voice was grown so 
 
 The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon : 
 The devil's in the moon for mischief; they 
 
 Who call'd her chaste, methinks began too 
 soon 
 Their nomenclature ; there is not a day. 
 
 The longest, not the twenty-first of June, 
 Sees half the business in a wicked way 
 
 On which three single hours of moonshine 
 smile — 
 
 And then she looks so modest all the while. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 There is a dangerous silence in that hour, 
 J^ stillness, which leaves room for the full 
 soul 
 To open all itself, without the power 
 
 Of calling wholly back its self-control ; 
 The silver light which, hallowing tree and 
 tower. 
 
 Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er tha 
 whole, 
 
 Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws 
 A loving languor, which is not repose. 
 
 CXV. 
 
 And Julia sate with Juan half embraced 
 
 And half retiring from the glowing arm. 
 Which trembled like the bosom, where 'twsia 
 placed ; 
 
 Yet still she must have thought there waa 
 no harm. 
 Or else 'twere easy to withdraw her waist; 
 But then the situation had its charm, 
 
 And then who knows what next — I can'l 
 
 go on; 
 I'm almost sorry that I e'er begun, 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Oh Plato ! Plato ! you have pared the way. 
 With your confounded fantasies, to more 
 
 Immoral conduct, by the fancied sway 
 Your system feigns o'er the controlless con 
 
 Of human hearts, than all the long array 
 Of poets and roinancers : — You're a bore, 
 
 A charlatan, a coxcomb — and have beea. 
 
 At best, no better than a go-between. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs, 
 Until too late for useful conversation : 
 
 The tears were gushing from her gentle eyes, 
 I wish, indeed, they had not had occasion. 
 
 But who, alas ! can love and then be wise? 
 Not that remorse did not oppose temptation, 
 
 A little still she strove, and much repented, 
 
 And whispering^" I will ne'er consent" — con 
 sented. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 80 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 Tis said that Xerxes offer'd a reward 
 To those who could invent him a new pleas- 
 are ; 
 
 Methinks the requisition's rather hard, 
 And must have cost his Majesty a treasure : 
 
 For my part, I'm a moderate-minded bard. 
 Fond of a little love (which I call leisure :) 
 
 1 care not for new pleasures, as the old 
 
 Are quite enough for me, so they but hold. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 Oh Pleasure ! you're indeed a pleasant thing. 
 Although one must be damn 'd for you, no 
 doubt ; 
 
 I make a resolution every spring 
 Of reformation, ere the year run out ; 
 
 But, somehow, this my vestal vow takes wing. 
 Yet still, 1 trust, it may be kept throughout : 
 
 I'm very sorry, very much ashamed. 
 
 And mean next winter, to be quite reclaim'd. 
 
 CXX. 
 
 Here my chaste Muse a liberty must take — 
 Start not ! still chaster reader — she'll be nice 
 hence- 
 Forward, and there is no great cause to quake ; 
 
 This liberty is a poetic license. 
 Which some irregularity may make 
 
 In the design ; and as I have a high sense 
 Of Aristotle and the Rules, 'tis fit 
 To beg his pardon when 1 err a bit. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 This license is to hope the reader will 
 Suppose from June the sixth (the fatal day. 
 
 Without whose epoch my poetic skill. 
 For want of facts, would all be thrown 
 away,) 
 
 But keeping Julia and Don Juan still 
 In sight, that several months have pass'd ; 
 we'll say 
 
 'Twas in November, but I'm not so sure 
 
 About the day — the era's more obscure. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 We'll talk of that anon — 'Tis sweet to hear 
 At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep 
 
 The song and oar of Adria's gondolier. 
 By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep ; 
 
 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear ; 
 'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep 
 
 From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high 
 
 rhe rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
 Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near 
 home : 
 
 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
 Our coming, and look brighter when we 
 come : 
 
 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark. 
 
 Or lull'd by falling waters ; svi eet the hum 
 
 Of bees, the voice of girls, tlie song of birds, 
 
 The lisp of children, and their earliest words. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 Sweet is the vintage, when the showering 
 grapes 
 
 In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth 
 Purple and gushing ; sweet are our escapes 
 
 From civic revelry to rural mirth ; 
 Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps, 
 
 Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth, 
 Sweet is revenge — especially to women. 
 Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. 
 
 CXXV. 
 
 Sweet is the legacy, and passing sweet 
 The unexpected death of some old lady 
 
 Or gentleman of seventy years complete. 
 Who've made " us youth" wait too — too long 
 already 
 
 For an estate, or cash, or country-seat. 
 Still breaking, but with stamina so steady. 
 
 That all the Israelites are fit to mob its 
 
 Next owner for their double-damn'd post- 
 obits. 
 
 CXXV I. 
 
 Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's 
 laurels 
 By blood or ink : 'tis sweet to put an end 
 To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our 
 quarrels. 
 Particularly with a tiresome friend ; 
 Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels : 
 Dear is the helpless creatures we defend 
 Against the world ; and dear the schoolboy 
 
 spot 
 We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, 
 Is first and passionate love — it stands alone. 
 Like Adam's recollection of his fall ; 
 The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd — 
 all's known — 
 And life yields nothing further to recall 
 
 Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown. 
 No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven 
 Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from 
 heaven. 
 M 
 
90 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 Man's a strange animal, and makes strange 
 use 
 Of his own nature and the various arts, 
 And likes particularly to produce 
 
 Some new experiment to show his parts ; 
 This is the age of oddities let loose, 
 
 Where different talents find their different 
 marts ; 
 You'd best begin with truth, and when you're 
 
 lost your 
 Labour, there's a sure market for imposture. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 What opposite discoveries we have seen ! 
 
 (Signs of true genius, and of empty pockets,) 
 One makes new noses, one a guillotine. 
 
 One breaks your bones, one sets them in 
 their sockets ; 
 But vaccination certainly has been 
 
 A kind of antithesis to Congreve's rockets. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Bread' has been made (indifferent) from po- 
 tatoes ; 
 And galvanism has set some corpses grin- 
 ning. 
 But has not answer'd like the apparatus 
 
 Of the Humane Society's beginning, 
 By which men are unsuffocated gratis : 
 What wonderons new. machines have late 
 been spinning ! 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 This is the patent age of new inventions 
 For killing bodies, and for saving souls. 
 
 All propagated with the best intentions ; 
 Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which 
 coals 
 
 Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, 
 Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, 
 
 Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, 
 
 Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo. 
 
 Man's a phenomenon, one knows not what, 
 And wonderful beyond all wonderous meas- 
 ure; 
 'Tis pity though, in this sublime world that 
 Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleas- 
 ure ; 
 
 Few mortals know what end they would be at, 
 
 But whether glory, power, or love, or treas-i 
 
 ure. 
 
 The path is through perplexing ways, and when 
 
 The goal is geun'd, we die, you know — and 
 
 then 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 What then ?— 1 do not know, no more do y ou- 
 And so good night. — Return we to our story ; 
 
 'Twas in November,"when fine days are few. 
 And the far mountains wax a little hoary. 
 
 And clap a white cape on their mantles blue ; 
 And the sea dashes round the promontory. 
 
 And the loud breaker boils against the rock. 
 
 And sober suns must set at five o'clock. 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 'Twas, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night ; 
 
 No moon, no stars, the wind was low or loud 
 By gusts, and many a sparkling hearth was 
 bright [crowd 
 
 With the piled wood, round which the family 
 There's something cheerful in thatsort of lightj 
 
 Even as a summer sky's without a cloud : 
 I'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that, 
 A lobster, salad, and champaign, and chat. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 'Twas midnight— Donna Julia was in bed. 
 Sleeping, most probably, — when at her door 
 
 Arose a clatter might awake the dead, 
 If they had never been awoke before. 
 
 And that they have been so we all have read. 
 And are to be so, at the least once more — 
 
 The door was fasten'd, but with voice and fist 
 
 First knocks were heard, then " Madam — 
 Madam — ^hist ! 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 ii • » » Madam — ^Madam— here's my mas- 
 ter. 
 
 With more than haJf the city at his back — 
 Was ever heard of such a cursed disaster ! 
 
 'Tis not my fault — I kept good watch— 
 Alack ! 
 Do, pray, undo the bolt a little faster — 
 
 They're on the stair just now, and in a crack 
 Will all be here ; perhaps he yet may fly- 
 Surely the window's not so very high I" 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 91 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 By this time Don Alfonso was aiprived, 
 With torches, friends, and servants in great 
 number ; 
 The major part of them had long been wired. 
 And therefore paused not to disturb the 
 slumber 
 Of any wicked woman, who contrived 
 By stealth her husband's temples to en- 
 cumber : 
 Examples of this kind are so contagious. 
 Were one not punish'd, all would be out- 
 rageous. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 I can't tell how, or why, or what suspicion 
 Could enter into Don Alfonso's head : 
 
 But for a cavalier of his condition 
 It surely was exceedingly ill-bred, 
 
 Without a word of previous admonition. 
 To hold a levee round his lady's bed, 
 
 And summon lackeys, arm'd with fire and 
 sword. 
 
 To prove himself the thing he most abhorr'd. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Poor Donna Julia ; starting as from sleep, { 
 (Mind — that I do not say — she had not slept) 
 
 Began at once to scream, and yawn, and weep ; 
 Her maid Antonia, who was an adept, 
 
 Contrived to fling the bed-clothes in a heap. 
 As if she had just now from out them crept : 
 
 I can't tell why she should take all this trouble 
 
 To prove her mistress had been sleeping double. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 But Julia, mistress, and Antonia, maid, 
 Appear'd like two poor harmless women, 
 who 
 Of goblins, but still more of men afraid, 
 Had thought one man might be deterr'd by 
 two. 
 And therefore side by side were gently laid. 
 Until the hours of absence should run 
 through. 
 And truant husband should return and say, 
 " My dear, I was the first who came away." 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried, 
 
 " In heaven's name, Don Alfonso, what d'ye 
 
 mean 7 [died 
 
 Has madness seized you ? would that 1 had 
 Ere such a monster's victim I had been ! 
 
 What may this midnight violence betide, 
 A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen ? 
 
 Dare you suspect me, whom the thought 
 would lull ! [" I will." 
 
 Search, then, the room !" — Alfonso said. 
 
 He search'd, they search'd, and rummaged 
 every where, [seat. 
 
 Closet and clothes'-press, chest and wiudow- 
 And found much linen, lace, and several pair 
 Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, com- 
 plete. 
 With other articles of ladies fair. 
 
 To keep them beautiful or leave them neat : 
 
 Arrass they prick'd and curtains with their 
 
 swords, [boards. 
 
 And wounded several shutters, and some 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 Under the bed they search'd, and there they 
 found — 
 
 No matter what — it was not that they sought ; 
 They open'd windows gazing if the ground. 
 
 Had signs or footmarks, but the earth said 
 nought, 
 And then they stared each others' faces round : 
 
 'Tis odd, not one of all these seekers thought, 
 And seems to be almost a sort of blunder. 
 Of looking 171 the bed as well as under. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 During this inquisition Julia's tongue 
 Was not asleep — " Yes, search and search," 
 she cried, 
 
 " Insult on insult heap, and wrong on wrong ; 
 It was for this that I became a bride ! 
 
 For this in silence I have suffer'd long 
 A husband like Alfonso at my side ; 
 
 But now I'll bear no more, nor here remain, 
 
 If there be law, or lawyers, in all Spain. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 " Yes, Don Alfonso ! husband now no more, 
 If ever you indeed deserved the name, 
 
 Is't worthy of your years ? — you have three- 
 score, 
 Fifty, or sixty — it is all the same — 
 
 Is't wiae or fitting causeless to explore 
 For facts against a virtuous woman's fame ? 
 
 Ungrateful, perjured, barbarous Don Alfonso 
 
 How dare you think your lady would go on 
 so? 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 " Is it for this I have disdain'd to hold 
 
 The common privileges of my sex ? 
 That I have chosen a confessor so old 
 
 And deaf, that any other it would vex, 
 And never once he has had cause to scold. 
 
 But found my very innocence perplex 
 So much, he always doubted I was married- 
 How sorry you will be when I've miscarried. 
 
92 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 CXLVIIl. 
 
 " Waa it for this that no Cortejo ere 
 
 I yet have chosen from out the youth of 
 Seville 1 
 
 Is it for this I scarce went any where, 
 
 Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and 
 revel ? 
 
 Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were, 
 I favour'd none — nay, was almost uncivil ? 
 
 Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly, 
 
 Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely?* 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 " Did not the Italian Muslco Cazzani 
 Sing at my heart six months at least in vain ? 
 
 Did not his countryman, Count Cornlani, 
 Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain 1 
 
 Were there not also Russians, English, many 1 
 The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain. 
 
 And Lord Mount Coffee-house, the Irish Peer, 
 
 Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last 
 year. 
 
 CL. 
 
 " Have I not had two bishops at my feet? 
 
 The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez, 
 And is it thus a faithful wife you treat 1 
 
 I wonder in what quarter now the moon is : 
 I praise your vast forbearance not to beat 
 
 Me also, since the time so opportune is — 
 Oh, valiant man ! with sword drawn and cock'd 
 
 trigger, 
 Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure ? 
 
 CLI. 
 
 " Was it for this you took your sudden journey, 
 
 Under pretence of business indispensible 
 With that sublime of rascals, your attorney. 
 Whom I see standing there, and looking 
 sensible 
 Of having play'd the fool ? though both 1 spurn, 
 he 
 Deserves the worst, his conduct's less de- 
 fensible, 
 Because, no doubt, 'twas for his dirty fee. 
 And not from any love to you nor me. 
 
 CLII. 
 
 " If he comes here to take a deposition, 
 
 By all means let the gentleman proceed ; 
 You've made the apartment in a fit condition :— 
 There's pen and ink for you. Sir, when you 
 need — 
 Let every thing be noted with precision, 
 
 I would not you for nothing should be feed- 
 But as my maid's undress'd, pray turn your 
 
 spies out," 
 " Oh !" sobb'd Antonia, " I could tear their 
 eyes out." 
 
 CLIIL 
 
 " There is the closet, there the toilet, there 
 The anti-chamber — search them under, over : 
 
 There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair. 
 The chimney — which would really hold a 
 lover. 
 
 I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care 
 And make no further noise, till you discover 
 
 The secret cavern of this lurking treasure — 
 
 And when 'tis found, let me, too, have that 
 pleasure. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 " And now, Hidalgo! now that you have 
 - thrown 
 
 Doubt upon me, confusion over all. 
 Pray have the courtesy to make it known — 
 
 Who is the man you search for ? how d'ye 
 
 call [shown — 
 
 Him? what's his lineage? let him but be 
 
 I hope he's young and handsome — is he tall ? 
 Tell me — and be assured, that, since you stain 
 My honour thus, it shall not be in vain. 
 
 CLV. 
 
 " At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years. 
 At thatage he would be too old for slaughter. 
 
 Or for so young a husband's jealous fears — 
 (Antonia ! let me have a glass of water.) 
 
 I am ashamed of having shed these tears, 
 They are unworthy of my father's daughter ; 
 
 My mother dream'd not in my natal hour 
 
 That I should fall into a monster's power. 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 " Perhaps 'tis of Antonia you are jealous, 
 You saw that she was sleeping by my side 
 
 When you broke in upoii us with your fellows : 
 Look where you please — we've nothing. Sir, 
 to hide ; 
 
 Only another time, I trust you'll tell us. 
 Or for the sake of decency abide 
 
 A moment at the door, that we may be 
 
 Dress'd to receive so much good company. 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 " And now, Sir, I have done, and say no more ; 
 
 The little I have said may serve to show 
 The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er 
 
 The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow ; 
 1 leave you to your conscience as before, 
 
 'Twill one day ask you why you used me so ! 
 And if you feel not then the bitterest grief! 
 Antonia ! where's my pocketrhandkerchief ?" 
 
BON JQAir. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 93 
 
 She ceased, and tum'd upon her pillow; pale 
 I She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their 
 tears, 
 Like skies that rain and lighten ; as a veil, 
 Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, 
 appears 
 Her streaming hair; the black curls strive, 
 but fail, 
 To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears 
 Its snow through all ; — her soft lips lie apart. 
 And louder than her breathing beats her heart. 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused ; 
 
 Antonia bustled round the ransack'd room. 
 And, turning up her nose, with looks abused 
 
 Her master, and his myrmidons, of whom 
 Not one, except the attorney, was amused ; 
 
 He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb. 
 So there were quarrels, cared notfor the cause, 
 Knowing they must be settled by the laws. 
 
 CLX. 
 
 With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he 
 stood, 
 
 Following Antonia's motions here and there. 
 With much suspicion in his attitude ; 
 
 For reputations he had little care ; 
 So that a suit or action were made good, 
 
 Small pity had he for the young and fair. 
 And ne'er believed in negatives, till these 
 Were proved by competent false witnesses. 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 But Don Alfonso stood with downcast looks, 
 And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure ; 
 
 When, after searching in five hundred nooks. 
 And treating a young wife with so much 
 rigour. 
 
 He gain'd no point, except some self-rebukes, 
 Added to those his lady with such vigour 
 
 Had pour'd upon him for the last half-hour. 
 
 Quick, thick, and heavy — as a thunder-shower. 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 At first he tried to hammer an excuse. 
 To which the sole reply were tears, and sobs, 
 
 And indications of hysterics, whose 
 Prologue is always certain throes and throbs, 
 
 Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose ; 
 Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's ; 
 
 He saw too, in perspective, her relations. 
 
 And then he tried to muster all his patience. 
 
 cLxni. 
 
 He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer, ' 
 
 But sage Antonia cut him short, before 
 The anvil of his speech received the hammer, 
 With " Pray, Sir, leave the room, and say no 
 more, [her," 
 
 Or Madam dies." — Alfonso mutter'd " D — n 
 But nothing else, the time of words was 
 o'er; 
 He cast a rueful look or two, and did. 
 He knew not wherefore, that which he was 
 bid. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 With him retired his " posse comitatus," 
 The attorney last, who linger'd near the door. 
 
 Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as 
 Antonia let him — not a little sore 
 
 At this most strange and unexplain'd " hiatus" 
 In Don Alfonso's facts, which just now woro 
 
 An awkward look ; as he revolved the case 
 
 The door was fasten'd in his legal face. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 No sooner was it bolted, than — Oh shame ! 
 
 Oh sin ! Oh sorrow ! and Oh womankind ! 
 How can you do such things and keep your 
 fame. 
 
 Unless this world, and t'other too, be blind ? 
 Nothing so dear as an unfilch'd good name ! 
 
 But to proceed — for there is more behind : 
 With much heart-felt reluctance be it said, 
 Young Juan slipp'd, half smother'd, from the 
 bed. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 He had been hid — I don't pretend to say 
 How, nor can I indeed describe the where — 
 
 Young, slender, and pack'd easily he lay. 
 No doubt in little compass, round or square ; 
 
 But pity him I neither must nor may 
 His suffocation by that pretty pair : 
 
 'Twere better, sure to die so, than be shut 
 
 With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt. 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 And, secondly, I pity not because 
 He had no business to commit asin, 
 
 Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws. 
 At least 'twas rather early to begin ; 
 
 But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws 
 So much as when we call our old debts in 
 
 At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil, 
 
 And find a deuced balance with the devil. 
 
94 
 
 ■DJN JUAN. 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 cixxm. 
 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 What's to be done ? Alfonso will be back 
 The moment he has sent his fools away. 
 
 Antonia's skill was put upon the rack, 
 But no device could be brought into play — 
 
 And how to parry the renew'd attack i 
 Besides, it wanted but few hours of day ; 
 
 Antonia puzzled ; Julia did not speak. 
 
 But press'd her bloodless lip to Juan's cheek. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 He turn'd his lip to hers, and with his hand 
 Call'd back the tangles of her wandering 
 hair ; [mand, 
 
 Even then their love they conld not all com- 
 
 And half forgot their danger and despair : 
 Antonia's patience now was at a stand — 
 " Come, come, 'tis no time now for fooling 
 there," 
 She whisper'd, in great wrath — " I must de- 
 posit 
 This pretty gentleman within the closet : 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 " Pray, keep your nonsense for some luckier 
 
 night 
 ' Who can have put my master in this mood 1 
 What will become on't — I'm in such a fright. 
 
 The devil's in the urchin, and no good — 
 Is this a time for giggling 1 this a plight 1 
 Why don't you know that it may end in 
 
 blood ? [place. 
 
 You'll lose your life, and I shall lose my 
 My mistress all, for that half girlish face. 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 " Had it but been for a stout cavalier 
 Of twenty-five or thirty— ( Come, make 
 haste) 
 
 But for a child, what piece of work is here ! 
 I really. Madam, wonder at your taste — 
 
 (Come, Sir, get in) — my master must be near, 
 There, for the present, at the least he's fast, 
 
 And if we can but till the morning keep 
 
 Our counsel — (Juan, mind you must not 
 sleep.") 
 
 Now, Don Alfonso entering, but alone, 
 Closed the oration of the trusty maid : 
 
 She loiter'd, and he told her to be gone. 
 An order somewhat sullenly obey'd ; 
 
 However, present remedy was none, 
 And no great good seem'd answer'd if she 
 staid ; 
 
 Regarding both with slow and sidelong view. 
 
 She silufi'd the candle, curtsied, and withdrew. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 Alfonso paused a minute^then begun 
 Some strange'excuses for his late proceeding ; 
 
 He would not justify what he had done. 
 To say the best, it was extreme ill-breeding ; 
 
 But there were ample reasons for it, none 
 Of which he specified in this his pleading ; 
 
 His speech was a fine sample, on the whole. 
 
 Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call " rigmarole." 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 Julia said nought ; though all the while there 
 rose 
 
 A ready answer, which at once enables 
 A matron, who her husband's foible knows, 
 
 By a few timely words to turn the tables. 
 Which if it does not silence, still must pose, 
 
 Even if it should comprise a pack of fables 
 'Tis to retort with firmness, and when he 
 Suspects with one, do you reproach with three 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 Julia, in fact had tolerable grounds, 
 
 Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known ; 
 But whether 'twas that one's own guilt con- 
 founds 
 
 But that can't be, as has been often 
 shown, 
 A lady with apologies abounds ; 
 
 It might be that her-silence sprang alone 
 From delicacy to Don Juan's ear, 
 To whom she knew his mother's fame was 
 dear. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 There might be one more motive, which makes 
 two, 
 
 Alfonso ne'er to Juan had alluded, 
 Mention'd his jealousy, but never who 
 
 Had been the happy lover, he concluded 
 Conceal'd amongst his premises ; 'tis true. 
 
 His mind the more o'er this its mystery 
 brooded ; 
 To speak of Inez now were, one may say. 
 Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way. 
 
BON JXTAHr. 
 
 95 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 A bint, in tender cases, is enough ; 
 
 Silence is best, besides there is a tact 
 (That modern phrase appears to be sad stuflF, 
 
 But it will serve to keep my verse compact) 
 Which keeps, when push'dby questions rather 
 rough, 
 
 A lady always distant from the fact — 
 The charming creatures He with such a grace. 
 There's nothing so becoming to the face. 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 They blnsh, and we believe them ; at least I 
 Have always done so; 'tis of no great use, 
 In any case attempting a reply, 
 Far then their eloquence grows quite pro- 
 fuse; 
 And when at length they're out of breath, they 
 sigh, 
 And cast their languid eyes down, and let 
 loose 
 A tear or two, and then we make it up ; 
 And then — and theu' — and then — sit down and 
 
 sup. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 Alfonso closed his speech, and begg'd her 
 
 pardon, [granted. 
 
 Which Julia half withheld, and then half 
 
 And laid conditions, he thought, very hard on. 
 
 Denying several little things he wanted ; 
 He stood, like Adam, lingering near his gar- 
 den, [ted. 
 With useless penitence perplex'd and hann- 
 ***** 
 When lo ! be stumbled o'er a pair of shoes. 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 A pair of shoes ! — what then 1 notmuch if they 
 Are such as fit with lady's feet, but these, 
 
 (No one can tell how much I grieve to say). 
 Were masculine ; to see them and to seize. 
 
 Was but a moment's act — Ah ! Well-a-day ! 
 My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze — 
 
 Alfonso first examined well their fashion, 
 
 And then flew out into another passion. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 I He left the room for his relinquish'd sword, 
 
 And Julia instant to the closet flew, 
 " Fly, Juan fly ! — ^for heaven's sake not a 
 j word— 
 
 { The door is open — ^you may yet slip through 
 
 iThe passage you so often have explored 
 
 Here is the garden key — fly — fly — Adieu ! 
 Haste — haste ! I hear Alfonso's hurrying 
 
 feet— 
 ;Day has not broke — there's no one in the 
 street." 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 None can say that this was not good advice, 
 The only mischief was, it came too late ; 
 
 Of all experience 'tis the usual price, 
 A sort of income-tax laid on by Fate : 
 
 Juan had reach'4 the room-door in a trice. 
 And might have done so by the garden-gate. 
 
 But met Alfonzo in his dressing-gown, 
 
 Who threaten'd death— so Juan knock'd him 
 down. 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light, 
 Antonia cried out " Rape !" and Julia 
 " Fire !" 
 But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight. 
 
 Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire. 
 Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night 
 And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave 
 higher, 
 His blood was up : though young he was a 
 
 Tartar, 
 And not at all disposed to prove a martyr. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere he could draw 
 it. 
 And they continued battling hand to hand, 
 For Juan very luckily ne'er saw it ; 
 
 His temper not being under great command. 
 If at that moment he had chance to claw it, 
 
 Alfonso's days had not been in the land 
 Much longer.— Think of husbands', lovers' 
 
 lives ! 
 And how ye may be doubly widows — wives ! 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 Alfonso grappled to detain the foe. 
 And Juan throttled him to get away. 
 
 And blood ('twas from the nose) began to flow ; 
 At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay, 
 
 Juan contrived to give an awkward blow. 
 And then his only garment quite gave way; 
 
 He fled, like Joseph, leaving it ; but there, 
 
 I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair. 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Lights came at length, and men, and maids, 
 who found 
 An awkward spectacle their eyes before ! 
 Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd, 
 
 Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door. 
 Some half-torn dra{)ery scatter'd on the 
 ground. 
 Some blood, and several footsteps bnt no 
 more : 
 Juan the gate gain'd, turn'd the key about. 
 And liking not the inside, lock'd the out. 
 
96 
 
 SON JUAN. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 Here ends this canto, — need I sing, or say, 
 How Juan, naked, favour'd by the night. 
 Who favours what she should not, found his 
 way. 
 And reach'd his home in this unseemly 
 plight ! 
 The pleasant scandal which arose next day, 
 The nine days' wonder which was brought 
 to light. 
 And how Alfonso sued for a divorce. 
 Were in the English newspapers of course. 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 If you would like to see the whole proceedings, 
 The depositions, and the cause at full, 
 
 The names of all the witnesses, the pleadings 
 Of counsel to nonsuit, or to annul. 
 
 There's more than one edition, and the readings 
 Are various, but they none of them are dull. 
 
 The best is that in short-hand ta'en by Gurney, 
 
 Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 But Donna Inez, to divert the train 
 Of one of the most circulating scandals 
 
 That had for centuries been known in Spain, 
 At least since the retirement of the Vandals, 
 
 First vow'd (and never had she vow'd in 
 vain) 
 To Virgin Mary several pounds of candles ; 
 
 And then, by the advice of some old ladies. 
 
 She sent her son to be shipp'd off from Cadiz. 
 
 CXC I. 
 
 She had resolved" that he should travel 
 through 
 
 All European climes, by land or sea. 
 To mend his former morals, and get new. 
 
 Especially in France and Italy, 
 (At least this is the thing most people do.) 
 
 Julia was sent into a convent : she 
 Grieved, but, ^perhaps, her feelings may be 
 
 better 
 Shown in the following copy of her letter. 
 
 CXCII. 
 
 " They tell me 'tis decided ; you depart : 
 'Tis wise^'tis well, but not the less a pain'; 
 
 I have no further claim on your young heart, 
 Mine is the victim, and would be again ; 
 
 To love too much has been the only art 
 I used ; — I write in haste, and if a stain 
 
 Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears. 
 
 My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no 
 tears. 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 " I loved, I love you, for this love have lost 
 State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own 
 esteem. 
 
 And yet cannot regret what it hath cost, 
 So dear is still the memory of that dream ; 
 
 Yet, if I name my guilt, 'tis not to boast, 
 None can deem ha(^hlier of me than I 
 deem; 
 
 I trace this scrawl because I cannot rest — 
 
 I've nothing to reproach, or to request. 
 
 CXCIV. 
 
 " Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 
 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may 
 range 
 The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the 
 mart. 
 Sword, gown, gain, glory, oifer in exchange 
 Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart. 
 And few there are, whom these can not 
 estrange ; 
 Men have all these resources, we but one. 
 To love again, and be again undone. 
 
 cxcv. 
 
 " You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride. 
 Beloved, and loving many ; all is o'er 
 
 For me on earth, except some years to hide \ i 
 My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's' 
 core; 
 
 These I could bear, but cannot cast aside 
 The passion which still rages as before, j 
 
 And so farewell — forgive me, love me — No, | 
 
 That word is idle now — but let it go. 
 
 cxcvi. 
 
 " My breast has been all weakness, is so yet ; 
 
 But still I think I can collect my mind ; 
 My blood still rushes where my spirits set. 
 
 As roll the waves before the settled wind ; 
 My heart is feminine, nor can forget — 
 
 To all, except one image, madly blind ; 
 So shakes the needle, and so stands the polej [ 
 As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul. 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 " I have no more to say, but linger still. 
 And dare not set my seal upon this sheet. 
 
 And yet I may as well the task fulfil. 
 My misery can scarce be more complete : 
 
 I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill : - 
 
 Death shuns the wretch who fain the blo>i 
 
 would meet, ^ 
 
 And I must even survive this last adieu. 
 
 And bear with life, to love and pray V^ 
 you !" 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 9T 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 This note was written upon gilt-edged paper 
 With a neat little crow quill, slight and new ; 
 
 Her small white hand could hardly reach the 
 taper, 
 It trembled as magnetic needles do, 
 
 And yet she did not let one tear escape her ; 
 The seal a sunflower ; " EUe t/ous suit 
 partout," 
 
 The motto, cut upon a white cornelian ; 
 
 The wax was superfine, its hue vermilion. 
 
 CXCIX. 
 
 This was Don Juan's earliest scrape ; but 
 whether 
 I shall proceed with his adventures is 
 Dependent on the public altogether ; 
 
 We'll see, however, what they say to this. 
 Their favour in an author's cap's a feather. 
 And no great mischief's done by their 
 caprice ; 
 And if their approbation we experience, 
 Perhaps they'll have some more about a year 
 hence. 
 
 CC. 
 
 My poem's epic, and is meant to be 
 Divided in twelve books ; each book con- 
 taining 
 
 With love and war, a heavy gale at sea, 
 A list of ships, and captains, and kings 
 reigning. 
 
 New characters ; the episodes are three : 
 A panorama view of hell's in training 
 
 After the style of Virgil and of Homer, 
 
 So that my name of epic's no misnomer. 
 
 CCI. 
 
 All these things will be specified in time, 
 With strict regard to Aristotle's rules. 
 The vademecum of the true sublime, 
 
 Which makes so many poets, and some fools : 
 
 Prose poets like blank verse, I'm fond of 
 
 rhyme, [tools ; 
 
 Good workmen never quarrel with their 
 
 I've got new mythological machinery, 
 
 1 And very handsome supernatural scenery. 
 
 ecu. 
 
 There's only one slight difference between 
 
 Me and my epic brethern gone before, 
 And here the advantage is my own I ween ; 
 (Not that I have not several merits more, 
 But this will more peculiarly be seen) 
 j They so embellish, that 'tis quite a bore 
 ; Their labyrinth of fables to tread through, 
 Wliereas this story's actually true. 
 
 CCIIL 
 
 If any person doubt it, I appeal 
 To history, tradition, and to facts, 
 
 To newspapers, whose truth all know and feel, 
 To plays in five, and operas in three acts ; 
 
 All these confirm my statement a good deal, 
 But that which more completely faith exacts 
 
 Is, that myself, and several now in Seville, 
 
 Saw Juan's last elopement with the devil. 
 
 CCIV. 
 
 If ever I should condescend to prose, 
 I'll write poetical commandments, which 
 
 Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those 
 That went before ; in these I shall enrich 
 
 My text with many things that no one knows. 
 And carry precept to the highest pitch ; 
 
 I'll call the work " Longinus o'er a Bottle, 
 
 Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle." 
 
 ccv. 
 
 Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope ; 
 Thou shall not set up Wordsworth, Cole- 
 ridge, Southey, 
 Because the first is crazed beyond all hope. 
 The second drunk, the third .so quaint and 
 moathey : 
 With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope, 
 .'Vnd Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat 
 drouthy ; 
 Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor 
 Commit — flirtation with the Muse of Moore. 
 
 CCVI. 
 
 Thou shalt not covet Blr. Southey's Muse, 
 
 His Pegasus, nor any thing that's his ; 
 Thou shalt not bear false witness like " the 
 Blues," 
 (There's one, at least, is very fond of this;) 
 Thou shalt not write, in short, but v^hat 1 
 
 choose : 
 This is true criticism, and you may kiss — 
 Exactly as you please, or not, the rod, 
 
 CCVII. 
 
 If any person should presume to assert 
 This story is hot moral, first, I pray. 
 
 That they will not cry out before they're hurt, 
 Then that they'll read it o'er again, and say, 
 
 (But, doubtless, nobody will be so pert) 
 That this is not a moral tale, though gay. 
 
 Besides, in canto twelfth, I mean to show, 
 
 The very place v/hero wicked people go. 
 i N 
 
98 
 
 DOW JUAN. 
 
 CCVIIl. 
 
 If, after all, there should be some so blind 
 To their own good, this warning to despise. 
 
 Led by some tortuosity of mind, 
 Not to believe my verse and their own eyes, 
 
 And cry that they " the moral cannot find," 
 I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies ; 
 
 Should captains the remark or critics make, 
 
 They also lie too — under a mistake. 
 
 CCIX. 
 
 The public approbation I expect. 
 And beg they'll take my word about the 
 moral. 
 Which 1 with their amusement will connect, 
 (So children cutting teeth receive a coral ;) 
 Meantime, they'll doubtless please to recol- 
 lect 
 Sly epical pretensions to the laurel : 
 For fear some prudish readers should grow 
 
 skittish, 
 I've bribed my grandmother's review — the 
 British. 
 
 ccx. 
 
 I sent in a letter to the editor. 
 
 Who thank'd me duly by return of post— 
 I'm for a handsome article his creditor : 
 
 Yet, if my gentle Muse he please to roast. 
 And break a promise after having made it her. 
 
 Denying the receipt of what it cost. 
 And smear his page with gall instead of honey, 
 All I can say is — that he had the money, 
 
 CCXI. 
 
 1 think that with this holy new alliance 
 I may ensure the public, and defy 
 
 All other magazines of art or science. 
 Daily, or monthly, or three monthly ; I 
 
 Have not essay'd to multiply their clients, 
 Because they tell me 'twere in vain to try, 
 
 And that the Edinburgh Review, and 
 Quarterly, 
 
 Treat a dissenting author very martyrly. 
 
 CCXII. 
 
 " Non ego hocferrem caliila juventa 
 Consule Planco." Horace said, and so 
 
 Say I : by which quotation there is meant a 
 Hint that some six or seven good years ago 
 
 (Long ere I dreamt of dating from the Brenta) 
 I was most ready to return a blow. 
 
 And woulJ not brook at all this sort of thing 
 
 In my hot youth — when George the Third was 
 King. 
 
 CCXIII. 
 
 But now at thirty years my hair is gray — 
 (1 wonder what it will be like at forty ? 
 I thought of a peruke the other day) 
 My heart is not much greener ; and, in 
 short, I 
 Have squander'd my whole summer while 
 'twas May, 
 And feel no more the spirit to retort ; I 
 Have spent my life, both interest and principal, 
 And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul in. 
 vincible. 
 
 CCXIV. 
 
 No more — no more — Oh ! never more on me 
 The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, 
 
 Which out of all the lovely things we see 
 Extracts emotions beautiful and new. 
 
 Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee : 
 Think'st thou the honey with those objects 
 grew? 
 
 Alas ! 'twas not in them, but in thy power 
 
 To double even the sweetness of a flower. 
 
 CCXV. 
 
 No more — no more — Oh ! never more, my 
 heart, 
 
 Canst thou be my sole world, my universe ! 
 Once all in all, but now a thing apart. 
 
 Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse : 
 The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art 
 
 Insensible, I trust, but none the worse, 
 And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, 
 Though heaven knows how it ever found a 
 lodgement. 
 
 CCXVI. 
 
 I 
 
 My day's of love are over : me no more e 
 The charms of maid, wife, and still less of 
 widow. 
 
 Can make the fool of which they made before, 
 In short I must not lead the life I did do ; 
 
 The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, 
 The copious use of claret is forbid too. 
 
 So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, 
 
 I think I must take np with avarice. 
 
 CCX VII. 
 
 Ambition was my idol, which was broken 
 Before the shrines of Sorrow and of Pleas-; 
 ure ; 
 And the two last have left me many a token 
 
 O'er which reflection may be made atleisure: 
 
 Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, l'\o 
 
 spoken, 
 
 " Time is. Time was, • Time's past," a 
 
 chymic treasure [times^ 
 
 Is glittering youth, which I have spent b»- 
 
 My heart in passion, ami my head on rhymes. 
 
DON 
 
 CCXVIII, 
 
 What is the end of fame? 'tis but to fill 
 A certain portion of uncevtdin paper : 
 
 Some liken it to climbing up a hill, 
 Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in va- 
 pour, . [kill, 
 
 For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes 
 And bards burn what they call their " mid- 
 night taper," 
 
 To have, when the original is dust, 
 
 A name, wretched picture, and worse bust. 
 
 CCXIX. 
 
 What are the hopes of man ? old Egypt's King 
 
 Cheops erected the first pyramid 
 And largest, thinking it was just the thing 
 
 To keep his memory whole, and mummy 
 But somebody or other rummaging, [hid ; 
 
 Burglariously broke his coffin's lid : 
 Let not a monument give you or me hopes. 
 Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops. 
 
 ccxx. 
 
 But I, being fond of true philosophy. 
 Say very often to myself, " Ahis! 
 
 All things that have been born were born to die. 
 And flesh (which death mows down to hay) 
 is grass, 
 
 JUAN. 9.9 
 
 You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly, 
 
 And if you had it o'er again— 'twould pass — 
 
 So thank your stars that matters are no worse. 
 
 And read your Bible, Sir, and mind your 
 
 purse." 
 
 CCXXI. 
 
 But for the present, gentle reader ! and 
 Still gentler purchaser ! the Bard — that's I— 
 
 Must, with permission, shake you by the hand, 
 And so your humble servant, and good bye ! 
 
 We meet again, if we should understand 
 Each other : and if not, I shall not try 
 
 Your patience further than by this short 
 sample — 
 
 Twere well if others foUow'd my example. 
 
 CCXXII. 
 
 " Go, little book, from this my solitude ! 
 
 I cast thee on the waters — go thy ways ! 
 And if, as I believe, thy vein be good. 
 
 The world will find thee after many days." 
 When Southey's read, and Wordsworth un- 
 derstood, 
 
 I can't help putting in my claim to praise — 
 The four first rhymes are Southey's every line : 
 My gentle reader take them not for miae. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 Note a, page 77, stanza v. 
 Brave men were living before Agamemnon. 
 " Vixere fortes ante Agamemnon," &c.— Horace. 
 
 Note b, page 78, stanza xvii. 
 Save thine " incomparable ail" Macassar ! 
 " Description des vertus incomparables de I'huile de 
 Macassar." — See tlie advertisement. 
 
 Note c, page 81, stanza xlii. 
 Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn 
 Where the sublime soars Jorth on utings more ample. 
 
 See Longinus, Section 10. 
 
 Note d, page 81, stanza xliv. 
 Thet/ only add them all in an appendix. 
 Fact. There is, or was, such an edition, with all the 
 obnoxious epigrams of Martial placed by themselves at 
 the end. 
 
 Note e, page 86, stanza IxxxviiL 
 The bard 1 quote from does not sing amiss. 
 Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming. (I think) tlie open- 
 ing of Canto II. j but quote from memory. 
 
 Note f, page 92, stanza cxlviii. 
 
 Is itfortltis that General Count O'Reilly, 
 
 Who took Algiers, declares I used bim vilely 7 
 
 Donna Julia here made a mistal^e. Count O'Reilly did 
 
 not take Algiers — but Algiers very nearly took him : lie 
 
 and his army and fleet retreated with great loss, and not 
 
 much credit, from before that city in the year 17 — . 
 
 Note g, page 98, stanza ccxvi. 
 
 idy days of love are over, me no more. 
 Me nee femina, nee puer 
 Jam, nee spes animi credula mutui. 
 
 Nee certare juvat mero ; 
 Nee Tincire novis tempera flcribufi. 
 
iD®ir 3WAmo 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh je ! who teach the ingenuous youth of 
 nations, 
 
 Holland, France, England, Germany, or 
 Spain, 
 I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, 
 
 It mends their morals ; never mind the pain : 
 The best of mothers and of educations 
 
 In Juan's case, were but employ'd in vain. 
 Since iu a way, that's rather of the oddest, he 
 Became divested of his native modesty. 
 
 II. 
 
 Had he but been placed at a public school. 
 In the third form, or even in the fourth. 
 
 His daily task had kept his fancy cool. 
 At least, had he been nurtured in the north ; 
 
 Spain may prove an exception to the rule. 
 But then exceptions always proves its 
 worth — 
 
 A lad of sixteen causing a divorce, 
 
 Puzzled his tutors very much, of course. 
 
 III. 
 
 I can't say that it puzzles me at all. 
 If all things be considered : first there was 
 
 His lady mother, mathematical, 
 A never mind ; his tutor an old ass ; 
 
 A pretty woman — (that's quite natural, 
 Or else the thing had hardly come to pass ;) 
 
 A husband rather old, not much in unity 
 
 With his young wife — a time, and opportunity. 
 
 IV, 
 
 Well — well, the world must turn upon its axis, 
 And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails ; 
 And live and die, make love and pay our taxes. 
 And as the veering wind shifts, shift our 
 sails ; [us. 
 
 The king commands us, and the doctor quacks 
 The priest instructs us, and so our life 
 exhales, 
 A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame. 
 Fighting, devotion, dust — perhaps a name. 
 
 I said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz — 
 A pretty town — I recollect it well — 
 
 'Tis there the mart of the colonial trade is, 
 (Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel) 
 
 And such sweet girls — I mean such graceful 
 
 ladies, [swell ; 
 
 Their very walk would make your bosom 
 
 I can't describe it, though so much it strike, 
 
 Nor liken it — I never saw the like : 
 
 VI. 
 
 An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb 
 New broke, a camelopard, a gazelle. 
 
 No — none of these will do :— and then their 
 garb! 
 Their veil and petticoat — Alas ! to dwell 
 
 Upon such things, would very near absorb 
 A canto — then their feet and ancles — well 
 
 Thank heaven I've got no metaphor quite 
 ready, [steady — 
 
 (And so, my sober Muse— come let's be 
 
 VII. 
 
 Chaste Muse ! — well, if you must, you must) — 
 the veil [hand, 
 
 Thrown back a moment with the glancing 
 While the o'erpowering eye, which turns you 
 pale. 
 Flashes into the heart ; all-sunny land 
 Of love ! when I forget you, may I fail 
 To — say my prayers — but never was there 
 plann'd [volley, 
 
 A dress through which the eyes give such a 
 Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But to our tale : the Donna Inez sent 
 Her son to Cadiz only to embark ; 
 
 To stay there had not answer'd her intent; 
 But why? — we leave the reader in the dark— 
 
 'Twas for a voyage that the young man was 
 meant, 
 As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark. 
 
 To wean him from the wickedness of earth, 
 
 And send him like a dove of promise forth. 
 
BON JUAN. 
 
 101 
 
 IX. 
 
 Don Jaan bade his valet pack his things 
 According to direction ; then received 
 
 A lecture and some money ; for fonr springs 
 He was to travel ; and though Inez grieved, 
 
 f As every kind of parting has its stings) 
 She hoped he would improve— perhaps be- 
 lieved ; 
 
 A letter, too, she gave (he never read it) 
 
 Of good advice — and two or three of credit. 
 
 X. 
 
 In the mean time, to pass her hours away. 
 Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school 
 
 For naughty children, who would rather play 
 (Like truant rogues) the devil, or the fool ; 
 
 Infants of three years old were taught that 
 day, 
 Dunces were whipt, or set upon a stool : 
 
 The great success of Juan's education, 
 
 Spurr'd her to teach another generation. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Juan embark'd — the ship got under weigh. 
 The wind was fair, the water passing rough ; 
 
 A devil of a sea rolls in that Bay, 
 As I, who've cross'd it oft know well 
 enough ; 
 
 And, standing upon deck, the dashing spray 
 Flies in one's face, and makes it weather 
 tough. 
 
 And there he stood to take, and take again. 
 
 His first, perhaps his last — farewell of Spain. 
 
 XII. 
 
 I can't but say it is an awkward sight 
 To see one's native land receding through 
 
 The growing waters ; it unmans one quite. 
 Especially when life is rather new : 
 
 I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white, 
 But almost every other country's blue. 
 
 When gazing on them mystified by distance, 
 
 We enter on qui nautical existence. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 So Juan stood, bewilder'd on the deck : 
 The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors 
 swore. 
 And the ship creak'd, the town became a 
 speck. 
 From which away, so fair and fast they 
 bore : 
 The best of remedies is a beef-steak 
 
 Against sea-sickness : try it. Sir, before 
 You sneer, and I assure you this is true, 
 For I have found it answer — so may you. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stem, 
 Beheld his native Spain receding far: 
 
 First partings form a lesson hard to learn. 
 Even nations feel this when they go to war; 
 
 There is a sort of unexpress'd concern, 
 A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar : 
 
 At leaving even the most unpleasant people 
 
 And places, one keeps looking at the steeple. 
 
 XV. 
 
 But Juan had got many things to leave. 
 His mother, and a mistress, and no wife. 
 
 So that he had much better cause to grieve 
 Thau many persons more advanced in life ; 
 
 And if we now and then a sigh must heave 
 At quitting even those we quit in strife. 
 
 No doubt we weep for those the heart en- 
 dears — 
 
 That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 So Juan wept, as wept the capti\e Jews 
 By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion : 
 
 I'd weep, but mine is not a weeping Muse, 
 And such light griefs are not a thing to die 
 on; 
 
 Young men should travel, if but to amuse 
 Themselves ; and the next time their servants 
 tie on. 
 
 Behind their carriages, their new portmanteau. 
 
 Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd and 
 thought. 
 
 While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea, 
 " Sweets to the sweet ;" (I like so much to 
 quote ; 
 
 You must excuse this extract, 'tis where she. 
 The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought 
 
 Flowers to the grave ;) and, sobbing often, he 
 Reflected on his present situation. 
 And seriously resolved on reformation. 
 
 XVllI. 
 
 " Farewell, my Spain ! a long farewell !" he 
 cried, 
 
 Perhaps I may revisit thee no more. 
 But die, as many an exiled heart hath died. 
 
 Of its own thirst to see again thy shore : 
 Farewell, where Guadalquiver's waters glide ! 
 
 Farewell, my mother ! and since all is o'er. 
 Farewell, too, dearest Julia !— (here he drew 
 Her letter out again, and read it through.) 
 
102 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ' And oh ! if e'er I should forget, 1 swear — 
 But that's impossible, and cannot be — 
 
 Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air, 
 Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea. 
 
 Than I resign thine image. Oh ! my fair ! 
 Or think of any thing excepting thee ; 
 
 A mind diseased no remedy can physic" — 
 
 Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea- 
 sick. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Sooner shall heaven kiss earth"— (here he 
 fell sicker) 
 
 " Oh, Jnlia ! what is every other wo !^ 
 (For pity let me have a glass of liquor — 
 
 Pedro! Battista ! help me down below,) 
 3ulia, my love ! — (you rascal, Pedro, quicker) 
 
 Oh Julia ! — (this cursed vessel pitches so) — 
 Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching !" 
 (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.) 
 
 XXI. 
 
 He felt that chilling heaviness of heart. 
 Or rather stomach, which, alas ! attends. 
 
 Beyond the best apothecary's art, 
 The loss of love, the treachery of friends. 
 
 Or death of those we dote on, when a part 
 Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends : 
 
 No doubt he would have been much more 
 X>athetic, 
 
 But the sea acted as a strong emetic. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Love's a capricious power ; I've known it hold 
 Out through a fever caused by its own heat, 
 
 But be much puzzled by a cough and cold. 
 And find a quinsy very hard to treat : 
 
 Against all noble maladies he's bold. 
 But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, 
 
 Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, 
 
 Nor inflammatiODS redden his blind eye. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But worst of all is nausea, or a pain 
 About the lower region of the bowels ; 
 
 Love, who heroically breathes a vein, 
 Shrinks from the application of hot towels. 
 
 And purgatives are dangerous to his reign. 
 Sea-sickness death : his love was perfect, 
 how else 
 
 Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar, 
 
 Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before ? 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The ship, call'd the most holy " Trinadada," 
 Was steering duly for the port Leghorn ; 
 
 For there the Spanish family Moncada 
 Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born ; 
 
 They were relations, and for them he had a 
 Letter of introduction, which the morn 
 
 Of his departure had been sent him by 
 
 His Spanish friends for those in Italy. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 His suit consisted of three servanis, and 
 
 A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo, 
 Who several languages did understand, 
 But now lay sick and speechless on his pil- 
 low. 
 And, rocking in his hammock, long'd for land. 
 His headache being increased by every 
 billow, 
 And the waves oozing through the port-hole 
 
 made 
 His birth a little damp, and him afraid. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 'Twas not without some reason, for the wind 
 Increased at night, until it blew a gale ; 
 
 And though 'twas not much to a naval mind. 
 Some landsmen would have look'd a little 
 pale. 
 
 For sailors are, in fact, a different kind : 
 At sunset they began to take in sail, 
 
 For the sky show'd it would come on to blow. 
 
 And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift 
 Threw the ship right into the trough of the 
 sea. 
 Which struck her aft and made an awkward 
 "rift. 
 Started the stern post, also shatter'd the 
 Whole of her stern frame, and ere she could lift 
 
 Herself out from ner present jeopardy 
 The rudder tore away ; 'twas time to sound 
 The pumps, and there were four feet water 
 found. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 One gang of people instantly was put 
 Upon the pumps, and the remainder set 
 
 To get up part of the cargo, and what not. 
 But they could not come at the leak as yet ; 
 
 At last they did get at it really, but 
 Still their salvation was an even bet ; 
 
 The water rush'd through in a way quite 
 puzzling. 
 
 While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales 
 of muslin. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 103 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Into the opening ! but all such ingredients 
 Would have been vain, and they must have 
 gone down 
 Despite of all their efforts and expedients, 
 But for the pumps ; I'm glad to make them 
 known [hence, 
 
 To all the brother tars who may have need 
 
 For fifty tons of water were upthrown 
 By them per hour, and they had all been un- 
 done 
 But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate. 
 And then the leak they reckon'd to reduce, 
 
 And keep the ship afioat, though three feet yet 
 Kept two hand and one chain-pump still in 
 use. 
 
 The wind blew fresh again : as it grew late 
 A squall came on, and while some guns 
 broke loose, [scends — 
 
 A gust — which all descriptive power tran- 
 
 Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 There she lay, motionless, and seem'd upset ; 
 The water left the hold, and wash'd the 
 decks, 
 And made a scene men do not soon forget : 
 
 For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks. 
 
 Or any other thing that brings regret. 
 
 Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or 
 
 necks : [vers, 
 
 Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the di- 
 
 And swimmers who may chance to be surri- 
 
 vers. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Immediately the masts were cut away, 
 Both main and mizen ; first the mizen went, 
 
 The mainmast follov;'d ; but the ship still lay 
 Like a mere log, and baffled our intent. 
 
 Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and 
 they 
 Eased her at last (although we never meant 
 
 To part with all till every hope was blighted,) 
 
 And then with violence the old ship righted. 
 
 XXXIIL 
 
 It may be easily supposed, while this 
 
 Was going on, some people were unquiet, 
 
 That passengers would find it much amiss 
 To lose their lives as well as spoil their diet. 
 
 That even the able seaman, deeming his 
 Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot. 
 
 As upon such occasions tars will ask [cask. 
 
 For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit 
 calms 
 As rum and true religion ; thus it was. 
 Some plunder'd, some drank spirits, some sung 
 psalms. 
 The high wind made the treble, and as bslss 
 The hoarse harsh waves kept time ; fright 
 cured the qualms [maws : 
 
 Of all the luckless landsmen's seasick 
 Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, 
 Clamour'd in chorus to the roaring ocean. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for 
 Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years , 
 
 Got to the spirit-room, and stood before 
 It with a pair of pistols : and their fears. 
 
 As if Death were more dreadful by his door 
 Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears. 
 
 Kept still aloof the crew, who ere they sunk, 
 
 Thought it would be becoming to die drunk. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Give us more grog," they cried, " for it will 
 be [" No ! 
 
 All one an hour hence." Juan answer'd, 
 'Tls true that death awaits both you and me, 
 
 But let us die like men, not sink below 
 Like brutes:" — and thus his dangerous post 
 kept he. 
 
 And none liked to anticipate the blow ; 
 And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor. 
 Was for some rum a disappointed suitor. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The good old gentleman was quite aghast. 
 And made a loud and pious lamentation ; 
 
 Repented all his sins and made a last 
 Irrevocable vow of reformation ; 
 
 Nothing should tempt him more (this peril 
 past) 
 To quit his academic occupation, 
 
 In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, 
 
 To follow Juan's wake like Sancho Panza. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 But now there came a flash of hope once more ; 
 
 Day broke, and the wind luU'd ; the masts 
 
 were gone, [shore. 
 
 The leak increased ; shoals round her but no 
 
 The vessel swam, yet still she held her own. 
 
 They tried the pumps again, and though before 
 
 Their desperate eflTorts seem'd all useless 
 
 grown, 
 
 A glimpse of sunshine set some bands to bale — 
 
 The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a 
 
 sail. 
 
I(}4 
 
 l>ON JUAN. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Under the vessel's keel the sail was past, 
 And for the moment it had some effect, 
 
 But with a leak, and not a stick of mast. 
 Nor rag of canvass, what could they expect ? 
 
 But sLill 'tis best to struggle to the last, 
 'Tis never too late to be wholly wreck'd ; 
 
 And though 'tis true that man can only die 
 once, 
 
 'Tis not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons. 
 
 XL. 
 
 There winds and waves had hurl'd them, and 
 from thence 
 Without their will they carried them away : 
 For they were forced with steering to dispense. 
 
 And never had, as yet, a quiet day 
 On which they might repose, or even com- 
 mence 
 A jurymast or rudder, or could say 
 The ship would swim an hour, which by good 
 
 luck 
 Still swam — though not exactly like a duck. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less. 
 But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could 
 hope 
 
 To weather out much longer ; the distress 
 Was also great with which they had to cope 
 
 For want of water, and their solid mess 
 Was scant enough ; iutvain the telescope 
 
 Was used — norsail nor shore appear'd in sight, 
 
 Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night. 
 
 XLIL 
 
 Again the weather threaten'd — again blew 
 A gale, and in the fore and after hold 
 
 Water appear'd ; yet though the people knew 
 AU this, the most were patient, and some 
 bold. 
 
 Until the chains and leathers were worn through 
 Of all our pumps; — a wreck 'complete she 
 roU'd, 
 
 At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are 
 
 Like human beings' during civil war. 
 
 XLIII. - 
 
 Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears 
 In his rough eyes, and told the captain, he 
 
 Could do no more : he was a man in years. 
 And long had voyaged through many a 
 stormy sea, 
 
 And if he wept at length, they were not fears 
 That made his eyelids as a woman's be. 
 
 But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children. 
 
 Two things for dying people quite bewildering. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The ship was evidently settling now 
 
 Fast by the bead ; and, all distinction gone, 
 
 Some went to prayers again, and made a vow 
 
 Of candles to their saints — but there were 
 
 none [bow ; 
 
 To pay them with ; and some look'd o'er the 
 
 Some hoisted out the boats ; and there was 
 
 one 
 That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution. 
 Who told him to be damn'd — in his confusion, 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Some lash'd them in their hammocks, some 
 put on 
 Their best clothes, as if going to a fair ; 
 Some cursed the day on which they saw the 
 sun. 
 And gnash'd their teeth, and, howling tore 
 their hair. 
 And others went on as they had begun. 
 
 Getting the boats out, being well aware 
 That a tight boat will live in a rough sea. 
 Unless with breakers close beneath her lee. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 The worst of all was, that in their condition. 
 Having been several days in great distress, 
 
 'Twas difficult to get out such provision 
 As now might render their long suffering 
 less. 
 
 Mei;, even when dying, dislike inanition ; 
 Their stock was damaged by the weather's 
 stress ; 
 
 Two casks of biscuit and a keg of butter 
 
 Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 But in the long-boat they contrived to stow 
 Some pounds of bread, though injured by the 
 wet; 
 Water, a twenty gallon cask or so ; 
 
 Six flasks of wine ; and they contrived to get 
 A portion of tlieir beef up from below. 
 
 And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, 
 But scarce enough to serve them for a 
 
 luncheon — 
 Then there was rum, eight gallons in a 
 puncheon. 
 
 XLVIIL 
 
 The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had 
 Been stove in the beginning of the gale ; 
 
 And the long-boat's condition was so bad, 
 As there were but two blankets for a sail. 
 
 And one oar for a mast, which a young lad 
 Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail : 
 
 And two boats could not hold, far less be 
 stored. 
 
 To save one half the people then on board. 
 
1 
 
 SON JUAir> 
 
 105 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 .'Twas twilight, for tlie sunlesa day went down 
 Over the waste of waters ; like a veil, 
 
 Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the 
 frown 
 Of one who hates us, so the night was shown, 
 
 And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale. 
 And hopeless eyes, which o'er the deep alone 
 
 Gazed dim and desolate ; twelve days had fear 
 
 Been their familiar, and now Death was here. 
 
 Some trial had been making at a raft. 
 With little hope in such a rolling sea, 
 
 A sort of thing at which one would have 
 laugh'd, 
 If any laughter at such a time could be, 
 
 Unless with people who toomuch have quaff'd, 
 And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, 
 
 Half epileptical, and half hysterical : 
 
 Their preservation would have been a miracle. 
 
 LI. 
 
 At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, 
 spars, [loose. 
 
 And all things, for a chance, had been cast 
 That still could keep afloat the struggling tars. 
 For yet they strove, although of no great use : 
 There was no light in heaven but a few stars. 
 The boats put off o'ercrowded with their 
 crews ; 
 She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port. 
 And going down head foremost— sunk, in 
 short. 
 
 LIl. 
 
 Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, 
 Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the 
 brave. 
 
 Then someleap'd overboard with dreadful yell. 
 As eager to anticipate their grave ; 
 
 And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell. 
 And down she suck'd with her the whirling 
 wave. 
 
 Like one who grapples with his enemy. 
 
 And strives to strangle him before he die. 
 
 LUI. 
 
 And first one universal shriek there rush'd, 
 Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash 
 Of echoing thunder : and then all was hush'd. 
 Save the wild wind, and the remorseless dash 
 Of billows : but at intervals there gush'd, 
 I Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
 j A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
 I Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 
 
 tlV. 
 
 The boats, as stated, had got off before, 
 And in them crowded several of the crew : 
 
 And yet their present hope was hardly more 
 Than what it had been, for so strong it blew, 
 
 There was slight chance of reaching any shore ! 
 And then they were too many, though so 
 few — 
 
 Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat. 
 
 Were counted in them when they got afloat. 
 
 LV. 
 
 All the rest perish'd ; near two hundred souls 
 Had left their bodies ; and, what's worse 
 alas ! 
 
 When over Catholics the ocean rolls, 
 They must wait several weeks before amass 
 
 Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals. 
 Because, till people know what's come to 
 pass. 
 
 They wont lay out their money on the dead — 
 
 It costs three francs for every mass that's said. 
 
 LVl. 
 
 Juan got into the long-boat, and there 
 Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place : 
 
 It seem'd as if they had exchanged their care, 
 For Juan wore the magisterial face 
 
 Which courage gives, while poor Pedrillo's 
 pair 
 Of eyes were crying for their owner's case. 
 
 Battisfa, though, (a name call'd shortly Tita) 
 
 Was lost by getting at some aqua-vitae. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Pedro, his valet too, he tried to save, 
 But the same cause, conducive to his loss, 
 
 Left him so drunk, he jump'd into the wave 
 As o'er the cutter's edge he tried to cross, 
 
 And so he found a wine-and-watery grave : 
 They could not rescue him, although so close, 
 
 Because the sea ran higher every minute. 
 
 And for the boat — the crew kept crowding in it. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 A small old Spaniel — which had been Don 
 Jose's, 
 His father's, whom he loved, as ye may think, 
 For on such things the memory reposes 
 With tenderness, — stood howling on the 
 brink, 
 Knowing (dogs have such intellectual noses !) 
 
 No doubt, the vessel was about to sink : 
 And Juan caught him up, and ere he stepp'd 
 Off, threw him in, then after him he leap'd. 
 O 
 
106 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 He also stuff'd his money where he could 
 
 About his person, and Pedrillo's too, 
 Who let him do, in fact, whate'er he would, 
 
 Not knowing what himself to say, or do 
 As every rising wave his dread renew'd ! 
 
 But Juan trusting they might still get 
 through, 
 And deeming there were remedies for any ill, 
 
 Thus re-embark'd his tutor and his spaniel. 
 
 LX. 
 
 'Twas a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet. 
 
 That the sail was becalm'd between the seas , 
 
 Though on the wave's high top too much to 
 
 set. 
 
 They dared not take it in for all the breeze ; 
 
 Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them 
 
 wet, [ease. 
 
 And made them bale without a moment's 
 
 So that themselves as well as hopes were 
 
 damp'd. 
 And the poor little cutter quickly swamp'd. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Nine souls more went in her ; the long-boat 
 still 
 
 Kept above water, with an oar for mast. 
 Two blankets stitch'd together, answering ill 
 
 Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast : 
 Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill. 
 
 And present peril all before surpass'd, 
 They grieved for those who perish'd with the 
 
 cutter. 
 And also for the biscuit casks, and butter. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign 
 Of the continuance of the gale : to run 
 
 Before the sea, until it should grow fine. 
 Was all that for the present could be done : 
 
 A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine 
 Were served out to the people, who begun 
 
 To faint, and damaged bread wet through the 
 bags, 
 
 And most of them had little clothes but rags. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 They counted thirty, — crowded in a space 
 Which left scarce room for motion or exer- 
 tion; 
 They did their best to modify their case. 
 One half sate up, though numb'd with the 
 immersion, [place. 
 
 While t'other half were laid down in their 
 At watch, and watch ; thus, shivering like 
 the tertian 
 Ague in its cold fit, they fiU'd their boat. 
 With nothing but the sky for a great coat. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 'Tis very certain the desire of life 
 Prolongs it : this is obvious to physicians. 
 
 When patients, neither plagued with friends 
 nor wife. 
 Survive through very desperate conditions. 
 
 Because they still can hope, nor shines the 
 knife 
 Nor shears of Atropos before their visions ; 
 
 Despair of all recovery spoils longevity, 
 
 And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 'Tis said that persons living on annuities 
 Are longer lived than others, — can't tell 
 wBy, [is. 
 
 Unless to plague their'grantors, — yet so true it 
 That some, I really think, do never die ; 
 
 Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is. 
 And that's their mode of furnishing supply ; 
 
 In my young days they lent me casli Jhat way. 
 
 Which I found very troublesome lo pay. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 'Tis thus with people iu an open boat 
 They live upon the love of life, and bear 
 
 More than can be believed, or even thought,' 
 And stand like rocks the tempests wear and 
 tear ! 
 
 And hardships still has been the sailor's lot, 
 Since Noah's ark went cruising here and 
 there ; 
 
 She had a curious crew as well as cargo, 
 
 Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 But man is a carnivorous production. 
 And must have meals, at least one meal a 
 day ! 
 He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction. 
 But, like the shark and tiger, must have 
 prey : 
 Although his anatomical construction 
 
 Bears vegetables in a grumbling way. 
 Your labouring people think beyond all ques-, 
 
 tion. 
 Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion. 1 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 And thus it was with this our hapless crew :| 
 For on the third day there came on a calm,| 
 
 And though at first their strength it migH 
 renew. 
 And, lying on their weariness like balm, 
 
 LuU'd them like turtles, sleeping on the blue 
 Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm, 
 
 And fell all ravenously on their provision, 
 
 Instead of hoarding it with due precision. 
 
HON JUAN. 
 
 107 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 The consequence was easily foreseen— 
 They ate up all they had, and drank their 
 ■wine, 
 In spite of all remonstrances, and then 
 
 On what, in fact, next day were they to dine ? 
 
 They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish 
 
 men ! [fine, 
 
 And carry them to shore ; these hopes were 
 
 But as they had but one oar, and that brittle. 
 
 It would have been more wise to save their 
 
 victual. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 The fourth day came, but not a breath of air. 
 And ocean slumber'd like an unwean'd child: 
 
 The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there. 
 The sea and sky were blue, and clear and 
 mild — 
 
 With their one oar (I wish they had had a pair) 
 What could they do? and hunger's rage 
 grew wild : 
 
 So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, 
 
 Was kill'd and portion'd out for present eating, 
 
 Lxxr. 
 
 On the sixth day they fed upon his hide, 
 And Juan who had still refused, because 
 
 The creature was his father's dog that died, 
 Now feeliug all the vulture in his jaws. 
 
 With some remorse received (though first 
 denied) 
 As a great favour one of the fore paws, 
 
 Which he divided with Pedrillo, who 
 
 Devour'd it, longing for the other too. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 The seventh day, and no wind— the burning 
 sun [sea, 
 
 Blister'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the 
 They lay like carcasses ! and hope was none. 
 
 Save in the breeze that came not : — savagely 
 They glared upon each other — all was done. 
 
 Water, and wine, and food, — and you might 
 see 
 The longings of the cannibal arise 
 ( Althou gh they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes. 
 
 LXXIIi. 
 
 At length one whisper'd his companion, who 
 Whisper'd another, and thus it went round, 
 
 And then into a hoarser murmur grew. 
 An ominous, and wild, and desperate 
 sound, [knew, 
 
 And when his comrade's thought each sufferer 
 'Twas but his own suppress'd till now, he 
 found ; 
 
 And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood. 
 
 And who should die to be his fellow's food. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But ere they came to this, they that day shared 
 Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of 
 shoes ; [spair'd. 
 
 And then they look'd around them and de- 
 And none to be the sacrifice would choose ; 
 At length the lots were torn up, and prepared, 
 But of materials that much shock the Muse- 
 Having no paper, for the want of better. 
 They took, by force, from Juan, Julia's letter. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 The lots were made, and mark'd, and mix'd, 
 and handed 
 
 In silent horror, and their distribution, 
 LuU'd even the savage hunger which de- 
 manded, 
 
 Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution : 
 None in particular had sought or plann'd it, 
 
 'Twas nature gnaw'd them to this resolution, 
 By which none were permitted to be neuter— 
 And the lot fell on Juan's luckless tutor. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 He but requested to be bled to death; 
 
 The surgeon had his instruments, and bled 
 Pedrillo, and so gently ebb'd his breath, 
 
 You hardly could perceive when he was 
 dead. 
 He died as born, a Catholic in faith. 
 
 Like most in the belief in which they're bred. 
 And first a little crucifix he kiss'd. 
 And then held out his jugular and wrist. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 The surgeon, as there was no other fee. 
 
 Had his first choice of morsels for his pains, 
 But being rather thirstiest at the moment, he 
 Preferr'd a draught from the fast flowing 
 veins : 
 Part was divided part thrown in the sea. 
 And such things as the entrails and the 
 brains 
 Regaled two sharks who followed o'er the 
 
 billow — 
 The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 The sailors ate him, all save three or four, 
 Who were not quite so fond of animal food ; 
 
 To these was added Juan, who, before 
 Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could 
 
 Feel now his appetite increased much more ; 
 'Twas not to be expected that he should, 
 
 Even in extremity of their disaster. 
 
 Dine with them on his pastor and his maEtcr. 
 
J08 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 LXXXtV. 
 
 'Twas better that he did not : for, in fact, 
 The conseq^uence was awful in the extreme : 
 
 For they, who were most ravenous in the act, 
 Went raging mad — and how they did blas- 
 pheme ! [rack'd. 
 
 And foam and roll, with strange convulsions 
 Drinking salt water like a mountain-stream, 
 
 Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, 
 swearing. 
 
 And, with hyeena laughter, died despairing. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Their numbers were much thinn'd by this in- 
 fliction, [knows ; 
 
 And all the rest were thin enough, heaven 
 And some of them had lost their recollection. 
 
 Happier than they who still preceived their 
 woes; 
 But others ponder'd on a new dissection, 
 
 As if not warn'd sufficiently by those 
 Who had already perish'd, suffering madly, 
 For having nsed their appetites so sadly. 
 
 LXXXI. ' 
 
 And next they thought upon the master's mate, 
 As fattest ; but he saved himself, because, 
 
 Besides being much averse from such a fate, 
 There were some other reasons ; the first was. 
 
 He had been rather indisposed of late, 
 And that which chiefly proved his saving 
 clause. 
 
 Was a, small present made to him at Cadiz, 
 
 By general subscription of the ladies. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Of poor Pedrillo something still remain'd. 
 But was used sparingly, some were afraid. 
 
 And others still their appetites constrain'd. 
 Or but at times a little supper made ; 
 
 All, except Juan, who throughout abstain'd. 
 Chewing a piece of bamboo, and some lead : 
 
 At length they caught two boobies and a noddy. 
 
 And then they left off eating the dead body. 
 
 LXXXI 11. 
 
 And if Pedrillo's fate should shocking be, 
 Remember Ugolino condescends 
 
 To eat the head of his arch-enemy 
 The moment after he politely e_nds 
 
 His tale : if foes be food in hell, at sea 
 'Tis surely fair to dine upon our friends, 
 
 When shipwreck's short allowance grows too 
 scanty. 
 
 Without being much more horrible than Dante. 
 
 And the same night there fell a shower of rain, 
 
 For which their mouths gaped, like the ] 
 
 cracks of earth [pain, 
 
 When dried to summer dust; till taught by 
 
 Men really know not what good water's 
 
 worth ; 
 
 If you had been in Turkey or in Spain, 
 
 Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your _ 
 
 birth. 
 
 Or in the desert heard the camel's bell, 
 
 You'd wish yourself where Truth is — ^in a well. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer 
 
 Until they found a ragged piece of sheet 
 
 Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher, 
 
 And when they deemed its moisture was 
 
 complete, [ditcher 
 
 They wrung it out, and though a thirsty 
 
 Might not have thought the scanty draught 
 
 so sweet 
 
 As a full pot of porter, to their thinking 
 
 They ne'er till now had known the joys of 
 
 drinking. 
 
 LXXXV r. 
 
 And their baked lips, with many a bloody 
 crack ; [stream'd ; 
 
 Suck'd in the moisture which like nectar 
 
 Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues 
 
 were black, [scream'd. 
 
 As the rich man's in hell, who vainly 
 To beg the beggar, who could not rain back 
 
 A drop of dew, when every drop had seem'd 
 To taste of heaven — If this be true, indeed, 
 Some Christians have a comfortable creed. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 There were two fathers in this ghastly crew. 
 And with them their two sons, of whom th$ 
 one 
 
 Was more robust and hardy to the view. 
 But he died early ; and when he was gone. 
 
 His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw 
 One glance on him, and said, " Heaven's will 
 be done, 
 
 I can do nothing," and he saw him thrown 
 
 Into the deep, without a tear or groan, 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 The other father had a weaklier child. 
 Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate ; 
 
 But the boy bore up long, and with a mild 
 And patient spirit held aloof his fate ; 
 
 Little he said, and now and then he smiled, 
 As if to win a part from ofl' the weight 
 
 He saw increasing on his father's heart, 
 
 With the deep, deadly thought, that they must 
 part. 
 
SON JUAN. 
 
 109 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised 
 His eyes from off his face, but wiped the 
 foam 
 
 From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed. 
 And when the wish'd for shower at length 
 was come, [glazed, 
 
 And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half 
 Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam. 
 
 He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain 
 
 into his dying child's mouth — but in vain. 
 
 XC. 
 
 rhe boy expired — the father held the clay, 
 And look'd upon it long, and when at last 
 
 Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay 
 Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were 
 past, 
 
 He watch'd it wistfully, until away [cast. 
 'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas 
 
 rhen he himself sunk down all dumb and 
 shivering, [ing. 
 
 And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quiver- 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Vow overhead, a rainbow, bursting through 
 The scattering clouds, shone— spanning the 
 dark sea, 
 Resting its bright base on the quivering blue : 
 
 And all within its arch appeared to be 
 Clearer than that without, and its wide hue 
 Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner 
 free, 
 rhen changed like to a bow that's bent, and 
 then [men. 
 
 Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd 
 
 XCII. 
 
 [t changed of course ; a heavenly chameleon. 
 The airy child of vapour and the sun, 
 
 Brought forth in purple, cradledin vermilion. 
 Baptized inmolten gold, and swathed in dun, 
 
 Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, 
 And blending every colour into one, 
 
 Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle,— 
 
 ;For sometimes we must box without the 
 muffle.) 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Our shipwreck'd seamen thought it a good 
 omen — 
 
 It is as well to think so, now and then ; 
 'Twas an old custom of the Greek and Roman, 
 
 And may become of great advantage, when 
 Folks are discouraged ; and mostsurely no men 
 
 Had greater need to nerve themselves again 
 Than these, and so this rainbow look'd like 
 Quite a celestial kaleidoscope. [hope — 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 About this time, a beautiful white bird, ' 
 Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size 
 
 And plumage, (probably it might have crr'd 
 Upon its course,) pass'd oft before their eyes, 
 
 And tried to perch, although it saw and heard 
 The men within the boat, and in this guise 
 
 It came and went, and flutler'd round them, till 
 
 Night fell : — this seem'd a better omen still. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 But iu this case I also must remark, 
 'Twas well this bird of promise did not perch, 
 
 Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark 
 Was not so safe for roosting as a church ; 
 
 And had it been the dove from Noah's ark, 
 Returning there from her successful search. 
 
 Which in their way that moment chanced to 
 fall. 
 
 They would have eat her, olive branch and all. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 With twilight it again came on to -blow, 
 
 But not with violence; the stars shone out. 
 
 The boat made way I yet now they were so low. 
 
 They knew not where nor what they were 
 
 about, ["No!" 
 
 Some fancied they saw land, and some said 
 
 The frequent fcg-banks gave them cause to 
 
 doubt — 
 
 Some swore that they heard breakers, others 
 
 guns, 
 And all mistook about the latter ones. 
 
 XCVIT. 
 
 As morning broke, the light wind died away, 
 When he who had the watch, sung out and 
 swore 
 If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray. 
 He wish'd that land he never might see 
 more ; 
 And the rest rubb'd their eyes, and saw a bay. 
 Or thought they saw, and shaped their 
 course for shore. 
 For shore it was, and gradually grew 
 Distinct, and high, and palpable to view, 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 And then of these some part burst into tears. 
 And others, looking with a stupid stare, 
 
 Could not yet separate their hopes from fears. 
 And seem'd as if they had no further care ; 
 
 While a few pray'd— (the first time for some 
 years) — 
 And at the bottom of the boat three were 
 
 Asleep ; they shook them by the hand and 
 head, [dead. 
 
 And tried to awaken them, but found them 
 
110 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 The day before, fast sleeping on the water, 
 Tbey found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind, 
 
 Aud by good fortune, gliding softly, caught 
 her, 
 Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind 
 
 Proved even still a more nutritious matter, 
 Because it left encouragement behind : 
 
 They thought, that in such perils, more than 
 chance 
 
 Had sent them this for their deliverance. 
 
 The land appear'd a high and rocky coast. 
 And higher grew the mountains as they 
 drew, 
 
 Set by a current towards it : they were lost 
 in various conjectures, for none knew 
 
 To what part of the earth they had been toss'd. 
 So changeable had been the winds thatblew: 
 
 Some thought it was Mount ;Utna, some the 
 highlands 
 
 Of Oandia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands, 
 
 CI. 
 
 Meantime, the current, with a rising gale. 
 Still set them onwards to the welcome shore, 
 
 Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale : 
 
 Their living freight was now reduced to 
 
 four, — ■ [avail 
 
 And three dead, whom their strength could not 
 To heave into the deep with tliose before. 
 
 Though the two sharks still foUow'd them, 
 and dash'd 
 
 The spray into their faces as they splash'd. 
 
 CII. 
 
 Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had 
 done [them to 
 
 Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd 
 Such things, — a mother had not known her son 
 
 Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew ; 
 By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by 
 one 
 
 They perish'd, until wither'd to these few, 
 Kut chiefly by a species of self-slaughter, 
 In washing down Pedrillo with salt-water. 
 
 cm. 
 
 As they drew nigh the land, which now was 
 Unequal in its aspect here and there, [seen. 
 
 They felt the freshness of its growing green, 
 That waved in forest tops and smooth'd the 
 air. 
 
 And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen 
 From glistening waves, and skies so hot 
 and bare — 
 
 Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep 
 
 Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 The shore look'd wild, without a trace of man, 
 And girt by formidable waves ; but they 
 
 Were mad for land, and thus their course they 
 ran. 
 Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay 
 
 A reef between them also now began 
 To show its boiling surf and bounding spray. 
 
 But finding no place for their landing better. 
 
 They ran the boat for shore, and overset her. 
 
 CV. 
 
 But in his native stream, the Guadalquiver, 
 Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont : 
 
 And havinglearn'd to swim in that sweet river 
 Had often turn'd the art to some account ; 
 
 A better swimmer you could scarce see ever. 
 He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Helles 
 pontj 
 
 As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided^ 
 
 Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did. 
 
 CTL \ 
 
 So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark. 
 He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to pi; 
 
 With the quick wave, and gain, ere it wa; 
 
 dark, [dry 
 
 The beach, which lay before him, high an( 
 
 The greatest danger here was from a shark. 
 That carried off his neighbour by the thigh . 
 
 As for the other two, they could not swim. 
 
 So nobody arrived on shore but him. 
 
 CVIL 
 
 Nor yet had he arrived, but for the oar, 
 
 Which, providentially for him, was wash'd 
 Just as his feeble arms could strike no more. 
 And the hard wave o'erwhelra'd him a 
 'twas dash'd 
 Within his grasp : he clung to it, and sore 
 The waters beat while he thereto wa 
 lash'd ; [h 
 
 At last, with swimming, wading, scrambiinf 
 RoU'd on the beacb, half senseless, from th 
 sea : 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 There, breathless, with his digging nails b 
 clung 
 Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave. 
 From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung, 
 Should suck him back to her insatiate grave 
 And there he lay, full length, where he wa 
 flung. 
 Before the entrance of a clifi'-worn cave. 
 With just enough of life to feel its pain. 
 And deem'd that it was saved, perhaps, i 
 vain. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 CIX. 
 
 With slow and staggering effort he arose, 
 But sunk again upon his bleeding knee 
 
 And quivering hand ; and then he look'd for 
 those 
 Who long had been his mates upon the sea, 
 
 But none of them appear'd to share his woes, 
 
 Save one, a corpse, from out the famish'd 
 
 three, [found 
 
 Who died two days before, and now had 
 
 An unknown, barren beach for brrrial ground. 
 
 ex. 
 
 And, as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast. 
 And down he sunk ; and as he sunk, the 
 sand 
 
 Swam round and round, and all his senses 
 pass'd : 
 He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand 
 
 Droop'd dripping on the oar, (their jury mast) 
 And, like a wither'd lily on the land 
 
 Uis slender frame and pallid aspect lay. 
 
 As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 How long in his damp trance young Juan lay, 
 He knew not, for the earth was gone for him, 
 
 And Time had nothing more of night nor day 
 For his congealing blood, and senses dim: 
 
 And how this heavy faintness pass'd away 
 He knew not, till each painful pulse and 
 limb. 
 
 And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to 
 life, [strife. 
 
 For death, though vanquish'd, still retired with 
 
 CXII. 
 
 His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed. 
 For all was doubt and dizziness ; methought 
 
 tie still was in the boat, and had but dozed, 
 And felt again with his despair o'er-wrought, 
 
 4nd wish'd it death in which he had reposed. 
 And then once more his feelings back were 
 brought. 
 
 And slowly by his swimming eyes were seen 
 
 A lovely female face of seventeen. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Twas bending close o'er his, and the small 
 mouth 
 
 Seem'd almost prying into his for breath ; 
 ind chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth 
 
 Recall'd his answering spirits back from 
 death ; 
 ind, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe 
 
 Each pulse to animation, till beneath 
 Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh 
 ro these kind efforts made a low reply. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung 
 
 Around his scarce clad limbs ; and the fair 
 
 arm [hung ; 
 
 Raised higher the faint head which o'er it 
 
 And her transparent cheek, all pure and 
 
 warm, [wrung 
 
 PiUow'd his death-like forehead; then she 
 
 His dewy curls long drench'd by every 
 
 storm ; [drew 
 
 And watch'd with eagerness each throb that 
 
 A sigh from his heaved bosom — and hers too. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 And lifting him with care into the cave. 
 The gentle girl, and her attendent, — one 
 
 Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave. 
 And more robust of figure — then begun 
 
 To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave 
 Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which 
 the sun 
 
 Had never seen, the maid or whatsoe'er 
 
 She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Her brow was overhung with coins of gold. 
 That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair. 
 Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were 
 roll'd 
 In braids behind, and though her stature 
 were 
 Even of the highest for a female mould, . 
 
 They nearlyjeach'd her heel and in her air 
 There was a something which bespoke com- 
 mand. 
 As one who was a lady in the land. 
 
 CXVIl. 
 
 Her hair, I said, was auburn ; but her eyes 
 Were black as death, their lashes the same 
 hue, [lies 
 
 Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow 
 Deepest attraction, for when to the view 
 
 Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies. 
 
 Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow 
 
 flew; [length, 
 
 'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his 
 
 And hurls at once his venom and his strength. 
 
 CXVllI. 
 
 Her brow was white and low, her cheek's 
 pure dye 
 
 Like twilight rosy still with the set sun ; 
 Short upper lip— sweet lips ! that make us sigh 
 
 Ever to have seen such ; she was one 
 Fit for the model of a statuary, 
 
 (A race of mere impostors, when all's done— ■ 
 I've seen much finer women, ripe and real. 
 Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.) 
 
J 12 
 
 SON JUAN. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 I'll tell you why I say so, for 'tis just 
 One should not rail, withont a decent cause : 
 
 There was an Irish lady, to whose bust 
 1 ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was 
 
 A frequent model : and if e'er she must 
 Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling 
 laws, 
 
 They will destroy a face which mortal thought 
 
 Ne'er compass'd, i nor less mortal chisel 
 wrought. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 And such was she, the lady of the cave : 
 Her dress was very different from the 
 Spanish, 
 
 Simpler, and yet of colours not so grave ; 
 For, as you know, the Spanish women banish 
 
 Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while 
 wave 
 Around them (what I hope will never vanish) 
 
 The basquina and the mantilla, they 
 
 Seem at the same time mystical and gay. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 But with our damsel this was not the case : 
 
 Her dress was many-colour'd, finely spun ; 
 Her locks curl'd negligently round her face, 
 But through them gold and gems profusely 
 shone ; 
 Her girdle sparkled, and the ricliest lace 
 Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious 
 stone [shocking, 
 
 FlSsh'd on her little hand ; but what was 
 Her small snow feet had slippers but no 
 stocking. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 The other female's dress was not unlike. 
 
 But of inferior materials ; she 
 Had not so many ornaments to strike, 
 
 Her hair had silver only, bound to be 
 Her dowry ; and her veil in form alike. 
 
 Was coarser ; and her air, though firm, less 
 free; 
 Her hair was thicker, but less long ; her eyes 
 As black, but quicker, and of smaller size. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 And these two tended him, and cbeer'd him 
 both [tions. 
 
 With food and raiment, and those soft atten- 
 Which are (as I must own) of female growth. 
 
 And have ten thousand delicate inventions ; 
 They made a most superior mess of broth, 
 
 A thing which poesy but seldom mentions, 
 But the best dish that e'er was cook'd since 
 
 Homer's 
 Achilles order'd dinner for new comers. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 I'll tell you who they were, this female pair. 
 Lest they should seem princesses in disguise ; 
 
 Besides, I hate all mystery, and that air 
 Of clap-trap, which your recent poets prize ; 
 
 And so, in short, the girls they really were 
 They shall appear before your curious eyes 
 
 Mistress and maid ; the first was only daughter 
 
 Of an old man who lived upon the water. 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 A fisherman he had been in his youth, 
 And still a sort of fisherman was he ; 
 
 But other speculations were, in sootfi, 
 Added to his connection with the sea. 
 
 Perhaps not so respectable, in truth ; 
 A little smuggling and some piracy. 
 
 Left him at last the sole of many masters 
 
 Of an ill-gotten million of piastres. 
 
 CXXVL 
 
 A fisher, therefore was he — though of men. 
 
 Like Peter the Apostle — and he fish'd 
 For wandering merchant vessels, now and 
 then, 
 And sometimes caught as many as hc- 
 wish'd ; 
 The cargoes he confiscated, and gain 
 He sought in the slave-market too, and 
 dish'd 
 Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade. 
 By which, no doubt, a good deal may be 
 made. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 He was a Greek, and on his Isle had built 
 (One of the wild and smaller Cyclades) 
 
 A very handsome house from out his guilt, 
 And there he lived exceedingly at ease ; 
 
 Heaven knows what cash he got, or blood he 
 spilt, 
 A sad old fellow was he if you please. 
 
 But this I know it was a spacious building. 
 
 Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 He had an only daughter call'd Haidee, 
 The greatest heiress of the Eastern Isles ; 
 
 Besides, so very beautiful was she, 
 Her dowry was as nothing to her smiles : 
 
 Still in her teens, and like a lovely tree 
 She grew to womanhood, and between 
 whiles 
 
 Rejected several suitors, just to learn 
 
 How to accept a better in his turn. 
 
BON JUAN. 
 
 113 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 And walking out upon the beach, below 
 The cliflF, towards sunset, on that day she 
 found, 
 
 tnsensible, — not dead, but nearly so, — 
 Don Juan, almost famish'd, and half 
 drown'd ; 
 
 But being naked, she was shock'd yon know, 
 Yet deem'd herself in common pity bound, 
 
 As far as in her lay, to take him in, 
 
 " A stranger dying with so white a skin." 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 But taking him into her father's house 
 Was not exactly the best way to save. 
 
 But like conveying to the cat a mouse. 
 Or people in a trance into their grave ; 
 
 Because the good old man had so much 
 
 Unlike the honest Arab theives so brave, 
 
 Efe would have hospitably cured the stranger, 
 
 And sold him instantly when out of danger. 
 
 CXXXl. 
 
 And, therefore, with her maid she thought it 
 best 
 
 (A virgin always on her maid relies) 
 To place him in the cave for present rest : 
 
 And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes, 
 rheir charity increased about their guest ; 
 
 And their compassion grew to such a size, 
 [t open'd half the turnpike-gates to heaven — 
 ; St. Paul says 'tis the toll which must be given. ) 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 They made a fire, but such a fire as they 
 Upon the moment could contrive with such 
 
 Materials as were cast up round the bay, j 
 
 Some broken planks, and oars, that to the : 
 touch 
 
 Were nearly tender, since so long they lay 
 A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch ; 
 
 But as it happen'd wrecks were in such plenty. 
 
 That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse, 
 For Haidee stripp'd her sables oiT to make 
 
 His couch ; and, that he might be more at ease. 
 And warm, in case by chance he should 
 awake. 
 
 They also gave a petticoat apiece, [break 
 
 She and her maid, and promised by day- 
 
 To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish 
 
 For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish. 
 
 And thus they left him to his lone repose ; 
 Juan slept like a top, or like the dead. 
 
 N ot even a vision of his former woes 
 Throbb'd in accursed dreams, which some- 
 times spread 
 Unwelcome visions of our former years. 
 Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears. 
 
 CXXXV. 
 
 Young Juan slept all dreamless : but the maid. 
 Who smooth'd his pillow, as she left the den 
 
 Look'd back upon him, and a moment staid. 
 And tnm'd, believing that he call'd again : 
 
 He slumber'd ; yet she thought, at least she 
 said, 
 (The heart will slip even as the tongue and 
 pen) 
 
 He had pronounced her name — but she forgot 
 
 That at this moment Juan knew it not. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 And pensive to her father's house she went. 
 Enjoining silence strict to Zoe, who 
 
 Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant. 
 She being wiser by a year or two : 
 
 A year or two's an age when rightly spent, 
 And Zoe spent hers as most women do, 
 
 In gaining all that useful sort of knowledge 
 
 Which is acquired in Nature's good old college, 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering 
 still 
 
 Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon 
 His rest ; the rushing of the neighbouring rill. 
 
 And the young beams of the excluded sun. 
 Troubled bira not, and he might sleep his fill ; 
 
 And need he had of slumber yet, for none 
 Had sufier'd more, — his hardships were com- 
 parative 
 To those related in my grand-dad's Narrative. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Not so Haidee : she sadly toss'd and tumbled. 
 And started from her sleep, — and, turning 
 o'er, 
 Dream'd of a thousand wrecks, o'er which 
 she stumbled, 
 And handsome corpses strew'd upon the 
 shore : 
 And woke her maid so early that she grumbled. 
 And call'd her father's old slaves up, who 
 swore 
 In several oaths — Armenian, Turk, and Greek, 
 They knew not what to think of such a freak. 
 P 
 
ill* 
 
 DOM JUAN. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 But up she got, and up she made them get. 
 With some pretence about the sun that makes 
 
 Sweet skies, just when he rises, or is set ; 
 And 'tis no doubt a sight to see, when breaks 
 
 Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are 
 wet 
 With mist, and every bird with him awakes. 
 
 And night is flung off like a mourning suit 
 
 Worn for a husband, or some other brute. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 I say, the sun is a most glorious sight, 
 I've seen him rise full oft,— indeed, of late, 
 
 I have sat up on purpose all the night. 
 Which hastens, as physicians say, one'sfate ; 
 
 And so all ye, who would be iu the right. 
 In health and purse, begin your day to date 
 
 From day-break, and when coffin'd at four- 
 score. 
 
 Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 And Haidee met the morning face to face ; 
 
 Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush 
 Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose 
 race 
 
 From heart to cheek is curb'd into a blush. 
 Like to a torrent, which a mountain's base, 
 
 That overpowers some Alpine river's rush. 
 Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles 
 
 spread ; 
 Or the Red Sea — but the sea is not red. 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 And down the cliff the island virgin came, 
 And near the cave her quick light footsteps 
 drew. 
 
 While the sun smiled on her with his first flame. 
 And young Aurora kiss'd her lips with dew, 
 
 Taking her for a sister ; just the same 
 Mistake you would have made on seeing 
 the two 
 
 Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair, 
 
 Had all the advantage too of not being air. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 And when into the cavern Haidee stepp'd 
 
 411 timidly, yet rapidly, she saw 
 That like an infant Juan sweetly slept ; 
 
 And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe, 
 (For sleep is awful) and on tip-toe crept ; 
 And wrapp'd him closer, lest the air, too 
 raw. 
 Should reach his blood, then o'er bim, still as 
 
 death 
 Bent with hush'd lips, that drank his scarce- 
 drawn breath 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 And thus like to an angel o'er the dying 
 Who die in righteousness, she lean'd ; and 
 there 
 
 All tranquilly the shipwreck'd boy was lying, 
 As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air : 
 
 But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying. 
 Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair 
 
 Must breakfast, and betimes — lest they should 
 ask it, 
 
 She drew out her provisions from the basket. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 She knew that the best feelings must have 
 victual, [be ; 
 
 And that a shipwreck'd youth would hunt;ry 
 Besides, being less in love, she yawn'd a little. 
 And felt her veins chill'd by the neighbour- 
 ing sea ; 
 And so she cook'd their breakfast to a tittle : 
 
 I can't say that she gave them any tea. 
 But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, 
 
 honey. 
 With Scio wine, — and all for love — not money. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and 
 The coffee made, would fain have waken'd 
 Juan ; [hand, 
 
 But Haidee stopp'd her with her quick small 
 And without word, a sign her finger drew on 
 Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand ; 
 And, the first breakfast spoil'd, prepared a 
 new one. 
 Because her mistress would not let her break 
 That sleep which seem'd as it would ne'er 
 awake. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek 
 A purple hectic play'd like dying day 
 
 On the snow tops of distant hills ; the streak 
 Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay. 
 
 Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, 
 and weak; 
 
 And his black curls were dewy with the 
 spray, [salt, 
 
 Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and 
 
 Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault. 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath, 
 Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast^ i 
 
 Droop'd as the willow when no winds ca» j 
 
 breathe, i 
 
 LuU'd like the depth of ocean when at rest, I 
 
 Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath',! 
 Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest ; 
 
 In short, he was a very pretty fellow, [yellow. 
 
 Although his woes had turn'd him. rather 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 115 
 
 CLIV 
 
 He woke and gazed, and would have slept 
 again, 
 
 Buttbe fair face which met his eyes forbade 
 Those eyes to close, though weariness and pain 
 
 Had further sleep a further pleasure made ; 
 For woman's face was never form'd in vain 
 
 For Juan, so that even when he pray'd 
 He turn'd from grizly saints, and martyrs 
 
 hairy. 
 To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary . 
 
 CL. 
 
 And thus upon his elbow he arose, 
 And look'd upon the lady, in whose cheek 
 
 The pale contended with the purple rose. 
 As with an effort she began to speak : 
 
 Her eyes were eloquent, — her words would 
 
 pose, — [Greek, 
 
 Although she told him in good modern 
 
 With an Ionian accent, low and sweet. 
 
 That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat. 
 
 CLL 
 
 Now Juan could not understand a word. 
 Being no Grecian ; but he had an ear. 
 
 And her voice was as the warble of a bird. 
 So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear. 
 
 That tiuer, simpler music ne'er was heard ; 
 The sort of sound we echo with a tear 
 
 Without knowing why, — an overpowering 
 tone. 
 
 Whence Melody descends as from a throne. 
 
 CLII. 
 
 And Juan gazed as one who is awoke 
 By H distant organ, doubting if he be 
 
 Not yet a dreamer, till the spell is broke 
 By the watchman, or some such reality, 
 
 Or by one's early valet's cursed knock ; 
 At least it is a heavy sound to me, 
 
 jFho like a morning slumber — for the night 
 
 Shows stars and women in a better light. 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream. 
 Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was, by feeling 
 
 / most prodigious appetite : the steam 
 Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing 
 
 I'pon his senses, and the kindling beam 
 Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, kneel- 
 ing. 
 
 To stir her viands, made him qmte awake 
 
 And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak. 
 
 But beef is rare within these oxiess isles ; 
 Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and 
 mutton ; 
 And, when a holiday upon them smiles, 
 
 A joint upon their barbarous spits they put 
 on : 
 But this occurs but seldom, between whiles. 
 For some of these are rocks with scarce a 
 hut on. 
 Others are fair and fertile, among which. 
 This, though not large, was one of the most 
 rich, 
 
 CLV. 
 
 I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking 
 That the whole fable of the Minotaur — 
 
 From which our modern morals, rightly 
 shrinking. 
 Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore 
 
 A cow's shape for a mask — was only (sinking 
 The allegory) a mere type, no more, 
 
 That Pasipha; promoted breeding cattle, 
 
 To make the Cretans bloodier in battle. 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 For all we know, that English people are 
 Fed upon beef— I wont say much of beer. 
 
 Because 'tis liquor only, and being far 
 From this my subject, has no business here . 
 
 We know, too, they are very fond of war, 
 A pleasure — like all pleasures — rather dear ; 
 
 So were the Cretans — from which I infer. 
 
 That beef and battles both were owing to her. 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 But to resume — The languid Juan raised 
 His head upon his elbow — and he saw 
 
 A sight on which he had not lately gazed. 
 As all his latter meals had been quite raw. 
 
 Three or four things, for which the Lord lie 
 praised. 
 And feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw. 
 
 He fell upon whate'er was ofl'er'd, like 
 
 A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 He ate, and was well supplied : and she 
 Who watch'd him like a mother, would 
 have fed 
 
 Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see 
 Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead; 
 
 But Zoe, being older than Haidee, 
 Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) 
 
 That famish'd people must be slowly nursed, 
 
 .4nd fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst. 
 
116 
 
 X>ON JXTAH. 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 And so she took the liberty to state, 
 Rather by deeds than words, because the case 
 
 Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate 
 Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace 
 
 The sea-shore at this hour, must leave his plate, 
 Unless he wish'd to die upon the place — 
 
 She snatch'd it, and refused another morsel. 
 
 Saying, he had gorged enough to make a horse 
 ill. 
 
 CLX. 
 
 Next they — he being naked, save a tatter'd 
 Pair of scarce decent trowsers — went to 
 work, 
 
 And in the fire his recent rags they scatter'd. 
 And dress'd him, for the present, likeaTurk, 
 
 Or Greek — that is, although it not much 
 matter'd, 
 Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk — 
 
 They furnish'd him entire, except some stitches. 
 
 With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches. 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 And then fair Haidee tried her tongue at 
 speaking. 
 But not a word could Juan comprehend, 
 Although he listen'd so, that the young Greek 
 in 
 Her earnestness would ne'er have made an 
 end ; 
 And, as he interrupted not, went eking 
 
 Her speech out to her protege and friend, 
 Till pausing at the last her breath to take. 
 She saw he did not understand Romaic. 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 And then she had recourse to nods and signs , 
 And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking 
 eye, 
 And read (the only book she could) the lines 
 Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy, 
 The an.swer eloquent, where the soul shines. 
 And darts, in one quick glance, a long re- 
 ply ; 
 And thus in every look she saw express'd 
 A world of words, and things at which she 
 guess'd. 
 
 CLXIII. 
 
 And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes. 
 And words repeated after her he took 
 
 A lesson in her tongue ; but by surmise. 
 No doubt, less of her language than her look : 
 
 As he who studies fervently the skies 
 Turns oftener to the stars than to his book, 
 
 Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better 
 
 From Haidee's glance than any graven letter. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue 
 
 By female lips and eyes — that is, I mean. 
 When both the teacher and the taught are 
 young, [been ; 
 
 As was the case, at least, where I have 
 They smile so when one's right, and when one's 
 wrong [vene 
 
 They smile still more, and then there inter- 
 Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss ; 
 I learn'd the little that I know by this : 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 That is, some words of Spanish, Turk, and 
 Greek, 
 
 Italian not at all, having no teachers ; 
 Much English I cannot pretend to speak, 
 
 Learning that language chiefly from its 
 preachers, 
 Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week 
 
 I study, also Blair, the highest reachers 
 Of eloquence in piety and prose — 
 I hate your poets, so read none of those. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 As for the ladies, I have nought to say, 
 A wanderer from the British world of fashion, 
 
 Where I, like other " dogs, have had my day," 
 Like other men, too, may have had my pas- 
 sion, — 
 
 But that, like other things, has pass'd away ; 
 And all her fools whom 1 could lay the lash 
 on, [me, 
 
 Foes, friends, men, women, now are nouglit to 
 
 But dreams of what has been, no more to be. 
 
 cLxvir. 
 
 Return we to Don Juan, — He begun 
 To hear new words, and to repeat them : but i 
 
 Some feelings, universal as the Sun, 
 Were such as could not in his breast be shut 
 
 More than within the bosom of a nun : 
 He was in love, — as you would be, no doubt, j 
 
 With a young benefactress, — so was she. 
 
 Just in the way we very often see. 
 
 CLxvni. 
 
 And every day by day-break — rather early 
 
 For Juan — who was somewhat fond of rest- 
 She came into the cave, but it was merely 
 
 To see her bird reposing in his nest ; 
 And she would softly stir his locks so curly, 
 Without disturbing her yet slumberingj 
 guest. 
 
 Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth, I 
 As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 117 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 ] And every morn his colour freshlier came, 
 And every day help'd on his convalescence ; 
 'Twas well, because health in the human frame 
 Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence ; 
 I For health and idleness to passion's flame 
 1 4re oil and gunpowder ; and some good 
 lessons 
 Are also learn'd from Ceres and from Bacchus, 
 Without whom Venus will not long attack us. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 While Venus fills the heart (without heart, 
 
 really [good) 
 
 Love, though good always, is not quite so 
 
 Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli, — 
 
 For love must be sustain'd like flesh and 
 
 blood, [jelly : 
 
 While Bacchus ponrs out wine, or hands a 
 
 Eggs, oysters too, are amatory food : 
 But who is their purveyor from above 
 Heaven knows— it may be Neptune, Pan, or 
 Jove. 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 When Juan woke, he found some good things 
 ready, 
 
 A bath, a breakfast, and the finest eyes 
 That ever made a youthful heart less steady. 
 
 Besides her maid's as pretty for their size ; 
 But I have spoken of all this already — 
 
 And repetition's tiresome and unwise, — 
 Well — Juan, after bathing in the sea, 
 Came always back to coifee and Haidee. 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 Both were so young, and one so innocent. 
 That bathing pass'd for nothing; Juan 
 seem'd 
 To her, as 'twere the kind of being sent. 
 Of whom these two years she had nightly 
 dream'd, 
 A something to be loved — a creature meant 
 To be her happiness — and whom she 
 deem'd 
 To render happy : all who joy would win 
 Must share it, — Happiness was born a twin. 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 It was such pleasure to behold him, such 
 Enlargement of existence to partake 
 
 Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch, 
 To watch him slumbering, and to see him 
 wake : 
 
 To live with him for ever were too much ; 
 But then the thought of parting made her 
 quake : 
 
 He was her own — her ocean treasure, — cast 
 
 Like a rich wreck — her first love, and her last. , 
 
 CLXXIV, 
 
 And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidee 
 Paid daily visits to her boy, and took 
 
 Such plentiful precautions, that still he 
 Remain'd unknown within his craggy nook ; 
 
 At last her father's prows put out to sea. 
 For certain merchantmen upon the look. 
 
 Not, as of yore, to carry off an lo, 
 
 But three Kagusan vessels bound for Scio. 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 Then came her freedom — for she had no 
 mother, — 
 So that, her father being at sea, she was 
 Free as a married woman, or sach other 
 Female, as where she likes she ma; &eely 
 pass. 
 Without even the encumbrance of her brother. 
 
 The freest she that ever gazed on glass : 
 I speak of Christian lands in this comparison. 
 Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in 
 garrison. 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk, 
 (For they must talk,) and he had learn'd to 
 say 
 
 So much, as to propose to take a walk, — 
 For little had he wander'd since the day 
 
 On which, like a young flower, snapp'd from 
 the stalk. 
 Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,— 
 
 And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon, 
 
 And saw the sun set opposite the moon. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast. 
 With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore. 
 
 Guarded by shoals and rocks as by a host. 
 With here and there a creek, whose aspect 
 wore 
 
 A better welcome to the lempest-toss'd ; 
 And rarely ceased the haughty billow's 
 roar, [make 
 
 Save on the dead long summer days, which 
 
 The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake. 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 And the small ripple split upon the beach 
 
 Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your 
 
 champaign, [reach. 
 
 When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers 
 
 That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's 
 
 rain ! [preach 
 
 Few things surpass old wine ; and they may 
 
 Who please, — the more because they preach 
 
 in vain, [ter^ 
 
 Let us have wine and women, mirth and laugh« 
 
 Sermons and soda-water the day after. 
 
m 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 Men, being reasonable, must get drunk, 
 The best of life is but intoxication : 
 
 Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk 
 The hopes of all men, and of erery nation ; 
 
 Without their sap, how branchless were the 
 trunk 
 Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion : 
 
 But to return, — Get very drunk ; and when 
 
 You wake with headache, you shall see what 
 then. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 Ring for your valet — bid him quickly bring 
 Some hock and soda-water, then you'll know 
 
 A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king ; 
 For not the bless'd sherbet, sublimed with 
 snow. 
 
 Nor the first sparkle of the desert spring. 
 Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow, 
 
 After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter. 
 
 Vie with that draught of hock and soda-water 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 The coast — I think it was the coast that I 
 Was just describing — Yes, it was the coast — 
 
 Lay at this period quiet as the sky. 
 The sands untumbled, the blue waves un- 
 toss'd, 
 
 And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry, 
 And dolphin's leap, and little billow cross'd 
 
 By some low rock or shelve, that made it fret 
 
 Against the boundary it scarcely wet. 
 
 CLXXXII, 
 
 And forth they wandered, her sire being gone. 
 As I have said, upon an expedition ; 
 
 And mother, brother, guardian, she had none, 
 Save Zoe, who, although with due precision 
 
 She waited on her lady with the sun, 
 Thought daily service was her only mission. 
 
 Bringing warm water, wreathing her long 
 tresses. 
 
 And asking now and then for cast-oflf dresses. 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 If was the cooling hour, just when the rounded 
 Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill, 
 
 Which then seems as if the whole earth i( 
 bounded. 
 Circling allnature, hush'd, and dim, and still. 
 
 With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded 
 On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill 
 
 Upon the other, and tho rosy sky, 
 
 With one star sparkling through it like an eye. 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 And thus they wander'd forth, and hand is 
 hand. 
 Over the shining pebbles and the shells, 
 Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand, 
 
 And in the worn and wild receptacles 
 Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were 
 plann'd. 
 In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cellsi 
 They turn'd to rest : and, each clasp'd by an 
 
 arm, 
 Yielded to the deep'twilight's purple charm. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow 
 Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright : 
 
 They gazed upon the glittering sea below, 
 Whence the broad moon rose circling into 
 sight ; [low, 
 
 They heard the waves splash, and the wind so 
 And saw each other's dark eyes darting light 
 
 Into each other — and, beholding this. 
 
 Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss. 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth and love. 
 And beauty, all concentrating like rays 
 
 Into one focus, kindled from above ; 
 Such kisses as belong to early days. 
 
 Where heart, and soul, and sense in concert 
 move. 
 And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze, 
 
 Each kiss a heart-quake, — for a kiss's strength, 
 
 I think, it must be reckon'd by its length. 
 
 CLXXXVII 
 
 By length I mean duration ; theirs endured 
 Heaven knows how long, ao doubt they 
 never reckon'd ; 
 And if they had, they could not have secured 
 
 The sum of their sensations to a second: 
 They had not spoken ; but they felt allured. 
 As if their souls and lips each other 
 beckon'd, [clung, 
 
 Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they 
 Their hearts the flowers from whence the 
 honey sprung. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 They were alone, but not alone as they 
 Who shut in chambers think it loneliness ; 
 
 The silent ocean, and the starlight bay. 
 The twilight glow, which momently grew 
 less ; [lay 
 
 The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that 
 Around them, made them to each other press. 
 
 As if there were no life beneath the sky 
 
 Save theirs, and that their life could never die. 
 
DOKT JUAN. 
 
 119 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone 
 beach, 
 They felt no terrors from the night, they were 
 All in all to each other ; though their speech 
 Was broken words, they thought a language 
 there, — 
 And all the burning tongues the passions teach 
 
 Found in one sigh the best interpreter 
 Of nature's oracle — first love, — that all 
 Which Eve has left her daughters since her 
 fall. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 Haidee spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows. 
 Nor offer'd any ; she had never heard 
 
 Of plight and pi-omises to be a spouse, 
 Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd ; 
 
 She was all which pure ignorance allows, 
 And flew to her young mate, like a young 
 bird ; 
 
 And never having dream 'd of falsehood, she 
 
 Had not one word to say of constancy. 
 
 CXCI. 
 
 She loved, and was beloved — she adored. 
 And she was worship'd ; after nature's 
 fashion, 
 
 Their intense souls, into each other pour'd. 
 If souls could die, had perish'd in that pas- 
 sion, — 
 
 But by degrees their senses were restored. 
 Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on ; 
 
 And, beating 'gainst his bosoin, Haidee's heart 
 
 Felt as if never more to beat apart. 
 
 CXCII. 
 
 Alas ! they were so young, so beautiful, 
 So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour 
 
 Was that in which the heart is always fall. 
 And, having o'er itself no further power, 
 
 Prompts deeds eternity cannot annul. 
 But pays of moments in an endless shower 
 
 Of Hell-fire — all prepared for people giving 
 
 Pleasure or pain to one another living. 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 Alas ! for Juan and Haidee ! they were 
 So loving, and so lovely — till then never. 
 
 Excepting our first parents, such a pair 
 Had run the risk of being damn'd for ever ; 
 
 And Haidee, being devout as well as fair. 
 Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian 
 river, 
 
 -And hell and purgatory — but forgot 
 
 Just in the very crisis she should not. 
 
 CXCIV. 
 
 They look'd upon each other, and their eyes. 
 Gleam in the moonlight ; and her white arm 
 clasps 
 
 Round Juan's head, and his around hers lies 
 Half buried in the tresses which it grasps ; 
 
 She sits upon his knee, and drinks his sighs. 
 He hers, until they end in broken gasps ; 
 
 And thus they form a group that's quite an- 
 tique. 
 
 Half naked, loving, natural and Greek. 
 
 CXCV. 
 
 And when those deep and burning moments 
 pass'd. 
 
 And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms. 
 She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast, 
 
 Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms ; 
 And now and then her eye to heaven is cast. 
 
 And then on the pale cheek her breast now 
 warms, 
 Pillow'd on her o'erflo-B ing heart which pants, 
 With all it granted, and with all it grants. 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 An infant when it gazes on a light 
 
 A child the moment when it drains the breast, 
 A devotee when soars the Host in sight. 
 An Arab with a stranger for a guest, 
 .A sailor when the prize has struck in fight, 
 
 A miser filling his most hoarded chest. 
 Feel rapture ; but not such true joy are reaping 
 As they who watch o'er what they love wiiile 
 sleeping. 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved. 
 All that it hath of life with us is living ; 
 
 So gentle, stirless, helpless and unmoved. 
 And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving : 
 
 All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved, 
 Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's 
 diving ; 
 
 There lies the thing we love with all its trrovs, 
 
 And all its charms, like death without its 
 terrors. 
 
 CXC VIII. 
 
 The lady watch'd her lover— and that hour 
 Of love's, and night's, and ocean's solitude, 
 
 O'erflow'd her soul with their uniied power ; 
 Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude 
 
 She and her wave-worn love had made their 
 
 bower, [trude ; 
 
 Where nought upon their passion could in- 
 
 And all the stars that crowded the blue space. 
 
 Saw nothing happier than her glowing lace. 
 
120 
 
 SON JUAN: 
 
 CXCIX. 
 
 Alas ! the love of women ! it is known 
 To be a lovely and a fearful thing ; 
 
 For all of theirs upon that die is thrown. 
 And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring 
 
 To them but mockeries of the past alone, 
 And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, 
 
 Deadly, and quick, and crushing ; yet, as real 
 
 Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. 
 
 CC. 
 
 They are right ; for man, to man so oft nnjust, 
 
 Is always so to women ; one sole bond 
 Awaits them, treachery is all their trust ; 
 Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts 
 despond 
 Over their idol, till some wealthier lust 
 Buys them in marriage — and what rests be- 
 yond? 
 A thankless husband, next a faithless lover. 
 Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's 
 over. 
 
 CCI. 
 
 Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers. 
 Some mind their household, others dissipa- 
 tion, 
 
 Some run away, and but exchange their cares. 
 Losing the advantage of a virtuous station ; 
 
 Few changes e'er can better their affairs. 
 Theirs being an unnatural situation. 
 
 From the dull palace to the dirty hovel : 
 
 Some play the devil, and tben write a novel. 
 
 ecu. 
 
 Haidee was Nature's bride, andknew not this ; 
 
 Haidee was Passion's child, born where the 
 sun 
 Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss 
 
 Of his gazelle-eyed daughters ; she was one 
 Made but to love, to feel that she was his 
 
 Who was her chosen : what was said or done 
 
 Elsewhere was nothing. — She had nought to 
 
 fear, [here. 
 
 Hope, care, nor love beyond her heart beat 
 
 CCIII. 
 
 And oh ! that quickeningof the heart, that beat : 
 How much it costs us ! yet each rising throb 
 
 Is in its cause as its effect so sweet. 
 That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob 
 
 Joy of its alohymy, and to repeat 
 Fine truths ; Even Conscience, too, has a 
 tough job 
 
 To make us understand each good old maxim. 
 
 So good— I wonder Castlereagh don't tax em. 
 
 CCIV. 
 
 And now 'twas done — on the lone shore were 
 plighted [shed 
 
 Their hearts ; the stars, their nuptial torches, 
 Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted : 
 
 Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, 
 By their own feelings hallow'd and united. 
 
 Their priest was Solitude, and they were 
 wed ; 
 And they were happy, for to their young eyes 
 Each was an angel, and earth paradise. 
 
 CCV. 
 
 Oh Love ! of whom great Caesar was the suitor, 
 Titus the master, Antony the slave, 
 
 Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid, tutor, 
 Sappho the sage blue stocking, in whose 
 grave [neuter — 
 
 AH those may leap who rather would be 
 (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave ;) 
 
 Oh Love ! thou art the very god of evil. 
 
 For, after all, we cannot call thee devil. 
 
 CCVI. 
 
 Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state pre- 
 carious, [men : 
 And jestest with the brows of mightiest 
 Caesar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius, 
 Have much employ'd the muse of history's 
 pen ; [various, 
 Their lives and fortunes were extremely 
 
 Such worthies Time will never see again ; 
 Yet to these four, in three things, the same 
 luck holds, [kolds. 
 
 They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuc- 
 
 CCVIL 
 
 Thou mak'st philosophers : there's Epicurus 
 And Aristippus, a material crew ! 
 
 Who to immoral courses would allure us. 
 By theories quite practicable too ; 
 
 If only from the Devil they would insure us. 
 How pleasant were the maxim, (not quite 
 new,) [us?" 
 
 " Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail 
 
 So said the royal sage Sardanapalus. 
 
 CCVIII. 
 
 But Juan ! had he qnite forgotten Julia : 
 And should he have forgotten her so soon ? 
 
 I can't hut say it seems to me most truly a 
 Perplexingquestion ; but, no doubt the moon 
 
 Does these things for us, and whenever newly a 
 Palpitation rises, 'tis her boon. 
 
 Else how the devil is it that fresh features 
 
 Have such a charm for us poor human 
 creatures? 
 
DON JUAPf. 
 
 I'il 
 
 CCJX. 
 
 crxiu. 
 
 I hate inconstancy — I loathe, delcst, 
 Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made 
 
 Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast 
 No permanent foundation can be laid ; 
 
 Love, constant love, has been my constant 
 guest, 
 And yet last night, being at a masquerade, 
 
 I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan, 
 
 Which gave me some sensations like a villain. 
 
 CCX. 
 
 But soon philosophy came to my aid. 
 And whisper'd " think of every sacred tie '." 
 
 "I will, my dear philosophy !" I said, 
 
 " But then her teeth, and then. Oh heaven ! 
 her eye ! 
 
 I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid. 
 Or, neither — out of curiosity." 
 
 " Stop !" cried philosophy, with air so Gre- 
 cian, [Venetian.) 
 
 (Though she was masqued then as a fair 
 
 CCXl. 
 
 " Stop!" so I stopp'd — But to return: that 
 which 
 
 Men call inconstatcy is nothing more 
 Than admiration due where nature's rich 
 
 Profusion with young beauty covers o'er 
 Some favour'd object : and as in the niche 
 
 A lovely statue we almost adore, 
 This sort of adoration of the real 
 Is but a heightening of the " beau ideal." 
 
 CCXII. 
 
 'Tis the perception of the beautiful, 
 
 A fine extension of the faculties, 
 Platonic, universal, wonderful. 
 
 Drawn from the stars, and filter'd through 
 the skies, 
 Without which life would be extremely dull ; 
 
 In short, it is the use of our own eyes, 
 M'ith one or two small senses added, just 
 To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust. 
 
 Yet 'tis a painful feeling, and unw.lling, 
 For surely if we always could perceive 
 
 In the same object graces quite as killing 
 As when she rose upon us like an Eve, 
 
 "Twonld save us many a heart-ache, many a 
 shilling. 
 (For we must get them any how, or grieve,) 
 
 Whereas, if one sole lady pleased for ever, 
 
 How pleasant fur the heart, as well as liver. 
 
 CCXIV. 
 
 The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven, 
 But changes night and day too, like the sky, 
 
 Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, 
 And darkness and destruction as on high : 
 
 But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierc'd, 
 and riven. 
 Its storms expire in water-drops ; the eye 
 
 Pours forth at last the heart's-blood turn'd t> 
 tears, 
 
 Which mate the English climate of our years. 
 
 ccxv. 
 
 The liver is the lazaret of bile, 
 But very rarely executes its function. 
 
 For the first passion stays there such a while, 
 That all the rest creep in and form a junction, 
 
 Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil — 
 Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, com- 
 punction. 
 
 So that all miscliiefs spring up from this enlrail, 
 
 Like earthquakes from the hidden fiie cali'd 
 " central. " 
 
 CCXVI 
 
 In the mean time without proceeding more 
 In this anatomy, I've finish'd now 
 
 Two hundred and odd stanzas as before. 
 That being about the number I'll allow 
 
 Each canto of the twelve, or twenty four ; 
 And, laying down my pen, I make ray bow. 
 
 Leaving Don Juan and Haidee to plead 
 
 For them and theirs with all n ho deign to read. 
 
 Q 
 
m(^m 3WA^^ 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Hail Muse ei cetera. — We left Juan sleeping, 
 Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast, 
 
 And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew 
 
 weeping, [bless'd 
 
 And loved by a young heart, too deeply 
 
 To feel the poison through her spirit creeping. 
 Or know who rested there ; a foe to rest 
 
 Had soil'd the current of her sinless years, 
 
 And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to 
 tears. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, Love ! what is it in this world of ours 
 Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah why 
 
 WitL cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy 
 bowers, 
 And made thy best interpreter a sigh? 
 
 As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, 
 And place them on their breast — but place 
 to die — 
 
 Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish 
 
 Are laid within our bosoms but to peris.h. 
 
 111. 
 
 In her first passion woman loves her lover. 
 In all the others all she loves is love. 
 
 Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over, 
 And fits her loosely — like an easy glove, 
 
 As you may find, whene'er you like to prove 
 her; 
 One man alone at first her heart can move ; 
 
 She then prefers him in the plural number. 
 
 Not finding that the additions much encumber. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ; 
 
 But one thing's pretty sure ; a woman 
 
 planted— [l)rayers)— 
 
 (Unless at once she plunge for life in 
 
 After a decent time must be gallanted ; 
 Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs 
 
 Is that to which her heart is wholly granted ; 
 Yet there are some, they say, who have had 
 
 jione 
 Bui those who have ne'er end with only one. 
 
 'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign 
 Of human frailty, folly, also crime, 
 
 That love and marriage rarely can combine, 
 Although they both are born in the same 
 clime ; 
 
 Marriage from love, like vinegar from 
 wine — 
 A sad, sour, sober beverage — by time 
 
 Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour 
 
 Down to a very homely household savour. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There's something of antipathy, as 'twere, 
 Between their present and their future state ; 
 
 A kind of flattery that's hardly fair 
 Is used until the truth arrives too late — 
 
 Yet what can people do, except despair? 
 The same things change their names at 
 such a rate ; 
 
 For instance passion in a lover's glorious, 
 
 But in a husband is pronounced uxorious. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Men grow ashamed of being so very fond 
 They sometimes also get a little tired, 
 
 (But that, of course, is rare) and then despond s 
 The same things cannot always be admired, 
 
 Yet 'tis " so nominated in the bond," 
 That both are tied till one shall have expired. 
 
 Sad thought! to lose the spouse that was 
 adorning 
 
 Our days ; and put one's servants into mourn- 
 ing. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 There'sdoubtlesssomethingin domestic doings, 
 Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis ; 
 
 Romances paint at full length, people's woo- 
 ings, 
 But only give a bust of marriages ; 
 
 For no one cares for matrimonial cooings 
 There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss : 
 
 Think yon, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife 
 
 He would have written sonnets all his lite J 
 
DON JTJAN. 
 
 123 
 
 IX. 
 
 All tragedies are finish'd by a death, 
 All comedies are ended by a marriage ; 
 
 The future states of both are left to faith, 
 For authors fear description might disparage 
 
 The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath, 
 And then both worlds would punish their 
 miscarriage ; 
 
 So leaving each their priest and prayer-book 
 ready, 
 
 They say no more of Death or of the Lady. 
 
 X. 
 
 The only two that in my recollection 
 Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, 
 are 
 Dante and Milton, and of both the affection 
 
 Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar 
 Of fault or temper ruin'd the connection 
 (Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to 
 mar;) 
 But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve 
 Were not drawn from their spouses, you con- 
 ceive. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Some persons say that Dante meant theology 
 By Beatrice, and not a mistress — I, 
 
 Although my opinion may require apology. 
 Deem this a commentator's phantasy. 
 
 Unless indeed it was from his own knowledge 
 he 
 Decided thus, and show'd good reason why ; 
 
 I Ihink that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics 
 
 Meant to personify the mathematics. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Haidee and Juan were not married, but 
 The fault was theirs, not mine ; it is not fair, 
 
 Chaste reader, then, in any way to put 
 The blame on me, unless you wish they were; 
 
 Then if you'd have them wedded, please to 
 shut 
 The book which treats of this erroneous pair ; 
 
 Before the consequences grow too awful; 
 
 'Tis dangerous to read of loves unlawful. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yet they were happy — happy in the illicit 
 Indulgence of their innocent desires ; 
 
 But more imprudent grown with every visit, 
 Haidee forgot the island was her sire's ; 
 
 When we have what we like, 'tis hard to miss 
 At least in the beginning, ere one tires ; [it. 
 
 Thus she came often, not a moment losing, 
 
 Whilst her piratical papa was cruising. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange. 
 Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, 
 
 For into a prime minister but change 
 His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation ; 
 
 But he, more modest, took an humbler range 
 Of life, and in an honester vocation 
 
 Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey. 
 
 And merely practised as a sea-attorney. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The good old gentleman had been detain'd 
 By winds and waves, and some important 
 captures ; 
 And, in the hope of more, at sea remaln'd. 
 Although a squall or two, had damp'd his 
 raptures 
 By swamping one of the prizes : he had chain'd 
 
 His prisoners, dividing them like chapters 
 In number'd lots : they all had cufis and col- 
 lars, [lars. 
 And averaged each from ten to a hundred dol- 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan, 
 Among his friends the Mainots ; some he sold 
 
 To his Tunis correspondent — save one man 
 Toss'd overboard unsaleable (being old ; 
 
 The rest — save here and there some richer one 
 Reserved for future ransom in the hold, 
 
 Were link'd alike,^as for the common people, 
 he 
 
 Had a large order from the T)ey of Tripoli. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The merchandize was served in the waj , 
 Pieced out for different marts in the Levant, 
 
 Except some certain portions of the prey. 
 Light classic articles of female want 
 
 French stuffs, lace, tweezers, tooih-picks, 
 tea-pot, tray. 
 Guitars and castanets from Alicant, 
 
 All which, selected from the spoil, he gathers, 
 
 Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers. 
 
 XVII L 
 
 A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw. 
 
 Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens. 
 He chose from several animals he saw — 
 A terrier, too, which once had been a Bri- 
 ton's, 
 Who dying on the coast of Ithaca, 
 
 The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a 
 pittance, — 
 These to secure in this strongblowing weather, 
 He caged in one huge hamper altogether. 
 
124 
 
 DOJI JUATJ. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then having settled his marine aflairsj 
 
 Despatching single cruisers here and there, 
 His vessel having need of some repairs, 
 He shaped his course to where his daughter 
 fair 
 Continued still her hospitable cares ; 
 Butthat partof the coast being shoal and bare. 
 And rough with reefs which ran out many a 
 
 mile, 
 His port lay on the other side o' the isle. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And there he went ashore without delay, 
 Having no custom-house nor quarantine 
 To ask him awkward questions on the way, 
 About the time and place where he had been : 
 He left bis ship to be hove down next day, 
 
 With orders to the people to careen ; 
 So that all hands were busy beyond measure, 
 In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treas- 
 ure. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Arriving at the summit of a hill, 
 Which overlook'd the white walls of his 
 home. 
 He stopp'd. — What singular emotions fill 
 Their bosoms who have been induced to 
 roam ! 
 With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill — 
 
 With love for many, and with fears for some ; 
 All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost. 
 And bring our hearts back to their starting- 
 post. 
 
 XXil. 
 
 The approachof home to husbands and to sires, 
 After long travelling by land or water, 
 
 Most naturally some small doubt inspires — 
 A female family's a serious matter : 
 
 (None trusts the sex more, or so much ad- 
 mires — 
 But they hate flattery, so I never flatter ;) 
 
 AVives in their husbands' absences grow 
 subtler ; [butler. 
 
 And daughters sometimes run off with the 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 An honest gentleman, at his return, 
 May not have the good fortune of Ulysses ; 
 
 Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn. 
 Or show the same dislike to suitor's kisses ; 
 
 The odds are, that he finds an handsome urn 
 To his memory, and two or three young mis- 
 ses [riches, 
 
 liorn to some friend, who holds his wife and 
 
 And that his Argus bites him by — the breeches. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 If single, probably his plighted fair 
 Has in his absence wedded some rich miser 
 
 But all the better, for the happy pair 
 May quarrel, and the lady growing wiser. 
 
 He may resume his amatory care 
 \s cavalier servente, or despise her; 
 
 And that his sorrow may not be a dumb one. 
 
 Write odes on the Inconstancy of Woman. 
 
 , XXV. 
 
 And oh ! ye gentlemen who ha\e already 
 Some chaste liaison of the kind — I mean 
 
 in honest friendship with a married lady — ' 
 The only thing of this sort ever seen 
 
 To last — of all connections the most steady. 
 And the true Hymen, (the first is but a 
 screen)— 
 
 Yet for all that keep not too long away, 
 
 I've known the absent wrong'd four times a 
 day. 
 
 XXVI. ' 
 
 Lamhro, our sea-solicitor, who had 
 Much less experience of dry land than ocean 
 
 On seeing his own chimney smoke, felt glad ; 
 But not knowing metaphysics had no notioa 
 
 Of the true reason of his not being sad, 
 Or that of any other strong emotion ; 
 
 He loved his child and would have wept th( 
 loss of her. 
 
 But knew the cause no moi'e than a philosO' 
 pher. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 He saw his white walls shining in the sun. 
 His garden trees all shadowy and green ; 
 
 He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run,. 
 'I he distant dog bark : and perceived be 
 tween 
 
 The umbrage of the wood so cool and dun 
 The moving figures, and the sparkling sheei 
 
 Of arms (in the East all arm) — and varioUi 
 dyes 
 
 01 colour'd garbs, as bright as butterflies. 
 
 XXVIII. * 
 
 And as the spot where they appear he bears, 
 Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling 
 
 He hears — alas ! no music of the spheres. 
 But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fid 
 dling ! 
 
 A melody which made him doubt his ears, 
 The cause being past his guessing or un 
 riddling ; 
 
 A pipe, too, and a drum and shortly after, 
 
 A most unoriental roar of langhler. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 325 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 And still more nearly to the place advancing, 
 Descending rather quickly the declivity, 
 
 Through the vpaved branches, o'er the green- 
 sward glancing, 
 'Midst other indications of festivity, 
 
 Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing 
 Like Dervjses, who turn us on a pivot, he 
 
 Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial. 
 
 To wliich the Levantines are very partial. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And further on a group of Grecian girls, [ing. 
 The first and tallest her white kerchief wav- 
 
 Were strung together like a row of pearls ; 
 Link'd hand in hand, and dancing ; each 
 too having 
 
 Down her white neck long floating auburn 
 
 curls — [raving;) 
 
 (The least of which would set ten poets 
 
 Their leader sang — and bounded to her song, 
 
 With choral step and voice, the virgin throng. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And liere, assembled cross-legg'd round their 
 trays. 
 
 Small social parties just begun to dine ; 
 Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze. 
 
 And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine, 
 And sherbet cooling in the porous vase ; 
 
 Above them their dessert grew on its vine. 
 The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er, 
 Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their 
 mellow store. 
 
 xxxu. 
 
 A band of children, round a snow-white ram, 
 There wreathe his venerable horns with 
 flowers ; 
 
 While peaceful as if .still an unwean'd lamb, 
 The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers 
 
 His sober head, majestically tame. 
 Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers 
 
 His brow, as if in act to butt, and then 
 
 Yielding to their small hands, draws back 
 again: 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses. 
 Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic 
 cheeks, [tresses. 
 
 Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long 
 The gesture which enchants, the eye that 
 speaks. 
 The innocence which happy childhood blesses, 
 Made quite a picture of these little Greeks ; 
 So that the philosophical beholder 
 Sigh'd for their sakes— that Ihey should e'ei 
 grow older 
 
 Afar, a dwarf buflfoon stood telling tales 
 To a sedate gray circle of old smokers, 
 
 Of secret treasures found in hidden vales. 
 Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers. 
 
 Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails. 
 Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers 
 
 Of magic ladies, who, by one sole act, 
 
 Transform'd theii lords to beasts, (but that's 
 a fact.) 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Here was no lack of innocent diversion 
 For the imagination of the senses. 
 
 Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the 
 Persian, 
 All pretty pastimes in which no offence is ; 
 
 But Lambro saw all these things with aversion, 
 Perceiving in his absence such expenses. 
 
 Dreading that climax of all human ills. 
 
 The inflammation of his weekly bills. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Ah ! what is man 1 what perils still environ 
 The happiest mortals even after dinner — 
 
 A day of gold from out an age of iron 
 Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner ; 
 
 Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least j's a syren. 
 That lures to flay alive the young beginner ; 
 
 Lambro's reception at his people's banquet 
 
 Was such as fire accords to wet a blanket. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 He — being a man who seldom used a word 
 Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise 
 
 (In general he surprised men with the sword) 
 His daughter — had not sent before to advise 
 
 Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd ; 
 And long he paused to reassure his eyes. 
 
 In fact, much more astonish'd than delighted. 
 
 To find so much good company invi ted. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 He did not know — (Alas how men will lie) 
 That a report, (especially the Greeks) 
 
 Avouch'd his deat'a— (such people never die)— 
 And put his house in mourning severiil 
 weeks : 
 
 But now their eyes and also lips were dry ; 
 The bloom too had return'd to Haidee's 
 cheeks, 
 
 Her tears too being relurn'd into their (bunt, 
 
 She now kept house upon her own account. 
 
126 
 
 DOK JUAN. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Hence all this rice, meat, dancing, vpine, and 
 fiddling, 
 Ay hich turn'd the isle into a place of pleasure ; 
 The servants all were getting drunk or idling, 
 A life which made them happy beyond 
 measure. 
 Her father's hospitality seem'd middling, 
 Compared with what Haidee did with his 
 treasure ; [ing, 
 
 Twas wonderful how things went on improv- 
 While she had not one hour to spare from 
 loving. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Perhaps you think, in stumbling on this feast, 
 He flew into a passion — and, in fact, 
 
 There was no mighty reason to be pleased ; 
 Perhaps you prophesy some sudden act, 
 
 The whip, the rack, or dungeon at the least. 
 To teach his people to be more exact, 
 
 And that, proceeding at a very high rate. 
 
 He show'd the royal penchants of a pirate. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 You're wrong. — He was the mildest manner'd 
 man, 
 
 That ever scuttled ship, or cut a throat ; 
 With such true breeding of a gentleman. 
 
 You never could divine his real thought ; 
 No courtier could, and scarcely woman can 
 
 Gird more deceit within a petticoat ; 
 Pity he loved adventurous life's variety, 
 He was so great a loss to good society. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Advancing to the nearest dinner tray, 
 Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest. 
 
 With a peculiar smile, which, by the way. 
 Boded no good, whatever it express'd. 
 
 He ask'd the meaning of this holiday ; 
 The vinous Greek to whom he had address'd 
 
 His question, much too merry to divine 
 
 The questioner, filled up a glass of wine. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 And without turning his facetious head. 
 Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air. 
 
 Presented the o'erfiowing cup, and said, 
 " Talking's dry work, I have no time to 
 spare." 
 
 A second hiccup'd, " Our old master's dead. 
 
 You'd better ask our mistress who's his 
 
 heir." [pooh— 
 
 'Our mistress !" quoth a third : " Our mistress ! 
 
 \ou mean our master-not the old, but new." 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 These rascals, being new comers, knew hot 
 
 whom [fell— 
 
 They thus address'd — and Lambro's visage 
 
 And o'er his eye a momentary gloom 
 
 Pass'd — but he strove quite courteously to 
 
 quell 
 
 The expression, and endeavouring to resume 
 
 His smile, requested one of them to tell 
 The name and quality of his new patron, 
 Who seem'd to have turn'd Haidee into 
 matron. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " I know not," quoth the fellow, " who oi 
 what 
 He is, nor whence he came — and little care j 
 But this I know, that this roast capon's fat. 
 And that good wine ne'er wash'd down 
 better fare. 
 And if you are not satisfied with that. 
 
 Direct your questions to my neighbour therej 
 He'll answer you all for better or for worse. 
 For none likes more to bear himself con- 
 verse."" 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 I said, that Lambro was a man of patience, 
 And certainly he show'd the best of breeding, 
 
 Which scarce even France, the paragon of na- 
 tions, 
 E'er saw her most polite of sons exceeding ; 
 
 He bore these sneers against his near relations. 
 His own anxiety, his heart too bleeding, 
 
 The insults too of every servile glutton. 
 
 Who all the time was eating up his mutton. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Now in a person used to much command — 
 To bid men come, and go, and come again — 
 
 To see his orders done too out of hand — 
 Whether the word was death, or but the 
 chain — 
 
 It may seem strange to find his manners bland i 
 Yet such things are, which I cannot explain, 
 
 Though doubtless he who can command himself 
 
 Is good to govern — almost as a Guelf. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Not that he was not sometimes rash, or so, , 
 But never in his real and serious mood ; 
 
 Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slowj 
 He lay coil'd, like the boa in the wood ; 
 
 With him it never was a word and blow. 
 His angry word once o'er, he shed no blooi" 
 
 But in his silence there was much to rue. 
 
 And bis one blow left little work for tieu. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 127 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 He ask'd no further qnestions but proceeded 
 Ou to the house, but by a private way. 
 
 So that the few who met him, hardly heeded, 
 So little they expected him that day, 
 
 If love paternal in his bosom pleaded, 
 For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say, 
 
 But certainly to one deem'd dead returning. 
 
 This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning. 
 
 L. 
 
 If all the dead could now return to life, 
 (Which fate forbid !) or some, or a great 
 many, 
 
 For instance— if a husband, or his wife, 
 (Nuptial examples are as good as any,) 
 
 Nn doubt whate'er might be their former strife, 
 The present weatlier would be much more 
 rainy — 
 
 Tears shed into the grave of the connection, 
 
 Would share most probably its resurrection. 
 
 LI. 
 
 He enter'd in the house — no more his home — 
 A thing to human feelings tlie most trying, 
 
 And harder for the heart to overcome, 
 
 Perhaps, that even the mental pangs of 
 dying ; 
 
 To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb, 
 And round its once warm precincts palely 
 lying 
 
 The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief. 
 
 Beyond a single gentleman's belief. 
 
 LII. 
 
 He enter'd in the house — his home no more. 
 For without hearts there is no home ; —and 
 felt 
 
 The solitude of passing his own door 
 
 Without a welcome ; there he long had dwelt. 
 
 There his few peaceful days Time had swept 
 
 o'er, [melt 
 
 There his worn bosom and keen eye would 
 
 Over the innocence of that sweet child, 
 
 His only shrine of feelings undefiled. 
 
 LIll. 
 
 He was a man of a strange temperament, 
 Of mild demeanour though of savage mood, 
 
 Moderate in all his habits, and content 
 With temperance in pleasure, as in food. 
 
 Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and 
 meant 
 For something better,if not wholly good ; 
 
 His country's wrongs, and his despair to save 
 her, 
 
 Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 The love of power, and rapid gain of gold. 
 The hardness by long habitude produced. 
 
 The dangerous life in which he had grown old, 
 The mercy he had granted oft abused, 
 
 The sights he was accustom'd to behold, 
 The wild seas, and wild men with whom he 
 cruised. 
 
 Had cost his enemies a long repentance, 
 
 And made him a good friend — but bad ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 LV. 
 
 But something of the spirit of old Greece 
 Flash'd o'er his soul a few heruic rays, 
 
 Such as lit onward to the golden Fleece 
 His predecessors in the Colchian days ; 
 
 'Tls true he had not ardent love for peace — . 
 Alas I his country show'd no path to praise : 
 
 Hate to the world, and war with every nation. 
 
 He waged, in vengeance of her degradation. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime 
 Shed its Ionian elegance which show'd 
 
 Its power unconsciously full many a time — 
 A taste seen in the choice of his abode, 
 
 A love of music and of scenes sublime, 
 A pleasure in the gentle stream that flow'd 
 
 Past him in crystal, and a joy in flowers, 
 
 Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 But whatsoe'er he had of love, reposed 
 On that beloved daughter ; she had been 
 
 The only thing which kept his heart unclosed 
 Amidst the savage deeds he had done and 
 seen ; 
 
 A lonely pure affection tinopposed : 
 There wanted but the loss of this to wean 
 
 His feelings from all milk of human kindness. 
 
 And turn him like the Cyclops mad with blind- 
 ness. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 The cubless tigress in her jungle raging 
 Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock ; 
 
 The ocean when its yeasty war is waging 
 Is awful to the vessel near the rock ; 
 
 But violent things will sooner bear assua- 
 ging. 
 Their fury being spent by its own shock. 
 
 Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire 
 
 Of a strong human heart, and in a sire. 
 
128 
 
 EON JUAW. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 It is a hard although a common case 
 To fiod our children running restive— they 
 
 In whom our brightest days we would retrace, 
 Our little selves reform'd in finer clay, 
 
 Just as old age is creeping on apace, 
 And clouds come o'er the sunselof our day, 
 
 They kindly leave us though not quite alone. 
 
 But in good company — the gout and stone. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Yet a fine family is a fine thing 
 
 (Provided they don't come in after dinner) ; 
 'Tis beautiful to see a matron bring 
 
 Her children up (if nursing them don't thin 
 her) 
 Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling 
 
 To the fire-side (a sight to touch a sinner.) 
 A lady with her daughters or her nieces. 
 Shine like a guinea and seven-shilling pieces. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate, 
 And stood within his hall at eventide ; 
 
 Meantime the lady and her lover sate 
 
 At wassail in their beauty and their pride ; 
 
 An ivory inlaid table spread with state 
 Before them, and fair slaves on evei-y side ! 
 
 Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service 
 mostly. 
 
 Mother-of-pearl and coral the less costly. 
 
 LXII. j' 
 
 The dinner made about a hundred dishes ; I 
 Lamb and pistachio nuts — in short, all meats ' 
 
 And saffron soups, and sweetbreads ; and the 
 fishes 
 Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets, 
 
 Drass'd to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes ; 
 The beverage was various sherbets 
 
 Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juicB, 
 
 Squeezed through the rind, which makes it best 
 for use. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 These were ranged round, each in a crystal 
 ewer, 
 And fruits, and date-bread loaves closed the 
 repast. 
 And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure. 
 
 In small, fine china cups, came in at last ; 
 Gold caps of filigree made to secure 
 The hand from burning underneath them 
 placed. 
 Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd 
 Up with the coffee, which, 1 think, they spoil'd. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 The hangings of the room were tapestry, made 
 Of velvet pannels, each of different hue, 
 
 And thick with damask fiovvers of silk inlaid : 
 And round them ran a yellow border too ; 
 
 The upper border, richly wrought, display'd, 
 Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue. 
 
 Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters. 
 
 From poets, or the moralists, their betters. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 These oriental writings on the wall, 
 Quite common in those countries, are a kind 
 
 Of monitors adapted to recall, 
 Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the 
 mind 
 
 The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall. 
 
 And took his kingdom from him : You will 
 
 find, [treasure, 
 
 Though sages may pour out their wisdom's 
 
 There is no sterner moralist than pleasure. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 A beauty at the season's close grown hectic, 
 A genius who has drunk himself to death, 
 
 A rake turn'd methodistic or eclectic — 
 (For that's the name they like to pray be- 
 neath.)— 
 
 But most, an alderman struck apoplectic, 
 Are things that really take away the breath, 
 
 And show that late hours, wine, and love are 
 able 
 
 To do not much less damage than the table. 
 
 LXVIX. 
 
 Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet 
 On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue : 
 
 Their sofa occupied three parts complete 
 Of the appartment — and appear'd quite 
 new ; 
 
 The velvet cushions— for a throne more meet — 
 Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre 
 grew 
 
 A sun emboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue, 
 
 Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue. 
 
 LXVIIL 
 
 Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain. 
 Had done their work of splendor ; Indian 
 mats [stain, 
 
 ■ And Persian carpels, which the heart bled to 
 Over the floors were spread ; gazelles and 
 cats. 
 And dwarfs, and blacks, and such like things 
 that gain [that's 
 
 Their bread as ministers and favourites— 
 To say, by degradation — mingled there 
 As plentiful as in a court orfair. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 129 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 There was no want of lofty mirrors, and 
 
 The tables most of ebony inlaid 
 With mother-of-pearl or ivory, stood at band. 
 
 Or were of tortoise-shell or rare woods made, 
 Fretted with gold or silver — by command, 
 
 The greater part of these were ready spread 
 With viands and sherbets in ice — and wine — 
 Kept for all comers at all hoars to dine. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Of all the dresses I select Haidee's : 
 She wore two jelicks — one was of pale yel- 
 low; 
 Of azure, pink, and white was her chemise — 
 'Neath which her breast heaved like a little 
 billow; 
 With buttons fnrm'd of pearls as large as pease, 
 All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fel- 
 low, 
 And the striped white gauze baracan that 
 
 bound her, 
 Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow'd 
 round her. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 One large gold bracelet clasp'd each lovely 
 arm, 
 
 Lockless — so pliable from the pure gold 
 That the hand stretch'd and shut it without 
 harm. 
 
 The limb v,'hich it adom'd, its only mould ; 
 So beautiful — its very shape would charm. 
 
 And clinging as if loath to lose its hold. 
 The parest ore inclosed the whitest skin 
 That e'er by precious metal was held in. >> 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Around, as princess of her father's land, 
 
 A like gold bar above her instep roU'd, ■= 
 Announced her rank ; twelve rings v.ere on 
 her hand ; 
 Her hair was starr'd with gems ; her veil's 
 fine fold 
 Below her breast was fasten'd wifh a baud 
 Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce 
 be told ; 
 Her orange silk full Turkish trowsers furl'd 
 About the prettiest ancle in the world. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel 
 riow'd like an Alpine torrent, which the sun 
 
 Dyes with his morning light — and would con- 
 ceal 
 Her person'' if allow'd at large to run. 
 
 And still they seem resentfully to feel 
 The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun 
 
 Their bonds, whene'er some Zephyr, caught, 
 began 
 
 To ofler her young pinion as her fnn. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Round her she made an atmosphere of life, 
 The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes. 
 
 They were so soft and beaatiful, and rife 
 With all we can imagine of the skies. 
 
 And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife — 
 Too pure even for the purest human ties ; 
 
 Her overpowering presence made you feel 
 
 It would not be idolatry to kneel. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were 
 tinged 
 (It is the country's custom) but in vain — 
 For those large black eyes were so blackly 
 fringed, 
 The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain. 
 And in their native beauty stood avenged : 
 Her nails were touch'd with henna ; but 
 again 
 The power of art was turn'd to nothing, for 
 They could not look more rosy than before. 
 
 LXXVJ. 
 
 The henna should be deeply dyed to make 
 The skin relieved appear more fairly fair ; 
 
 She had no need of this, day ne'er will break 
 On mountain tops, more heavenly white than 
 her; 
 
 The eye might doubt if it were well awake ; 
 She was so like a vision, I might err, 
 
 But Shakspeare also says 'tis very silly 
 
 " To gild refined gold, or paint the lily." 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Juan had on a shawl of black and gold. 
 But a white baracan, and so transparent, 
 
 The sparkling gems beneath you might behold, 
 Like small stars through the milky way ap- 
 parent ; 
 
 His turban, furl'd in many a graceful fold. 
 An emerald aigrette with Haidee's hair in't. 
 
 Surmounted as its clasp— a glowing crescent. 
 
 Whose laysshone ever trembling, but incessant 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 And now they were diverted by their suite. 
 Dwarfs, dancing-girls, black eunuchs, ana 
 a poet. 
 Which made their new establishment complete; 
 The last was of great fame, and liked to 
 show it : 
 His verses rarely wanted their due feet — 
 
 And for this theme — he seldom sungbelow it, 
 He being paid to satirise or flatter, 
 As the psalm says, " inditing a good matter " 
 ti 
 
iiso 
 
 DON JUAN^ 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 He praised the present, and abused the past — 
 Reyersing the good custom of old days ; 
 
 An eastern anti-jacobin at last 
 He turn'd, preferring pudding to no praise — 
 
 For some few years his lot had been o'ercast 
 By bis seeming independent in his lays, 
 
 But now he sung the Sultan and the Pacha, 
 
 With truth like Southey, and with verse like 
 Crashaw. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 He was a man who had seen many changes, 
 And always changed as true as any needle. 
 
 His polar star being one which rather ranges, 
 And'not the fix'd — he knew the way to 
 wheedle ; 
 
 So vile he 'scaped the doom which oft avenges ; 
 And being fluent — save indeed when fed ill — 
 
 He lied with such a fervour of invention — 
 
 There was no doubt he earn'd his Jaureat 
 
 pension. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 But he had genius — when a turncoat has it, 
 The " Vates irritabilis" takes care 
 
 That, without notice, few full moons shall 
 
 pass it ; [stare : 
 
 Even good men like to make the public 
 
 But to my subject — let me see — what was it ? 
 Oh ! — the third canto — and the pretty pair— 
 
 Their loves, and feasts, and house, and dress 
 and mode 
 
 Of living, in their insular abode. 
 
 tXXXII. 
 
 Their poet, a sad trimmer, but no less 
 In company a very pleasant fellow, 
 
 Had been the favourite of full many a mess 
 Of men, and made them speeches when hulf 
 mellow ; [guess, 
 
 And though his meaning they could rarely 
 Yet still they deign to hiccup or to bellow 
 
 The glorious meed of popular applause, 
 
 Of which the iirst ne'er knows the second cause. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 But now being lifted into high society. 
 And having pick'dup several odds and ends 
 
 Of free thoughts in his travels for variety, 
 He deem'd, being in a lone isle, amongst 
 friends. 
 
 That without any danger of a riot, he 
 Might for long lying make himself amends ; 
 
 And singing as he sung in his warm youth, 
 
 Agree to a short armistice with truth. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 
 He had travell'd 'mongst the Arabs, Turks, 
 and Franks, [nations ; 
 
 And knew the self-loves of the different 
 And having lived with people of all ranks. 
 
 Had something ready upon most occasions — 
 Which got him a few presents, and some 
 thanks. 
 
 He vaiied with some skill his adulations ; 
 To " do at Rome as Romans do," a piece 
 Of conduct was which he observed in Greece. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Thus, usually when he was ask'd to sing. 
 He gave the different nations something 
 national ; [king,'' 
 
 'Twas all the same to him — " God save the 
 Or " Ca ira." according to the fashion all ; 
 
 His muse made increment of any thing, 
 From the high lyrical to the low rational : 
 
 If Pindarsang horse-races, what should hinder 
 
 Himself from being as pliable as Pindar? 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 In France, for instance, he would write a 
 chanson ; 
 
 In England, a six canto quarto tale ; 
 In Spain, he'd make a ballad or romance on 
 
 The last war — much the same in Portugal ; 
 In Germany, the Pegasus he'd prance on 
 
 Would be old Gothe's — (see what says de 
 In Italy, he'd ape the " Trecentisti ;" [Stael) 
 In Greece, he'd sing some sort of hymn like 
 this t'ye : 
 
 The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece 
 Wliere burning Sappho loved and sung. 
 
 Where grew the arts of war and peace, — 
 Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
 
 Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
 
 But all, except their sun, is set. 
 
 The Scian and the Teian muse. 
 The hero's harp, the lover's lute. 
 
 Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
 Their place of birth alone is mute 
 
 To sounds which echo further west 
 
 Than your sires' " Islands of the Bless'd." 
 
 The mountains look on Marathon — 
 And Marathon looks on the sea ; 
 
 And musing there an hour alone, 
 I dream'd that Greece might still be free ; 
 
 For standing on the Persians' grave, 
 
 I could not deem myself a slave. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 131 
 
 I 
 
 A king sate on the rocky brow 
 Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; 
 
 And ships, by thousands, lay below, 
 And men in nations ; — all were his ! 
 
 He counted them at break of day — 
 
 And when the sun set where were they ? 
 
 And where are they ? and where art thou, 
 My country ? On thy voiceless shore 
 
 The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
 The heroic bosom beats no more ! 
 
 And must thy lyre, so long divine. 
 
 Degenerate into hands like mine ? 
 
 Tis something, in the dearth of fame. 
 Though link'd among a fetter'd race, 
 
 To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
 Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; 
 
 For what is left the poet here ? 
 
 For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 
 
 Must we but weep o'er days more bless'd ? 
 
 Must ue but blush ?— Our fathers bled. 
 Earth ! render back from out thy breast 
 
 A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
 Of the three hundred grant but three, 
 To make a new Thermopylae ? 
 
 What, silent still ? and silent all ? 
 
 Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead 
 Sound like a distant torrent's fall. 
 
 And answer, " Let one living bead, 
 But one arise — we come, we come !" 
 'Tis but the living who are dumb. 
 
 In vain — in vain : strike other chords ; 
 
 Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
 Leave battles to the Turkish hordes. 
 
 And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
 Hark ! rising to the ignoble call — 
 How answers each bold bacchanal ? 
 
 You have the Pjrrhic dance as yet. 
 Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 
 
 Of two such lessons, why forget 
 The nobler and the manlier one ? 
 
 You have the letters Cadmus gave — 
 
 Think ye he meant them for a slave ? 
 
 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
 
 We will not think of themes like these : 
 It made Anacreon's song divine : 
 
 He served — but served Polycrates — 
 A tyrant ; but our masters then 
 Were still, at least, our countrymen. 
 
 The tyrant of the Chersonese 
 
 Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
 That tyrant was Miltiades ! 
 
 Oh ! that the present hour would lend 
 
 Another despot of the kind ! 
 
 Such chains as his were sure to bind. 
 
 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ? 
 
 On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore. 
 Exists the remnant of a line 
 
 Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 
 And there, perhaps, some seed is sown. 
 The Heracleidan blood might own. 
 
 Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 
 They have a king who buys and sells ; 
 
 In native swords, and native ranks, 
 The only hope of courage dwells; 
 
 But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 
 
 Would break your shield, however broad. 
 
 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine. 
 Our virgins dance beneath the shade — 
 
 I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 
 But gazing on each glowing maid. 
 
 My own the burning tear-drop laves. 
 
 To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 
 
 Place me on Sunium's marbled steep — 
 W here nothing, save the waves and I, 
 
 Miiy hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
 There, swan-like, let me sing and die : 
 
 A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 
 
 Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Thus sung, or would, or could, or should have 
 sung. 
 The modern Creek, in tolerable verse ; 
 If not like Orpheus quite, when Greece was 
 young, l]worse : 
 
 Yet in these times he might have done much 
 His strain display'd some feeling — right or 
 wrong ; 
 And feeling in a poet, is the source 
 Of others' feeling ; but they are such liars 
 And take all colours — like the hands of dyers. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 But words are things, and a small drop of ink, 
 Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces 
 
 That which makes thousands, perhaps 
 
 millions think ; [uses 
 
 'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man 
 
 Instead of speech, may form a lasting link 
 Of ages ; to what straits old Time reduces 
 
 Frail man, when paper— even a rag like this. 
 
 Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his. 
 
132 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 And when his bones are dust, his grave ablank, 
 His station, generation, even his nation, 
 
 Become a thing, or nothing, save to rank 
 Id chronological commemoration. 
 
 Some dull MS. oblivion long has sank 
 Or graven. stone found in a barrack's station 
 
 In digging the foundation of a closet. 
 
 May turn his name up, as a rare deposit. 
 
 XC. 
 
 And glory long has made the sages smile ; 
 'Tis something, nothing, words, illusion, 
 wind — 
 Depending more upon the historian's style 
 
 Than on the name a person leaves behind : 
 Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to 
 Hoyle ; 
 The present century was growing blind : 
 To the great Marlborough's skill in giving 
 
 knocks, 
 Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Milton's the prince of poets — so we say ; 
 
 A little heavy, but no less divine : 
 A n independent being in his day — 
 
 Learn'd, pious, temperate in love and wine; 
 Bat his Life falling into Johnson's way, 
 
 We're told this great high-priest of all the 
 Nine 
 Was whipp'd at college — a harsh sire^odd 
 
 spouse, 
 For the first Mrs. Milton left his house. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 All these are, certes, entertaining facts. 
 Like Shakspeare's stealing deer. Lord Ba- 
 con's bribes ; 
 
 Like Titus' youth, and Caesar's earliest acts ; 
 Like Burns (whom Doctor Currie well de- 
 scribes ;) [exacts 
 
 Like Cromwell's pranks ; — but although truth 
 These amiable descriptions from the scribes. 
 
 As most essential to their hero's story, 
 
 They do not much contribute to his glory. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 AH are not moralists, like Southey, when 
 He prated to the world of " Pantisocrasy ;" 
 
 Or Wordsworth unexcised, unhired, who then 
 Season'd his pedlar poems with democracy ; 
 
 Or Coleridge, long before his flighty pen 
 Let to the Morning Post its aristocracy ; 
 
 When he and Southey,following the same path. 
 
 Espoused two partners (milliners of Bath.) 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Such names at present, cut a convict figure. 
 The very Botany Bay in moral geography : 
 
 Their royal treason, renegado vigour, 
 
 Are good manure for their more bare biogra- 
 phy. 
 
 Wordsworth's last quarto, by the way, is bigger 
 Than any since the birth-day of typography ; 
 
 A clumsy, frowzy poem, call'd the " Excur- 
 sion," 
 
 Writ in a manner which is my aversion. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 He there builds up a formidable dyke 
 Between his own and others' intellect ; 
 
 But Wordsworth's poem, and his followers, 
 like 
 Joanna Southcote's Shiloh, and her sect. 
 
 Are things which in this century don't strike 
 The public mind, so few are the elect ; 
 
 And* the new births of both their stale virgini- 
 ties 
 
 Have proved but dropsies, taken for divinities. 
 
 XCVL 
 
 But let me to my story: I must own 
 If I have any fault, it is digression ; 
 
 Leaving my people to proceed alone. 
 While I soliloquize beyond expression ; 
 
 But these are my addresses from the throne. 
 Which put off business to the ensuing session: 
 
 Forgetting each omission is a loss to 
 
 The world, not quite so great as Ariosto. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 I know that what our neighbours call " lon- 
 gueurs" [thing 
 
 (We've not so good a word, but have the 
 In that complete perfection which ensures 
 
 An epic from Bob Southey every spring — ) 
 Form not the true temptation which allures 
 
 The reader ; but 'twould not be hard to bring! 
 Some fine examples of the epopee, 
 To prove its grand ingredient is ennui. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 We learn from Horace, Homer sometimes"^ 
 sleeps ; 
 We feel without fiim : Wordsworth some- 
 times wakes, 
 To show with what complacency he creeps. 
 With his dear " Waggoners," around his 
 lakes ; 
 He wishes for " a boat," to sail the deeps — 
 
 Of ocean? — No, of air; and then he makts. 
 Another outciy for " a little boat," 
 And drivels seas to set it well afloat. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 i33 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain, 
 And Pegasus nins restive in his ** waggon," 
 
 Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain ? 
 Or pray Medea for a single dragon ? 
 
 Or if too classic for his vulgar brain. 
 He fear'd his neck to venture such a nag on. 
 
 And he must needs mount nearer to the moon, 
 
 Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon? 
 
 " Pedlars," and " boats," and " waggons !" 
 Oh ! ye shades 
 
 Of Pope and Dryden, are we come to this ? 
 That trash of such sort not alone evades 
 
 Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss 
 Floats scum-like uppermost, and these Jack 
 Cades [hiss— 
 
 Of sense and song above your graves may 
 The " little boatman" and his " Peter Bell," 
 Can sneer at him who drew " Achitophel '." 
 
 CI. 
 
 To our tale. — The feast was over, the slaves 
 gone, [tired. 
 
 The dwarfs and dancing girls had all re- 
 The Arab lore and poet's song were done. 
 
 And every sound of revelry expired ; 
 The lady and her lover, left alone. 
 
 The rosy flood of twilight' sky admired ; 
 Ave Maria ! o'er the earth and sea, 
 That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest 
 thee! 
 
 CII. 
 
 Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour ! 
 
 The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft 
 Have felt that moment in its fullest power. 
 
 Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, 
 While swung the deep bell in the distant tower. 
 
 Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, 
 And not a breath crept through the rosy air. 
 And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with 
 prayer. 
 
 CIII. 
 
 Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of prayer ! 
 
 Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! 
 Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare 
 
 Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! 
 Ave Maria ! oh that face so fair ! 
 
 Those downcast eyes beneath the heavenly 
 dove — 
 What though 'tis but a pictured image strike — 
 That painting is no idol, 'tis too like. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Some kinder casuists are pleased to say. 
 In nameless print — that I have no devotion ; 
 
 But set those persons down with me to pray, 
 And you shall see who has the properest no- 
 tion 
 
 Of getting into Heaven the shortest way ; 
 My altars are the mountains and the ocean, 
 
 Earth, air, stars — all that springs from the great 
 Whole, 
 
 Who hath produced, and will receive the soul. 
 
 CV. 
 
 Sweet hour of twilight !— in the soUtude 
 Of the pine forest, and the silent shore 
 
 Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood. 
 Rooted where once the .Adrian wave flow'd 
 o'er 
 
 To where the last Cesarean fortress stood : ; 
 Evergreen forest ! which Boccaccio's lore 
 
 And Diyden's lay made haunted ground to me. 
 
 How have I loved the twilight hour and thee ! 
 
 CVI. 
 
 The shrill cicalas, people of the pine. 
 Making their summer lives one ceaseless 
 song. 
 
 Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine. 
 And vesper bells that rose the boughs along! 
 
 The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line. 
 His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair 
 throng. 
 
 Which learn'd from this example not to fly 
 
 From a true lover, shadow 'd by mind's eye. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 "= Oh Hesperus ! thou bringest all good, 
 things — 
 
 Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer. 
 To the young bird the parent's brooding wings. 
 
 The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer; 
 Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings, 
 
 Whate'er our household gods protect of deer. 
 Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest ; 
 Thou tying'st, the child, too, to the mother's 
 breast. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 f Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts 
 the heart 
 
 Of those who sail the seas, on the first day 
 AVhen they from their sweet friends are torn 
 apart ; 
 
 Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, 
 As the far bell of vesper makes him start, 
 
 Seeming to weep the dying day's decay ; 
 Is this a fancy which our reason scorns? 
 Ah ! surely nothing dies, but something 
 
134! 
 
 DOn JUAN. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 When Nero perish'd by the jastest doom 
 Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd, 
 
 Amidst the roar of liberated Rome, 
 Of nations freed and the world overjoy'd, 
 
 Some hands unseen strow'd flowers upon his 
 tomb : B 
 Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void 
 
 Of feeling for some kindness done when power 
 
 Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour. 
 
 ex. 
 
 But I'm digressing : what on earth has Nero, 
 Or any such-like sovereign buffoons. 
 
 To do with the transactions of my hero. 
 More than such madmen's fellow man — the 
 moon's 1 
 
 Sure my invention mast be down at zero. 
 
 And I grown out of many " wooden spoons" 
 Of verse (the name with which we Cantabs 
 
 please 
 To dub the last of honours in degrees.) 
 
 CXI. 
 
 I feel this tediousness will never do— 
 'Tis being too epic, and I must cut down 
 
 (In copying) this long canto into two ; 
 They'll never find it out, unless 1 own 
 
 The fact, excepting some experienced few ; 
 And then as an improvement 'twill be 
 shown. 
 
 I'll prove that snch the opinion of the critic is 
 
 From Aristotle passim. — See 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Note a, page 126, stanza xlv. 
 For none likes more to hear himself converse. 
 
 Itispone alloF* Margatte, a dir tel tosto 
 lo non credo piu al nerb ch' all' azzurro i 
 
 Ma nel cappone, o les50,o TUOgli arrotito, 
 E credo alcuna volta anco nel burro; 
 
 Nella cervigia, o quando io n' ho nel mosto, 
 E molto pin nell' espro che U mangurro; 
 
 Ma sopra tutto nel buon vino ho fede, 
 
 E credo che sia salvo Chi gU crede. 
 I'ULCI, Morgante Maggiore, Canto 18, Stanza IM, 
 
 Note b, page 129, stanza Ixxi. 
 
 That eVr bt/ precious metal tvas held rtu 
 
 Tins dress is Moorish, and the bracelets and bar are 
 worn in the manner described. The reader will perceive 
 hereafter, that as the mother of Haidee was of Fez, her 
 daughter wore the garb of the country. 
 
 Note c, piTge 129, stanza Ixxli. 
 
 A like gold bar above her instep roWd. 
 
 Tlie bar of gold above the instep is a mark of sovereign 
 rank in the women of the families of tlie Deys, and is worn 
 as such by tlieir female relatives. 
 
 Note d, page 129, stanza Ixxiii. 
 Bel- person if allowed at targe to run. 
 
 This is no exaggeration ; there were four women whom 
 1 remember to have seen, who possessed their hair in this 
 
 profusion ; of these, three were English, the other was a 
 Levantine. Tlieir hair was of that length and quantity, 
 that, when let down, it almost entirely shaded the person, 
 so as nearly to render dress a superfluity. Of these, only 
 one had dark hair; the Oriental's had, perhaps, the 
 lightest colour of the four. 
 
 Note e, page 13S, stanza cviL 
 
 Oh Bespcrus 1 thou bringest all good things. 
 
 Tragment of Sappho. 
 
 Note f, page 133, stanza cviii. 
 
 Soft hour ! which vtahes the wish and melts the heart. 
 
 •* Era gia 1' ora che volge '1 disio, 
 A' naviganti, e 'ntenerisce il cuore; 
 
 Lo di clr han detto a* dolci amici a dio ; 
 E che lo nuovo peregrin* d' amorc 
 
 Punge, se ode Squilla di lontano, 
 Che pala 1 giomo pianger che si muore." 
 Dante's Purgatory^ Canto Vlll. 
 
 This last line is tlie first of Gray's Elegy, taken by hiin 
 without acknowledgement. 
 
 Note g, page 134, stanza cix. . , 
 Seme han Is tinset n strolv'd fiowers upon his tonib 
 See Suetonius for this fact 
 
ID®Sr 3WAM<: 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 t:. 
 
 Nothing so difficuU as a beginning 
 In poesy, unless perhaps the end ; 
 
 For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning 
 The race, he sprains a wing, and down we 
 tend, [ning ; 
 
 Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sin- 
 Our sin the same, and bard as his to mend. 
 
 Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too 
 far. 
 
 Till our own weakness shows us what we are. 
 
 IL 
 
 But Time, which brings all beings to their 
 level, 
 And sharp Adversity, will teach at last 
 Man — and, as we would hope — perhaps the 
 Devil, 
 That neither of their intellects are vast : 
 While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel. 
 We know not this — the blood flows on too 
 fast; 
 But as the torrent widens towards the ocean, 
 We ponder deeply on each past emotion. 
 
 IIL 
 
 As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow. 
 And wish'd that others held the same 
 opinion ; [low. 
 
 They took it up when my days grew more mel- 
 And other minds acknowledged my do- 
 minion : 
 
 Now my sere fancy " falls into the yellow 
 Leaf," and imagination droops her pinion. 
 
 And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk 
 
 Turns what was once romantic to burlesque. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 
 'Tis that I may not weep ; and if I weep 
 
 'Tis that our nature cannot always bring 
 Itself to apathy, which we must steep 
 
 First in the icy depths of Lethe's spring 
 Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep ; 
 
 Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx, 
 
 A mortal mother would on Lethe fix. 
 
 V. 
 
 Some have accused me of a strange design 
 Against the creed and morals of the land. 
 
 And trace it in this poem every line ; 
 I don't pretend that I quite understand 
 
 My own meaning when I would be very fine ; 
 But the fact is that I have nothing plann'd, 
 
 Unless it was to be a moment merry, 
 
 A novel word in my vocabulary. 
 
 VL 
 
 To the kind reader of our sober clime 
 This way of writing will appear exotic ; 
 
 Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme, 
 Who sang when chivalry was more Quixotic, 
 
 And revell'd in the fancies of the time. 
 True knights, chaste dames, huge giants, 
 kings despotic ; 
 
 But all these, save the last, being obsolete, 
 
 I chose a modern subject as more meet. 
 
 VII. 
 
 How I have treated it, I do not know ; 
 
 Perhaps no better than they have treated me. 
 Who have imputed such designs as show 
 
 Not what they saw, but what they wish'd 
 to see ; 
 But if it gives them pleasure, be it so. 
 
 This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free : 
 Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear. 
 And tells me to resume my story here. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Young Juan and his lady-love were left 
 To their own hearts' most sweet society 
 
 Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft 
 With his rude sithe such gentle bosoms ; he 
 
 Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft. 
 Though foe to love ; and yet they could not be 
 
 Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring. 
 
 Before one charm or hope had taken wing. 
 
136 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their 
 
 Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to 
 
 fail ; [hair, 
 
 The blank gray was not made to blast their 
 But like the climes that know nor snow nor 
 hail, 
 
 They were all summer : lightning might assail 
 And shiver them to ashes, but to trail 
 
 A long and snake-like life of dull decay 
 
 Was not for them — they had too little clay. 
 
 X. 
 
 They were alone once more : for them to be 
 Thus, was another Eden ; they were never 
 
 Weary, unless when separate : the tree 
 Cut from its forest root of years — the river 
 
 Damm'd from its fountain — the child from the 
 knee 
 And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever, 
 
 Would wither less than these two torn apart ; 
 
 Alas ! there is no instinct like the heart — 
 
 XI. 
 
 The heart — which may be broken : happy 
 they ! [mould. 
 
 Thrice fortunate ! who of that fragile 
 The precious porcelain of human clay, 
 
 Break with the first fall ; they can ne'er 
 behold 
 The long year link'd with heavy day on day, 
 And all which must be borne, and never 
 told : 
 While life's strange principle will often lie 
 Deepest in those who long the most to die. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Whom the gods love die young" was said of 
 yore, » 
 And many deaths do they escape by this : 
 The death of friends, and that which slays e'en 
 more— [is, 
 
 The death of friendship, love, youth, all that 
 Except mere breath ; and since the silent shore 
 Awaits at last even those who longest miss 
 The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early 
 
 grave 
 Which men weep over may be meant to save. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Haidee and Juan thought not of the dead. 
 The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made 
 for them, [fled : 
 
 They found no fault with Time, save that he 
 They saw not in themselves aught to con- 
 demn: 
 Each was the other's mirror, and but read 
 
 Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem, 
 And knew such brightness was but the re- 
 flection 
 Of their exchanging glances of afiiection. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch. 
 
 The least glance better understood than 
 
 words, [much j 
 
 Which still said all, and ne'er could say to( 
 
 A language, too, but like to that of birds, 
 Known but to them, at least appearing such 
 
 As but to lovers a true sense affords ; 
 Svreet, playful phrases which would seem ab 
 
 surd 
 
 To those who have ceased to hear such, o 
 ne'er heard. 
 
 XV. 
 
 All these were theirs, for they were children 
 still, [been ; 
 
 And children still they should have ever 
 They were not made in the real world to fill 
 
 A busy character in tlie dull scene, 
 But like two beings born from out a rill, 
 
 A nymph and her beloved, all unseen 
 To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers, 
 And never know the weight of human hours. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Moons changing hadroU'd on, and changeless 
 
 found [joys 
 
 Those their bright rise had lighted to such 
 
 As rarely they beheld throughout their round ■ 
 
 And these were not of the vain kind whici^ 
 
 cloys. 
 
 For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound 
 
 By the mere senses, and that which destroys 
 Most love ; possession, unto them appear'd 
 A thing which each endearment more en- 
 dear'd. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Oh beautiful ! and rare as beautiful ! [lights 
 But theirs was love in which the mind de- 
 
 To lose itself, when the old world grows dull, 
 And we are sick of its hack sounds and 
 sights. 
 
 Intrigues, adventures of the common school. 
 Its petty passions, marriages and flights. 
 
 Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet 
 more. 
 
 Whose husband only knows her not a whore. 
 
 XVllI. 
 
 Hard words ; harsh truth ; a truth which many 
 know. 
 Enough. — The faithful and the fairy pair, 
 Who never found a single hour too slow. 
 What was it made them thus exempt from 
 care? 
 Young innate feelings all have felt below 
 
 Which perish in the rest, but in them were 
 Inherent : what we mortals call romantic, 
 I And always envy, though we deem it frantic. 
 
SON JUAN. 
 
 137 
 
 XIX. 
 
 This is in others a fictitious state, 
 
 An opium dream of too much yonth and 
 reading, 
 Bat was in them their nature or their fate : 
 
 No novels e'er had set their young hearts 
 
 bleedinf, . [great, 
 
 For Haidee's knowledge was by no means 
 
 And Juf.n was a boy of saintly breeding; 
 So that there was no reason for their loves 
 More than for those of nightingales or doves. 
 
 XX. 
 
 They gazed upon the sunset ; 'tis an honr 
 Dear unto all, but dearest to their ejes. 
 For it had made them what they were : the 
 power [skies. 
 
 Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such 
 When happiness had been their only dower. 
 And twilight saw them link'd in passion's 
 ties ; 
 Charm'd with each other, all things charm'd 
 
 that brought 
 The past, still welcome as the present thought. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I know not why, but in that hour to-night. 
 Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came. 
 
 And swept, as 'twere, across their heart's 
 delisht. 
 Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame, 
 
 When one is shook in sound, and one in sight ; 
 And thus some boding flash'd through either 
 frame, 
 
 ind call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh, 
 
 While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 rhat large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate 
 .4nd follow far the disappearing sun, 
 
 \s if their last day of a happy date 
 With his broad, bright, and dropping orb 
 were gone ; 
 
 luan gazed on her as to ask his fate — 
 He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none. 
 
 Us glance inquired of hers for some excuse 
 
 for feelings causeless, or at least abstruse. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ifae turn'd to falm, and smiled, but in that sort 
 Which makes not others smile; then tum'd 
 aside; 
 
 Vhatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short, 
 And master'd by her wisdom or her pride ; 
 
 Vhen Juan spoke, too— it might be in sport — 
 Of this their mutual feeling she replied — 
 If it should be so — but— it csinnot be — 
 
 >r I at least shall not survive to 6ee." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Joan would question further, but she press'd 
 His lip to hers, and silenced him with this. 
 
 And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast. 
 Defying augury with that fond kiss ; 
 
 And no doubt of all methods 'tis the best : 
 Some people prefer wine — 'tis not amiss ; 
 
 I have tried both ; so those who would a part 
 take 
 
 May choose between the headache and the 
 heartache. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 One of the two, according to your choice, 
 AVoman or wine, you'll have to undergo ; 
 
 Both maladies are taxes on our joys ; 
 But which to choose I really hardly kuow ; 
 
 And if I had to give a casting voice. 
 For both sides 1 could many reasons show. 
 
 And then decide, without great wrong to either, 
 
 It were much better to have both than neither. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other 
 With swimming looks of speechless tender- 
 ness, [brother. 
 
 Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover. 
 All that the best can mingle and express 
 
 When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another. 
 And love too much, and yet cannot love less ; 
 
 But almost sanctify the sweet excess 
 
 By the immortal wish and power to bless. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart. 
 Why did they not then die ? — they had lived 
 too long 
 
 Should an hour come to bid them breathe 
 
 apart ; [wrong. 
 
 Years could but bring them cruel things or 
 
 The world was not for them, nor the world's art 
 For beings passionate as Sappho's song ; 
 
 Love was bom with them, in them, so intense, 
 
 It was their very spirit — not a sensi . 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Theyshouldhavelived together deep in woods. 
 Unseen as sings the nightingale ; they were 
 
 Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes 
 Call'd social, where all vice and hatred are ; 
 
 How lonely every freeborn creature broods ! 
 The sweetest song birds nestle in a pair ; 
 
 The eagle soars alone ; the gull and crow 
 
 Flock o'er the carrion, just as mortals do. 
 S 
 
139 
 
 DOM JUAN. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Now pillow'd cheek to cheek, in loving sleep, 
 Haidee and Juan their siesta took, 
 
 A gentle slumber, but it was not deep, 
 For ever and anon a something shook 
 
 Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would 
 
 creep ; [brook 
 
 And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd like a 
 
 A wordless music, and her face so fair [air: 
 
 Stirr'd with her dream as rose-leaves with the 
 
 XXX. 
 
 • 
 
 Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream 
 Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind 
 
 Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream, 
 The mystical usurper of the mind — 
 
 O'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem 
 Good to the soul which we no more can bind ; 
 
 Strange state of being ! (for 'tis still to be) 
 
 Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see. 
 
 xx:^. 
 
 She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore, 
 Chain'd to a rock ; she knew not how, but stir 
 
 She could not from the spot, and the loud roar 
 Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threaten- 
 ing her ; 
 
 And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour. 
 Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they 
 were 
 
 Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high 
 
 Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die. 
 
 XXXJI. 
 
 Anon — she was released, and then she stray'd 
 O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding 
 
 feet, 
 And stumbled almost every step she made ; 
 
 And something roU'd before her in a sheet, 
 Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid ; 
 'Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to 
 
 meet [grasp'd. 
 
 Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and 
 And ran, but it escap'd her as she claspM. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The dream changed ; in a cave she stood, its 
 walls 
 Were hung with marble icicles ; the work 
 Of ages on its water-fretted halls, 
 Where waves might wash, and seals might 
 breed and lurk ; 
 Her hair was dripping, and the very balls 
 Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and 
 murk [caught, 
 
 The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they 
 Which froze to marble as It fell, she thought. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet. 
 Pale as the foam that froth'd on his dead 
 brow, 
 
 Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how sweet 
 Were once her cares, how idle seem'd they 
 now!) 
 
 Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat 
 Of his quench'd heart ; and the sea dirges low 
 
 Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song, 
 
 And that brief dream appear'd a life too long 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 And gazing on the dead, she thought his face 
 Faded, or alter'd into something new — 
 
 Like to her father's features, till each trace 
 More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew— 
 
 With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace ; 
 And starting, she awoke, and what to view ? 
 
 Oh ! Powers of Heaven ! what dark eye meets 
 she there ? 
 
 'Tis— 'tis her father's— fix'd upon the pair ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell, 
 With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see 
 
 Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwe 
 The ocean-buried, risen from death to be 
 
 Perchance the death of one she loved too well 
 Dear as her father had been to Haidee, 
 
 It was a moment of that awful kind — 
 
 I have seen such — ^but must not call to mind. 
 
 XXXVIl. 
 
 Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek. 
 And caught her falling, and from ofiF the wa! 
 
 Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak ^ 
 Vengeance on him who was the cause of all^ | 
 
 Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak. 
 Smiled scornfully, and said, " Within my 
 call, 
 
 " A thousand scimitars await the word : 
 
 Pat up, young man, put up your silly sword.? 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And Haidee clung around him ; " Juan, 'tis-ri 
 "Tis Lambro — 'tis my father ! Kneel with 
 me — 
 
 " H* will forgive us— yes — it must be — ^yes. .' ; 
 Oh ! dearest father, in this agony 
 
 Of pleasure and of pain — even while I kiss /- 
 Thy garment's hem with transport, canitb6| 
 
 That doubt shall mingle with my filial joy ? 
 
 Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy.^ 
 
r 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 139 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 High and inscrutable the old man stood, 
 Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye — 
 
 Not always signs with him of calmest mood ; 
 He look'd upon her, but gave no reply ; 
 
 Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood 
 Oft. came anrl went, as there resolved to die ; 
 
 En arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring 
 
 Oa the first foe whom Lambro'a call might 
 bring. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Young man, your sword ;" so Lambro once 
 more said : 
 Juan replied, " Not while this arm is free !" 
 rhe old man's cheek grew pale, but not with 
 dread, 
 And drawing from his belt a pistol, he 
 iteplied, " Your blood be then on your own 
 head !" 
 Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see 
 Twas fresh— for he had lately used the lock — 
 ind next proceeded quietly to cock. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 t ha^ a strange quick jar upon the ear, 
 That cocking of a pistol, when you know 
 
 I moment more will bring the sight to bear 
 Upon your person, twelve yards off', or so; 
 
 I gentlemanly distance, not loo near. 
 If you have got a former friend or foe ; 
 
 5ut after being fired at once or twice, 
 
 rfae ear becomes more Irish, and less nice. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 I^ambro presented, and one instant more 
 Had stopp'd this Canto, and Don Juan's 
 breath, 
 Vhen Haidee threw herself her boy before ; 
 Stern as her sire : " on me," she cried, " let 
 
 death 
 )escend — the fault is mine ; this fatal shore 
 He found — but sought not. I have, pledged 
 
 my faith ; 
 love him — I will die with him ; I knew 
 ronr nature's fimmess — know your daughter's 
 too." 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 k. minute past, and she had been all tears, 
 And tenderness, and infancy : but now 
 
 •he stood as one who champion'd human fears — 
 Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the 
 blow ; 
 
 ind tall beyond her sex, and their compeers, 
 She drew up to her height, as if to show 
 
 L fairer mark ; and with a tix'd eye scann'd 
 
 ier father's face — but never stopp'd his hand. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 He gazed on her, and she on hlra ; 'twas strange 
 How like they look'd ! the expression was 
 the same ; 
 
 Serenely savage, with a little change 
 In the large dark eye's mutual darted flame ; 
 
 For she too was as one who could avenge, 
 If cause should be — a lioness, though tame ; 
 
 Her father's blood before her father's face 
 
 Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 I said they were alike, their features and 
 Their stature diflfering but in sex and years ; 
 
 Even to the delicacy of their hands 
 There was resemblance, such as true blood 
 wears ; 
 
 And now to see them thus divided, stand 
 In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears 
 
 And sweet sensations should have welcomed 
 both. 
 
 Show what passions are in their full growth. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 The father paused a moment, then withdrew 
 His weapon, and replaced it ; but stood still) 
 
 And looking on her, as to look her through, 
 " Not I," he said, " have sought this stran- 
 ger's ill ; 
 
 Not I have made this desolation : few 
 Would bear such outrage, and forbear to 
 kill; 
 
 But I must do my duty — how thou hast 
 
 Done thine, the present vouches for the past. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 ** Let him disarm ; or, by my father's head. 
 His own shall roll before you like a ball !" 
 
 He raised his whistle as the word he said, 
 And blew, another answer'd to the call. 
 
 And rushing in disorderly, though led 
 And arm'd from boot to turban, one and all, 
 
 Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank. 
 
 He gave the word, " Arrest or slay the 
 Frank." 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew 
 His daughter ; while compress'd within his 
 grasp, 
 
 'Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew — 
 In vain she struggled in her father's clasp, 
 
 His arms were like a serpent's coil ; then flew 
 Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp,' 
 
 The file of pirates : save the foremost, who 
 
 Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut 
 through. 
 
iU 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 KiM. 
 
 The second had his cheek laid open ; but 
 The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took 
 
 The blows upon his cutlass, and then put 
 His own well in— so well, ere you could look 
 
 His man was floor'd and helpless at his foot. 
 With the blood running like a little brook, 
 
 t"rom two smart sabre gashes, deep and red — 
 
 One on the arm — the other on the head. 
 
 And then they bound him where he fell, and 
 bore, 
 -Juan from the apartment : with a sign 
 Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore, 
 Where lay some ships which were to sail at 
 nine : 
 They laid him in a boat and plied the oar 
 Until they reach'd some galliots, placed in 
 line ; 
 On board one of these, and under hatches. 
 They stow'd him, with strict ofders to the 
 watches. 
 
 LI. 
 
 The world is full of strange vicissitudes, 
 And here was one exceedingly unpleasant : 
 
 A gentleman so rich in the world's goods. 
 Handsome and young, enjoying all the pres- 
 ent. 
 
 Just at the very time when he least broods 
 On such a thing, is suddenly to sea sent. 
 
 Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot move. 
 
 And all because a lady fell in love. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic. 
 Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green 
 tea ! [phetic ; 
 
 Than whom Cassandra was not more pro- 
 For if my pure libations exceed three, 
 
 I feel my heart become so sympathetic. 
 That I must have recourse to black Bohea : 
 
 'Tis pity wine should be so deleterious. 
 
 For tea and coffee leave us much more serious. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Unless when qualified with thetf, Cogniac ! 
 
 Sweet Ntiiad of the Plegethontic rill ! 
 Ah ! why the liver wilt thou thus attack, 
 
 And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill ? 
 I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack 
 
 (In each sense of the word,) whene'er I fill 
 My mild and midnight beakers to the brim. 
 Wakes me next morning with its synonym. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 1 leave Don Juan, for the present — safe — 
 Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wound- 
 ed ; 
 Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half 
 Of those with which his Haidee's bosom 
 bounded ! 
 She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe, 
 And then give way, subdued because sur- 
 rounded ; 
 Her mother was a Moorish maid from Fez, 
 Where all is Eden, or a wilderness. 
 
 LV. 
 
 There the large olive rains its amber store. 
 In marble founts ; there grain, and flower, 
 and fruit 
 
 Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er ; 
 But there too many a poison tree has root. 
 
 And midnight listens to the lion's roar, 
 And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot 
 
 Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan. 
 
 And as the soil is, so the heart of man. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth 
 Her human clay is kindled ; full of power 
 
 For good or evil, burning from its birth. 
 The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour. 
 
 And like the soil beneath it, will bring forth : 
 
 Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's 
 
 dower ; [force, 
 
 But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's 
 
 Though sleeping like a lion near a source. 
 
 LVIl. 
 
 Her daughter, tempeKd with a milder ray, 
 Like summer clouds, all silvery, smooth, and 
 fair. 
 
 Till slowly charged with thunder they display 
 Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, 
 
 Had held till now her soft and milky way; 
 But overwrought with passion and despair. 
 
 The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins. 
 
 Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains. 
 
 LVIIL 
 
 The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore. 
 And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down ; 
 
 His blood was running on the very floor 
 Where late he trode, her beautilul, her own ; 
 
 Thus much she view'd an instant and no more — 
 Her struggles ceased with one convulsive 
 groan ; 
 
 On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held, 
 
 Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd. 
 
 I 
 
DON JTTAir, 
 
 Ul 
 
 UX. 
 
 A. vein had burst — and her sweet lips' pure 
 dyes ^ [o'er ; 
 
 Were dabbled with the deep blood which raa 
 And her head droop'd as when the lil; lies 
 O'ercharged with rain ; her summon'd hand- 
 maids bore 
 Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes ; 
 Of herbs and cordials they produced their 
 store, 
 But she defied all means they could employ, 
 Like one life could not hold — nor death de- 
 stroy ! 
 
 LX. 
 
 Days lay she in that state, uncheinged, though 
 chill 
 
 With nothing livid, still her lips were red ; 
 She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still ; 
 
 No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead ; 
 Corruption came not, in each mind to kill 
 
 All hope ; to look upon her sweet face bred 
 New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul, 
 She had so much, earth could not claim the 
 whole. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 The ruling passion, such as marble shows 
 When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there, - 
 
 But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws 
 O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair ; 
 
 O'er the Laocoon's all-eternal throes. 
 And ever-dying Gladiator's air. 
 
 Their energy like life forms all their fame, 
 
 Yet looks not life, for they are still the same. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 She woke at length— but not as sleepers 
 wake— [new. 
 
 Rather the dead, for life seem'd something 
 A strange sensation which she must partake 
 
 Perforce, since whatsoever met her view 
 Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache 
 
 Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still 
 true, • [cause. 
 
 Brought back the sense of pain without the 
 For, for a while, the furies made a pause. 
 
 LXIIL 
 
 She look'd on many a face with vacant eye. 
 On many a token without knowing what; 
 
 She saw them watch her, without asking why, 
 And reck'd not who around her pillow sat ; 
 
 Not speechless, though she spoke not : not a 
 
 sigh [chat 
 
 Relieved her thoughts ; dull silence and quick 
 
 Were tried in vain by those who served — she 
 gave 
 
 No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; 
 
 Her father watch'd — she turn'd her eyes 
 away — 
 She recognised no being, and no spot, 
 
 However dear or cherish'd in their day ; 
 They changed from room to room, but all forgot. 
 
 Gentle, but without memory she lay : 
 And yet those eyes, which they would fain be 
 weaning [meaning. 
 
 Back to old thoughts, seem'd full of fearful 
 
 LXV. 
 
 At last a slave bethought her of a harp ; 
 
 The harper came and tuned his instrument ; 
 At the first notes — irregular and sharps 
 
 On him her flashing eyes a moment bent ; 
 Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp 
 
 Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart 
 re-sent, 
 And he begun a long low island song. 
 Of ancient days — ere tyranny grew strong. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall 
 In time to his old tune ; he changed the 
 theme. 
 And sung of love ; the fierce name struck 
 through all 
 Her recollection ; on her flash'd the dream 
 Of what she was, and is ; if ye could call 
 
 To be so, being : in a gushing stream 
 The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded 
 brain, [rain. 
 
 Like mountain mists at length dissolved in 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Short solace ! — vain relief ! — thooght came too 
 quick, [arose 
 
 And whirled her brain to madness : she 
 As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick, 
 
 And flew at all she met, as on her foes ; 
 But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, 
 
 Although her paroxysm drew towards its 
 close : 
 Hers was a frenzy which disdain'd to rave, 
 Even when they smote her — in the hope to save. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense ; 
 
 Nothing could make her meet her father's 
 face. 
 Though on all other things with looks intense 
 
 She gazed, but none she ever could retrace ; 
 Food she refused, and raiment ; no pretence 
 
 Avail'd for either ; neither change of place, 
 
 Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give 
 
 her [ever. 
 
 Senses to sleep— the power seem'd gone for 
 
14S 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus ; at 
 last. 
 
 Without a groan, a sigh, or glance, to show 
 A parting pang, the spirit from her pass'd ; 
 
 And they who watch'd her nearest could not 
 know 
 The very instant, till the change that cast 
 
 Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow. 
 Glazed o'er her eyes — the beautiful, the black -tt 
 Oh ! to possess such lustre — and then lack ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 She died — but not alone ; she held within 
 A second principle of life — ^which might 
 
 Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin ; 
 But closed its little being without light, 
 
 And went down to the grave unborn, wherein 
 Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one 
 blight; 
 
 In vain the dews of Heaven descend above 
 
 The bleeding flower, and blasted fruit of love,. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Thus lived — thus died she ; never more on her 
 Shall sorrow light, or shame — She was not 
 made 
 
 Through years or moons the inner weight to 
 bear, 
 Which colder hearts endure till they are laid 
 
 By age in earth ; her days and pleasures were 
 Brief, but delightful — such as had not staid 
 
 Long with her destiny ; but she sleeps well 
 
 By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell. 
 
 LXXIt. 
 
 That isle is now all desolate and bare, 
 Its dwellings down — its tenants pass'd 
 away. 
 
 None but her own and father's grave is there, 
 And nothing outward tells of human clay ; 
 
 Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair — 
 No stone is there to show — no tongue to say 
 
 What was ; no dirge, except the hollow seas, 
 
 Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 But many a Greek maid, in a loving song. 
 Sighs o'er her name : and many an islander 
 ! With her sire's story makes the night less long ; 
 Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her : 
 
 If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong — 
 A heavy price must all pay who thus err, 
 
 In some shape ; let none think to fly the danger, 
 
 For soon or late Love is his own avenger. 
 
 LXXJV. 
 
 But let me change this theme — which grows 
 too sad — 
 
 And lay this sheet of sorrows on the shelf; 
 I don't much like describing people mad. 
 
 For fear of seeming rather touch'd myself— 
 Besides, I've no more on this head to add ; 
 
 And as my Muse is a capricious elf, 
 We'll put about, and try another tack 
 With Juan, left half-kill'd some stanzas back. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Wounded and fetter'd, " cabin'd, cribb'd, 
 confined," 
 
 Some days and nights elapsed before that he 
 Could altogether call the past to mind ; 
 
 And when he did, he found himself at sea. 
 Sailing six knots an hour before the wind ; 
 
 The shores of Ilion lay beneath their lee— 
 Another time he might have liked to see 'em, 
 But now was not much pleased with Cap© 
 Sigaeum. I 
 
 LXXVl. 
 
 There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is 
 (Flank'd by the HeUespont — and by the sea) 
 
 Entomb'd the bravest of the brave, Achilles 
 They say so^ Bryant says the contrary ;) 
 
 And farther downward, tall and towering, 
 still, is 
 The tumulus — of whom ? Heaven knows : it 
 may be 
 
 Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus— 
 
 All heroes, who, if living, still would slay us. 
 
 LXXVU, 
 
 High barrows, without marble, or a name, 
 A vast, untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain, 
 
 And Ida in the distance, still the same. 
 And old Scamander, (if 'tis he) remain ; 
 
 The situation seems still form.'d for fame — 
 A hundred thousand men might flght again 
 
 With ease ; but where I sought for Ulion's 
 walls, 
 
 The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls > 
 
 Lxxvni. 
 
 Troops of nntended horses — here and there 
 Some little hamlets with new names un- 
 couth ; 
 Some shepherds, (unlike Paris) led to stare 
 
 A moment at the European youth, [bear 
 Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings 
 A Turk, with beads in hand, and pipe in 
 mouth. 
 Extremely taken with Iiis own religion, 
 \re what I found there — but the devil a 
 Phrygian. 
 
HON JUAN. 
 
 143 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Don Juan, here permitted to emerge 
 From his dull cabin, found himself a slave ; 
 
 Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge, 
 O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's grave : 
 
 iVeak still with loss of blood, he scarce could 
 urge 
 A few brief questions — and the answers 
 gave 
 
 >Io very satisfactory information 
 
 Vbout his past or present situation. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 3e saw some fellow captives, who appear'd 
 To be Italians, as they were in fact ; 
 
 'rom them, at least, their destiny he heard. 
 Which was an odd one ; a troop going to act 
 
 n Sicily— all singers duly rear'd 
 In their vocation ; had not been attack'd 
 
 [n sailing from Livorno by the pirate, 
 
 Sut sold by the impresario at no high rate. " - 
 
 r 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 iy one of these, the buffo of the party, 
 Juan was told about their curious case ; 
 
 'or although destined to the Turkish mart, he 
 Still kept his spirits up — at least his face ; 
 
 fhe little fellow really look'd quite hearty, 
 And bore him with some gayety and grace, 
 
 Showing a much more reconciled demeanoar 
 
 rhan did the prima donna and the tenor. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 [H,a few words he told their hapless story. 
 Saving, \' Our Machiavelian impresario, 
 
 Making a signal off some promontory, 
 Hail'd a strange brig ; Corpo di Caio Mario ! 
 
 We were transferr'd on board her in a hurry. 
 Without a single scudo of salario ; 
 
 But if the Sultan has a taste for song, 
 
 We will revive our fortunes before long. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " The prima donna, though a little old 
 And haggard with a dissipated life, 
 
 And subject, when the house is thin, to cold. 
 Has some good notes ; and then the tenor's 
 wife. 
 
 With no great voice, is pleasing to behold ; 
 Last carnival she made a deal of strife 
 
 By carrying off Count Cesare Cicogna 
 
 From an old Roman princess at Bologna. 
 
 LXXXIV, 
 
 "And then there are the dancers ; there's the 
 Nini, 
 
 With more than one profession, gaitas by all ; 
 Then there's that laughing slut the Pelegrini, 
 
 She too was fortunate last carnival, 
 And made at least five hundred good zeccbini. 
 
 But spends so fast, she has not now a paul ; 
 And then there's the Grotesca — such a dan- 
 cer ! [answer. 
 Where men have souls . or bodies she must 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " As for the figuranti, they are like 
 The rest of all that tribe-; with here and 
 there 
 A pretty person, which perhaps may strike 
 
 The rest are hardly fitted for a fair ; 
 There's one, though tall and stiffer than a 
 pike. 
 Yet has a sentimental kind of air 
 Which might go far, but she don't dance with 
 
 vigour ; 
 The more's the pity, with her face and figure. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " As for the men, they are a middling set ; 
 
 The Musico is but a crack'd old basin. 
 But being qualified in one way yet. 
 
 May the seraglio do to set his face in. 
 And, as a servant, some preferment get: 
 
 His singing I no further trust can place in : 
 From all the Pope ^ makes yearly 'twould 
 
 perplex. 
 To find three perfect jipes of the third sex. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 " The tenor's voice is spoil'd by affectation, 
 And for the bass, the beast can only bellow ; 
 
 In fact, he had no singing education. 
 An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fel- 
 low. 
 
 But being the prima donna's near relation. 
 Who swore his voice was very rich and mel- 
 low, [lieve 
 
 They hired him, though to hear him you'd be- 
 
 An ass was practising recitative. 
 
 LXXXVIII 
 
 " Twould not become myself to dwell upon 
 My own merits, and though young — I see. 
 Sir — you 
 Have got a travell'd air, which shows you one 
 
 To whom the opera is by no means new ; 
 You've heard of Raucocanti ! — I'm the man : 
 The time may come when you may hear me 
 too — 
 You was not last year at the fair of Lugo, 
 But next, when I'm engaged to sing there — do 
 go. 
 
144 
 
 BON J0AN. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " Onr baritone I almost had forgot, 
 A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit — 
 
 With graceful action, science not a jot, 
 A voice of no great compass, and not sweet — 
 
 He always is complaining of his lot, 
 Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; 
 
 In lovers' parts his passion more to breathe, 
 
 Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth." 
 
 XC. 
 
 Here Rancocanti'S eloquent recital 
 
 Was interrupted by the pirate crew. 
 Who came, at stated moments, to invite all 
 The captives back to their sad births ; each 
 threw 
 A rueful glance upon the waves (which bright 
 all 
 From the blue skies derived a double blue. 
 Dancing all free and happy in the sun,) 
 And then went down the hatchway one by 
 one, 
 
 XCI. 
 
 They heard next day — that in the Dardanelles, 
 Waiting for his sublimity's firman. 
 
 The most imperative of sovereign spells, 
 Which every body does without who can. 
 
 More to secure them in their naval cells. 
 Lady to lady, well as man to man. 
 
 Were to be chain'd and lotted oiit per couple. 
 
 For the slave market of Constantinople. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 It seems when this allotment was made out, 
 There chanced to be an odd male, and odd 
 female. 
 Who (after some discussion, and some doubt. 
 If the soprano might be doom'd to be male. 
 They placed him o'er the woman as a scout) 
 Were link'd lO(;ether — and it happen'd the 
 male 
 Was Juan, who — an awkward thing at his 
 
 age, 
 Pair'd off with a Bacchante blooming visage. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 With Eaucocanti lucklessly was chain'd 
 The tenor ; these two hated with a hate 
 
 Found only on the stage, and each more pain'd 
 With this his tuneful neighbour than his 
 fate ; 
 
 Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grain'd 
 Instead of bearing up without debate. 
 
 That each puU'd different ways with many an 
 oatb, 
 
 " Arcades ambo,"— id est— blackguards both. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Juan's companion was a Romagnole, 
 But bred within the march of old Ancona, 
 
 With eyes that look'd into the very soul 
 ( A nd other chief points of a " bella donna,"' 
 
 Bright — and as black and burning as a coal ; 
 And through her clear brunette complexioi 
 shone a 
 
 Great wish to please — a most attractive dower 
 
 Especially when added to their power. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 But all that power was wasted upon him, 
 For sorrow o'er each sense held stern com- 
 mand ; 
 Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim ; 
 And though thus chain'd, as natural hei 
 hand 
 Touch'd his, nor that — nor any handsome limb, 
 
 (And she had some not easy to withstand) 
 Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel 
 
 brittle ; 
 Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little, 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 No matter : we should ne'er too much inquire, 
 But facts are facts, no knight could be more 
 true. 
 
 And firmer faith no lady-love desire : 
 We will omit the proofs, save one or two, 
 
 'Tis said no one in hand " can hold a fire 
 By thought of frosty Caucasus," but few 
 
 I really think ; yet Juan's then ordeal 
 
 Was more triumphant, and not much lessreaL 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Here I might enter on a chaste description. 
 Having withstood temptation in my youth. 
 
 But hear that several people take exception 
 At the first two books having too much truth ; 
 
 Therefore I'll make Don Juan leave the ship 
 soon. 
 Because the publisher declares, in sooth. 
 
 Through ueedles' eyes it easier for the Camel 
 is 
 
 To pass, than those two cantos into families. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 'Tis all the same to me : I'm fond of yielding, 
 And therefore leave them to the purer page 
 
 Of SmoIIet, Prior, Ariosto, Fielding, 
 
 Who say strange things for so correct an 
 age; 
 
 I once had great alacrity in wielding 
 My pen, and liked poetic war to wage. 
 
 And recollect the time when all this cant 
 
 Would have provoked remarks — which now 
 it sha'n't. 
 
DOW JUAN. 
 
 HS 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 As boys. love rows, my boyhood liked a 
 squabble ; 
 
 Bui at this bour I wish to part in peace, 
 Leaving such to the literary rabble, 
 
 Whether my verse's fame be doom'd to 
 
 cease [able, 
 
 While the right hand which wrote it still is 
 
 Or of some centuries to take a lease : 
 rhe grass upon my grave will grow as long, 
 Vud sigh to midnight winds, but not to song 
 
 eiv. 
 
 it poets who come down to us through dis- 
 tance [Fame, 
 
 Of time and tongues, the foster-babes of 
 Jife seems the smallest portiou of existence ; 
 
 Where twenty ages gather o'er a name, 
 ris as a snow-ball which derives assistance 
 
 From every Sake, and yet rolls on the same, 
 ivea till an iceberg it may chance to grow, 
 lut after all 'tis nothing but cold snow. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Lnd so great names are nothing more than 
 
 non)inal. 
 And love of glory's but an airy lust, 
 'oo often in its fury overcoming all 
 Who would as 'twere identify their dust 
 'rom out the wide destruction, which, en- 
 tombing all. 
 Leaves nothing till the coming of the just — 
 ave change ; I've stocd upon Achilles' tomb, 
 Lnd heard Troy doubted — time will doubt of 
 Rome. 
 
 CII. 
 
 he very generations of the dead 
 
 Are swept away — and tomb inherits tomb — 
 fnlil the memory of an age is fled — 
 
 And, buried, sinks beneath its offspring's 
 
 doom : 
 Inhere are the epitaphs our fathers read ? 
 
 Save a few glean'd from the sepulchral 
 gloom [neath, 
 
 ^hich once-named myriads nameless lie be- 
 nd lose their own in universal death. 
 
 em. 
 
 canter by the spot each afternoon 
 Where perish'd in his fame the hero-boy, 
 ^bo lived too long for men, but died too soon 
 For human vanity, the young De Foix f 
 . broken pillar, not uncouthly hewn. 
 But which neglect is hastening to destroy, 
 ecords Ravenna's carnage on its face, 
 ''bile weeds aud ordure rankle ronud the 
 base. ' 
 
 I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid — 
 A little copula, more neat than solemn, 
 
 Protects bis dust — but reverence here is paid 
 To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's 
 column : 
 
 The time must come, when both alike decay'd. 
 The chieftain's trophy, and the poet's volume, 
 
 Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth, 
 
 Before Pelides' death, or Homer's birth. 
 
 CV. 
 
 With human blood that column was cemented, 
 With human filth that column is defiled. 
 
 As if the peasant's coarse contempt were 
 vented. 
 To show his loathing of the spot he soil'd ; 
 
 Thus is the trophy used, and thus lamented 
 Should ever be those blood-hounds, from 
 whose wild 
 
 Instinct of gore and glory earth has known 
 
 Those sufferings Dante saw in hell alone. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Yet there will still be bards : — though fame is 
 smoke. 
 Its fumes are frankincense to human thought ; 
 And the unquiet feelings, which first woke 
 Song in the world-, will seek what then they 
 sought : 
 As on the beach the waves at last are broke. 
 Thus to their extreme verge the passions 
 brought 
 Dash into poetry, which is but passion. 
 Or at least was so ere it grew a fashion. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 If in the coarse of such a life as was 
 At once adventurous and contemplative. 
 
 Men who partake all passions as they pass. 
 Acquire the deep and bitter power to give 
 
 Their images again as in a glass. 
 And in such colours that they seem to live ; 
 
 You may do right forbidding them to show 'em. 
 
 But spoil (I think) a very pretty poeqi. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Oh ! ye who make the fortunes of all books ! 
 
 Benign ceruleans of the second sex ! 
 Who advertise new poems by your looks. 
 
 Your " imprimatur" will ye not annex ? 
 What, must I go to the obvious cooks — 
 
 Those Cornish plunderers of Parnassian 
 wrecks ? 
 Ah ! must I then the only minstrel be, 
 Proscribed from tasting your Castalian tea? 
 T 
 
146 
 
 DON JUAN; 
 
 CIX. 
 
 What, can I prove " a lion" then no more ? 
 A ball-room bard, a foolscap, hot-press 
 darling ? 
 To bear the compliments of many a bore, 
 And sigh, " I can't get out," lilte Yorick's 
 starling, 
 Why then I'll swear, as poet Wordy swore, 
 (Because the world wont read him, always 
 snarling) 
 That taste is gone — that fame is but a lottery. 
 Drawn by the blue-coat misses of a coteriet 
 
 ex. 
 
 Oh ! " darkly, deeply, beautifully blue," 
 As some one somewhere sings about the sky, 
 
 And I, ye learned ladies, say of you ; 
 They say your stockings are so (Heaven 
 knows why, 
 
 I have examined few pair of that hue ;) 
 Blue as the garters which serenely lie 
 
 Round the pabrician left-legs, which adorn 
 
 The festal midnight, and the levee morn. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Yet some of you are most seraphic creatures — 
 But times are alter'd since, a rhyming lover, 
 
 You read my stanzas, and I read your 
 
 features ; [over ; 
 
 And — ^but no matter — all those things are 
 
 Still I have no dislike to learned natures. 
 For sometimes such a world of virtues cover ; 
 
 I know one woman of that purple school. 
 
 The loveliest, chastest, best, but — quite a fool. 
 
 I CXII. 
 
 Humboldt " the first of travellers," but not 
 The last, if late accounts be accurate. 
 
 Invented, by some name I have forgot, 
 As well as the sublime discovery's date. 
 
 An airy instrument, with which he souglit 
 To ascertain the atmospheric state. 
 
 By measuring " the intensity of blue : — " 
 
 Ob, Lady Daphne ! let me measure you ! 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 But to the narrative : the vessel bound 
 
 '^ith slaves to sell off in the capital. 
 
 After the usual process, might be found 
 
 4.1 anchor under the seraglio wall ; 
 Her cargo, from the plague being safe and 
 sound. 
 Were landed in the market, one and all — 
 
 And there, with Georgians, Russians, an< 
 
 Circassians, 
 Bought up for diU'erent purposes and passionE 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Some went off dearly : fifteen hundred dollar 
 For one Circassian, a sweet girl, were given 
 
 Warranted virgin ; beauty's brightest colours 
 Had deck'd her out in all the hues of heaven 
 
 Her sale sent home some disappointed bawlers 
 Who bade on all till the hundreds reach'( 
 eleven ; 
 
 But when the offer went beyond, they knew 
 
 'IVas for the sultan, and at once withdrew. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Twelve negresses from Nubia brought a price 
 Which the West Indian market scarce wouli 
 bring ; 
 
 Though Wilberforce, at last, has made it twici 
 What 'twas ere Abolition ; and the thing 
 
 Need not seem very wonderful, for vice 
 Is always much more splendid than a king 
 
 The Virtues, even the most exalted. Charity 
 
 Are saving— vice spares nothing for a rarity. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 But for the destiny of this young troop. 
 How some were bought by pachas, some bj 
 Jews, 
 
 How some to burdens were obliged to stoop, 
 And others rose to the command of crews 
 
 As renegadoes : while in hapless group 
 Hoping no very old vizier might choose 
 
 The female stood, as one by one they pick'c 
 'em. 
 
 To make a mistress, or fourth wife, or victim ; 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 AU this must be reserved for further song. 
 Also our hero's lot howe'er unpleasant, 
 
 (Because this canto has become too long) 
 Must be postponed discreetly for the pres- 
 
 I'm sensible redundancy is wrong, [ent ; 
 
 But could not for the muse of me put less 
 io't: 
 
 And now delay the progress of Don Juan, 
 
 'Till what is call'd in Ossian the fifth duan. 
 
147 
 
 NOTES TO. CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 Note a. pago 136, Gtanza xlL 
 
 WImn Ute Gods love die young—was said of yore- 
 See Herodotus. 
 
 Note b, page 141, stanza lix. 
 
 A vein liad burst. 
 
 This is no very uncommon effect of the violence of con- 
 flicting anddifferenc passions. The Doge Francis Foscari, 
 on his deposition in 3457, hearing the bells of St Mark 
 announce the election of his successor,—*' mourut subite- 
 ment d'une hemorragie, causeepar uneveine qui s'eclata 
 dans sa [Witrine," (See Sismondi and Daru. vols. i. and ii.) 
 at the age of eighty years, when " Who would liave 
 thought that the old man had so much blood in him ?" 
 Before I was sixteen years of age, I was witness to a melan- 
 choly instance of the same effect of mixed passions upon a 
 young person — ^who, however, did not die in consequence, 
 at that time, but fell a victim, some years afterwards, to a 
 seizure of the eame kind, arising from causes intimately 
 connected with agitation of mind. 
 
 Note c, page 143, stanza Ixxx. 
 But sold by the impressario at no high rate. 
 
 This is a fact A few years ago a man engaged a com- 
 pany for some foreign theatre ; embarked them at an 
 
 Italian port, and carrying them to Algiers, sold them aU< 
 One of the women, returned from her captivity, I heard 
 sing, by a strange coincidence, in Rossini's opera of 
 " JL*italiana in Algeri," at Venice, in the beginning of 
 1817. 
 
 Note d, page 143, stanza Ixxxvi. 
 
 " From all Ihe pope makes yearly 'twould perplex 
 To find three perfect pipes of the third sex." 
 
 It is strange that it should be the Pope and the Sultan 
 who are the chief encouragers of this branch of trade — 
 women being prohibited as singers at St. Peter's, and not 
 deemed trust-worthy as guardians of thebaram. 
 
 Note e, page 145, stanza dii. 
 
 While weeds and ordure rankle round the base. 
 
 The pillar which records tlie battle of Ravenna is about 
 two miles from the city, on the opposite side of tlie river, 
 to the road towards Forli. Gaston De Foix, who gained 
 the battle was killed in it ; there fell on both sides twenty 
 thousand men. The present state of the pillar and its 
 site is described in the text 
 
m®m swAM^ 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 When amatory poets sing their Joves 
 In liquid lines mellifluously bland, 
 
 And praise their rhymes as Venus yokes her 
 doves, 
 Thev little think what mischief is in hand : 
 
 The greater their success the worse it proves, 
 As Ovid's verse may make you understand ; 
 
 Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due se- 
 verity, 
 
 ts the Platonic pimp of all posterity. 
 
 II. 
 
 I therefore do denounce all amorous writing. 
 Except in such a way as not to attract ; 
 
 Plain — simple — short, and by no means in- 
 viting, 
 But with a moral to each error tack'd, 
 
 Form'd rather for instructing than delighting. 
 And with all passions in their turn attack'd ; 
 
 Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill, 
 
 T^'his poem wiirbecome a moral model. 
 
 HI. 
 
 The European with the Asian shore 
 Sprinkled with palaces ; the ocean stream " 
 
 Here and there studded with a seventy-four ; 
 Sophia's cupola with golden gleam ; 
 
 The cypress groves ; Olympus high and hoar ; 
 The twelve isles, and the more that I could 
 dream. 
 
 Far less describe, present ihe very view 
 
 Which charm'd the charming Mary Montague. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I have a passion for the name of " Mary," 
 For once it was a magic sound to me ; 
 
 And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, 
 Where 1 beheld what never was to be ; 
 
 All feelings changed, but this was last to vary, 
 A spell from which even yet I am not quite 
 free; 
 
 But I grow sad — and let a tale grow cold, 
 
 Which must not be pathetically told. 
 
 The wind swept down the Euxine, and the 
 wave 
 Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades ; 
 'Tis a grand sight from off " the Giant's 
 Grave" ^ 
 To watch the progress of those rolling seas 
 Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave 
 Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease ; 
 There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in. 
 Turns up more dangerous breakers than the 
 Euxine. 
 
 VI. 
 'Twas a raw day of autumn's bleak beginning. 
 When nights are equal, but not so the days ; 
 The Parcae then cut short the further spinning 
 Of seamen's fates, and tlie loud tempesfa) 
 raise 
 The waters, and repentance for past sinning 
 in all, who o'er the great deep take their 
 ways : [don't ; 
 
 They vow to amend their lives, and yet they 
 Because if drown'd, they can't — if spared they 
 wont. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A crowd of shivering slaves of every nation 
 ."ind age, and sex, were in the market ranged : 
 
 Each bevy with the merchant in his station : 
 Poor creatures ! their good looks were sadly 
 changed. 
 
 AH save the blacks seem'd jaded with vexation. 
 From friends, and home, and freedom far 
 estranged ; 
 
 The negroes more philosophy display'd — 
 
 Used to it, no doubt, as eels are to be flay'd. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Juan was juvenile, and thus was full 
 As most at his age are, of hope and health ; 
 
 Yet I must own, he look'd a little dull. 
 And now and then a tear stole down by 
 stealth ; 
 
 Perhaps his recent loss of blood might pull 
 His spirit down ; and then the loss of wealth, 
 
 A mistress, and such comfortable quarters. 
 
 To be put up for auction amongst 'Tartars, 
 
DOW JUAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 149 
 
 Were things to shake a stoic ; ne'ertheless, 
 Upon the whole his carriage was serene : 
 
 His figure, and the splendor of his dress, 
 Of which some gilded remnants still were 
 seen. 
 
 Drew all eyes on him, giving them to guess 
 He was above the vulgar by his mien ; 
 
 And then, though pale, he was so very hand- 
 some ; 
 
 And then —they calculated on his ransom. 
 
 Like a backgammon board the place was dot- 
 ted 
 With whites and blacks, in groups on show 
 for sale, 
 rhough rather more irregularly spotted : 
 Some bought the jet, while others chose the 
 pale : 
 [t chanced amongst the other people lotted, 
 
 A man of thirty, rather stout and hale. 
 With resolution in his dark grey eye, 
 Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy, 
 
 XI. 
 
 He had an English look ; that is, was square 
 In make, of a complexion white and ruddy, 
 
 Sood teeth, with curling rather dark brown 
 
 hair, [study, 
 
 And, it might be from thought, or toil, or 
 
 Vn open brow, a little mark'd with care : 
 One arm had on a bandage rather bloody ; 
 
 Vnd there he stood with such sang-froid that 
 greater [tor. 
 
 Jonld scarce be shown even by a mere specta- 
 
 XII. 
 
 Jut seeing at his elbow a mere lad 
 Of a high spirit evidently, though 
 
 It present weigh'd down by a doom which 
 
 had [show 
 
 O'crthrowu even men, he soon began to 
 
 ^ kind of blunt compassion for the sad 
 Lot of so young a partner in the wo, 
 
 Vhich for himself he seem'd to deem no worse 
 
 rhan any other scrape, a thing of course. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ' My boy !" — said he, " amidst this motley 
 crew [not. 
 
 Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and what 
 Ul ragamuffins differing but in hue. 
 
 With whom it is our luck to cast our lot, 
 ibe only gentlemen seem I and you ; 
 
 So let DS be acquainted, as we ought : 
 f I could yield you any consolation, 
 rwould give me pleasure. — Pray what is your 
 nation ?" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 When Juan answered " Spanish '." he replied, 
 " I thought in fact, you could not be a Greek; 
 
 Those servile dogs are not so proudly eyed ; 
 Fortune has play'd you here a pretty Creak, 
 
 But that's her way with all men till they're 
 
 tired ; [week ; 
 
 But never mind, she'll turn, perhaps next 
 
 She has served me also much the same as you, 
 
 Except that 1 have found it nothing new. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Pray, Sir," said Juan, " If I may presume. 
 What brought you here ?" — " Oh ! nothing 
 very rare, 
 Six Tartars and a drag-chain—"—" To this 
 doom — 
 But what conducted? — if the question's fair. 
 Is that which I would learn." — " 1 served for 
 some [there. 
 
 Months with the Russian army here and 
 And taking lately, by Suwarrow's bidding, 
 A town, was ta'en myself instead of Widdin." 
 
 XVL 
 
 " Have you no friends?" — " I had— but, by 
 God's blessing. 
 Have not been troubled with them lately. — 
 Now 
 I have answer'd all your questions without 
 pressing. 
 And you an equal courtesy should show." — 
 " Alas '." said Juan, " 'twere a tale distressing. 
 And long besides." — " Oh ! if 'tis really so. 
 You're right on both accounts to hold your 
 
 tongue ; 
 A sad tale saddens doubly when 'tis long. 
 
 XVIL 
 
 " But droop not : Fortune at your time of life, 
 Although a female moderately fickle 
 
 Will hardly leave you (as she's not your wife) 
 For any length of days in such a pickle. 
 
 To strive too with our fate were such a strife 
 As if the corn-sheaf should oppose the sickle. 
 
 Men are the sport of circumstances, when 
 
 The circumstances seem the sport of men." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " 'Tis not," said Juan, " for my plresent doom 
 I mourn, but for the past : — I loved a maid :" 
 
 He paused, and his dark eye grew full of 
 gloom ; 
 A single tear upon his eye-lash staid 
 
 A moment, and then dropp'd ; "but to resume 
 'Tis not my present lot, as I have said, 
 
 Which I deplore so much ; for I have borne. 
 
 Hardships which have the hardiest overworn, 
 
150 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " On the rough deep. But this last blow — " 
 and here 
 
 He stopp'd again, and tarn'd away bis face. 
 " Ay," quoth his friend, " I thought it would 
 appear 
 
 That there had been a lady in the case ; 
 And these are things which ask a tender tear. 
 
 Such as I too Avould shed if in your place : 
 I cried upon my first wife's dying day, 
 And also when my second ran away : 
 
 XX. 
 
 " My third—"—" Your third !" quoth Juan, 
 turning round, 
 " You scarcely can be thirty: have you three ?" 
 " No — only two at present, aboye ground : 
 
 Surely 'tis nothing -wonderful to see 
 One person thrice in holy wedlock bound?" 
 " Well, then, your third," said Juan, " what 
 did she? 
 She did not run away, too, did she, Sir ?" 
 " No faith." — " What then ?" — " I ran away 
 from her." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " You take things coolly. Sir," said Juan. 
 " Why," 
 
 Replied the other, " what can a man do ? 
 There still are many rainbows in your sky. 
 
 But mine have vanish'd. All, when life is 
 
 new, [high ; 
 
 Commence with feelings warm and prospects 
 
 But time strips our illusions of their hue, 
 And one by one in turn, some grand mistake 
 Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " 'Tis true, it gets another bright and fresh. 
 Or fresher, brighter, but the year gone 
 through. 
 
 This skin must go the way too of all flesh. 
 Or sometimes only wear a week or two ; — 
 
 Love's the first net which spreads its deadly 
 mesh : 
 Ambition Avarice, Vengeance, Glory, glue 
 
 The glittering lime-twigs of o>ir latter days, 
 
 Where still we flutter on for pence or praise." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " All this is very fine, and may be true," 
 Said Juan ; " but I really don't see how 
 
 It betters present times with me or you." 
 " No," quoth the other ; " yet you will allow 
 
 By setting things in their right point of view. 
 Knowledge, at least, is gain'd ; for instance, 
 now 
 
 We know what slavery is, and our disasters 
 
 May teach us better to behave when masters." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Would we were masters now, if but to try 
 Their present lessons on our Pagan friends 
 here," 
 Said Juan — swallowing a heart burning sigh ; 
 " Heaven help the scholar whom his fortune 
 sends here." 
 " Perhaps we shall be one day, by and by," 
 Rejoin'd the other, " when our bad iiick 
 ends here; 
 Meantime (yon black old eunuch seems to 
 
 eye us) 
 I wish, in truth, that somebody would buy us. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " But after all, what is our present state ? 
 
 'Tis bad, and may be better — all men's lot : 
 Most men are slaves — none more so than the 
 great, [not ; 
 
 To their own whims and passions, and what 
 Society itself, which should create 
 
 Kindness, destroys what little we had got : 
 To feel for none is the true social art 
 Of the world's stoics — men without a heart." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Just now a black old neutral personage 
 Of the third sex stepp'd up, and peering over 
 
 The captives, seem'd to mark their looks and 
 age, 
 And capabilities, as to discover 
 
 If they were fitted for the purposed cage : 
 No lady e'er is ogled by a lover. 
 
 Horse by a black-leg, broadcloth by a tailor. 
 
 Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailor, 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 As is a slave by his intended bidder. 
 'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures; 
 
 And all are to be sold, if you consider 
 Their passions, and are dexterous — some by 
 features 
 
 Are bought up — others by a warlike leader- 
 Some by a place — as tend their yeaxs or na- 
 tures; 
 
 The most by ready cash — but all have prices. 
 
 From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.' 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The eunuch having eyed him o'er with care, 
 Turn'd to the merchant, and began to bid 
 
 First but for one, and after for the pair ; 
 They haggled, wrangled, swore, too— so tht( 
 did! 
 
 As though they were in a mere Christian fair 
 Cheapening an ox, an ass, a lamb, or kidj 
 
 So that their bargain sounded like a battle 
 
 For this superior yoke of human cattle. 
 
DON JJJAN. 
 
 ISl 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 At last they settled into simple grumbling, 
 And pulling oat reluctant purses, and 
 
 Turning each piece of silver o'er, and tumbling 
 Some down, and weighing others in their 
 hand, 
 
 And by mistake sequins with paras jumbling. 
 Until the sum was accurately scann'd. 
 
 And then the merchant giving change, and 
 signing 
 
 Receipts in full, began to think of dining. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 I wonder if his appetite was good ? 
 
 Or, if it were, if also his digestion? 
 Methinks at meals some odd thoughts might 
 intrude, [tion, 
 
 And conscience ask a curious sort of ques- 
 About the right divine how far we should 
 
 Sell flesh and blood. — When dinner has op- 
 press'd one, 
 I ttiink it is perhaps the gloomiest hour 
 Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Voltaire says " No :"he tells you thatCandide 
 Found life most tolerable after meals ; 
 
 He's wrong — unless man was a pig, indeed, 
 Repletion rather adds to what he feels. 
 
 Unless he's drank, and then no doubt he's freed 
 From his own brain's oppression while it 
 reels. — 
 
 Of food, I think with Philip's son, or rather 
 
 Ammon's (ill pleased with one world and one 
 father,) 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 I think with Alexander, that the act 
 Of eating, with another act or two, 
 
 Makes us feel our mortality in fact 
 Redoubled ; when a roast and a ragout, 
 
 And fish, and soup, by some side dishes back'd, 
 Can give us either pain or pleasure, who 
 
 Would pique himself on intellects, whose use 
 
 Depends so much upon the gastric juice. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The other evening ('twas on Friday last) — 
 This is a fact, and no poetic fable, — 
 
 Just as my great coat was about me cast. 
 My hat and gloves still lying on the table, 
 
 I heard a shot — 'twas eight o'clock scarce past — 
 And running out as fast as 1 was able,<= 
 
 I found the military commandant 
 
 Stretch'd in the street, and able scarce to pant. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Poor fellow ! for some reason surely bad. 
 They had slain him with five slugs ; and left 
 him there 
 
 To perish on the pavement ; so I had 
 Him borne into the house, and up the stair. 
 
 And stripp'd Eind look'd to — But wty should I 
 add 
 More circumstances ? vain was every care ; 
 
 The man was gone : In some Italian quarrel 
 
 Kill'd by five bullets from an old gun barrel.* 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 I gazed upon him, for 1 knew him well ! 
 
 And though I have seen many corpses, never 
 Saw one, whom such accident befell. 
 
 So calm ; though pierced through stomach., 
 heart, and liver. 
 He seem'd to sleep, for you could scarcely tell 
 
 (As he bled inwardly, no hideous river 
 Of gore divulged the cause) that he was dead ; 
 So as I gazed on him, I thought or said — 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Can this be death? then what is life or death ? 
 
 Speak !" but he spoke not: " wake !" but 
 
 still he slept: 
 
 " But yesterday and who had mightier breath ? 
 
 A thousand warriors by his word were kept 
 
 In awe ; he said, as the centurion saith, 
 
 ' Go," and he goeth ; " come," and forth he 
 stepp'd. 
 The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb — ■ 
 And now nought left him but the muffled 
 drum." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And they who waited once and worshipp'd — 
 they [bed 
 
 With their rough faces throng'd about the 
 To gaze once more on the commanding clay 
 
 Which for the last though not the first time 
 bled; 
 And such an end ! that he who many a day 
 
 Had faced Napoleon's foes until they fled. 
 The foremost in the charge or in the sally. 
 Should now be butcher'd in a civic alley. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The scars of his old wounds were near his new. 
 Those honourable scars which brought him 
 fame; 
 And horrid was the contrast to the view — 
 But let me quit the theme ; as such things 
 claim 
 Perhaps even more attention than is due 
 From me : I gazed (as oft I've gazed the 
 same) 
 To try if I could wrench aught out of death 
 Which should confirm, or shake, or make a 
 faith. 
 
im 
 
 DOK JUAM. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But it was all a mystery. Here we are 
 And there we go :— but where ? five bits of 
 
 Or three, or two, or one sent very far ! [lead, 
 And is this blood, then, form'd but to be 
 
 Can every element our elements mar 1 [shed 1 
 
 And air — earth — ^water — fire live — and we 
 
 dead ? [more : 
 
 We, whose minds comprehend all things ! No 
 
 But let us to the story as before. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The purchaser of J uan and acquaintance 
 Bore off his bargains to a gilded boat, 
 
 Embark'd himself and them, and off they 
 went thence 
 As fast as oars could pull and water float ; 
 
 They look'd like persons being led to sentence. 
 Wondering what next, 'till the caique was 
 
 Up in a little creek below a wall [brought 
 
 O'ertopp'd with cypresses, dark-green, and 
 tall. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Here their conductor tapping at the wicket 
 Of a small iron door, 'twas open'd, and 
 
 He led them onward, first through a low thicket 
 
 Flank'd by large groves, which tower'd on 
 
 either hand. [it — 
 
 They almost lost their way, and had to pick 
 For night was closing ere they came to land : 
 
 The eunuch made a sign to those on board. 
 
 Who rowed off, leaving them without a word. 
 
 XLIT. 
 
 As they were plodding on their winding way, 
 Through orange bowers, and jasmine, and so 
 forth : 
 
 (Of which I might have a good deal to say. 
 There being no such profusion in the North, 
 
 Of oriental plants, " et cetera," 
 But that of late jour scribblers think it worth 
 
 Their while to rear whole hot-beds in their 
 works. 
 
 Because one poet travell'd 'mongst the Turks :) 
 
 XLiir. 
 
 As they were treading on their way, there came 
 Into Don Juan's head a thought, which he 
 
 Whisper'd to his companion : — 'twas the same 
 
 Which might have then occurr'd to you or 
 
 me. [shame 
 
 " Methinks," said he, " it would be no great 
 If we should strike a stroke to set us free ; 
 
 Lot's knock that old black fellow on the head. 
 
 And march away — 'twere easier done than 
 said." 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 
 " Yes," said the other, " and when done, what 
 then? 
 
 Hmv get out?— how the devil got we in ? 
 And when we once were fairly out, and when 
 
 From Saint Bartholomew we have saved our 
 To-morrow'd see us in some other den, [skin, 
 
 And worse off than we hitherto have been : 
 Besides, I'm hungry, and just now would take. 
 Like Esau, for my birthright, a beaf- steak. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " We must be near someplace of man's abode; 
 
 For the old negro's confidence in creeping 
 With his two captives, by so queer a road. 
 
 Shows that he thinks his friends have no.t 
 been sleeping ; 
 A single cry would bring them all abroad : 
 
 'Tis therefore better looking before leaping — 
 And there, you see, this turn has brought us 
 through. 
 
 By Jove, a noble palace !— lighted too." 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 It was indeed a wide extensive building 
 Which open'd on their view — and o'er the 
 front 
 
 There seem'd to be besprent a deal of gilding. 
 And various hues, as is the Turkish won(>— 
 
 A gaudy taste ; for they are little skill'd in 
 The arts, of which these lands were once the 
 font ; 
 
 Each villa on the Bosphoras looks a screen 
 
 New painted, or a pretty opera-scene. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 And nearer as they came, a genial savour 
 Ofcertainstews, and roast-meats, and pilaus. 
 
 Things which in hungry mortal's eyes find 
 favour, 
 Made Juan in his harsh intentions pause. 
 
 And put himself upon his good behaviour : 
 His friend, too, adding a new saving clause, 
 
 Said, " In Heaven's name let's get some sap- 
 per now. 
 
 And then I'm with you, if you're for a row." 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Some talk of an appeal unto some passion, 
 Some to men's feeling, others to their reason : 
 
 The last of these was never much the fashion. 
 For reason thinks all reasoning out of season. 
 
 Some speakers whine, and others lay the lash 
 on, 
 But more or less continue still to tease on, 
 
 With arguments according to their " forte ;" 
 
 But no one ever dreams of being short.— 
 
DON SVAN. 
 
 153 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Sut I digi!e^d' :' 'ot all appeals— alih'oiigli 
 1 grant the power of pathos, and "of gold, 
 
 !)f beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling — no 
 Method's more sure at moments to take hold 
 
 3f the best feelings of mankind, which grow 
 More tender, as we every day behold, 
 
 fhan that all-softening, over-powering knell, 
 
 rhe tocsin of the soul, the dinner bell. 
 
 Parkey contains no bells, and yet men dine ; 
 
 And Juan and his friend, albeit they heard 
 Vo Christian knoll to table, saw no line 
 
 Of lacqueys usher to the feast.prepared, 
 ^et smelt roast-meat, beheld a huge fire 
 shine. 
 
 And cooks in motion with Jlieir clean arms 
 bared, ' 
 
 Ind gazed around them to the left and right 
 Wilh the prophetic eye of appetite. 
 
 ^ LI. 
 
 dnd giving up all notions of resistance, 
 They foUow'd close behind their sable guide, 
 
 IVho little thought that his own crack'd exis- 
 tence 
 Was on tlie point of being set aside ; 
 
 He motion'd them to stop at some small dis- 
 tance, 
 And knocking at the gate, 'twas open'd wide, 
 
 And a magnificient large hall display'd 
 
 rhe Asian pomp of Ottoman parade. 
 
 LII. 
 
 I wont describe ; description is my forte. 
 But every fool describes in these bright days 
 
 His wonderous journey to some foreign court. 
 And spawns his quarto, and demands your 
 
 j praise — 
 
 [Death to his publisher, to Um 'tis sport ; 
 
 j While Nature, tortured twenty thousand 
 
 ] ways. 
 
 Resigns herself with exemplary patience 
 
 to guide-books, rhymes, tours, sketches, illus- 
 trations. 
 
 1,1 II. 
 
 VIoDg this hall, and up and down, some 
 squatted 
 Upon their hams, were occupied at chess ; 
 )thers in monosyllable talk chatted. 
 And some seem'd much in love with their 
 
 own dress, • 
 
 Ind divers smoked superb pipes decorated 
 AVith amber mouths of greater price or less ; 
 knd several strutted, others^ slept, and some 
 •repared for supper with a glass of rum. " 
 
 LIV. 
 
 As the black eunuch enter'd with his brace 
 Of purchased infidels, some raised their eyes 
 
 A moment, without slackening from their pace; 
 But those who sate ne'er stirr'd in anywise ; 
 
 One or two stared the captives in the face. 
 Just as one views a horse to guess his price : 
 
 Some nodded to the negro from their station. 
 
 But no one troubled him with conversation. 
 
 LV. 
 
 He leads them through the hall, and, without 
 stopping 
 On through a farther range of goodly rooms. 
 Splendid but silent, save in one, where drop- 
 ping f 
 A marble fountain echfies through the glooms 
 Of night, which robe the chamber, or where 
 popping 
 Some female head most curiously presumes 
 To thrust its black eyes through the door or 
 
 lattice, 
 As wondering what the devil noise that is. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Some faint lamps gleaming from the lofty walls 
 Gave light enough to hint their further way. 
 
 But not enough to show the imperial halls 
 In all the flashing of their full array : 
 
 Perhaps there's nothing — I'll not say appals. 
 But saddens more by night as well as day. 
 
 Than an enormous room without a soul. 
 
 To break the lifeless splendor of the whole. 
 
 LVII. ' 
 
 Two or three seem so little, one seems Jiothing ; 
 
 In desertSj forests, crowds, or by the shore. 
 
 Their solitude, we know, has her full growth 
 
 in [more ; 
 
 The spots which were her realms, for ever- 
 But in a mighty hall or gallery, both in 
 
 More modern buildings and those built of 
 yore, . 
 A kind of death comes o'er us all alone 
 Seeing what's meant for many vrith but one. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 A neat, snug study on a winter's night, 
 A book, friend, single lady, or a glass 
 
 Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite. 
 Are things which make an English evening 
 pass ; 
 
 Thou'ghccrtes by no means so grand a sight 
 As is a theatre lit up by gas. 
 
 I pass my evenings in long galleries solely, 
 
 And that's the reason I'm so melancholy. 
 U 
 
154, 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Alas ! man makes that great which makes him 
 little ! 
 T grant you in a church 'tis very well : 
 What speaks of Heaven should by no means 
 be brittle, 
 But strong and lasting, till no tongue can 
 tell [ill— 
 
 Their names Vfho rear'd it : but huge houses flt 
 And huge tombs worse — mankind since 
 Adam fell ; 
 Methinks the story of the tower of Babel 
 Might teach them this much, better than I'm 
 able. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Babel was Nimrod's hunting-seat, and then 
 A town of gardens, walls, and wealth ama- 
 
 Where Nabouohodonosor, king of men, [zing 
 Eeign'd, till one summer's day he took to 
 grazing, 
 
 And Daniel tamed the lions in their den. 
 The people's awe and admiration raising ; 
 
 'Twas famous, too, for Thisbe and for Pyra- 
 mus. 
 
 And the calumniated Queen Semiramis. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 LXll. 
 
 But to resume — should there be (what may not 
 Be in these days) some infidels,who don't. 
 
 Because they can't, find out the very spot 
 Of that same Babel, or because they wont, 
 
 (Though Claudius Rich, Esquire, some bricks 
 has got, • ■ ' 
 
 And written lately two memoirs upon't) 
 
 Believe the Jews, those unbelievers, who 
 
 Must be believed, though they believe not you. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Yet let them think that Horace has express'd, 
 Shortly and sweetly, the masonic folly 
 
 Of those, forgetting the great place of rest. 
 Who give themselves to architecture wholly ; 
 
 We know where things and men must end at 
 last, 
 A moral, (like all morals) melancholy, 
 
 " Et sepulchri immemor struis domos" 
 
 Shows that we build when we should but en- 
 tomb us. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 At last they reach'd a quarter most retired. 
 Where echo woke as if from a long slumber ; 
 
 Though full of all things which could be de- 
 sired, [ber 
 One wonder'd what to do with such a num- 
 
 Of articles which nobody required ; [ber 
 
 Here wealth had done its utmost to encum- 
 
 With furniture an exquisite apartment. 
 
 Which puzzled nature much to know what ait 
 meant. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 It seem'd, however, but to open on 
 A range or suit of further chambers, which 
 
 Might lead to heaven knows where ; but in 
 this one 
 The moveables were prodigally rich : 
 
 Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon. 
 So costly were they ; carpets, every stitch 
 
 Of workmanship so rare, they made you wish 
 
 You could glide o'er them like a golden fish. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 The black, however, without hardly deigning 
 A glance at that which wrapp'd the slaves in 
 wonder. 
 
 Trampled what they scarce trod for fear of 
 staining. 
 As if the milky way their feet was under 
 
 With all its stars ; and with a stretch attaining 
 A certain press or cupboard nich'd in yonder. 
 
 In that remote recess which you may see — 
 
 Or if you don't the fault is not in me. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 I wish to be perspicuous ; and the black, 
 I say, unlocking the recess, puU'd forth 
 
 A quantity of clothes fit for the back 
 Of any Mussulman, whatc'er his worth ; 
 
 And of variety there was no lack — 
 And yet, though I have said there was no 
 dearth. 
 
 He chose himself to point out what he thought 
 
 Most proper for the Christians he had bought. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 The suit he thought most suitable to each 
 Was, for the elder and the stouter, first, 
 A candiote cloak, which to the knee might 
 reach, [burst, 
 
 And trowsers not so tight that they would 
 But such as fit an Asiatic breech ; 
 A shawl, whose folds in Cashmire had been 
 nursed. 
 Slipper of saffron, dagger rich and handy ; 
 In short, all things which form aTurkish Dan- 
 dy. 
 
DON JtTAN. 
 
 155 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 While he was dressing, Baba, their blacic 
 , friend, 
 
 Hinted the vast advantages, which they 
 Might probably obtain both in the end, 
 
 If they would but pursue the proper way 
 Which fortune plainly seeni'd to recommend ; 
 
 And then he added, that he needs must say, 
 " 'Twould greatly tend to better their con- 
 dition, 
 If they would condescend to circumcision. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " For his own part, he really should rejoice 
 To see them true believers, but no less 
 
 Would leave his proposition to their choice." 
 The other, thanking him for this excess 
 
 Of goodness, in thus leaving them a voice 
 In such a trifle, scarcely could express 
 
 " Sufliciently (he said) his approbation 
 
 Of all the customs of this polish'd nation. 
 
 tXXI. 
 
 " For his own share — he saw but small objec- 
 tion 
 
 To so respectable an ancient rite ; 
 And, after swallowing down a slight refection, 
 
 For which he own'd a present appetite, 
 He doubted not a few hours of reflection 
 
 Would reconcile him to the business quite." 
 " Will it?" — said Juan, sharply — " Strike me 
 
 dead ! 
 But they as soon shall circumcise my head ! 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " Cut oflT a thousand heads, before — " — " Now 
 pray," 
 
 Replied the other, " do not interrupt ; 
 Yon put me out in what I had to say. 
 
 Sir ! — as I said, as soon as I have supp'd 
 I shall perpend if your proposal may 
 
 Be such as I can properly accept ; 
 Provided always your great goodness still 
 Remits the matter to our own free-will." 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Baba' eyed Juan, and said, " Be so good 
 As dress yourself—" and pointed out a suit 
 
 In which a Princess with great pleasure would 
 Array her limbs ; but Juan, standing mute. 
 
 As not being in a masquerading mood. 
 Gave it a slight kick with his Christian foot ; 
 
 And when the old negro told him to " Get 
 ready," 
 
 Replied, " Old gentleman, I'm not a lady." 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 " What you may be, I neither know nor care," 
 Said Baba ! " but pray do as I desire : 
 
 I have np more time nor many words to spare." 
 " At least" said Juan, " sure I may inquire 
 
 The cause of this odd travesty?" — " Forbear," 
 Said Baba, " to be curious ; 'twill transpire. 
 
 No doubt in proper place, and time, and season : 
 
 I have no authority to tell the reason." 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 " Thenif Ido,"said Juan, " I'll be—" Hold !" 
 Rejoin'd the Negro, " pray be not provoking ; 
 
 This spirit's well, but it piay wax too bold, 
 And you will find us not too fond of joking." 
 
 " What, Sir," said Juan, " sliall it e'er be told 
 That I unsex'd my dress ?" But Baba strok- 
 ing [call 
 
 The things down, said — " Incense me, and I 
 
 Those who will leave you of no sex at all. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 " I oiTer you a handsome suit of clothes : 
 A woman's, true : but then there is a cause 
 
 Why you should wear the" — " What, though 
 my soul loathes. 
 The effeminate ?" — thus, after a short pause, 
 
 Sigh'd Juan, muttering also some light oaths, 
 " What the devil shall I do with all this 
 gause ?" 
 
 Thus he profanely term'd the finest lace 
 
 Which e'er set off a marriage-morning face. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 And then he swore — and sighing, on he slipp'd 
 A pair of trowsers of flesh-colour'd silk. 
 
 Next with a virgin zone he was equipp'd, 
 Which girt a slight chemise as white as milk; 
 
 But tugging on his petticoat he tripp'd, 
 Which — as we say — or as the Scotch say, 
 whilk ; 
 
 (The rhyme obliges me to this — sometimes 
 
 Kings are not more imperative than rhymes)— 
 
 LXXVHI. 
 
 Whilk, which, (or what you please) was on'- 
 ing to [ward ; 
 
 His garment's novelty, and his being awk- 
 And yet, at last, he managed to get through 
 
 His toilet, though no doubt a little backward ; 
 The negro, Baba, help'd a little too. 
 
 When some untoward part of raiment stuck 
 hard ; 
 And wrestling both his arms into a gown. 
 He paused, and took a survey up and down. 
 
15^ 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LXXIX, 
 
 .One difliculty still remain'd — his hair 
 
 Was hardly long enough ; but Baba found 
 
 So many false long tressas all to spare, 
 That soon his head was most coinplefely 
 crown'd, 
 
 After the manner then in fashion there ; 
 And this addition with such gems was bound 
 
 As suited the ensemble of his toilet, 
 
 While Baba made him comb his head and oil it, 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And now being femininely all array'd 
 With some small aid from scissars, paint, and 
 tweezers, 
 He look'd in almost all respects a maid. 
 And Baba smilingly exclaim'd " you see. 
 Sirs, 
 A perfect transformation here display'd ; 
 And now, then, you must come along with 
 me, Sirs, 
 That is — the lady ;" clapping his hands twice, 
 Four, blacks were at his elbow in a trice. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 " You, Sir," said Baba — nodding to the one — 
 Will please to accompany those gentlemen 
 
 To supper ! — but you, worthy Christian nun, 
 Will follow me — no trifling. Sir— for when 
 
 I say a thing, it must at once be done — 
 
 W hat fear you ?— think you this a lion's den ? 
 
 Why, 'tis a palace, where the truely wise 
 
 Anticipate the prophet's paradise. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 " You fool ! — I tell you no one means you 
 harm." [them— 
 
 " So much the better," Juan said, " for 
 Else they shall feel the weight of this my arm. 
 
 Which is not qqite so light a£ you may deem : 
 I yield thus far — but soon will break the charm 
 
 If any take me for that which I seem : 
 So that I trust for every body's sake. 
 That this disguise may lead to up mistake." 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " Blockhead ! come on, and see," quoth Baba ; 
 while 
 Don Juan, turning to his comrade, who 
 Though somewhat grieved, could scarce for- 
 bear a smile 
 Upon the metamorphosis in view — 
 " Farewell !" they mutually exclaim'd : " this 
 soil 
 Seems fertile in adventures strange and new, 
 One's turn'd half Mussulman, and one a maid. 
 By this old black enchanter's unsought aid. 
 
 LXXXIV, 
 
 " Farewell !"— said Juan—" should we meet 
 
 no more, 
 
 I wish you a good appetite."—" Farewell !" 
 
 Replied the other — " though it grieves me sore; 
 
 When next we meet, we'll have a tale to tell ; 
 
 We needs must follow when Fate puts from 
 
 shore : [fell." 
 
 Keep your good name — tho' Eve herself once 
 
 " Nay," quoth the maid, " the sultan's self 
 
 sha'n't carry me. 
 Unless his highness promises to marry mc." 
 
 IXXXV. 
 
 And thus they parted-each by separate doors— 
 Baba led Juan onward, room by room. 
 
 Through glittering galleries, and o'er marble 
 - floors, 
 Till a gigantic portal through the gloom, 
 
 Haughty and huge, along the distant towers — 
 And wafted far arose a rich perfume — 
 
 It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine. 
 
 For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine. 
 
 LXXXVl. 
 
 The giant door was broad, and bright, and high, 
 Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious 
 guise J 
 
 Warriors thereon were battling furiously ; 
 Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd 
 lies; 
 
 There captives led in triumph droop the eye, 
 And in perspective many a squadron flies ; 
 
 It seems the work of times before the line 
 
 Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantine. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 This massy portal stood at the wide close 
 Of a huge hall, and on its either side 
 
 Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose. 
 Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied 
 
 In mockery to the enormous gate, which rose 
 O'er them in almost pyramidic pride ; 
 
 The gate so splendid wsis in all its features,* 
 
 You never thought about those little creatures, 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Until you nearly trod on them ; and then 
 You started back in horror to survey 
 
 The wonderous hideousness of those small menj 
 Whose colour was not black, nor white, nq 
 gray. 
 
 But an extraneous mixture, which no pen 
 Can trace, although perhaps the pencil may ;1 
 
 They were misshappen pigmies, deaf and 
 dumb — 
 
 Monsters, who cost a no less monstrous sum. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 ISd 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 leir duty was — for they were strong, and 
 though [times — 
 
 They look'd so little, did strong things at 
 ) ope this door which they could really do. 
 The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' 
 rhymes ; [bow, 
 
 nd now and then with tough strings of the 
 As is the custom of those eastern climes, 
 > give some rebel Pacha a cravat ; 
 )r mutes are generally used for that. 
 
 XC. 
 
 ley spoke by signs— that is, not spoke at all ; 
 
 And looking like two incubi, they glared 
 
 i Baba with his fingers made them fall 
 
 To heaving back the portal folds ; it scared 
 
 lan a moment, as this pair so small 
 
 With shrinking serpent optics on him stared ; 
 
 was as if their little looks could poison 
 
 r fascinate whome'er they fix'd their eyes on. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 ifore they enter'd, Baba paused, to bint 
 Fo Juan some slight lessons as his guide ; 
 [f you could just contrive," he said, " to stint 
 Fhat somewhat manly majesty of stride, 
 would be as well, and — (though there's not 
 
 much in't) 
 To swing a little less from side to side, 
 bich has at times an aspect of the oddest ; 
 Dd also could you look a little modest, 
 
 XCII. 
 
 'Twould be convenient ; for these mutes have 
 eyes [coats ; 
 
 Like needles which may pierce those petli- 
 id if they should discover your disguise. 
 You know how near us the deep Bosphorus 
 
 floats ; 
 od you and I may chance, ere morning rise. 
 To find our way to Marmora without boats, 
 itch'd up in sacks — a mode of navigation 
 good deal practised here upon occasion." 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 ilh this encouragement, he led the way 
 Into a room still nobler than the last ; 
 rich confusion form'd a disarray 
 In such a sort that the eye along it cast 
 3uld hardly carry any thing away. 
 Object on object flash'd so bright and fast ; 
 dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter, 
 agnificeally mingled in a litter. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Wealth had done wonders — taste not much^ 
 such things 
 
 Occur in orient palaces, and even 
 In the more chasten'd domes of western kings, 
 
 (Of which I have also seen some six or seven) 
 W'here I can't say or gold or diamond flings 
 
 Much lustre, there is much to be forgiven ; 
 Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs, and pic- 
 tures. 
 On which I cannot pause to make my strictures. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 In this imperial hall, at distance lay. 
 Under a canopy, and there reclined 
 
 Quite in a confidential, queenly way, 
 A lady : Baba stopp'd— and kneeling, sign'd 
 
 To Juan, who, though not much used to pray. 
 
 Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his 
 
 mind [bended 
 
 What all this meant ; while Baba bow'd and 
 
 His head, until the ceremony ended. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 The lady rising up with such an air 
 As Venus rose with from the wave, on them 
 
 Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair 
 Of eyes, which pot out each surrounding gem, 
 
 And raising up an arm as moonlight fair. 
 She sign'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem 
 
 Of her deep purple robe, and speaking low. 
 
 Pointed to Juan, who remain'd below. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Her presence was as lofty as her state ; 
 
 Her beauty of that overpowering kind. 
 Whose force, description only would abate ; 
 
 I'd rather leave it much to your own mind. 
 Than lessen it by what I could relate 
 
 Of forms and features : it would strike you 
 blind 
 Could I do justice to the full detail ; 
 So, luckily for both, my phrases fail. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 This much however I may add — her years 
 Were ripe — they might take six and twenty 
 springs, [bears. 
 
 But there are forms which Time to touch for- 
 And turns aside his sithe to vulgar things. 
 
 Such as was Mary's, queen of Scots ; true — tears 
 And love destroy ; and sapping sorrow wrings 
 
 Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow 
 
 Ugly ; for instance-r-Ninon de I'Enclos. 
 
l/>8 
 
 SON JTJAIff. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 She spake some words to her attendants, who 
 Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen. 
 
 And were all clad alike ; like Juan, too. 
 Who wore (heir uniform, by Baba chosen ; 
 
 They fprni'd a very nymph-like looking crew 
 Which might have called Diana's chorus 
 " cousin," 
 
 As far as outward show may correspond ; 
 
 I wont be bail for any thing beyond. 
 
 C. 
 
 They bow'd obedience and withdrew, retiring, 
 But not by the same door through which 
 
 came in 
 Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring, 
 At some small distance, all he saw within 
 This strange saloon, much fitted for inspiring - 
 ' Maryel and praise — for both or none things 
 
 win ; 
 And I must say, I ne'er could see the very 
 Great happiness of the " Nil Admirari." 
 
 cr. 
 
 " Not to admire is all the art I know 
 (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few 
 flowers of speech,) 
 
 To make men happy, or to keep them so ; 
 (So take it in the very words of Creech.)" 
 
 Thus Horace wrote, we all know, long ago. 
 And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach 
 
 From bis translation : but had none admired, 
 
 Would Pope have sung, or Horace been in- 
 spired. 
 
 CII. 
 
 Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn, 
 Motion'd to Juan to approach, and then 
 
 A second time desired him to kneel down. 
 And kiss the lady's foot — which maxim, when 
 
 He heard repeated, Juan with a frown 
 Drew himself up to his full height again, 
 
 And said — " It grieved him, but he could not 
 stoop 
 
 " To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope." . 
 
 cm. 
 
 Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride. 
 Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat 
 
 He mutter'd (but the last was given aside) 
 About a bow-string— quite in vain ; nor yet 
 
 Would Juan stoop, thou gh't were to Mahomet's 
 bride ; 
 There's nothing in the world like etiquette, 
 
 lu kingly chambers, or imperial halls. 
 
 As also at the race and county balls. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 He stood like Atlas, with a world of wordA 
 
 About his ears, and nathless would uj 
 
 bend; 
 
 The blood of all his line's Castilian lords 
 Boil'd in his veins, and rather than descend I 
 
 To stain his pedigree, a thousand swords 
 A thousand times of him had made an end; 
 
 At length perceiving the "foot" could not stand, ' 
 
 Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand. 
 
 CV. 
 
 Here was an honourable compromise, 
 A half-way house of diplomatic rest, 
 
 Where they might meet in much more peaceij 
 guise; 
 And Juan nowhis willingness express'd 
 
 To use all fit and proper courtesies. 
 Adding, that this was commonest and besd 
 
 For through the South, the custom still con 
 mands 
 
 The gentlemen to kiss the ladies' hands. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 And he advanced, athough with a bad grace, ■ 
 Though on more thorough-bred ■> or fairer 
 fingers, 
 
 No lips e'er left their transitory trace : 
 On such as these the lip too fondly lingers. 
 
 And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace. 
 As you will see, if she you love shall brins 
 hers [ger's 
 
 In contact ; and sometimes even a fair stran- 
 
 An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade 
 Baba retire, which he obey'd in style. 
 
 As if well-used to the retreating trade ; 
 And taki1>g hints in good part all the while, 
 
 He whisper'd Juan not to be afraid. 
 And looking on him with a sort of smile, 
 
 Took leave with such a face of satisfaction 
 
 As good men wear who have done a virtuous 
 action, 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 When he was gone there was a sudden 
 
 change : [thought, 
 
 I know not what might be the lady's 
 
 But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult 
 
 strange, [brought. 
 
 And into her clear cheek the blood was 
 
 Blood-red as sun-set summer clouds which 
 
 range [wrought 
 
 The verge of Heaven ; and in her large eyes 
 
 A mixture of sensations might be scann'd. 
 
 Of half voluptuousness and half command. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 159 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Her form had all the softness of her sex, 
 
 fhe sun himself was scarce more free from 
 
 specks [caTil ; 
 
 Than she from aught at which the eye could 
 
 Yet somehow there was something somewhere 
 wanting 
 
 As if she rather order'd than was granting. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Something imperial, or imperious, threw 
 A chain o'er all she did ; that is, a chain 
 
 Was thrown as 'twere about the neck of you — 
 And rapture's self will seem almost a pain 
 
 (Vithaught which looks like despotism in view : 
 Our souls at least are free, and 'tis in vain 
 
 We would against them make the flesh obey — 
 
 fhe spirit in the end will have its way. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet ; 
 
 Her very nod was not an inclination ; 
 Phere was a self-will even in her small feet. 
 
 As though they were quite conscious of her 
 station — 
 rhey trod as upon necks ; and to complete 
 
 Her state, (it is the custom of her nation) 
 4. poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign 
 She was a sultan's bride, (thank Heaven not 
 mine.) 
 
 CXII. 
 
 ■' To hear and to obey" had been from birth 
 The law of all around her ; to fulfil 
 
 All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth, 
 Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her 
 will ; [earth : 
 
 Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of 
 Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood still ; 
 
 Had she but been a Christian, I've a notion 
 
 We should have found out the " perpetual mo- 
 tion." 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought ; 
 
 Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed 
 It might be seen, with diligence was sought, 
 
 And when 'twas found straightway the bar- 
 gain closed : 
 There was no end unto the things she bought. 
 
 Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused ; 
 Yet even her tyranny had such a grace, 
 The women pardon'd all except her face. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught 
 Her eye in passing on his way to sale ; 
 
 She order'd him directly to be bought, 
 And Baba, who had ne'er been known to fail 
 
 In any kind of mischief to be wrought. 
 Had his instructions where and how to deal : 
 
 SJie had no prudence, but he had ; and this 
 
 Explains the garb which Juan took amiss. 
 
 CXV. 
 
 His youth and features favour'd the disguise, 
 And should you ask how she a sultan's bride. 
 
 Could risk or compass such strange phantasies, 
 This I must leave sultanas to decide : 
 
 Emperors are only husbands in wives' eyes. 
 And kings and consorts oft are mystified. 
 
 As we may ascertain with due precision. 
 
 Some by experience, others by tradition. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 But to the main point, where we have been 
 tending : 
 She now conceived all difficulties past. 
 And deem'd herself extremely condescending 
 
 When, being made her property at last. 
 Without more preface, in her blue eyes blend- 
 ing, [cast. 
 Passion and power, a glance on him she 
 And merely saying, " Christian, canst thou 
 love ?" [move. 
 Conceived that phrase was quite enough to 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 And so it was in proper time and place ; 
 
 But Juan, who had still his mind o'erflowing 
 With Haidee's isle and soft Ionian face. 
 
 Felt the warm blood, which in his face was 
 glowing. 
 Rush back upon his heart, which fill'd apace. 
 
 And left his cheeks as pale as snowdrops 
 blowing : [spears. 
 
 These words went through his soul like Ar ab 
 So that he spoke not, but burst into tears. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 She was a great deal shock'd ; not shock'd at 
 tears, [ing ; 
 
 For women shed and use them at their lik- 
 But there is something when man's eye appears 
 
 Wet, still more disagreeable and striking : 
 A woman's tear-drop melts^ a man's half sears. 
 
 Like molten lead, as if you thrust a pike in 
 His heart to force it out, for (to be shorter) 
 To them 'tis a relief, to us a torture. 
 
36d 
 
 DON JTTAir. 
 
 C^IX. 
 
 And she ^ould bare consoled, but knew not. 
 how — 
 
 Having no equals, nothing which^had e'er 
 Infected her with sympathy till now, 
 
 And never having dreamt what 'twas to bear 
 Aught of a serious sorrowing kind, although 
 
 There might arise some pouting petty caro 
 To cross her brow, she wonder'd how so near 
 Her eyes another's eye could shed a tear. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 But Nature teaches more than power can spoil. 
 And, when a strong, although a strange 
 sensation. 
 
 Moves— female hearts are such a genial soil 
 For Kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation. 
 
 They naturally pour the " wine and oil," 
 Samaritans in every situation ; 
 
 And thus GuUeyaz, though she knew not why , 
 
 Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 But tears must stop like all things else ; and 
 soon 
 
 Juan, who for an instant had been moved 
 To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone 
 
 Of one who dared to ask if " he had loved," 
 Oall'd back the stoic to his eyes, which shone 
 
 Bright with the very weakness he reproved ; 
 And although sensitive to beauty, he 
 Felt most indignant still at not being free. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 GuUeyaz, for the first time in her days 
 Was much embarrass'd never having met 
 
 In all her life with aught save prayers and 
 praise ; 
 And as she also risk'd her life to get 
 
 Him whom she meant to tutor in love's ways. 
 Into a comfortable tSte-a-tSte, [martyr. 
 
 To lose the hour would make her quite a 
 
 And they had wasted now almost a quarter. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 I also would suggest the fitting time. 
 To gentlemen in any such-like case. 
 
 That is to say — in a meridian clime. 
 With us there is more law given to the case. 
 
 But here a small delay forms a great crime : 
 So recollect that the extremest grace 
 
 Is just two minutes for your declaration — 
 
 A moment more would hurt your reputation. 
 
 CXXIV 
 
 
 Juan's was good, and might have still been 
 better. 
 
 But he had got Haidee into his head : 
 However strange, he could not yet forget her^ 
 
 Which made him seem exceedingly ill-bred; 
 GuUeyaz, who look'd on him as her debtor 
 
 For having had him to her palace led. 
 Began to blush up to the eyes, and then 
 Grow deadly pale, and then blush back aga 
 
 CXXV. 
 
 At length, in an imperial way, she laid 
 Her hand on his, and bending on his eyes. 
 
 Which needed not an empire to persuade, 
 Look'd into his for love, where none replies ; 
 
 Her brow grew black, bilt Shfe would not np-j 
 
 braid, [tries:! 
 
 That being the last thing a proud woman 
 
 She rose, and pausing one chaste moment, i 
 threw 
 
 Herself upon his breast, and there she grew. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 'i\ 
 
 This was an awkward test, as Juan found, 
 But he was steel'd by sorrow, wrath, and 
 pride ; 
 
 With gentle force her white arms he unwonndJ 
 And seated her all drooping by his side : 
 
 Then, rising haughtily, he glanced around, 
 And looking coldly in her face, he cried, 
 
 " The prison'd eagle will not pair, nor I 
 
 Serve a sultana's sensual phantasy. 
 
 cxxvir. 
 
 H 
 " Thou ask'st if I can love? be this the profif 
 
 How much I have loved — that I love not th^ 
 In this vile garb, the distaff's web and woof 
 
 Were fitter for me — love is for the free ! 
 I am not dazzled by this splendid roof— 
 
 Whate'er thy power, and great it seems to be, i 
 Heads boW, knees bend, eyes watch around a 
 
 throne. 
 And hands obey — our hearts are Still our own."i 
 
 CXXVIIl. 
 
 This was a truth to us extremely trite. 
 
 Not so to her, who ne'er had heard such! 
 
 things ; [lightj 
 
 She deem'd her least command must yield de 
 Earth being only made for queens and kings : 
 
 If hearts lay on the left side or the right 
 She hardly knew, to such perfection brings 
 
 Legitimacy its born votaries, when 
 
 Aware of their due royal rights o^er men. 
 
SON JUAN. 
 
 161 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 iesides, as has been said, she was so fair, 
 As even in a much humbler lot had made 
 
 ^ kingdom or coniusion any wliere. 
 And also, as may be presumed, she laid 
 
 lome stress upon those charms, -vrhich seldom 
 are 
 By the possessors thrown into the shade ; 
 
 ibe thought hers gave a double " right divine," 
 
 ind half of that opinion's also mine. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Jemember, or (if you cannot) imagine, 
 Ye ! who have kept your chastity when 
 young, . 
 
 Vhile some more desperate dowager has been 
 
 waging [stung 
 
 Love with you, and been in the dog-days 
 
 ly your refusal, recollect her raging ! 
 Or recollect all that was said or sung 
 
 )n such a subject ; then suppose the face 
 
 )f a young downright beauty in this case. 
 
 CXXXl. 
 
 Suppose, but you already have supposed. 
 The spouse of Potiphar, the Lady Booby, 
 
 'liedra, and all which story has disclosed 
 Of good examples ; pity that so few by 
 
 ^oets and private tutors are exposed, 
 To educate — ye youth of Europe — you by — 
 
 Jut when you have supposed the few we 
 know, 
 
 I'ou can't suppose Sulleyaz' angry brov.'. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 V tigress robb'd of young, a lioness, 
 
 Or any interesting beast of prey, 
 ire similes at hand for the distress 
 
 Of ladies who cannot have their own way ; 
 Jut though my turn will not be served with 
 
 less, 
 These don't express one half what I should 
 say ; 
 
 'or what is stealing young ones, few or many, 
 !'o cutting short their hopes of having any ? 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 Pile love of offspring's nature's general law. 
 From tigresses and cubs to ducks and duck- 
 lings ; [claw 
 Phere's nothing whets the beak or arms the 
 Like an invasion of their babes and suck- 
 lings ; 
 Ind all who have seen a human nursery, saw 
 How mothers love their children's squalls 
 and chucklings ; 
 Ud this strong extreme effect (to tire no longer 
 four patience) shows the cause must still be 
 stronger. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 If I said fire flash'd from GuUeyaz' eyes, 
 'Twere :nothing — for her eyes flash'd always 
 
 fire; 
 Or said her cheeks assumed the deepest dyes, 
 
 I should but bring disgrace upon the dyer, 
 So supernatural was her passion's rise ; 
 
 For ne'er till now she knew a check'd desire ; 
 Even ye who know what a check'd woman is, 
 AH that you know would much fall short of 
 
 this. 
 
 CXXXV. 
 
 Her rage was but a minute's, and 'twas well — 
 A moment's more hid slain her — but the 
 while 
 
 It lasted 'twas like a short glimpse of hell : 
 Nought's more sublime than energetic bile, 
 
 Though horrible to see, yet grand to tell. 
 Like ocean warring 'gainst a rocky isle — 
 
 And the deep passions flashing through her 
 form 
 
 Made her a beautiful embodied storm . 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 A vulgar tempest 'twere to a Typhoon 
 To match a common fury with her rage, 
 
 And yet she did not want to reach the moon, 
 Like moderate Hotspur on the immortal 
 page; 
 
 Her anger pitch'd into a lower tune. 
 Perhaps the fault of her soft sex and age— 
 
 Her wish was but to " kill, kill, kill," like 
 Lear's, [teal's. 
 
 And then her thirst of blood was qucnch'd in 
 
 CXXXVIl. 
 
 A storm it raged — and like the storm it pass'd — 
 Pass'd without words — in fact, she could not 
 speak, 
 
 And then her sex's shame broke in at last, 
 A sentiment till then in her but weak, 
 
 But now it flow'd in natural and fast. 
 As water through an unexpected leak. 
 
 For she felt humbled — and humiliation 
 
 Is sometimes good for people in her station. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 It teaches them that they are flesh and blood. 
 
 It also gently hints to them that others. 
 Although of clay, are yet not quite of mud ; 
 That urns and pipkins are but fragile 
 brothers. 
 And works of the same pottery, bad or good, 
 Though not all born of the same sires and 
 mothers — 
 It teaches — Heaven knows only what it 
 
 teaches. 
 But sometimes it may mend, and often reaches. 
 X 
 
162 
 
 BON JVAN, 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 Her first thought was to cut off Juan's head ; 
 
 Her second, to cut only his — acquaintance ; 
 Her third, to ask him where he had been bred ; 
 
 Her fourth, to rally him into repentance ; 
 Her fifth, to call her maids and go to bed ; 
 
 Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventh, to 
 sentence 
 The lash to Baba— but her grand resource 
 Was to sit down again, and cry of course. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 She thought to stab herself, but then she had 
 The dagger close at hand, which made it 
 awkward — 
 
 For eastern stays are little made to pad, 
 So that a poniard pierces if 'tis stuck hard : 
 
 iShe thought of killing Juan— but, poor lad ! 
 Though he deserved it well for being so 
 backward, 
 
 . The cutting oflF his head was not the art 
 
 Most likely to attain her aim — his heart. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 Juan was moved : he had made up his mind 
 To be impaled— or quarter'd as a dish 
 
 For dogs — or to be slain with pangs refined — 
 Or thrown to lions — or made baits for fish — 
 
 And thus heroically stood resign'd. 
 Rather than sin — except to his own wish : 
 
 But all his great preparatives for dying 
 
 Dissolved, like snow, before a woman crying. 
 
 CXLTI. 
 
 As through his palms Bob Acre's valour oozed. 
 So Juan's virtue ebb'd, I know not bow; 
 
 And first he wonder'd why he had refiised ; 
 And then, if matters could be made up now ; 
 
 And next his savage virtue he accused. 
 Just as a friar may accuse his vow. 
 
 Or as a dame repents her of her oath, 
 
 Which mostly ends in some small breach of 
 both. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 So he began to stammer some excuses ; 
 
 But words are not enough in such a matter. 
 Although you borrow'd all that e'er the Muses 
 
 Have sung, or even a Dandy's dandiest 
 chatter. 
 Or all the figures Castlereagh abuses ; 
 
 Just as a languid smile began to flatter 
 His peace was making, but before he ventured 
 Further, old Baba rather briskly enter'd. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 " Bride of the Sun ! and Sister i:*the Moon I" 
 
 ('Twas thus he spake) " and Empress of the 
 
 Earth ! [tune. 
 
 Whose frown would put the sphere all out of 
 
 Whose smile makes all the planets dance'i 
 
 with mirth, 
 
 Yoiir slave brings tidings — he hopes not too 
 soon — 
 
 Which your sublime attention may be worth ! 
 The Sun himself has sent me, like a ray, 
 To hint that he is coming up this way." 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 " Is it," exclaim'd GuUeyaz, " as you say ? 
 1 wish to heaven he would not shine tiU 
 morning ! 
 But bid my women form the milky way. 
 Hence, my old comet, give the stars due 
 warning — 
 
 And, christian ! mingle with them as yon may^ 
 
 And as you'd have me pardon your past] 
 
 scorning — " 
 
 Here they were interrupted by a humming 
 
 Sound, and then by a cry, " the sultan's com-l 
 
 ing !" 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 First came her damsels, a decorous file. 
 And then his Highness' eunuchs black and 
 white ; 
 
 The train might reach a quarter of a mile : 
 His Majesty was always so polite 
 
 As to announce his visits a long while 
 Before he came, especially at night; 
 
 For being the last wife of the emperor. 
 
 She was of course the favourite of the four. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 His highness was a man of solemn port, 
 Shawl'd to the nose, and bearded to the eyes, 
 
 Snatch'd from a prison to preside at court, 
 His lately bo w-strung brother caused his risej 
 
 He was as good a sovereign of the sort 
 As any mention'd in the histories 
 
 Of Cantemir, or Knolles, where few shine 
 
 Save Solyman, the glory of their line.' 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 He went to mosque in state, and said hL 
 prayers 
 
 With more than oriental scrupulosity ; 
 He left to his vizier all state affairs. 
 
 And show'd but little royal curiosity : 
 I know not if he had domestic cares — 
 
 No process proved connubial animosity. 
 
 Four wives, and twice five hundred maids, nH 
 
 seen, (•. 
 
 Were ruled as calmly as a Christian Queen !| 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 l63 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 If now and uien there happen 'd a slight slip, 
 Little was heard of criminal or crime — 
 
 The story scarcely pass'd a single lip— 
 I'he saclt and sea had settled all in time, 
 
 From which the secret nobody could rip : 
 The Public knew no more than does this 
 rhyme ; 
 
 No scandals made the daily press a curse — 
 
 Morals were better, and the fish no worse. 
 
 CL. 
 
 He saw with his own eyes the moon wasround, 
 Was also certain that the earth was square. 
 
 Because he had journey 'd fifty miles and found 
 No sign that it was circular any where ; 
 
 His empire also was without a bound — 
 ' fis true, a little troubled here and there. 
 
 By rebel Pachas, and encroaching giaours, 
 
 But then they never came to " the Seven 
 Towers;" 
 
 CLI. 
 
 Except in shape of envoys, who were sent 
 To lodge there when a war broke out, ac- 
 cording 
 To the true law of nations, which ne'er meant 
 Those scoundrels, who have never had a 
 sword in 
 Their dirty diplomatic hands, to vent 
 Their spleen in making strife, and safely 
 wording 
 Their lies, ycleped despatches, without risk or 
 The singeing of a single inky whisker. 
 
 CLII. 
 
 He had fifty daughters and four dozen sons. 
 Of whom all such as came of age were 
 stow'd. 
 The former in a palace where like nuns 
 They lived, till some Bashaw was sent 
 abroad, 
 When she, whose turn it was, wedded at once, 
 Sometimes at six years old — though this 
 seems odd, 
 'Tis true ; the reason is, that the Bashaw 
 Must make a present to his sire-in-law. 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 His sons were kept in prison, till they grew 
 Of years to fill a bowstring or the throne. 
 
 One or the other, but which of the two 
 Could yet be known unto the fates alone ; 
 
 Meantime the education they went through 
 Was princely, as the proofs have always 
 shown ; 
 
 So that the heir apparent still was found 
 
 No less deserving to be hang'd than crown'd. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 His Majesty saluted bis fourth spouse 
 With all the ceremonies of his rank. 
 
 Who clear'd her sparkling eyes and smooth 'd 
 her brows, 
 As suits a matron who has play'd a prank ; 
 
 These must seem doubly mindful of their vows. 
 To save the credit of their breaking bank : 
 
 To no men are such cordial greetings given 
 
 As those whose wives have made them fit for 
 heaven. 
 
 CLV. 
 
 His highness cast around his great black eyes. 
 And looking, as he always lonk'd, perceived 
 
 Juan amongst the damsels in disguise. 
 At which he seem'd no whit surprised nor 
 grieved. 
 
 But just remark'd with air sedate and wise. 
 While still a fluttering sigh Gulleyaz heaved, 
 
 " I see you've bought another girl ; 'tis pity 
 
 That a mere Christian should be half so pretty." 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 This compliment, which drew all eyes upon 
 The new-bought virgin, made her blush and 
 shake, [done : 
 
 Her comrades, also, thought themselves un- 
 Oh ! Mahomet, that his Majesty should take 
 
 Such notice of a Giaour, while scarce to one 
 Of them his lids imperial ever spake ! 
 
 There was ageoeral whisper, toss, and wriggle, 
 
 But etiquette forbade them all to giggle. 
 
 CtVlI. 
 
 The Turks do well to shut— at least, some- 
 times — 
 
 The women up — because, in sad reality. 
 Their chastity in these unhappy climes 
 
 Is not a thing of that astringent quality. 
 Which, in the north, prevents precarious 
 crimes, [morality ; 
 
 And makes our snow less pure than our 
 The sun, which yearly melts the polar ice. 
 Has quite the contrary effect on spice. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 Thus far our chronicle— and now we pauses 
 Though not for want of matter ; but 'tis time 
 
 According to the ancient epic laws. 
 To slacken sail, and anchor with ourrhyme : 
 
 Let this fifth canto meet with due applause. 
 The sixth shall have a touch of the sublime ; 
 
 Meanwhile, as Homer sometimes sleeps, per- 
 haps 
 
 You'll pardon to my muse a few short naps. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Note a., p. 148. stanza iii. 
 The ocean stream. 
 
 This expression of Homer has been much criticised. It 
 hardly answers to our Atlantic ideas of the ocean, but is 
 eufficieutly applicable to the HellespontandtheBosphorus, 
 with the .S^an intersected with islands. 
 
 Note b, p. 148. stanza v. 
 
 " The Giant's Grave." 
 
 « The Giant's Grave" is a height on the Adriatic shore 
 of the Bosphorus, much frequented by holy-day parties : 
 like Harrow and Highgate. 
 
 Note c, p. 151. stanza x:txiii. 
 
 And running out as fast as I was able. 
 
 The assassination alluded to, took place on the eight of 
 
 December, 18?0, in the streets of R , not a hundred 
 
 paces from the residence of the writer. Tlie circumstan- 
 ces were as described. 
 
 Noted, p. 151. stanza xxxiv. 
 
 KiWd by Jive bullets from an old gun barrel. 
 
 There was found close by him an old gun barrel, sawn 
 half qS'. it had just been discharged, at^d was etill warm. 
 
 Note e, p. 153. stanza liii. 
 
 Prepared for supper with a glass of rum. 
 
 In Turkey, nothing is more common than for the Mus- 
 sulmans to take several glasses of strong spirits by way of 
 appetizer. I have seen them take as many as six of raki 
 before dinner, and swear that they dined the betterfor it. 
 1 tried the experiment, but was like the Scotchman, who, 
 having heard that the birds called kittiewiaks were ad- 
 mirable whets, ate six of them, and complained that " he 
 Wtfs no hungrier tlian when lie began. 
 
 Note f, p. 153. stanza Iv. 
 
 Splendid but silent, save in one, where drooping, 
 A Tnarble fountain echoes. 
 
 A common furniture. — I recollect being received by Ali 
 Pacha, in a room containing a marble basin and fountain, 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 No'eg, p. ISfi. stanza Ixxxvii. 
 
 The gate so splendid was in all its features. 
 
 Features of agate— a. ministerial metaphor; "Thefeature 
 upon which this qnestion hinges."'^See " The Fudge 
 Family,"— or hear Castlereagh. 
 
 . Though I 
 
 Note h, p. 158, stanza cvi. 
 >, nwre thorougli-bred, or fairer Jingers. 
 
 There is nothing more distinctive of birth than the hand ; 
 it is almost the only sign of blood which aristocracy can 
 generate. 
 
 Note i, p. 163. stanza cxlvii. 
 Save Solijuuni, the glory of their line. 
 
 It may not be unworthy of remark, that Bacon, in hii 
 essay on " Empire," hints that Solyman was the last o: 
 his line; on what authority, I know not. These are hit 
 words ; " The destruction of Mustapha was eo fatal to So 
 lyman's line as the succesion of the Turke from Solyman 
 until this day, is suspected to be untrue, and of strangt 
 blood ; for that Solyman the second was thought to bcsup 
 positious." But Bacon, in his historical authorities, ii 
 often inacurate. I could give half a dozen instances from 
 his apophthegms only. 
 
 Being in the humour of criticism, I shall proceed, aftei 
 having ventured upon the slips of Bacon, to touch one oi 
 two as trifling in the edition of the British Poets, by thi \ 
 justly celebrated Campl>ell.— But I do this in goodwill, ancj 
 trust it will be so taken. If any thing could add to mj] 
 opinion of the talents and true feeling of that gentleman, J 
 it would be his classical, honest, and triumphant dcfenci 
 of PopR, against the vulgar cant of the day and its existing 
 Grub-street. : 
 
 The inadvertences to which I allude, are, ' 
 
 Firstly, in speaking oi Anstcy whom he accuses ofhaving 
 taken " his leading characters from SmoUet." Anstey's 
 Bath Guide was published in 1766. Smollet's Humphry 
 Clinker (the only work of Smollet's from which Tabaith, 
 &c. &c. could have been taken) was written during Smol. 
 let's last residence at Leghorn, in 1770.—" Argat," if there I 
 has been any borrowing, Anstey must be the creditor, and 
 not the debtor.— I refer Mr. Campbell to his own data in 
 his lives of Smollet and Anstey. 
 
 Secondly, Mr. Campbell says, in the life of Cowper 
 (note to page 358, vol. 7.) that '* he knows not to whomj 
 Cowper alludes in these lines ; 
 
 «* Nor he who for the bane of thousands bom. 
 Built God a church, and laugh'd liis word to scorn, 
 
 The Calvanist meant Voltaire, and the Church of Per-' 
 ney, with its inscription, " Deo erexit Voltaire." j 
 
 Thirdly, in the Life of Burns, Mr. C. quotes Shakspearei 
 thus,- 
 
 " To pld refined gold, to paint the rose. 
 Or add fresh perfume to the violet." 
 This version by no means Improves the original whlcUis, 
 as follows ; ; 
 
 " To gild refined gold, to paint the lily 
 To throw a perfume on the violet." &c 
 
 King JonH.; 
 
 A great poet, quoting another, should be correct; he: 
 should also be accurate, when he accuses a Parnassian 
 brother of that dangerous charge " borrowing;" a poet 
 had better borrow any thing (excepting money) than the 
 thoughts of another — they are always sure to be reclaim- 
 ed ; but it is very hard, having been the lender, to be de- 
 nounced as the debtor, as in the case of Anstey versus 
 Smollet. 
 
 As there is " honour amongst thieves," let there be 
 some amongst poets— and give each his due — none can af- 
 ford to give it more than Mr. Campbell himself, who, with 
 a high reputation for originality, and a fame which cannot 
 be shaken, is the only poet of the times (except Rogct*) 
 who can be reproached (and m him it isindeeda rcpruadi) 
 with having written too little. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 CANTOS VI.— VII.— AND VIII. 
 
 The details of the Siege of Ismail in two of 
 the following Cantos (i. e. the 7th and 8th) are 
 taken from a French work, entitled " Histoire 
 de la Nouvelle Rnssie." Some of the incidents 
 attributed to Don Juan really occurred, parti- 
 cularly the circumstance of his saving the in- 
 fant, which was the actual case of the late 
 Due de Richelieu, then a young Tolunteer in 
 the Russianservice, and afterwards the founder 
 and benefactor of Odessa, where his name and 
 memory can never cease to be regarded with 
 reverence. In the course of these cantos, a 
 stanza or two will be found relative to the late 
 Marquis of Londonderry, but written some 
 time before his decease. Had that person's 
 Oligarchy died with him, they would have 
 been suppressed ; as it is, I am aware of no- 
 tbing in the manner of his death or of his life 
 to prevent the free expression of the opinions 
 of all whom his whole existence was consumed 
 in endeavouring to enslave. That he was an 
 amiable man in private life, may or may not 
 be true ; but with this the Public hare nothing 
 to do ; and as to lamenting his death, it will 
 be time enough when Ireland has ceased to 
 mourn for his birth. As a Minister, I, for one 
 of millions, looked upon him as the most des- 
 potic in intention and the weakest in intellect 
 that ever tyrannized over a country. It is the 
 first time indeed since the Normans, that Eng- 
 land has been insulted by a Mirmter (at least) 
 who could not speak English, and that Parlia- 
 ment permitted itself to be dictated to in the 
 language of Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Of the manner of his death litUe need be 
 said, except that if a poor radical, such as 
 Waddington or Watson, had cut his throat, 
 he would have been buried in a cross-road, 
 with the usual appurtenances of the stake and 
 mallet. But the Minister was an elegant 
 Lunatic— a sentimental Suicide — he merely 
 cut the "carotid artery" (blessings on their 
 learning) and lo ! the Pageant, and the Abbey ! 
 and " the Syllables of Dolour yelled forth" by 
 
 the Newspapers — and the harangue of the 
 Coroner in a eulogy over the bleeding body 
 of the deceased — (an Anthony worthy of such 
 a Caesar) — and the nauseous and atrocious 
 cant of a degraded Crew of Conspirators 
 against all that is sincere and honourable. In 
 his death he was necessarily one of two things 
 by the law — a felon or a madman — and in 
 either case no great subject for panegyric* 
 In his life he was — what all the world knows, 
 and half of it will feel for years to come, un- 
 less his death prove a " moral lesson" to the 
 surviving Sejani t of Europe. It may at least 
 serve as some consolation to the Nations, that 
 their Oppressors are not happy, and in some 
 instances judge so justly of their own actions 
 as to anticipate the sentence of mankind. — Let 
 us hear no more of this man ; and let Ireland 
 remove the Ashes of her Grattau from the 
 Sanctuary of Westminster. Shall the Patriot 
 of Humanity repose by the Werther of Poli- 
 tics !! ! 
 
 With regard to the objections which have 
 been made on another score to the already 
 published Cantos of this poem, I shall con- 
 tent myself with two quotations from Vol- 
 taire: — 
 
 " La pudeur s'est enfuite des coeurs, et s'est 
 refugifee sur les levres." 
 
 " Plus les mneurs sont depraves, plus les 
 expressions deviennent mesurees ; on croit re- 
 gagner en langage ce qu'on a perdu en vertu." 
 
 • I say by the law of the land — the laws of Humanity 
 judge more gently ; but as the legitimates have always the 
 law in their mouths, let ttiem here make the most of it. 
 
 f From this number must be excepted Canning ; Can- 
 ning is a genius, almost a universal one, an orator, a wit, 
 a poet, a statesman ; and no man of talent can long pursue 
 the path of his late predecessor Lord C. If ever man saved 
 his country. Canning can; but mli he I I, for one, hope 
 
 X2 
 
166 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 This is the real fact, as applicable to the 
 degraded and hypocritical mass which leavens 
 the present English generation, and is the 
 only answer they deserve. The haclineyed- 
 and lavished title of Blasphemer — ^which, with 
 radical, liberal, jacobin, reformer, &c. are the 
 changes which the hirelings are daily ringing 
 in the ears of those who will listen — should be 
 welcome to all who recollect on whom it was 
 originally bestowed. Socrates and Jesus 
 Christ were put to death publicly as Blas- 
 phemers, and so have been and may be many 
 who dare to oppose the most notorious abuses 
 of the name of God and the mind of man. But 
 Persecution is notrefutation, nor even triumph : 
 the " wretched Infidel," as he is called, is pro- 
 bably happier in his prison than the proudest 
 of his Assailants. With his opinions I have 
 nothing to do — they may be right or wrong — 
 but he has suifered for them, and that very 
 
 Suffering for conscience' sake will make mor< 
 proselytes to Deism than the example of heter 
 odox* Prelates to Christianity, suicid< 
 Statesmen to oppression, or over-pensioned 
 Homicides to the impious Alliance which 
 insults the world with the name of " Holy !" 
 1 have no wish to trample on the dishonoured 
 or the dead ; but it would be well if the ad- 
 herents to the Classes from whence those 
 persons sprung should abate a little of the 
 Cunt which is the crying sin of this double' 
 dealing and false-speaking time of selfisl 
 Spoilers, and but enough for the present. 
 
 * When Lord Sandwich said " he did not know the 
 difference between Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy" — War 
 burton the bishop replied, *• Orthodoxy, my Lord, is wi|/ 
 doxt/t and Heterodoxy is another man's doxy." — A prelate 
 of the present day has discovered, it seems, a third kinc 
 of doxy, which has not greatly exalted in the eyes of the 
 elect that which Bentham calls " Cliiircb.of.£D£landi£m. 
 
®®SJ ^UTAI^Q 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 I. 
 
 " There is a tide in the affairs of men 
 Which taken at the flood"— you know the 
 rest, 
 And moat of iis have found it now and then ; 
 At least we think so, though but few have 
 guess'd 
 The moment, till too late to come again. 
 
 But no doubt every thing is for the best — 
 Of which the surest sign is in the end : 
 When things are at the worst they sometimes 
 mend. 
 
 II. 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of women 
 " Which taken at the flood leads" — God 
 knows where : 
 Those navigators must be able seamen 
 
 Whose charts lay down its current to a hair ; 
 Not all the reveries of Jacob Behmen 
 With its strange whirls and eddies can com- 
 pare : — 
 Men with their heads reflect on this and that— 
 But women with their hearts on heaven knows 
 what ! 
 
 III. 
 
 And yet a headlong, headstrong, downright, 
 she, [risk 
 
 Young, beautiful, and daring — who would 
 A throne, the world, the universe, to be 
 
 Beloved in her own way, and rather whisk 
 The stars from out the sky, than not be free 
 
 As are the billows when the breeze is 
 
 brisk— [one) 
 
 Though such a she's a devil (if that there be 
 
 Yet she would make full many a Manichean. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thrones, worlds, et cetera, are so oft upset 
 By commonest Ambition, that when Passion 
 
 O'erthrows the same, we readily forget. 
 Or at the least forgive, the loving rash one. 
 
 If Anthony be well remember'd yet, [fashion 
 'Tis not his conquests keep his name in 
 
 But Actium, lost for Cleopatra's eyes, 
 
 Outbalance all the Caesar's victories. 
 
 V. 
 
 He died at fifty for a queen of forty ; 
 I wish their years had been fifteen and 
 twenty. 
 For then wealth, kingdoms, worlds are but a 
 sport— I [plenty 
 
 Remember when, though I had no great 
 Of worlds to lose, yet still, to pay my court, I 
 Gave what I had — a heart :— as the world 
 went, I [never 
 
 Gavewhatwasworth a world; for worlds could 
 Restore me those pure feelings, gone for ever. ■ 
 
 VI. 
 
 'Twas the boy's " mite," and like the 
 " widow's" may 
 
 Perhaps be weigh'd hereafter, if not now ; 
 But whether such things do or do not weigh, 
 
 All who have loved, or love, will still allow 
 Life has nought like it. God is love, they say, 
 
 And Love's a God, or was before the brow 
 Of Earth was wrinkled by the sins and tears 
 Of— but Chronology best knows the years. 
 
 VIL 
 
 We left our hero and third heroine in 
 A kind of state more awkward than uncom- 
 mon, 
 
 For gentlemen must sometimes risk their skin 
 For that sad tempter, a forbidden woman : 
 
 Sultans too much abhor this sort of sin. 
 And don't agree at all with the wise Roman, 
 
 Heroic, stoic Cato, the sententious, 
 
 Who lent his lady to his friend Hortensins. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I know Gulleyaz was extremely wrong ; 
 
 I own it, I deplore it, I condemn it ; 
 But I detest all fiction even in song. 
 
 And so must tell the truth, howe'er you 
 blame it. 
 Her reason being weak, her passions strong. 
 
 She thought that her lord's heart (even could 
 she claim it) 
 Was scarce enough ; for he had fifty-nine 
 Years, and a fifteen-hundredth concubine. 
 
168 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I am not, like Cassio, " an arithmetician," 
 But by " the bookish theoric" it appears. 
 
 If 'tis summ'd jip with feminine precision, 
 That, adding to the account his Highness' 
 
 The fair Sultana err'd from inanition ; [years. 
 For were the Sultan just to all his dears, 
 
 She could but claim the fifteenth hundred part 
 
 Of what should be monopoly — the heart. 
 
 It is observed that ladies are litigious 
 Upon all legal objects of possession, 
 
 And not the least so when they are religious, 
 AVhich doubles what they think of the 
 transgression. 
 
 With suits and prosecutions they besiege us. 
 As the tribunals show through many a 
 session. 
 
 When they suspect that any one goes shares 
 
 In that to which the law makes them sole heirs- 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now if this holds good in a Christian land, 
 The heathen also, though withlesser latitude. 
 
 Are tipt to carry things with a high hand. 
 And take, what kings call " an imposing 
 attitude ;" 
 
 And for their rights connubial make a stand, 
 AVhen their liege husbands treat them with 
 ingratitude ; 
 
 And as four wives must have quadruple claims. 
 
 The Tigris hath its jealousies like Thames. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Gulleyaz was the fourth, and (as I said) 
 The favourite; but what's favour amongst 
 
 Polygamy may well be held in dread, [four 
 Not only as a sin, but as a bore : — 
 
 Most wise men with one moderate woman wed. 
 Will scarcely find philosophy for more ; 
 
 And all (except Mahometans) forbear 
 
 To make the nuptial couch a " Bed of Ware." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 His Highness, the sublimest of mankind,— 
 So styled according to the usual forms 
 
 Of every monarch, till they are consign'd 
 To those sad hungry jacobins the worms. 
 
 Who on the very loftiest kings have dined,— 
 His Highness gazed upon GuUeyaz' charms, 
 
 Expecting all the welcome of a lover, 
 
 (A "-Highland welcome" all the wide world 
 over.J 
 
 Now here we should distinguish ; for howe'ei 
 Kisses,sw6et words, embraces, and all that. 
 
 May look like what is — neither here nor there, 
 They are put on as easily as a hat. 
 
 Or rather bonnet, which the fair sex wear, 
 Trimm'd either heads or hearts to decorate 
 
 Which form an ornament, but no more part 
 
 Of heads, than their caresses of the heart. 
 
 XV. 
 
 A slight blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind 
 Of gentle feminine delight, and shown 
 
 More in the eyelids than the eyes, resigu'd 
 Rather to hide what pleases most unknown. 
 
 Are the best tokens (to a modest mind) 
 Of love, when seated on his loveliest throne, 
 
 A sincere woman's breast, — for over warm 
 
 Or over cold annihilates the charm. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 For over warmth, if false, is worse than truth ; 
 
 If true, 'tis no great lease of its own fire ; 
 For no one, save in very early youth, 
 
 Would like (I think) to trust all to desire. 
 Which is but a precarious bond, in sooth. 
 
 And apt to be transferr'd to the first buyer 
 At a sad discount : while your over chilly 
 Women, on t'other hand, seem somewhat silly. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 That is, we cannot pardon their bad taste, 
 For so it seems to lovers swift or slow, 
 
 Who fain would have a mutual flame confess'd. 
 And see a sentimental passion glow. 
 
 Even were St. Francis' paramour their guest, 
 In his Monastic Concubine of Snow ; — 
 
 In short, the maxim for the amorous tribe is 
 
 Horatian, " Medio tu tutissimus ibis," 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The " tu" 's too much, — but let it stand — the, 
 verse 
 
 Requires it, that's to say, the English rhyme,] 
 And not the pink of old Hexameters ; 
 
 But, after all, there's neither tune nor time 
 In the last line, which cannot well be worse. 
 
 And was thrustin to close the octave's chime: 
 I own no prosody can ever rate it 
 As a rule, but Truth may, it you translate it. 
 
 
 3 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 1G9 
 
 XIX. 
 
 If fair GuUeyaz overdid her part, 
 I know not — it succeeded, and success 
 
 Is much in most things, not less in the heart 
 Than other articles of female dress. 
 
 Self-love in man too beats all female art; 
 They lie, we lie, all lie, but love no less : 
 
 And no one virtue yet, except Starvation, 
 
 Could stop that worst of vices— Propagation. 
 
 , XX. 
 
 We leave this royal couple to repose : 
 A bed is not a throne, and they may sleep. 
 
 AVhate'er their dreams be, if of joys or woes ; 
 Yet disappointed joys are woes as deep 
 
 As any man's clay mixture undergoes. 
 Our least of sorrows are such as we weep ; 
 
 'Tis the vile daily drop on drop which wears 
 
 The soul out (like the stone) with petty cares. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A scolding wife, a sullen son, a bill 
 To pay, unpaid, protested, or discounted 
 
 At a per-centage ; a child cross, a dog ill, 
 A favourite horse fallen lame just as he's 
 mounted ; 
 
 A bad old woman making a worse will, 
 M'hich leaves you minus of the cash you 
 counted 
 
 As certain ; — these are paltry things, and yet 
 
 I've rarely seen the man they did not fret. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 I'm a philosopher ; confound them all ! 
 Bills, beasts, and men, and — no ! not fl'o- 
 maukind ; 
 AV'ith one good hearty curse I vent my gall. 
 
 And then my Stoicism leaves nought behind 
 AVhich it can either pain or evil call. 
 
 And I can give my whole soul up to mind ; 
 Though what is soul or mind, their biilh or 
 
 growth. 
 Is more than I know — the deuce take them 
 both. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 So now all things are d — n'd one feels at ease. 
 As after reading Athanasius' curse, 
 
 "Which doth your true believer so much 
 please : 
 I doubt if any now could make it worse 
 
 O'er his worst enemy when at his knees, 
 'Tis so sententious, positive, and terse. 
 
 And decorates the book of Common Prayer 
 
 As doth a Rainbow the just clearing air 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 GuUeyaz and her lord were sleeping, or 
 At least one of them— Oh the heavy night 1 
 
 When wicked wives who love some bachelor 
 Lie down in dudgeon to sigh for the light 
 
 Of the gray morning, and look vainly for 
 Its twinkle through the lattice dusky quite. 
 
 To toss, to tumble, doze, revive and quake 
 
 Lest their too lawful bed-fellow should wake. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 These are beneath the canopy of heaven, 
 
 Also beneath the canopy of beds 
 Four-posted and silk curtain'd, which are 
 given 
 For rich men and their brides to lay their 
 heads [" driven 
 
 Upon, in sheets white as what birds call 
 Snow." Well ! 'tis all hap-hazard when 
 one weds. 
 GuUeyaz was an empress, but had been 
 Perhaps as wretched if a peasant's quean. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Don Juan in his feminine disguise. 
 With all the damsels in their long array. 
 
 Had bovv'd themselves before the imperii! 
 eyes. 
 And at the usual signal ta'en their way 
 
 Back to their chambers, those long galleries 
 In the Seraglio, where the ladies laj- 
 
 Their delicate limbs ; a thousand bosoms there 
 
 Beating for love as the caged birds fur air. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse 
 The tyrant's wish, " that mankind only had 
 
 One neck, which he with one fell stroke might 
 pierce :" 
 My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad. 
 
 And much more tender on the whole than 
 tierce ; 
 It being (not now, but only while a lad) 
 
 That Womankind had but one rosy mouth, 
 
 To kiss them all at once from North to South. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 Oh enviable Briareus I with thy hands 
 
 And heads, if thou hadst all things multi- 
 plied 
 
 In such proportion !— But my Muse withstands 
 The giant thought of being a Titan's bride, 
 
 Or travelling in Patagonian lands ; 
 So let us back to Lilliput, and guide 
 
 Our hero through the labyrinth of love 
 
 In which we left him several lines above. 
 
J 70 
 
 HON JUAN. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 lie went forth with the lovely Odalisques, 
 At the given signal join'd to their array ; 
 
 And though he certainly ran many risks, 
 Yet he could not at times keep, by the way, 
 
 (Although the consequences of such frisks 
 Are worse than the worst damages men pay 
 
 In moral England, where the thing's a tax) 
 
 From o£fling all their charms from breasts to 
 backs. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 still he forgot not his disguise : — along 
 The galleries from room to room they walk'd, 
 
 A virgin-like and edifying throng. 
 By eunuchs flank'd ; while at their head 
 there stalk'd 
 
 A dame who kept up discipline among 
 The female ranks, so that none stirr'd or 
 talk'd 
 
 Without her sanction on their she-parades : 
 
 Her title was " the Mother of the Maids." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Whether she was a " mother," I know not, 
 Or whether they were " maids" who call'd 
 her mother ; 
 
 But this is her seraglio title, got 
 I know not how, but good as any other ; 
 
 So Canterair can tell you, or De Tott : 
 Her office was, to keep aloof or smother 
 
 All bad propensities in fifteen hundred 
 
 Young women, and correct them when they 
 blunder'd. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 A goodly sinecure, no doubt ! but made 
 More easy by the absence of all men 
 
 Except his Majesty, who, with her aid, 
 And guards, and bolts, and walls, and now 
 and then 
 
 A slight example, just to cast a shade 
 Along the rest, contrived to keep this den 
 
 Of beauties cool as an Italian convent. 
 
 Where all the passions have, alas ! but one 
 vent. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 And what is that? Devotion, doubtless — how 
 Could you ask such a question ? — but we 
 will 
 
 Continue. As 1 said, this goodly row 
 Of ladies of all countries at the will 
 
 Of one good man, with stately march and slow, 
 Like water-lilies floating down a rill 
 
 Or rather lake — for rills do not run slowly, — 
 
 Paced on most maiden-like and melancholy. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But when they reach'd their own apartments, 
 there, [loose. 
 
 Like birds, or boys, or bedlamites broke 
 Waves at spring-tide, or women any where 
 When freed from bonds (which are of no 
 great use 
 After all) or like Irish at a fair. 
 Their guards being gone, and as it were a 
 truce 
 Establish'd between them and bondage, they 
 Began to sing, dance, chatter, smile and play. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Their talk of course ran most on the new comer, 
 Her shape, her hair, her air, her every thing : 
 
 Some thought her dress did not so much be- 
 come her, 
 Or wonder'd at her ears without a ring ; 
 
 Some said her years were gelling nigh their 
 summer. 
 Others contended they were but in spring ; 
 
 Some thought her rather masculine in height, 
 
 Wliile others wish'd that she had been so quite. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 But no one doubted on the whole, that she 
 Was what her dress bespoke, a damsel fair, 
 
 And fresh, and " beautiful exceedingly," 
 Who with the brightest Georgians might 
 compare : 
 
 They wonder'd how GuUeyaz too could be 
 So silly as to buy slaves who might share 
 
 (If that his Highness wearied of his bride) 
 
 Her throne and power and every thing beside. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 But what was strangest in this virgin crew. 
 Although her beauty was enough to vex, 
 
 After the first investigating view. 
 They all found out as few, or fewer, specks 
 
 In the fair form of their companion new. 
 Than is the custom of the gentle sex. 
 
 When they survey, with Christian eyes or 
 Heathen, 
 
 In a new face " the ugliest creature breathing." 
 
 XXXVIIL 
 
 And yet they had their little jealousies 
 Like all the rest ; but upon this occasion, 
 
 Whether there are such things as sympathies 
 Witliout our knowledge or our approbation, 
 
 Altiiough they could not see through his dis- 
 guise. 
 All felt a soft kind of concatenation. 
 
 Like Magnetism, or Devilism, or what 
 
 You please — we will not quarrel about that : 
 
DON JaAK. 
 
 171 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 XtIV-. 
 
 Bat certain 'tis they all felt for their new 
 Companion something newer still, £is 'twere 
 
 A sentimental friendship through and through, 
 Extremely pure, which made them all con- 
 cur 
 
 In wishing her their sister, save a few 
 Who wish'd they had a brother, just like 
 her, [sin. 
 
 Whom, if they were at home in sweet Circas- 
 
 'I'hey would prefer to Padisha or Pacha. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Of those who had most genius for this sort 
 Of sentimental friendship, there were three, 
 
 Lohih, Katinka, and Dudu ; in short, 
 (To save description) fair as fair can be 
 
 Were they, according to the best report. 
 Though differing in stature and degree, 
 
 And clime and time, and country and com- 
 plexion ; 
 
 They all alike admired their new connexion. 
 
 XLl. 
 
 Lolah was dusk as India and as warm ; 
 
 Katinka was a Georgian, white and red. 
 With great blue eyes, a lovely hand and arm. 
 
 And feet so small they scarce seem'd made 
 to tread. 
 But rather skim the earth ; while Dudi's form 
 
 Look'd more adapted to be put to bed, 
 Being somewhat large and languishing and 
 
 lazy, 
 Yet of a beauty that would drive you crazy. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A kind of sleepy Venus seem'd Dudil, 
 Yet very fit to " murder sleep" in those 
 
 Who gazed upon her cheek's transcendent hue. 
 Her Attic forehead, and her Phidian nose : 
 
 Few angles were there in her form 'tis true, 
 Thinner she might have been and yet scarce 
 lose : 
 
 Yet, after all, 'twould puzzle to say where 
 
 It would not spoil some separate charm to 
 pare. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Shfc was not violently lively, but 
 
 Stole on your spirit like a May-day breaking ; 
 Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half- 
 shut, 
 
 They put beholders in a tender taking ; 
 She look'd (this simile's quite new) just cut 
 
 From marble, like Pygmalion's statue 
 waking. 
 The Mortal and the Marble still at strife. 
 And timidly expanding into life. 
 
 Lolah demanded the new damsel's name — 
 " Juanna." — Well a pretty name enough. 
 
 Katinka ask'd her also wlience she came — ■ 
 " From Spain." — " But where is Spain ?" — 
 " Don't ask such stuff, 
 
 Nor show your Georgian ignorance — for 
 shame !" 
 Said Lolah, with an accent rather rough, 
 
 To poor Katinka : " Spain's an island near 
 
 Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier." 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Dudii said nothing, but sat down beside 
 Juanna, playing with her veil or hair ; 
 
 And looking at her steadfastly she sigh'd, 
 As if she pitied her for being there, 
 
 A pretty stranger without friend or guide, 
 And all abash'd too at the general stare 
 
 Which welcomes hapless strangers in all 
 places. 
 
 With kind remarks upon their mien and faces. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But here the Mother of the Maids drew near, 
 W ith, " Ladies, it is time to go to rest. 
 
 I'm puzzled what to do with you, my dear," 
 She added to Juanna, their new guest; 
 
 " Your coming has been unexpected here, 
 And every couch is occupied ; you had best 
 
 Partake of mine ; but by to-morrow early 
 
 We will have all things settled for you fairly." 
 
 XLVIL 
 
 Here Lolah interposed — " Mamma, you know 
 You don't sleep soundly, and I cannot bear 
 
 That any body should disturb you so ; 
 I'll take Juanna ; we're a slenderer pair 
 
 Than you would make the half of ; — don't say 
 
 no ; [care." 
 
 " And I of your young charge will take due 
 
 But here Katinka interfered and said, 
 
 " She also had compassion and a bed." 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Besides, I hate to sleep alone," quoth she- 
 The Matron frown'd : " Why so?"—" For 
 fear of ghosts," 
 Replied Katinka ; " I am sure I see 
 
 " A phantom upon each of the four posts ; 
 And then I have the worst dreams that can be. 
 Of Guebres, Giaours, and Ginns, and Gouls 
 in hosts." 
 The Dame replied, " Between your dreams and 
 
 you 
 I fear Juanna's dreams would be but few. 
 
172 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 XLJX. 
 
 " You, Lolah, must Continue still to lie 
 Alone, for reasons which don't matter; you 
 
 The same, Katinka, until by and bye ; 
 And I shall place Juanna with Dudii, 
 
 Who's quiet, inoffensive, silent, shy. 
 And will not toss and chatter the night 
 through. 
 
 What say you, child ?" — Dudil said nothing, as 
 
 Her talents were of the more silent class ; 
 
 L. 
 
 But she rose up, and kiss'd the Blatron's brow. 
 Between the eyes, and Lolah on both cheeks, 
 Katinka too ; and with a gentle bow 
 (Curt'sies are neither used by Turks nor 
 Greeks) 
 She took Juanna by the hand to show 
 Their place of rest, and left to both their 
 piques. 
 The others pouting at the Matron's preference 
 Of Dudil, though they held their tongues from 
 deference. 
 
 LI. 
 
 It was a spacious chamber (Oda is 
 The Turkish title) and ranged round the 
 wall 
 
 Were couches, toilets — and much more than 
 this 
 I might describe, as I have seen it all, 
 
 But it suffices — little was amiss ; 
 'Twas on the whole a nobly fnrnish'd hall. 
 
 With all things ladies want, save one or two, 
 
 And even those were nearer than tliey knew. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Dudil, as has been said, was a sweet creature. 
 Not very dashing, but extremely winning. 
 
 With the most regulated charms of feature, 
 Which painters cannot catch like faces sin- 
 ning [ture 
 
 Against proportion — the wild strokes of na- 
 Which they hit off at once in the beginning, 
 
 Full of expression, right or wrong, that strike, 
 
 And pleasing or unpleasing, still are like. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 But she was a soft Landscape of mild Earth, 
 Where all was harmony and calm and quiet, 
 
 Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth, 
 Which if not happiness, is much more nigh it 
 
 Than are your mighty passions and so forth, 
 Which some call " the sublime :" I wish 
 they'd try it : 
 
 I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women. 
 
 And pity lovers rather more than seamen. 
 
 •LIV. 
 
 
 But she was pensive more than melancholy, 
 And serious more than pensive, and serene. 
 
 It may be more than either — not unholy 
 Her thouglits, at least till now, appear to 
 have been. 
 
 The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was 
 wholly 
 Unconscious, albeit turn'd of quick seventeen 
 
 That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall ; 
 
 Slie never thought about herself at all. 
 
 LV. 
 
 And therefore was she kind and gentle as 
 The age of Gold (when Gold was yet un- 
 known. 
 
 By which its nomenclature came to pass ; 
 Thus most appropriately has been shown 
 
 " Lucus a non Lucendo," not what was. 
 But what uiaa not; a sort of style that's 
 grown 
 
 Extremely common in this age, whose metal 
 
 The Devil may decompose but never settle ; 
 
 LVL 
 
 I think it may be of" Corinthian Brass," 
 Which was a Mixture of all Metals, but 
 
 The Brazen uppermost.) Kind reader ! pass 
 This long parenthesis : I could not shut 
 
 It sooner for the soul of me, and class 
 My faults even with your own ! which 
 meaneth. Put 
 
 A kind construction upon them and me : 
 
 But that you wont — then don't— I am not less 
 free. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 'Tis time we should return to plain narration. 
 And thus my narrative proceeds : — Dudii, 
 
 With every kindness short of ostentation, 
 Show'd Juan or Juanna, through and 
 through 
 
 This labyrinth of females, and each station 
 Described— what's strange — in words ex- 
 tremely few : 
 
 I have but one simile, and that's a blunder. 
 
 For wordless woman, which is silent Thunder. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 And next she gave her (I say her, because 
 The Gender still was Epicene, at least 
 
 In outward show, which is a saving clause) 
 An outline of the Customs of the East, 
 
 With all their chaste integrity of laws. 
 By which the more a Haram is encreased. 
 
 The stricter doubtless grow the vestal duties 
 
 Of any supernumerary beauties. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 173 
 
 LIX. 
 
 And then she gave Juanna a chaste kiss : 
 Dudil was fond of kissing — which I'm sure 
 
 That nobody can ever take amiss, 
 Because 'tis pleasant, so that it be pure, 
 
 And beween females means no more than this — 
 That they have nothing better near, or newer. 
 
 "Kiss" rhymes to "bliss" in fact as well as 
 verse — 
 
 I wish it never led to something worse. 
 
 LX. 
 
 In perfect Innocence she then unmade 
 Her toilet, which cost little, for she was 
 
 A Child of Nature, carelessly array'd : 
 If fond of a chance ogle at her glass, 
 
 'Twas like the fawn which, in the lake dis- 
 play'd, 
 Beholds her own shy, shadowy image pass, 
 
 When first she starts, and then returns to peep. 
 
 Admiring this new Native of the deep. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 And one by one her articles of dress 
 Were laid aside ; but not before she offer'd 
 
 Her aid to fair Juanna, whose excess 
 Of Modesty declined the assistance prof- 
 fer'd : 
 
 Which past well off— as she could do no less ; 
 Though by this politesse she rather suffer'd. 
 
 Pricking her fingers with those cursed pins, 
 
 Which surely were invented for our sins, — 
 
 LXII, 
 
 Making a woman like a porcupine, 
 Not to be rashly touch'd. But still more 
 dread. 
 
 Oh ye ! whose fate it is, as once 'twas mine, 
 In early youth, to turn a lady's maid ; — 
 
 I did my very boyish best to Shine 
 In tricking her out for a masquerade : 
 
 The pins were placed sufficiently, but not 
 
 Stuck all exactly in the proper spot. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 But these are foolish things to all the wise, 
 And I love Wisdom more than she loves me ; 
 
 My tendency is to philosophize 
 On most things, from a tyrant to a tree ; 
 
 But still the spouseless Virgin Knowledge flies. 
 What are we ? and whence came we ? what 
 shall be 
 
 Our ultimate existence ? what's our present? 
 
 Are questions answerless, and yet incessant. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 There was deep silence in the chamber : dim 
 And distant from each other burn'd the 
 lights, 
 And Slumber hover'd o'er each lovely limb 
 Of the fair occupants ; if there be sprites. 
 They should have walk'd there in their 
 spriteliest trim. 
 By way of change from their sepulchral sites. 
 And shown themselves as Ghosts of better 
 
 taste 
 Than haunting some old Ruin or wild Waste. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Many and beautiful lay those around, [root, 
 Like flowers of different hue and clime and 
 
 In some exotic garden sometimes found. 
 With cost and care and warmth induced to 
 shoot. 
 
 One with her auburn tresses lightly bound, 
 And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit 
 
 Nod3 from the tree, was slumbering with soft 
 breath [neath. 
 
 And lips apart, which show'd the pearls be- 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 One with her flush'd cheek laid on her white 
 arm, 
 
 And raven ringlets gather'd in dark crowd 
 Above her brow, lay dreaming soft and waon ; 
 
 And smiling through her dream, as through 
 
 a cloud [charm, 
 
 The moon breaks, half unveil'd each future 
 
 As, slightly stirring in her snowy shroud. 
 Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of 
 AU bashfully to struggle into light. [night 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 This is no bull, although it sounds so ; for 
 Twas night, but there were lamps as hath 
 been said. 
 A third's all pallid aspect offer'd more 
 
 The traits of sleeping Sorrow, and betray'd 
 
 Through the heaved breast the dream of some 
 
 far shore 
 
 Beloved and deplored ; while slowly stray'd 
 
 (As Night- Dew, on a Cypress glittering, tinges 
 
 The black bough) tear-drops through her eyes' 
 
 dark fringes. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 A fourth as marble, statue-like and still. 
 Lay in a breathless, hush'd, and stony sleep ; 
 
 White, cold and pure, as looks a frozen rill, 
 Or the snow minaret on an Alpine steep, 
 
 Or Lot's wife done in salt, — or what you 
 My similes are gather'd in a heap, [will •— 
 
 So pick and choose — perhaps you'll be content 
 
 With a carved lady on a monument. 
 
17* 
 
 SON JUAN. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 And lo ! a firth appears ; — and vfhat is she ? 
 
 A lady of " a certain age," wliicli means 
 Certainly aged — what her years might be 
 
 I know not, never counting past their teens ; 
 But there she slept, not quite so fair to see, 
 
 As ere that awful period intervenes 
 Which lays both men and women on the shelf. 
 To meditate upon their sins and self. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 But all this time how slept, or dream'd, Dudik 1 
 With strict inquiry I could ne'er discover, 
 
 And scorn to add a syllable untrue ; 
 But ere the middle watch was hardly over, 
 
 J ust when the fading lamps waned dim and 
 
 blue, [hover 
 
 And phantoms hover'd, or might seem to 
 
 To ttiose who like their company, about 
 
 The apartment, on a sudden she scream'd out : 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 And that so loudly, that upstarted all 
 The Oda, in a general commotion ; 
 
 Matrons and maids, and those whom you may 
 
 call [ocean, 
 
 Neither, came crowding like the waves of 
 
 One on the other, throughout the whole hall. 
 All trembling, wondering, without the least 
 notion. 
 
 More than I have myself, of what could make 
 
 The calm Dudii so turbulently wake. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 But wide awake she was, and round her bed. 
 With floating draperies and,with flying hair, 
 
 With eager eyes, and light but hurried tread. 
 And bosoms, arms, and ancles glancing bare, 
 
 And bright as any meteor ever bred 
 By the North Pole,— they sought her cause 
 of care. 
 
 For she aeem'dagitated, fl^ish'd and frighten'd. 
 
 Her eye dilated and her colour heighten'd. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 But what is strange — and a strong proof how 
 great 
 
 A blessing is sound sleep — Juanna lay 
 As fast as ever husband by his mate 
 
 In holy matrimony snores away. 
 Not all the clamour broke her happy state 
 
 Of slumber, ere they shook her, — so they say 
 At least,— and then she too unclosed her eyes, 
 And yawn'd a good deal with discreet surprise. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 And now commenced a strict Investigation, 
 Which, as all spoke at once, and more than 
 once 
 
 Conjecturing, wondering, asking a narration, 
 Alike might puzzle either wit or dunce 
 
 To answer in a very clear oration. 
 Dudil had never pass'd for wanting sense, 
 
 But being " no orator as Brutus is," 
 
 Could not at first expound what was amiss. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 At length she said, that in a slumber sound 
 
 She dream'd a dream, of walking in a wood— 
 A " wood obscure" like that where Dante 
 found* 
 Himself in at the age when all grow good ; 
 Life's half-way house, where dames with vir- 
 tue crown'd, 
 Kunmuch less risk of lovers turning rude; 
 And that this wood was full of pleasant fruits, 
 And trees of goodly growth and spreading 
 roots ; 
 
 LXXVl. 
 
 And in the midst a golden apple grew, — 
 A most prodigious pippin — but it hung 
 
 Rather too high and distant that she threw 
 Her glances on it, and then, longing, flung ! 
 
 Stones and whatever she could pick up, to 
 Bring down the fruit, which still perversely 
 clung 
 
 To its own bough, and dangled yet in sight, 
 
 But always at a most provoking height ; — 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 That on a sudden, when sh« least had hope, 
 It fell down of its own accord, before 
 
 Her feet ; that her first movement was to stoop 
 And pick it up, and bite it to the core ; 
 
 That just as her young lip began to ope^ 
 Upon the golden fruit the vision bore, 
 
 A bee flew out and stung her to the heart. 
 
 And so — she woke with a great scream and 
 start. 
 
 LXXVIII. • 
 
 All this she told with some confusion and 
 Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams 
 
 Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand 
 To expound their vain and visionary gleams, 
 
 I've known some odd ones which seem'd real' 
 ly plann'd 
 Prophetically, or that which one deems 
 
 A " strange coincidence," to use a phrase 
 
 By which such things are settled now-a-daya. 
 
 * " Net' mezzo del' Cammin' di nostra vita 
 Mi rltrorai per una Sdva oscura," &c. &c. &c. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 175 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 The damsels, who had thoughts of some great 
 harm, 
 
 Began, as is the consequence of fear, 
 To sculd a little at the false alarm 
 
 That broke for nothing on their sleeping ear. 
 The matron too was wroth to leave her warm 
 
 Bed fur the dream she had been obliged to 
 hear, 
 And chafed at poor Dudii, who only sigh'd, 
 And said, that she was sorry she had cried. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " IVe heard of stories of a cock and bull ; 
 
 But visions of an apple and a bee, 
 To take us from our natural rest, and pull 
 
 The whole Uda from their beds at half-past 
 three, 
 Would make us think the moon is at its full. 
 
 You surely are unwell, child! we must see, 
 To-morrow, what his Highness's physician 
 Will say to this hysteric of a vision. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 " And poor Jnanna too ! the child's first night 
 Within these walls, to be broke in upon 
 
 With such a clamour — I had thought it right 
 That the young stranger should not lie alone. 
 
 And as the quietest of all, she might 
 With you, Dudil, a good night's rest have 
 known ; 
 
 But now I must transfer her to the charge 
 
 Of Lolah — though her couch is not so large." 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Lolah's eyes sparkled at the proposition ; 
 
 But poor Dudii, wiih large drops in her own. 
 Resulting from the scolding or the vision, 
 Implored that present pardon might be 
 shown 
 ■ For this first fault, and that on no condition 
 
 (She added in a soft and piteous tone) 
 Juanna should be taken from her, and 
 Her future dreams should all be kept in hand. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 She promised nevermore to have a dream. 
 At least to dream so loudly as just now ; 
 
 She wonder'd at herself how she could scream — 
 'Twas foolish, nervous, as she must allow, 
 
 A fond hallucination, and a theme 
 For laughter — but she felt her spirits low, 
 
 And begg'd they would excuse her ; she'd get 
 over 
 
 This weakness in a few hours, and recover. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 And here Juanna kindly interposed. 
 And said she fell herself extremely well 
 
 Where she then was, as her sound sleep dis- 
 closed 
 When all around rang like a tocsin bell: 
 
 Sho did not find herself the least disposed 
 To quit her gentle partner, and to dwell 
 
 Apart from one who had no sin to show 
 
 Save that of dreaming once " mal-a-propos." 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 As thus Juanna spoke, Dudii turn'd round 
 And hid her face w ithin Juanna's breast ; 
 
 Her neck alone was seen, but that was fouud 
 The colour of a budding rose's crest. 
 
 I can't tell why she blush'd, nor can expound 
 The mjstery of this rupture of their rest ; 
 
 All that 1 know is, that the facts I state 
 
 Are true as truth has ever been of late. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 And so good night to them, — or, if you will. 
 Good morrow — for the cock had crown, and 
 light 
 Began to clothe each Asiatic hill. 
 And the mosque crescent struggled into 
 sight 
 Of the long caravan, which in the chill 
 Of dewy dawn wound slowly round each 
 height 
 That stretches to the stony belt, which girds 
 Asia, where Kaif looks down upon the Kurds. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 With the first ray, or rather gray of morn, 
 Gnlleyaz i ose from restlessness ; and pale 
 
 As Passion rises, with its bosom worn, 
 Array'd herself with mantle, gem, and veil. 
 
 The nightingale that sings with the deep thorn, 
 Which Fable places in her breast of AVail, 
 
 Is lighter far of heart and voice than those 
 
 Whose headlong passions form their proper 
 woes. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 And that's the moral of this composition. 
 If people would but see its real drift ; — 
 
 But that they will not do without suspicion. 
 Because all gentle readers have the gift 
 
 Of closing 'gainst the light their orbs of vision ; 
 While gentle writers also love to lift 
 
 Their voices 'gainst each other, which is nat- 
 ural, 
 
 The numbers are too great for them to flatter 
 all. 
 
176 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Rose the Sultana from a bed of splendor. 
 Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried 
 
 Aloud because his feelings were too tender 
 To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side, — 
 
 So beautiful that art could little mend her, 
 Though pale with conflicts between love and 
 pride : — 
 
 So agitated was she with her error, 
 
 Sue did not even look into the mirror. 
 
 XC. 
 
 Also arose about the self-same time, 
 Perhaps a little later, her great lord, 
 
 Master of thirty kingdoms so sublime, 
 And of a wife by whom he was abhorr'd ; 
 
 A thing of much less import in that clime — 
 At least to those of incomes which afford 
 
 The filling up their whole connubial cargo — 
 
 Than where two wives are under an embargo. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 He did not think much on the matter, nor 
 
 Indeed on any other : as a man 
 He liked to have a handsome paramour 
 
 At hand, as one may like to have a fan, 
 And therefore of Circassians had good store. 
 
 As an amusement after the Divan ; 
 Though an unusual tit of love, or duty, 
 Had made him lately bask in his bride's 
 beauty. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 And now he rose ; and after due ablutions 
 Exacted by the customs of the East, 
 
 And prayers and other pious evolutions. 
 He drank six cups of coffee at the least. 
 
 And then withdrew to hear about the Rus- 
 sians, 
 Whose victories had recently increased 
 
 In Catherine's reign, whom glory still adores 
 
 As greatest of all sovereigns and w 3. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 But oh, thou grand legitimate Alexander 1 
 Her son's son, let not this last phrase offend 
 
 Thine ear, if it should reach, — and now rhymes 
 wander 
 Almost as far as Petersburgh, and lend 
 
 A dreadful impulse to each loud meander 
 Of murmuring Liberty's wide waves, which 
 blend 
 
 Their roar even with the Baltic's — so you be 
 
 Your father's son, 'lis quite enough for me. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 To call men love-begotten, or proclaim 
 Their mothers as the antipodes of Timon, 
 
 That hater of mankind, would be a shame, 
 A libel, or whate'er you please to rhyme on. 
 
 But people's ancestors are history's game ; 
 And if one lady's slip could leave a crime 
 on 
 
 All generations, I should like to know 
 
 What pedigree the best would have to show ? 
 
 XCV. 
 
 Had Catherine and the Sultan understood 
 Their own true interests, which kings rarely 
 know, 
 
 Until 'tis taught by lessons rather rude, 
 There was a way to end their strife, although 
 
 Perhaps precarious, had they but thought good, 
 Without the aid of Prince or Plenipo : 
 
 She to dismiss her guards and be his haram, { 
 
 And for their other matters, meet and share 
 'em, 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 But as it was, his Highness had to hold 
 His daily council upon ways and means 
 
 How to encounter with this martial scold. 
 This modern Amazon and Queen of Queans ; 
 
 And the perplexity could not be told 
 Of all the Pillars of the state, which leans 
 
 Sometimes a little heavy on the backs 
 
 Of those who cannot lay on a new tax. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Meantime Gulleyaz, when her king was gone. 
 Retired into her boudoir, a sweet place 
 
 For love or breakfast ; private, pleasing, lone, 
 And rich with all contrivances which grace ' 
 
 Those gay recesses : — many a precious stone 
 Sparkled along its roof, and many a vase 
 
 Of porcelain held in the fetler'd flowers. 
 
 Those captive soothers of a captive's hours. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Mother of pearl, and porphyry, and marble. 
 Vied with each other on this costly spot ; 
 
 And singiog birds without were heard to 
 warble ; 
 And the stain'd glass which lighted thisfajl; 
 grot Y 
 
 Varied each ray ; — but all descriptions garble 
 The true effect, and so we had better not 
 
 Be too minute ; an outline is the best, — 
 
 A lively reader's fancy dots the rest. 
 
DON JTTAN. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 177 
 
 And here she summoii'd Baba, and required 
 Don Juan at his hands, and information 
 
 Of what had past since all the slaves retired, 
 And whether he had occupied their station ; 
 
 If matters had been managed as desired, 
 And his disguise with due consideration 
 
 Kept up ; and above all, the where and how 
 
 He had pass'd the night, was what she wish'd 
 to know. 
 
 C. 
 
 Baba, with some embarrassment, replied 
 To this long catechism of questions, ask'd 
 
 More easily than answer'd, — that he had 
 tried 
 His best to obey in what he had been task'd ; 
 
 But there seem'd something that he wish'd to 
 hide, 
 Which hesitation more betray'd than mask'd ; 
 
 He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource 
 
 ro which embarrass'd people have recourse. 
 
 CI. 
 
 BuUeyaz was no model of true patience, 
 
 Nor much disposed to wait in word or deed j 
 She liked quick answers in all conversations ; 
 And when she saw him stumbling like a 
 steed 
 [n his replies, she puzzled him for fresh ones ; 
 .4nd as his speech grew still more broken- 
 kneed. 
 Her cheek began to flush, her eyes to sparkle. 
 And her proud brow's blue veins to swell and 
 darkle, 
 
 CII. 
 
 ff^hen Baba saw these symptoms, which he 
 knew 
 To bode him no great good, he deprecated 
 Her anger, and beseech'd she'd hear him 
 through — [lated : 
 
 He could not help the thing which he j-e- 
 rhen out it came at length, that to Dudii 
 'Juan was given in charge, as hath been 
 ' ■ stated ; 
 
 But not by Baba's fault, he said, and swore on 
 rhe holy camel's hump, besides the Koran. 
 
 cm. 
 
 fhe chief dame of the Oda, upon whom 
 The discipline of the whole haram bore, 
 
 As soon as they re-enter'd their own room, 
 For Baba's function stopt short at the door ; 
 
 Had settled all ; nor could he then presume 
 (The aforesaid Baba) just then to do more, 
 
 Without exciting such suspicion as 
 
 M ight make the matter still worse than it w n f . 
 
 CIV. 
 
 He hoped, indeed he thought he could bo 
 sure, 
 
 Juan had not betray'd himself; in fact 
 'Twas certain that his conduct had been pure. 
 
 Because a foolish or imprudent act 
 Would not alone have made him insecure. 
 
 But ended in his being found out, and Sacked, 
 And thrown into the sea. — Thus Baba spoke 
 Of all save Dudi's dream, which was no joke, 
 
 CV. 
 
 This he discreetly kept in the back ground. 
 And talk'd away, and might have talk'd 
 till now. 
 For any further answer that he found. 
 
 So deep an anguish wrung Gulleyaz' brow ; 
 Her cheek turn'd ashes, ears rung, brain 
 whirl'd round 
 As if she had received a sudden blow. 
 And the heart's dew of pain sprang fast and 
 
 chilly 
 O'er her fair front, like Morning's on a lily. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Although she W8is not of the fainting sort, 
 Baba thought she would faint, but there he 
 err'd ; — 
 It was but a convulsion, which though short 
 Can never be described ; we all have heard 
 And some of us have felt thus " all amort," 
 When things beyond the common have oc- 
 curr'd ; — 
 GruUeyaz proved in that brief agony 
 What she could ne'er express — then how 
 should 1 » 
 
 cvn. 
 
 She stood a moment as a Pythoness 
 i Stands on her tripod, agonized, and full 
 ! Of Inspiration gather'd from Distress, 
 
 When all the heart-strings like wild horsei 
 pull 
 The heart asunder ; — then, as more or less 
 Their speed abated or their strength grew 
 dull. 
 She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees, 
 And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling 
 knees, 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Her face declined and was unseen ; her hair 
 Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow, 
 
 Sweeping the marble underneath her chair, 
 Or rather sofa (for it was all pillow, 
 
 A low, soft Ottoman) and black Despair 
 Stirr'd up and down her bosom like a bil- 
 low, [check 
 
 Which rushes to some shore whose shingles 
 
 Its farther course, but must receive its wreck. 
 Z 
 
178 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Her head hung down, and her long hair in 
 stooping 
 
 Conceal'd her features better than a veil ; 
 And one hand o'er the Ottoman lay drooping, 
 
 W hite, waxen, and as alabaster pale : 
 Would that I were a painter ! to be grouping 
 
 All that a poet drags into detail ! [tints 
 
 Oh that my words were colours ! but their 
 May serye perhaps as outlines or slight hints. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Baba, who knew by experience when to talk 
 And when to hold bis tongue, now held it 
 till [balk 
 
 This passion might blow o'er, nor dared to 
 GuUeyaz' taciturn or speaking will. 
 
 At length she rose up, and began to walk 
 Slowly along the room, but silent still. 
 
 And her brow clear'd but not her troubled 
 eye ; [high. 
 
 The Wind was down, but still the £ea ran 
 
 CXI. 
 
 She stopp'd, and raised her head to speak — but 
 paused. 
 
 And then moved on again with rapid pace ; 
 
 Then slacken'd it, which is the march most 
 
 caused [trace 
 
 By deep Emotion : — you may sometimes 
 A feeling in each footstep, as disclosed 
 
 By Sallust in his Catiline, who, chased 
 By all the Demons of all passions, show'd 
 Their work even by the way in which he trode. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 GuUeyaz stopp'd and Leckon'd Baba: — 
 " Slave ! [tone, 
 
 Bring the two slaves !" she said in a low 
 But one which Baba did not like to brave, 
 And yet he shuddcr'd, and seem'd rather 
 prone 
 To prove reluctant, and begg'd leave to crave 
 (Though he well knew the meaning) to be 
 shown 
 What slaves her Highness wish'd to indicate, 
 For fear of any error, like the late. 
 
 cxni. 
 
 " The Georgian and her paramour," replied 
 The Imperial Bride — aud added, " Let the 
 
 Be ready by the secret portal's side : [boat 
 You know the rest." The words stuck in 
 her throat, 
 
 Despite her injured love and fiery pride ; 
 And of this Baba willingly took note. 
 
 And begg'd by every hair of Mahomet's beard 
 
 She would revoke the order he had heard. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 " To hear is to obey," he said ; " but still, 
 Sultana, think upon the consequence ; 
 
 It is not that 1 shall not all fulfil 
 Your orders, even in their severest sense ; 
 
 Bnt such precipitation may end ill, 
 Even at your own imperative expense : 
 
 I do not mean destruction and exposure 
 
 In case of any premature disclosure ; 
 
 cxv. 
 
 " But your own feelings. Even should all 
 the rest 
 
 Be hidden by the rolling waves, which hide 
 Already many a once love-beaten breast 
 
 Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide — 
 You love this boyish, new, Seraglio guest. 
 
 And if this violent remedy be tried — 
 Excuse my freedom, when 1 here assure you. 
 That killing him is not the way to cure you." 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 " What dost thou know of love or feeling ? — 
 wretch ! 
 Begone !" she cried, with kindling eyes — 
 " And do 
 My bidding !" Baba vanish'd, for to stretch 
 His own remonstrance further he well knew 
 Might end in acting as his own " Jack 
 Ketch ;" [through 
 
 And though he wish'd extremely to get 
 This awkward business without harm toothers. 
 He still preferr'd his own neck to another's. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Away he went then upon his commission, 
 Growling and grumbling in good Turkish 
 phrase 
 Against all women of whate'er condition. 
 
 Especially Sultanas and their ways ; 
 Their obstinacy, pride, and indecision, 
 Their never knowing their own mind twij 
 days. 
 
 The trouble that they gave, their Imraurality,! 
 Which made him daily bless his own Neu-J 
 trality. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 And then he call'd his Brethren to his aid, 
 And sent one on a summons to the pair. 
 
 That they must instantly be well array'd. 
 And above all be comb'd even to a hair. 
 
 And brought before the Empresi), who bad 
 made 
 Inquiries after them with kindest care : 
 
 At which Dudik look'd strange, and Juan silly ; 
 
 But go they must at once, and Will I— Nill I. 
 
SON JUAH. 
 
 179 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 And here 1 leave them at their preparation 
 For the Imperial presence, wherein whether 
 
 GuUeyaz show'd them both commiseration, 
 Or got rid of the parties altogether. 
 
 Like other angry ladies of her nation, — 
 Are things the turning of a hair or feather 
 
 May settle; but far be't from me to antici- 
 pate 
 
 In what way feminine Caprice may dissipate. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 I leave them for the present with good wishes, 
 Though doubts of their well doing, to ar- 
 
 Another part of History, for the dishes [range 
 Of this our banquet we must sometimes 
 change, 
 
 And trusting Juan may escape the fishes. 
 Although his situation now seems strange. 
 
 And scarce secure : as such digressions are fair, 
 
 The Muse will take a little touch at warfare. 
 
.K.^ 
 
 ©(©M 3WAm<, 
 
 CANTO VII. 
 
 Oh Love ! O Glory ! what are ye who fly 
 Around us ever, rarely to alight ? 
 
 There's not a meteor in the Polar sky 
 Of such transcendant and more fleeting flight. 
 
 Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on 
 high 
 Our eyes in search of either lovely light ; 
 
 A thousand and a thousand colours they 
 
 Assume, then leave us on our freezing way. 
 
 II. 
 
 And such as they are, such my present tale is, 
 A non-descript and ever varying rhyme, 
 
 A versified Aurora Borealis, 
 Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime. 
 
 When we know what all are, we must bewail 
 us, 
 But, ne'ertheless, I hope it is no crime 
 
 To laugh at all things — for 1 wish to know 
 
 What after all, are all things— but a Show ? 
 
 III. 
 
 They accuse me — Me — the present writer of 
 The present poem — of— I know not what,.— 
 
 A tendency to under-rate and scoff 
 At human power and virtue, and all that ; 
 
 And this they say in language rather rough. 
 Good God ! I wonder what they would be 
 at! 
 
 I say no more than has been said in Dante's 
 
 Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault, 
 By Fcnelon, by Luther, and by Plato ; 
 
 By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau, 
 Who knew this life was not worth a potato 
 
 'Tis not their fault, nor mine, if this be so — 
 For my part, I pretend not to be Cato, 
 
 Nor even Diogenes. — We live and die, 
 
 But which is best, you know no more than I. 
 
 Socrates said, ou* only knowledge was 
 " To know that nothing could be known ;" 
 a pleasant 
 Science enough, which levels to an ass 
 Each Man of Wisdom, future, past, or pre- 
 sent. 
 Newton (that Proverb of the Mind) alas! 
 Declared, with all his grand discoveries re- 
 cent. 
 That he himself felt only, " like a youth 
 Picking up shells by the great Ocean- 
 Truth." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ecclesiastes said, that all is vanity — 
 Most modern preachers say the same, or 
 show it 
 
 By their examples of true Christianity : [it ; 
 In short, all know, or very soon may know 
 
 And in this scene of all-confess'd inanity. 
 By saint, by sage, by preacher, and by poet, 
 
 Must I restrain me, through the fear of strife. 
 
 From holding up the Nothingness of life? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Dogs, or Men I (for I flatter you in saying 
 That ye are dogs — your betters far) ye may 
 
 Read, or read not, what I am now essaying 
 To show ye what ye are in every way. 
 
 As little as the Moon stops for the baying 
 Of wolves, will the bright Muse withdraw ! 
 one ray [wrath! 
 
 From out her skies — then howl your idle i 
 
 While she still silvers o'er your gloomy path. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Fierce loves and faithless wars"— I am not 
 sure 
 
 If this be the right reading — 'tis no matter ; 
 The fact's about the same, I am secure ; 
 
 I sing them both, and am about to batter 
 A town which did a famous siege endure 
 
 And was beleaguer'd both by land and water 
 By Suvaroff, or anglicfe Suwarrow, 
 Who loved blood as an Alderman loves marrow, 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 181 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Fortress is called Ismail, and is placed 
 Upon the Danube's left branch and left bank, 
 
 With buildings in the Oriental taste, 
 But still a fortress of the foremost rank, 
 
 Or was at least, unless 'tis since defaced, 
 Which with your conquerors is a common 
 prank : 
 
 It stands some eighty versts from the high sea, 
 
 And measures round of toises thousands three. 
 
 Within the extent of this fortification 
 A Borough is comprised along the height 
 
 Upon the left, which from its loftier station 
 Commands the city, and upon its site 
 
 A Greek had raised around this elevation 
 A quantity of palisades upright, 
 
 So placed as to impede the fire of those 
 
 Who held the place, and to assist the foe's. 
 
 XI. 
 
 This circumstance may serve to give a notion 
 Of the high talents of this new Vauban : 
 
 But the town ditch below was deep as Ocean, 
 The rampart higher than you'd wish to 
 
 But then there was a great want of precaution, 
 
 (Prithee, excuse this engineering slang) 
 Nor work advanced, nor cover'd way was 
 
 there. 
 To hint at least " Here is no thoroughfare." 
 
 XII. 
 
 But a stone bastion, with a narrow gorge, 
 And walls as thick as most sculls bom as 
 yet; 
 
 Two batteries, cap-a-pee, as our St. George, 
 Case-mated one, and t'other " a barbette," 
 
 Of Danube's bank took formidable charge ; 
 While two and twenty cannon duly set 
 
 Kose over the town's right side, in bristling 
 tier, 
 
 Forty feet high, upon a cavalier. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But from the river the town 's open quite, 
 Because the Turks could never be persuaded 
 
 A Russian vessel e'er would heave in sight ; 
 And such their creed was, till they were 
 invaded. 
 
 When it grew rather late to set things right. 
 But as the Danube could not well be wadedj 
 
 They look'd upon the Muscovite flotilla. 
 
 And only shouted, " Allah !" and " Bis Mil- 
 lah !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Russians now were ready to attack ; 
 
 But oh, ye Goddesses of war and glory ! 
 How shall I spell the name of each Cossacqne 
 
 Who were immortal, could one tell their 
 story ? 
 Alas ! what to their memory can lack ? 
 
 Achilles' self was not more grim and gory 
 Than thousands of this new and polish'd na- 
 tion, [tion. 
 Whose names want nothing but — pronuncia- 
 
 XV. 
 
 Still I'll record a few, if but to encrease 
 Our euphony — there was StrongenofF, and 
 Strokonoff, [Greece. 
 
 Meknop, Serge Lwdw, Arseniew of modern 
 And TscliitsshakofF, and Koguenoif, and 
 Chokenoff, 
 And others of twelve consonants a-piece ; 
 And more might be found out, if I could 
 poke enough 
 Into gazbttes ; but Fame (capricious strumpet) 
 It seems, has got an ear as well as trumpet, 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And cannot tune those discords of narration. 
 Which may be names at Moscow, into 
 rhyme ; 
 
 Yet there were several worth commemoration, 
 As e'er was virgin of a nuptial chime ; 
 
 Soft words too fitted for the peroration 
 Of Londonderry, drawling against time, 
 
 Ending in " ischskin," " ousckin," " iffskchy," 
 " ouski," 
 
 Of whom we can insert but Rousamouski, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ScherematoflT and Chrematofi", Koklophti, 
 Koclobski, Kourakin, and Mouskin Pouskin, 
 
 All proper men of weapons, as e'er scoff 'd 
 high 
 Against a foe, or ran a sabre through skin : 
 
 Little cared they for Mahomet or Mufti, 
 Unless to make their kettle drums a new 
 skin [dear. 
 
 Out of their hides, if parchment had grown 
 
 And no more handy substitute been near. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Then there were foreigners of much renown, 
 Of various nations, and all volunteers ; 
 
 Not fighting for their country or its crown, 
 But wishing to be one day brigadiers ; 
 
 Also to have the sacking of a town ; 
 
 A pleasant thing to young men at their 
 years. [pith, 
 
 'Mongst them were several Englishmen ot 
 
 Sixteen caU'd Thomson, and nineteen named 
 Smith. 
 
182 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Jack Thomson and Bill Thomson; — all 'the 
 rest [bard ; 
 
 Had been called " Jemmy," after the great 
 I don't know whether they had arms or crest, 
 
 But such a godfather's as good a card. 
 Three of the Smiths were Peters ; but the best 
 
 Amon<;st them all, hard blows to inflict or 
 
 ward, [ters 
 
 Was he, since so renown'd " in country quar- 
 
 At Halifax ;" but now he serred the Tartars. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The rest were Jacks and Gills and Wills and 
 Bills ; [Smith 
 
 But when I've added that the elder Jack 
 Was born in Cumberland among the hills, 
 And that his father was an honest black- 
 smith, 
 I've said all 1 know of a name that (ills 
 Three lines of the despatch in taking 
 " Schmacksmith," 
 A village of Moldavia's waste, wherein ■ 
 He fell, immortal in a bulletin. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I wonder (although Mars no doubt's a God I 
 Praise) if a man's name in a bulletin 
 
 May make up for a hullet in his body ? 
 I hope this little question is no sin. 
 
 Because, though I am but a simple noddy, 
 1 think one Shakspeare puts the same 
 thought in 
 
 The mouth of some one in his plays so doting, 
 
 Which many people pass for wits by quoting. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then there were Frenchmen, gallant, young 
 and gay : 
 But I'm too great a patriot to record 
 Their Gallic names upon a glorious day ; 
 I'd rather tell ten lies than say a word 
 Of truth ; — such truths are treason ; they be- 
 tray 
 Their country ; and as traitors are abhorr'd 
 Who name the French in English, save to show 
 How Peace should make John Bull the 
 Frenchman's foe. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Russians, having built two batteries on 
 An Isle near Ismail, had two ends in view ; 
 
 The first was to bombard it, and knock down 
 The public buildings, and the private too, 
 
 No matter what poor souls might be undone. 
 The City's shape suggested this, 'tis true ; 
 
 Form'd like an amphitheatre, each dwelling 
 
 Presented a fine mark to throw a shell in. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The second object was to profit by 
 The moment of the general consternation, 
 
 To attack the Turk's flotilla, which lay nigh 
 Extremely tranquil, anchor'd at its station : 
 
 But a third motive was as probably 
 To frighten them into capitulation ; 
 
 A phantasy which sometimes seizes warriors. 
 
 Unless they are game as Bull-dogs and Fox- 
 terriers. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 A habit rather blameable, which is 
 
 That of despising those we combat with. 
 Common in many cases, was in this 
 The cause of killing Tchitchitzkoff and 
 Smith ; 
 One of the valourous " Smiths" whom we 
 shall miss 
 Out of those nineteen who late rhymed to 
 "pith;" ["Madam," 
 
 But 'tis a name so spread o'er " Sir" and 
 That one would think the first who bore it 
 " Adam." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The Russian batteries were incomplete. 
 Because they were constructed in a hurry ; 
 
 Thus the same cause which makes a verse 
 
 want feet, [Murray, 
 
 And throws a cloud o'er Longman and John 
 
 When the sale of new books is not so fleet 
 As they who print them think is necessary. 
 
 May likewise put oS' for a time what story 
 
 Sometimes calls " murder," and at others 
 " glory." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Whether it was their engineer's stupidity. 
 Their haste, or waste, I neither know nor 
 care. 
 
 Or some contractor's personal cupidity. 
 Saving his soul by cheating in the ware 
 
 Of homicide, but there was no solidity 
 In the new batteries erected there ; 
 
 They either miss'd, or they were never miss'd, 
 
 And added greatly to the missing list. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A sad miscalculation about distance 
 Made all their naval matters incorrect ; 
 
 Three fireships lost their amiable existence 
 Before they reach'd a spot to take efiect : 
 
 The match was lit too soon, and no assistance 
 Could remedy this lubberly defect; 
 
 They blew up in the middle of the river, 
 
 While, though 't\vas dawn, the Turks slept 
 fast as ever 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 183 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 At seven they rose, however, and survey'd 
 The Russ flotilla getting under way ; 
 
 'Twas nine, when still advancing undismay'd, 
 Within a cable's length their vessels lay 
 
 Uff Ismail, and commenced a cannonade, 
 Which was return'd with interest, I may 
 say, 
 
 And by a fire of musquetry and grape 
 
 And shells and shot of every size and shape. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 For six hours bore they without intermission 
 The Turkish fire, and aided by their own 
 
 Land batteries, work'd their gnns with great 
 precision ; 
 At length they found mere cannonade alone 
 
 By no means would produce the town's sub- 
 mission, 
 And made a signal to retreat at one. 
 
 One bark blew up, a second near the works 
 
 Running aground, was taken by the Turks. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Moslem too had lost both ships and men ; 
 
 But when they saw the enemy retire. 
 Their Delhis mann'd some boats, and sail'd 
 again 
 
 And gall'd the Russians with a heavy fire. 
 And tried to make a landing on the main ; 
 
 But here the efiect fell short of their desire : 
 Count Damas drove them back into the water 
 Pell mell, and with a whole gazette of slaugh- 
 ter. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 "If" (says the historian here) " I could report 
 All that the Russians did upon this day, 
 
 1 think that several volumes would fall short, 
 And I should still have many things to say ;" 
 
 And so he says no more — but pays his court 
 To some distinguish'd strangers in that fray ; 
 
 The Prince de Ligne, and Langeron, and 
 Damas, 
 
 Names great as any that the roll of Fame has. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 This being the case, may show us what fame 
 is : [how 
 
 For out of these three " preux Chevalitrs," 
 Many of common readers give a guess 
 
 That such existed ? (and they may live now 
 
 For aught we know.) Renown's all hit or 
 
 miss ; [allow. 
 
 There's Fortune even in fame, we must 
 
 'Tis true, the Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne 
 
 Have half withdrawn from him oblivion's 
 
 screen. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But here are men who fought in gallant actions 
 As gallantly as ever heroes fought. 
 
 But buried in the heap of such transactions 
 Their names are rarely found, nor often 
 sought. 
 
 Thus even good fame may suffer sad contrac- 
 tions. 
 And is extiuguish'd sooner than she ought : 
 
 Of all our modern battles, I will bet 
 
 You can 't repeat nine names from each Gazette. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 In short, this last attack, though rich in glory, 
 Shovr'd that somewhere^ somehow, there was 
 a fault. 
 
 And Admiral Ribas (known in Russian story) 
 Most strongly recommended an assault ; 
 
 In which he was opposed by young and hoary. 
 Which made a long debate ; but 1 must halt. 
 
 For if 1 wrote down every warrior's speech, 
 
 I doubt few readers e'er would mount the 
 breach. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 There was a man, if that he was a man. 
 Not that his manhood could be call'd in 
 question, 
 
 For had he not been Hercules, his span 
 Had been as short in youth as indigestion 
 
 Made his last illness, when, all worn and wan. 
 He died beneath a tree, as much unblest on 
 
 The soil of the green province he had wasted. 
 
 As e'er was locust on the land it blasted. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 This was Potemkin — a great thing in days 
 When homicide and harlotry made great; 
 
 If stars and titles could entail long praise. 
 His glory might half eqnal his estate. 
 
 This fellow, being six fcot high, could raise 
 A kind of phantasy proportionate 
 
 In the then Sovereign of the Russian people. 
 
 Who measured men as you would do a steeple. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 While things were in abeyance, Ribas sent 
 A courier to the Prince, and he succeeded 
 
 In ordering matters after his own bent ; 
 I cannot tell the way in which he pleade J, 
 
 But shortly he had cause to be content. 
 In the mean time, the batteries proceeded. 
 
 And fourscore cannon on the Danube's border 
 
 Were briskly fired and answer'd in due order. 
 
184 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But on the thirteenth, when already part 
 Of the troops were embark' d, the siege to 
 raise, 
 
 A courier on the spur inspired new heart 
 Into all panters for newspaper praise. 
 
 As well as dilettanti in war's art, 
 By his despatches couch'd in pithy praise ; 
 
 Announcing the appointment of that lover of 
 
 Battles, to the command, Field Marshal Sou- 
 varoff. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The letter of the Prince to the same Marshal 
 Was worthy of a Spartan, had the cause 
 
 Been one to which a good heart could be 
 partial — 
 Defence of freedom, country, or of laws ; 
 
 But as it was mere lust of power to o'er-arch 
 
 all [plause. 
 
 With its proud brow, it merits slight ap- 
 
 Save for its style, which said, all in a trice, 
 
 '* You will take Ismail at whatever price." 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Let there be light ! said God, and there was 
 light \" 
 " Let there be blood !" says man, and there's 
 a sea! 
 The fiat of this spoil'd child of the Night 
 
 (For Day ne'er saw his merits) could decree 
 More evil in an hour, than thirty bright 
 Summers could renovate, though they should 
 be 
 Lovely as those which ripen'd Eden's fruit. 
 For war cuts up not only branch, but root. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Our friends the Turks, who with loud " Al- 
 lahs" now 
 
 Began to signalize the Russ retreat. 
 Were damnably mistaken ; few are slow 
 
 In thinking that their enemy is beat, 
 (Or beaten, if you insist on grammar, though 
 
 I never think about it in a heat) 
 But here I say the Turks were much mistaken, 
 Who hating hogs, yet wish'd to save their 
 bacon. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 For, on the sixteenth, at full gallop, drew 
 In sight two horsemen, who were deem'd 
 Cossacques 
 
 For some time, till they came in nearer view. 
 They had but little baggage at their backs, 
 
 For there were but Mrec shirtsbetween the two ; 
 But on they rode upon two Ukraine hacks. 
 
 Till, in approaching, were at length descried 
 
 In this plain pair, Suwarrow and his guide. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Great joy to London now '." says some great 
 fool, 
 When London had a grand illumination, 
 Which to that bottle-conjurer, John Bull, 
 Is of all dreams the first hallucination ; 
 So that the streets of colour'd lamps are full, 
 That Sage {said John) surrenders at dis- 
 cretion 
 His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his 
 
 nonsense, 
 To gratify, like a huge moth, this one sense. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 'Tis strange that he should further " damn 
 his eyes," [oath 
 
 For they are damn'd ; that once all-famous 
 Is to the devil now no further prize. 
 
 Since John has lately lost the use of both. 
 Debt he calls wealth, and taxes. Paradise ; 
 
 And Famine, with her gaunt and bony 
 growth. 
 Which stare him in the face, he wont examine, 
 Or swears that Ceres hath begotten Famine. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But to the tale ; — great joy unto the camp ! 
 
 To Eussian, Tartar, English, French, Co3- 
 sacque. 
 O'er whom Suwarrow shone like a gas lamp, 
 
 Presaging a most luminous attack, 
 Or like a wisp alone the marsh so damp. 
 
 Which leads beholders on a boggy walk. 
 He flitted to and fro a dancing Gght, 
 Which all who saw it follow'd, wrong or right. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 But certes matters took a different face ; 
 
 There was enthusiasm and much applause. 
 The fleet and camp saluted with great grace. 
 
 And all presaged Good Fortune to their 
 cause. 
 Within a cannon-shot length of the place 
 
 They drew, constructed ladders, repair'd 
 flaws 
 In former works, made new, prepared fascines, 
 And all kinds of benevolent machines. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 'Tis thus the spirit of a single mind 
 Makes that of multitudes take one direction. 
 
 As roll the waters to the breathing wind, 
 Or roams the herd beneath the bull's pro- 
 tection ; 
 
 Or as a little dog will lead the blind, 
 
 Or a bell-wether form the flock's connection 
 
 By tinkling sounds, when they go forth to 
 victual ; 
 
 Such is the sway of your great men o'er little. 
 
I 
 
 DON JUAUr. 
 
 185 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 The whole camp rung with joy ; you would 
 have thought 
 
 That they were going to a marriage feast : 
 (This metaphor, I think holds good as aught, 
 
 Since there is discord after both at least,) 
 There was not now a luggage boy but sought 
 
 Danger and spoil with ardour much en- 
 creased ; 
 And why 1 because a little— odd— old man, 
 Stript to his shirt, was come to lead the van. 
 
 L. 
 
 But so it was ; and every preparation 
 Was made with all alacrity: the first 
 
 Detachment of three columns took its station, 
 And waited but the signal's voice to burst 
 
 Upon the foe : the second's ordination 
 Was also in three columns, with a thirst 
 
 For Glory gaping o'er a sea of Slaughter : 
 
 The third, in columns two, attack'd by water. 
 
 LI. 
 
 New batteries were erected, and was held 
 A general council, in which Unanimity, 
 
 That stranger to most councils, here prevail'd, 
 As sometimes happens in a great extremity ; 
 
 And every difficulty being dispell'd, 
 Glory began to dawn with due Sublimity, 
 
 While Souvaroff, determined to obtain it. 
 
 Was teaching his recruits to use the bayonet.* 
 
 Lll. 
 
 It is an actual fact, that he, Commander- 
 in-Chief, in proper person deign'd to drill 
 
 The awkward squad, and could afford to 
 squander 
 His time, a corporal's duty to fulfil ; 
 
 Just as you'd break a sucking salamander 
 To swallow flame, and never take it ill ; 
 
 He show'd them how to mount a ladder (which 
 
 Was not like Jacob's) or to cross a ditch. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Also he dress'd up, for the nonce, fascines 
 
 Like men with turbans, scymitars and dirks. 
 And made them charge with bayonet these 
 machines 
 By way of lesson against actual Turks; 
 And when well practised in these mimic 
 scenes, 
 He judged them proper to assail the works ; 
 At which your wise men sneer'd in phrases 
 
 witty : 
 He made no answer ; but he took the city. 
 
 • Fact : Souvaroff did this in person. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Most things were in this posture oathe eve 
 Of the assault, and all the camp was in 
 
 A stern repose ; which you would scarce con- 
 ceive ; [thin, 
 Yet men, resolved to dash through thick and 
 
 Are very silent when they once believe 
 That all is settled : — there was little din, 
 
 For some were thinking of their home and 
 friends. 
 
 And others of themselves and latter ends. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Suwarrow chiefly was on the alert, 
 Surveying, drilling, ordering, jesting, pon- 
 dering. 
 For the man was, we safely may assert, [ing ; 
 A thing to wonder at beyond most wonder- 
 Hero, buflbon, half-demon and half-dirt, 
 
 Praying, instructing, desolating, plundering ; 
 Now Mars, now Momus ; and when bent to 
 A fortress. Harlequin in uniform, [storm 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The day before the assault, while upon drill, 
 For this great Conqueror play'd the corpo- 
 ral, [hill, 
 
 Some Cossacques hovering like hawks round a 
 Had met a party towards the twilight's fall. 
 
 One of whom spoke their tongue or well or ill, 
 'Twas much that he was understood at all ; 
 
 But, whether from his voice, or speech, or 
 manner, [banner. 
 
 They found that he had fought beneath their 
 
 - LVII. 
 
 Whereon immediately at his request 
 They brought him and his comrades to head- 
 quarters ; [guess'd 
 Their dress was Moslem, but you might have 
 That these were merely masquerading Tar- 
 tars, 
 And that beneath each Turkish-fashion'd vest 
 Lurk'd Cliristianity, who sometimes barters 
 Her inward grace for outward show, and 
 
 makes 
 It difficult to shun some strange mistakes. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Suwarrow, who was standing in his shirt 
 Before a company of Calmucks, drilling. 
 
 Exclaiming, fooling, swearing at the inert. 
 And lecturing on the noble art of killing, — 
 
 For deeming human clay but common dirt, 
 This great philosopher was thus instilling 
 
 His maxims, which to martial comprehension 
 
 Proved death in battle equal to a pension)— 
 A a 
 
lag DON JUAN. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Sawarrow, ■when he saw this company 
 Of Cossacques and their prey, turn'd round 
 and cast 
 Upon them his slow brow and piercing eye : — 
 " Whence come ye ?" — " From Constantin- 
 ople last, 
 Captives just now escaped," was the reply. 
 " What are ye T— " What you see us." 
 Briefly pass'd 
 This dialogue ; for he who answer'd knew 
 To whom he spoke, and made his words but 
 few. 
 
 LX. 
 " Your names?" — "Mine's Johnson, and my 
 comrade's, Juan, 
 The other two are women, and the third 
 Is neither man nor woman." The Chief threw 
 on [heard 
 
 The party a slight glance, then said : " I have 
 Vour name before, the second is a new one : 
 To bring the other three here was absurd : 
 But let that pass : — I think I have heard your 
 
 name 
 In the Nikolaiew regiment 1" — " The same." 
 
 LXI. 
 " You served at Widin ?"— " Yes."—" You led 
 the attack ?" [know." 
 
 " I did."—" What next ?"— " I really hardly 
 " Yon were the first i' the breach t" — " I was 
 not slack 
 At least to follow those who might be so." 
 " What foUow'd 1" — " A shot laid- me on my 
 And I beceune a prisoner to the foe." [back, 
 " You shall have vengeance, for the town sur- 
 rounded [wounded. 
 Is twice as strong as that where you were 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Where will you serve ?" — " Where'er you 
 please." — " I know 
 You like to be the hope of the forlorn, 
 And doubtless would be foremost on the foe 
 After the hardships you've already borne. 
 And this young fellow — say what can he do ? 
 He with the beardless chin and garments 
 torn?" 
 " Why, General, if he hath no greater fault 
 In war than love, he had better lead the as- 
 sault." 
 
 LXIII. 
 " He shall if that he dare." Here Juan bow'd 
 Low as the compliment deserved. Suwarrow 
 Continued : " Your old regiment's allow'd 
 
 By special providence, to lead to-morrow. 
 Or it may be, to-night, the assault ; I have 
 vow'd [harrow 
 
 To several saints, that shortly plough or 
 Shall pass o'er what was Ismail, and its tusk 
 lie unimDeded b; the proudest Mosqne. 
 
 LXTV. 
 
 So now, my lads, for Glory !" — Here he tarn'd 
 And drill'd away in the most classic Russian, 
 
 Until each high, heroic bosom burn'd 
 For cash and conquest, as if from a cushion 
 
 A preacher had held forth (who nobly spurn'd 
 All earthly goods save tithes) and bade them 
 push on 
 
 To slay the Pagans, who resisted battering 
 
 The armies of the Christian Empress Catherine. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Johnson, who knew by this long colloquy 
 Himself a favourite, ventured to address 
 
 Suwarrow, though engaged with accents higit 
 In his resumed amusement. " 1 confess 
 
 My debt in being thus allow'd to die 
 
 Among the foremost; but if you'd express 
 
 Explicitly our several posts, my friend 
 
 And self would know what duty to attend." 
 
 LXVI. , 
 
 " Right ! I was busy, and forgot. Why, you 
 
 Will join your former regiment, which 
 
 should be [to— 
 
 Now under arms. Ho ! KatskofF, take him 
 (Here he call'd up a Polish orderly) 
 
 His post I mean, the regiment Nikolaiew ; 
 The stranger stripling may remain with me : 
 
 He's a fine boy. The women may be sent 
 
 To the other baggage, or to the sick tent." 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 But here a sort of scene began to ensue ; 
 The ladies, — who by no means had been 
 bred 
 To be disposed of in a way so new. 
 
 Although their haram education led 
 Doubtless to that of doctrines the most true. 
 Passive obedience, — now raised up the 
 head, [fiuog 
 
 With flashing eyes and starting tears, and 
 Their arms, as hens their wings about their 
 joung, 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 O'er the promoted couple of brave men 
 Who were Chief thus honour'd by the greatest 
 
 That ever peopled hell with heroes slain. 
 Or plunged a province or a realm in grief. 
 
 Oh, foolish mortals ! Always taught in vain ! 
 Oh, glorious laurel ! since for one sole leaf 
 
 Of thine imaginary, deathless tree. 
 
 Of blood and tears must flow the unebbiug 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 187 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Suwarrow, who had small regard for tears, 
 And not much sympathy for blood, survey'd 
 
 The women with their hair about their ears 
 And natural agonies, with a slight shade 
 
 Of feeling ; for however habit sears 
 Men's hearts against whole millions, when 
 their trade 
 
 Is butchery, sometimes a single sorrow 
 
 Will touch even Heroes, and snch was Su- 
 warrow. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 He said,— and in the kindest Calmuck tone,— 
 " Why, Johnson, what the devil do you 
 mean 
 
 By bringing women here? They shall be shown 
 All the attention possible, and seen 
 
 In safety to the waggons, where alone 
 In fact they can be safe. You should have 
 been 
 
 Aware this kind of baggage never thrives : 
 
 Save wed a year, I hate recruits with wives." 
 
 I,XXI. 
 
 " May it please your Excellency," thus replied 
 Our British friend, " these are the wives of 
 others, 
 
 And not our own. I am too qualified 
 By service with my military brothers. 
 
 To break the rules by bringing one's own bride 
 Into a camp : I know that nought so bothers 
 
 The hearts of the heroic on a charge. 
 
 As leaving a small family at large. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 ! " But these are but two Turkish ladies, who 
 With their attendant aided our escape, 
 
 [ And afterwards accompanied us through 
 A thousand perils in this dubious shape. 
 
 ' To me this kind of life is not so new ; 
 
 I( To them, poor things, it is an awkward 
 , step : 
 
 ' I therefore, if you wish me to fight freely. 
 Request that they may both be used genteelly." 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Meantime these twopoor girls, with swimming 
 eyes, 
 Look'd on as if in doubt if they could trust 
 Their own protectors; — nor was their surprise 
 Less than their grief (and truly not less just) 
 , To see an old man, rather wild than wise 
 
 In aspect, plainly clad, besmeared with dust, 
 ' Stript to his waistcoat, and that not too clean. 
 More fear'd than all the Sultans ever seen. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 For every thing seem'd resting on his nod. 
 As they could read in all eyes. Now to 
 them 
 
 Who were accustom'd, as a sort of Goil, 
 To see the Sultan, rich in many a gem, 
 
 tike an Imperi-dl Peacock stalk abroad, 
 (That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem) 
 
 With all the Pomp of Power, it was a doubt 
 
 How Power could condescend to do without. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 John Johnson, seeing their extreme dismay, 
 Though little versed in feelings Oriental, 
 
 Suggested some slight comfort in his way : 
 Don Juan, who was much more sentimental. 
 
 Swore they should see him by the dawn of 
 day, 
 Or that the Russian army should repent all : 
 
 And, strange to say, they found some consola- 
 tion 
 
 In this, for females like exaggeration. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 And then with tears, and sighs, and some 
 slight kisses, 
 
 They parted for the present, these to await, 
 According to the artillery's hits or misses. 
 
 What Sages call Chance, Providence, or 
 Fate- 
 Uncertainty is one of many blisses, 
 
 A mortgage on Humanity's estate- 
 While their beloved friends began to arm. 
 To burn a tovm which never did them harm. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Suwarrow, — ^who but saw things in the gross. 
 Being much too gross to see them in detail. 
 
 Who calculated life as so much dross. 
 And as the wind a widow'd nation's wail. 
 
 And cared as little for his army's loss 
 (So that their efibrts should at length pre- 
 vail) 
 
 As wife and friends did for the boils of Job,— . 
 
 What was't to him to hear two women sob? 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Nothing. — ^The work of Glory still went on 
 
 In preparations for a cannonade 
 A a terrible as that of Ilion, 
 
 If Homer had found mortars ready made ; 
 But now, instead of slaying Priam's son, 
 
 We only can but talk of escalade, 
 Bombs, drums, guns, bastions, batteries, 
 
 bayonets, bullets, 
 Hard words, which stick in the soft Muses' 
 gullets. 
 
188 
 
 DON JTTAN. 
 
 txxix. 
 
 Oh, thou eternal Homer ! who conldst charm 
 All ears, though long ; all ages, though go 
 short, 
 
 By merely wielding with poetic arm. 
 Arms to which men will never more resort, 
 
 Unless gun-powder should be found to harm 
 Much less than is the hope of every Court, 
 
 Which now is leagued young Freedom to an- 
 noy; 
 
 But they will not find Liberty a Troy : — 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Ob, thou eternal Homer ! I have now 
 To paint a siege, wherein more men were 
 slain. 
 
 With deadlier engines and a speedier blow. 
 Than in thy Greek gazette of that campaigu ; 
 
 And yet, like all men else, I must allow. 
 To vie with thee would be about as vain 
 
 As for a brook to cope with Ocean's flood; 
 
 But still we Moderns equal you in blood ; 
 
 IiXXXI. 
 
 If not in poetry, at least in fact. 
 
 And fact is truth, the grand desideratum ! 
 Of which, howe'er the Muse describes each act, 
 
 There should be ne'ertheless a slight sub- 
 stratum. 
 But now the town is going to be attack'd. 
 
 Great deeds are doing — how shall I relate 
 'em! 
 Souls of immortal generals ! Phoebus watches 
 To colour up his rays from your despatches. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Oh, ye great bulletins of Bonaparte 1 
 Oh, ye less grand long lists of kill'd and 
 wounded ! 
 
 Shade of Leonidas, who fought so hearty, 
 When my poor Greece was once, as now, 
 surrounded ! 
 
 Oh, Cassar'a Commentaries ! now impart ye. 
 Shadows of glory ! (lest I be confounded) 
 
 A portion of your fading twilight hues. 
 
 So beautiful, so fleeting, to the Muse. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 When 1 call " fading" martial immortality, 
 I mean, that every age and every year. 
 
 And almost every day, in sad reality, 
 Some sacking hero is compell'd to rear, 
 
 Who, when we come to sum up the totality 
 Of deeds to human happiness most dear. 
 Turns out to be a butcher in great business. 
 Afflicting young folks with a sort of dizziness. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Medals, ranks, ribbons, lace, embroidery, 
 scarlet, i 
 
 Are things immortal to immortal man, i 
 As purple to the Babylonian harlot: ' 
 
 A uniform to boys, is like a fan 
 To women ; there is scarce a crimson varlet 
 
 But deems himself the first in Glory's van. 
 But Gloiy 's Glory ; and if you would find 
 What that is — ask the pig who sees the wind ! 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 At least he feels it, and some say he sees. 
 Because he runs before it like a pig ; 
 
 Or, if that simple sentence should displease. 
 Say that he scuds before it like a brig, 
 
 A schooner, or — ^but it is time to ease 
 This Canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue. 
 
 The next shall ring a peal to shake all people, 
 
 Like a bob-major from a village steeple. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Hark ! through the silence of the cold, dull 
 night. 
 
 The hnm of armies gathering rank on rank ! 
 Lo I dusky masses steal in dubious sight 
 
 Along the leaguer'd wall and bristling bank 
 Of the arm'd river, while with straggling light 
 
 The stars peep through the vapours dim and 
 dank, [smoke 
 
 Which curl in curious wreaths — How soon the 
 Of Hell shall pall them in a deeper cloak ! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Here pause we for the present — as even then 
 That awful pause, dividing life from death. 
 
 Struck for an instant on the hearts of men. 
 Thousands of whom were drawing their last 
 breath ! 
 
 A moment ! and all will be life again • 
 The march ! the charge I the shouts of either 
 faith ! 
 
 Hurra ! and Allah ! and, one moment more, 
 
 The Death-cry drowning in the battle's roar. 
 
w>(^m 3mAm^ 
 
 CANTO VIII. 
 
 t 
 
 Oh blood and tliunder ! and oh blood and 
 wounds ! 
 
 These are bntvnlgar oaths, as you may deem, 
 Too gentle reader ! and most shocking sounds : 
 
 And so they are ; yet thus is Glory's dream 
 Unriddled, and as my true muse expounds 
 
 At present such things, since they are her 
 theme, 
 So be they her inspirers ! Call them Mars, 
 Bellona, what you will — they mean but wars. 
 
 II. 
 
 All was prepared — the fire, the sword, the men 
 
 To wield them in their terrible array. 
 The army, like a lion from his den, 
 March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to 
 slay,— 
 A human Hydra, issuing from its fen 
 
 To breathe destruction on its winding way, 
 Whose heads were heroes which cut off in vain 
 Immediately in others grew again. 
 
 III. 
 
 History can only take things in the gross ; 
 
 But could we know them in detail, per- 
 chance 
 In balancing the profit and the loss. 
 
 War's merit it by no means might enhance, 
 To waste so much gold for a little dross. 
 
 As hath been done, mere conquest to ad- 
 vance. 
 The drying up a single tear has more 
 Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And why I — because it brings self-approbation ; 
 
 Whereas the other, after all its glare. 
 Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a na- 
 tion,— [spare. 
 
 Which (it may be) has not much left to 
 A higher title, or a loftier station, [stare, 
 
 Though they may make Corruption gape or 
 Yet, in the end, except in freedom's battles. 
 Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles. 
 
 And such they are — and such they will be 
 found. 
 
 Not so Leonidas and V^ashington, 
 Whose every battle-field is holy ground. 
 
 Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds 
 undone. 
 How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound ! 
 
 While the mere victor's may appal or stun 
 The servile and the vain, such names will be 
 A watchword till the future shall be free. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The night was dark, and the thick mist al- 
 low'd 
 
 Nought to be seen save the artillery's flame, 
 Which arch'd the horizon like a fiery cloud. 
 
 And in the Danube's waters shone the same — 
 A mirror'd Hell ! the volleying roar, and loud 
 
 Long booming of each peal on peal, o'ercame 
 
 The ear far more than thunder ; for Heaven's 
 
 flashes [ashes ! 
 
 Spare, or smite rarely— Man's make millions 
 
 VII. 
 
 The column order'd on the assault scarce 
 pass'd 
 Beyond the Russian batteries a few toises, 
 When up the bristling Moslem rose at last. 
 Answering the Christian thunders with like 
 voices ; [braced. 
 
 Then one vast fire, air, earth and stream em- 
 Which rock'd us 'twere beneath the mighty 
 noises ; [when 
 
 While the whole rampart blaz'd like Etna, 
 The restless Titan hiccups in his den. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And one enormous shout of " Allah '." rose 
 In the same moment, loud aa even the roar 
 
 Of War's most mortal engines, to their foes 
 Hurling defiance : city, stream, and shore. 
 
 Resounded " Allah !" and the clouds which 
 close 
 With thickening canopy the conflict o'er. 
 
 Vibrate to the Eternal name. Hark I through 
 
 All sounds it pierceth " Allah ! AUah ! Hu t" » 
 
iga 
 
 SON JTTAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The columns were in movement one and all, 
 But of the portion which attack'd by water, 
 
 Thicker than leaves the lives began to fall, 
 Though led by Arseniew, that great son of 
 Slaughter, 
 
 As brave as ever faced both bomb and ball. 
 " Carnage" (so Wordsworth tells you) " is 
 God's daughter ;" 
 
 If Ae speak truth, she is Christ's sister, and 
 
 Just now behaved as in the Holy Land. 
 
 The Prince de Ligne was wounded in the 
 knee : [tween 
 
 Count Chapeau-Bras too had a ball be- 
 His cap and head, which proves the head to be 
 
 Aristocratic as was ever seen. 
 Because it then received no injury [mean 
 
 More than the cap ; in fact the ball could 
 No harm unto a right legitimate head ; 
 " Ashes to "ashes" — ^why not lead to lead ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 Also the General Markow, Brigadier, 
 Insisting on removal of the Prince 
 
 Amidst some groaning thousands dying near, — 
 All common fellows, who might writhe, and 
 wince, 
 
 And shriek for water into a deaf ear, — 
 The General Markow, who could thus 
 evince 
 
 His sympathy for rank, by the same token, 
 
 To teach him greater, had his own leg broken. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic. 
 And thirty thousand musquets flung their 
 pills 
 Like hail, to make a bloody diuretic. 
 
 Mortality ! thou hast thy monthly bills ; 
 
 Thy Plagues, thy Famines, thy Physicians, 
 
 yet tick, [ills 
 
 Like the death-watch, within our ears the 
 
 Past, present, and to come ; but all may 
 
 yield 
 To the true portrait of one battle-field. 
 
 xin. 
 
 There the still-varying pangs, which multiply 
 Until their very number makes men hard 
 
 By the infinities of agony, 
 Which meet the gaze, whate'er it may re- 
 gard— 
 
 The groan, the roll in dust, the all-white eye 
 Turn'd back within its socket, — these re- 
 ward [rest 
 
 Your rank and file by thousands, while the 
 
 May win perhaps a^ibbon at the breast ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Vet I love Glory ;— glory's a great thing : — 
 Think what it is to be in your old age 
 
 Maintain'd at the expense of your good king 
 A moderate pension shakes full many 
 sage. 
 
 And heroes are but made for bards to sing, 
 Which is still better ; thus in verse to wage 
 
 Your wars eternally, besides enjoying 
 
 Half-pay for life, make mankind worth de-1 
 slroying. | 
 
 XV. 
 
 The troops, already disembark'd, push'd on 
 To take a battery on the right ; the others. 
 
 Who landed lower down, their landing done, 
 Had set to work as briskly as their brothers : 
 
 Being grenadiers they mounted one by one. 
 Cheerful as children climb the breasts of 
 mothers, 
 
 O'er the entrenchment and the palisade. 
 
 Quite orderly, as if upon parade. 
 
 XVL 
 
 And this was admirable ; for bo hot 
 The fire was, that were red Vesuvius 
 loaded, 
 Besides its lava, with all sorts of shot 
 And shells or hells, it could not more have 
 goaded. 
 Of ofiicers a third fell on the spot, 
 
 A thing which victory by no means boded 
 To gentlemen engaged in the assault : 
 Hounds, when the huntsman tumbles, are at 
 fault. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But here I leave the general concern. 
 To track our hero on his path of fame : 
 
 He must his laurels separately earn ; 
 For fifty thousand heroes, name by name. 
 
 Though all deserving equally to turn 
 A couplet, or an elegy to claim, 
 
 Would form a lengthy lexicon of glory. 
 
 And what is worse still, a much longer story : 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And therefore we must give the greater num- 
 ber [dealt 
 To the Gazette — which doubtless fairly 
 By the deceased, who lie in famous slumber 
 In ditches, fields, or wheresoe'er they felt 
 Their clay for the last time their souls encum- 
 ber ;— [spelt 
 Thrice happy he whose name has been well 
 In the despatch : I knew a man whose loss 
 Was printed Grove, although his name was 
 Grose. ° 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 191 
 
 Juan and Johnson join'd a certain corps, 
 And fought away with might and main, not 
 knowing 
 TJie way which they had never trod before, 
 And Blill less guessing where they might be 
 going ; [o'er. 
 
 But on they march'd, dead bodies trampling 
 Firing, and thrusting, slashing, sweating, 
 glowing. 
 But fighting thoughtlessly enough to win. 
 To their two selves, one whole bright bulletin. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Thus on they wallow'd in the bloody mire 
 Of dead and dying thousands, — sometimes 
 gaining [nigher 
 
 A yard or two of ground, which brought them 
 To some odd angle for which all were strain- 
 ing; 
 At other times, repulsed by the close fire, 
 Which really pour'd as if all Hell were 
 raining, [o'er 
 
 Instead of Heaven, they stumbled backwards 
 A wounded comrade, sprawling in his gore. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Though 'twas Bon Juan's first of fields, and 
 though 
 
 The nightly muster and the silent march 
 tn the chill dark, when courage does not glow 
 
 So much as under a triumphal arch. 
 Perhaps might make him shiver, yawn or 
 throw [starch, 
 
 A glance on the dull clouds (as thick as 
 Which stiffen'd Heaven) as if he wish'd for 
 Yet for all this he did not run away, [day ; — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Indeed he could not. But what if he had ? 
 
 There have been and are heroes who begun 
 With something not much better or as bad : 
 
 Frederick the Great from Molwitz deign'd to 
 run, 
 For the first and last time ; for, like a pad. 
 
 Or hawk, or bride, most mortals after one 
 Warm bout are broken into their new tricks, 
 iVnd fight lilie fiends for pay or politics. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 He was what Erin calls, in her sublime 
 Old Erse or Irish, or it may be Punic ; — 
 
 The Antiquarians who can settle Time, 
 Which settles all things, Roman, Greek or 
 Runic, 
 
 Swear that Pat's language sprung from the 
 same clime 
 With Hannibal, and wears the Tyrian tunic 
 
 Of Dido's alphabet ; and this is rational 
 
 \s any other notion, and not national ;) — ■* 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 But Juan was quite " a broth of a boy," 
 A thing of impulse and a child of song ; 
 
 Now swimming in the sentiment of joy. 
 Or the sensation (if that phrase seem wrong) 
 
 And afterwards, if he must needs destroy. 
 In such good company as always throng 
 
 To battles, sieges, and that kind of pleasure, 
 
 No less delighted to employ his leisure ; 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But always without malice ; if he warr'd 
 Or loved, it was with what we call " the 
 best [card. 
 
 Intentions," which form all mankind's trump 
 To be produced when brought up to the test. 
 
 The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer — ward 
 Off each attack when people are in quest 
 
 Of their designs, by saying they meant well; 
 
 'Tis pity " that such meaning should pave 
 Hell." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 I almost lately have begun to doubt 
 Whether Hell's pavement — if itbe so pared — 
 
 Must not have latterly been quite worn out, 
 Not by the numbers Good Intent hath saved. 
 
 But by the mass who go below without 
 Those ancient good intentions, which once 
 shaved [Hell 
 
 And smoothed the brimstone of that street of 
 
 Which bears the greatest likeness to Pall Mall. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Juan, by some strange chance, which oft di- 
 vides 
 
 Warrior from warrior in their grim career. 
 Like chastest wives from constant husbands' 
 •sides 
 
 Just at the close of the first bridal year, 
 By one of those odd turns of Fortune's tides, 
 
 Was on a sudden rather puzzled here, 
 When, after a Good deal of heavy firing. 
 He found himself alone, and friends retiring. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 I don't know how the thing occur'd — it might 
 Be that the greater part were kill'd or 
 wounded. 
 
 And that the rest had faced unto the right 
 About ; a circumstance which has contbund- 
 
 Cassar himself, who in the very sight [ed 
 
 Of his whole army, which so much abounded 
 
 In courage, was obliged to snatch a shield 
 
 And rally back his Romans to the field. 
 
m 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Juan, vrho had no shield to snatch, and was 
 No Caesar, but a fine young lad, who fought 
 
 He knew not why, arriving at this pass, 
 Stopp'd for a minute, as perhaps he ought 
 
 For a much longer time ; then, like an ass — 
 (Start not, kind reader, since great Homer 
 thought 
 
 This simile enough for Ajax, Juan 
 
 Perhaps may find it better than a new one) ; — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Then, like an ass, he went upon his way, 
 And, what was stranger, never look'd be- 
 hind ; 
 
 But seeing, flashing forward, like the day 
 Over the hills, a fire enough to blind 
 
 Those who dislike to look upon a fray. 
 He stumbled on, to try if he could find 
 
 A path, to add his own slight arm and forces 
 
 To corps, the greater part of which were corses. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Perceiving then no more the commandant 
 Of his own corps, nor even the corps, which 
 had [can't 
 
 Quite disappear'd — the gods know how! (I 
 Account for every thing which may look bad 
 
 In history ; but we at least may grant 
 It was not marvellous that a mere lad, 
 
 In search of glory, should look on before. 
 
 Nor care a pinch of enuff about his corps :) — 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Perceiving nor commander nor commanded. 
 And left at large, like a young heir, to make 
 
 His way to — where he knew not — single 
 handed ; 
 As travellers follow over bog and brake 
 
 An " Ignis fatuus ;" or as sailors stranded 
 Unto the nearest hut themselves betake ; 
 
 So Juan, following honour and his nose, 
 
 Rush'd where the thickest fire announced 
 most foes. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He knew not where he was, nor greatly cared. 
 For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins 
 
 Fill'd as with lightning^ — for his Spirit shared 
 The hour, as is the case with lively brains ; 
 
 And where the hottest fire was seen and 
 
 heard, [strains. 
 
 And the loud cannon peal'd his hoarsest 
 
 He rush'd, while Earth and Air were sadly 
 shaken 
 
 By thy humane discovery, Friar Bacon ! * 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And as he rush'd along, it came to pass he 
 Fell in with what was late the second 
 column, 
 
 Under the orders of the General Lascy, 
 But now reduced, as is a bulky volume 
 
 Into an elegant extract (much less massy) 
 Of heroism, and took his place with solemn 
 
 Air 'midst the rest, who kept their valiant 
 faces 
 
 And levell'd weapons still against the glacis. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Just at this crisis up came Johnson too. 
 Who had " retreated," as the phrase is when 
 
 Men run away much rather than go through 
 Destruction's jaws into the devil's den ; 
 
 But Johnson was a clever fellow, who 
 Knew when and how " to cut and come 
 again," 
 
 And never ran away, except when running 
 
 Was nothing but a valourous kind of cunning. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And so, when all his corps were dead or 
 dying. 
 Except Don Juan, a mere novice, whose 
 More virgin valour never dreamt of flying. 
 From ignorance of danger, which indues 
 Its votaries, like Innocence relying 
 On its own strength, with careless nerves 
 and thews,— 
 Johnson retired a little, just to rally 
 Those who catch cold in " shadows of Death's 
 valley." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And there, a little shelter'd from the shot 
 
 Whichrain'd from bastion, battery, parapet. 
 Rampart, wall, casement, house — ^for their 
 was not 
 In this extensive city, sore beset 
 By Christian soldiery, a single spot 
 Which did not combat like the devil, as 
 yet, — [ter'd 
 
 He found a number of Chasseurs, all seat- 
 By the resistance of the chase they batter'd. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And these he call'd on ; and, whafs strange, 
 they came 
 
 Unto his call, unlike " the Spirits from 
 The vasty deep," to whom you may exclaim, 
 
 Says Hotspur, long ere they will leave their 
 home. 
 Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame 
 
 At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb. 
 And that odd impulse, which in wars or creeds 
 Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads. 
 
SON J1TAN. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 igj) 
 
 By Jove ! he was a noble fellow, Johnson, 
 And though his name, than Ajaxor Achilles 
 
 Sounds less harmonions, underneath the sun 
 
 soon [his 
 
 We shall not see his likeness : he could kill 
 
 Man quite as quietly as blows the Monsoon 
 Her steady breath (which some months the 
 same still is:) 
 
 Seldom he raried feature, hue, or muscle, 
 
 And could be very busy without bustle ; 
 
 XL. 
 
 And therefore, when he ran away, he did so 
 Upon reflection, knowing that behind 
 
 He would find others who would fain be rid so 
 Of idle apprehensions, which like wind 
 
 Trouble heroic stomachs. Though their lids so 
 Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind. 
 
 But when they light upon immediate death, 
 
 Retire a little, merely to take breath. 
 
 if xu. 
 
 But Johnson only ran off, to return 
 With many other warriors, as we said. 
 
 Unto that rather somewhat misty bourn, 
 Which Hamlet tells us is a pass of dread. 
 
 To Jack however this gave bat slight concern : 
 His soul (like Galvanism upon the dead) 
 
 Acted upon the living as on wire, 
 
 And led them back into the heaviest fire. 
 
 XLJI. 
 
 Egad I they found the second time what they 
 Tlie first time thought quite terrible enough 
 
 To fly from, malgr^ all which people say 
 Of glory, and all that immortal stuff 
 
 Which fills a regiment (besides their pay, 
 That daily shiMing which makes warriors 
 tough) — [come. 
 
 They found on their return the self-same wel- 
 
 Wbich made some think, and others kjutw, a 
 Hell jcome. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 They fell as thick as harvests beneath hall, 
 (irass before sithes, or corn below the 
 sickle, 
 
 Proving that trite old truth, that life's as frail 
 As any other boon for which men stickle. 
 
 The Turkish batteries thrash'd them like a flail 
 Or a good boxer, into a sad pickle. 
 
 Putting the very bravest, who were knock'd 
 
 Upon the head, before their guns were cock'd* 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The Turks behind the traverses and flanks 
 
 Of the next bastion, fired away like devils. 
 
 And swept, as gales sweep foam away, whole 
 
 ranks : [levels 
 
 However, Heaven knows how, the Fate who 
 
 Towns, nations, worlds, in her revolving 
 
 pranks. 
 
 So order'd it, amidst these sulphury revels. 
 
 That Johnson and some few who had not 
 
 scampered, 
 Reach'd the interior talus of the rampart. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 First one or two, then five, six, and a dozen 
 Came mounting quickly up, for it was now 
 
 All neck or nothing, as, like pitch orrosin. 
 Flame was shower'd forth above as well's 
 below, [chosen, 
 
 So that you scarce could say who best had 
 The gentlemen that were the first to show 
 
 Their martial faces on the parapet. 
 
 Or those who thought it brave to wait as yet. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But those who scaled, found out that their 
 advance 
 
 Was favour'd by an accident or blander : 
 The Greek or Turkish Cohorn's ignorance 
 
 Had palisado'd in a way you'd wonder 
 To see in forts of Netherlands or France— 
 
 (Though these to our Gibraltar must knock 
 under) — 
 Right in the middle of the parapet 
 Just named, these palisades were primly set : 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 So that on either side some nine or ten 
 Paces were left, whereon you could contrive 
 
 To march ; a great convenience to our men. 
 At least to all those who were left alive, 
 
 Who thus could form a line and fight again ; 
 And that whicii further aided them to strive 
 
 Was, that they could kick down the palisades, 
 
 Which scarcely rose much higher than grass 
 blades, s 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Among the first, — J will not say the first, 
 
 For such precedence upon such occasions 
 Will oftentimes make deadly quaTr,el3 -burst 
 Oat between friends as well as allied 
 nations : 
 The Briton must be bold who really durst 
 Put to such trial Juhn Bull's partial pa- 
 tience. 
 As say that Wellington at Waterloo [too ; — 
 Was beaten, — though the Prussians say so 
 Bb 
 
194 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 And that if Bli'icher, Bulow, Gneisenau, 
 And God knows who besides in " au" and 
 " ou," 
 
 Had not come up in time to cast an awe 
 Into the hearti of those who fought till now 
 
 As tigers combat with an empty craw, 
 The Duke of Wellington had ceased to show 
 
 His ordprs, also to receive his pensions, 
 
 Which are the heaviest that our history men- 
 tions. 
 
 But never mind ; — " God save the king !" and 
 kings ! 
 
 For if he don't, I doubt if men will longer — 
 I think I hear a little bird, wlio sings 
 
 The people by and bye will be the stronger : 
 The veriest jade will wince whose harness 
 wrings 
 
 So much into the raw as quite to wrong her 
 Beyond the rules of posting, — and the Mob 
 At last fall sick of imitating Job : 
 
 LI. 
 
 At fast it grumbles, then it swears, and then, 
 Like David, flings smooth pebbles 'gainst a 
 giant ; 
 At last it takes to weapons such as men 
 Snatch when despair makes human hearts 
 less pliant. [again, 
 
 Then conies " the tug of war ;" — 'twill come 
 I rather doubt ; and I would fain say " fie 
 on't," 
 If I had not perceived that Revolution [tipn. 
 Alone can save the Earth from Hell's poUa- 
 
 LII. 
 
 But to continue ; — I say not the first. 
 But of the first, our little friend Don Juan 
 
 Walk'd o'er the walls of Ismail, as if nursed 
 Amidst such scenes — though this was quite 
 a new one 
 
 To him, and I should hope to most. The thirst 
 Of Glory, which so pierces through and 
 through one. 
 
 Pervaded him — although a generous creature. 
 
 As warm in heart as feminine in feature. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 And here he was — who upon woman's breast) 
 Even from a child, felt like a child ; howe'er 
 
 The man in all the rest might be confess'd, 
 To him it was Elysium to be there ; 
 
 And he could even withstand that awkward 
 
 test [fair, 
 
 Which Rousseau points out to the dubious 
 
 " Observe your lover when he leaves your 
 arms ;" [charms, 
 
 But Juan never left them, while they had 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Unless compell'd by fate, or wave, or vrind, 
 Or near relations, who are much the same. 
 
 But Acre he was I — where each tie that can bind 
 Humanity must yield to steel and flame : 
 
 And he whose very body was all Mind, 
 Flung here by Fate, or Circumstance, which 
 tame 
 
 The loftiest, hurried by the time and place, 
 
 Dash'd on like a spurr'd blood-horse in a race. 
 
 LV. 
 
 So was his blood stirr'd while he found resis- 
 tance, 
 
 As is the hunter's at the five-bar gate, 
 Or double post and rail, where the existence 
 
 Of Britain's youth depends upon their 
 weight. 
 The lightest being the safest : at a distance 
 
 He hated cruelty, as all men hate 
 Blood, until heated— and even there his own 
 At times would curdle o'er some heavy groan. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The General Lascy, who had been hard 
 , press'd, 
 
 Seeing arrive an aid so opportune 
 A s were some hundred youngsters all abreast. 
 
 Who came as if just dropp'd down from the 
 moon, 
 To Juan, who was nearest him, address'd 
 
 His thanks, and hopes to take the city soon, 
 Not reckoning him to be a " base Bezonian," 
 (As pistol calls it) but a young Livonian, 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Juan, to whom he spoke in German, knew 
 As much of German as of Sanscrit, and 
 
 In answer made an inclination to 
 The General who held him in command ; 
 
 For seeing one with ribbons, black and blue. 
 Stars, medals, and a bloody sword in hand, 
 
 Addressing him in tones which seem'd to thank. 
 
 He recognized an officer of rank. 
 
 LVI 1 1. 
 
 Short speeches pass between two men who 
 speak 
 
 No common language : and besides, in time 
 Of war and taking towns, when many a shriek 
 
 Rings o'er the dialogue, and many a crime 
 Is perpetrated ere a word can break 
 
 Upon the ear, and sounds of horror chime 
 In like church bells, with sigh, howl, groan 
 
 yell, prayer. 
 There cannot be much conversation there. 
 
BON JUAN. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 195 
 
 And therefore all we have related in 
 
 • Two long octaves, pass'd in a little minute ; 
 
 But in the same small minute, every sin 
 
 Contrived to get itself comprised within it. 
 The very cannon, deafened by the din, 
 
 Grew dumb, for you might almost hear a 
 linnet. 
 As soon as thunder, 'midst the general noise 
 Of human Nature's agonizing voice ! 
 
 LX 
 
 The town was enter'd. Ob Eternity ! — 
 " God made the country, and man made the 
 town," 
 
 So Cowper says — and I begin to be 
 Of his opinion, when I see cast down 
 
 Rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh, 
 All walls men know, and many never known ; 
 
 And pondering on the present and the past, 
 
 To deem the woods shall be our home at last :— 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Of all men, saving Sylla the Man-slayer, 
 Who passes for in life and death most lucky. 
 
 Of the great nam^s which in our faces stare. 
 The General Boon, back-woOdsman of Ken- 
 tucky, 
 
 Was happiest amongst mortals any where ; 
 For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he 
 
 Enjoy'd the lonely, vigorous, harmless days 
 
 Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Crime came not near him — she is not the child 
 Of Solitude ; health shrank not from him — 
 for 
 
 Her home is in the rarely-trodden wild. 
 Where if men seek her not, and death be 
 more 
 
 Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguiled 
 By habit to what their own hearts abhor — 
 
 In cities caged. The present case in point 1 
 
 Cite is, that Boon lived hunting up to ninety ; 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 And what's still stranger, left behind a name 
 For which men vainly decimate the throng. 
 
 Not only famous, but of that good fame. 
 Without which Glory's but a tavern song — 
 
 Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame. 
 Which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with 
 wrong; 
 
 An active hermit, even in age the child 
 
 Of Nature, or the man of Ross run wild. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 'Tis true he shrank from men even of his na- 
 tion. 
 
 When they built up unto his darling trees, — 
 He moved some hundred miles oflF, for a station 
 
 Where there were fewer houses and more 
 The inconvenience of civilization [ease ; 
 
 Is, that you neither can be pleased nor 
 please ; 
 But where he met the individual man, 
 He show'd himself as kind as mortal can. 
 
 . LXV. 
 
 He was not all alone : around him grew 
 A sylvan tribe of children of the chace. 
 
 Whose young, unwaken'd world was ever new, 
 Nor sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace 
 
 On her unwrinkled brow, nor could yon view 
 A frown on Nature's or on human face ; — 
 
 The free-born forest found and kept them free, 
 
 And fresh as is a torrent or a tree. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 And tall and strong and swift of foot were 
 they, 
 Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions 
 Because their thoughts had never been the 
 prey [portions > 
 
 Of care or gain: the greenwoods were their 
 No sinking Spirits told them they grew gray. 
 No fashion made them apes of her distor- 
 tions; 
 Simple they were, not savage ; and their rifles. 
 Though very true, were not yet used for trifles. 
 
 LXVIl. 
 
 Motion was in their days, Rest in their slum- 
 bers, [toil ; 
 
 And Cheerfulness the handmaid of their 
 Nor yet too many nor too few their iiumbers ; 
 
 Corruption could not make their hearts her 
 
 soil; [encumbers. 
 
 The Lust which stings, the Splendor which 
 
 With the free foresters divide no spoil ; 
 Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes 
 Of this unsighing people of the woods. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 So much for Nature : — ^by way of variety, 
 Now back to thy great joys, Civilization ! 
 
 And the sweet consequence of large society. 
 War, Pestilence, the despofs desolation, 
 
 The kingly scourge, the Lust of Notoriety, 
 The millions slain by soldiers for their ration. 
 
 The scenes like Catherine's boudoir at three- 
 score. 
 
 With Ismail's storm to soften it the more. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 The town was enter'd : firBl o»ie column made 
 Its sanguinary way good^then another ; 
 
 The reeking bayonet and the flashing blade 
 Clash'd 'gainst the scymitar, and babe and 
 mother [upbraid :— 
 
 With distant shrieks were heard Heaven to 
 Still closer sulphury clouds began to smother 
 
 The breath of Morn and Man, where foot by 
 foot 
 
 The madden'd furks their city still dispute. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Koutousow, he who afterwards beat back 
 (With some assistance from the frost and 
 snow) 
 
 Napoleon on his bold and bloody track, 
 It happen'd was himself beat back just now : 
 
 He was a jolly fellow, and could crack 
 His jest alike in face of friend ot foe, 
 
 Though life, and death, and victory were at 
 stake, [take : 
 
 But here it seem'd his jokes had ceased to 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 For having thrown himself into a ditch, 
 FoUow'd in haste by various grenadiers. 
 
 Whose blood the puddle greatly did enrich. 
 He climb'd to where the parapet appears ; 
 
 But there his project reach'd its utmost pitch, 
 ('Mongst other deaths the General Ribau- 
 pierre's 
 
 Was much regretted) for the Moslem Men 
 
 Threw them all down into the ditch again, 
 
 liXXII. 
 
 And had it not been for some stray troops, 
 landing [stream 
 
 They knew not where, being carried by the 
 To some spot, where they lost fheir under- 
 standing. 
 And wander'd up and down as in a dream. 
 Until they reach'd, as day-break was expand- 
 ing. 
 That which a portal to their eyes did seem, — 
 The great and gay Koutousow might have lain 
 W here three parts of his column yet remain, 
 
 LXXIII, 
 
 And scrambling round the rampart, these same 
 After the taking of the " Cavalier," [troops. 
 
 Just as Koutousow's most " Forlorn" of 
 
 " Hopes" [fear. 
 
 Took like chameleons some slight tinge of 
 
 Open'd the gate call'd " Kilia" to the groups 
 Uf baffled heroes, who stood shyly near. 
 
 Sliding knee-deep in lately frozen mud. 
 
 Now thaw'd iuto a marsh of human blood. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 The Kozacks, or if so you please, Cossacques— 
 (I don't much pique myself upon orthogra- 
 phy, 
 
 So that"! do not grossly err in facts, 
 Statistics, tactics, politics and geography) — 
 
 Having been used to serve on horses' backs, J 
 And no great dilletanti in topography 1 
 
 Of fortresses, but fighting where it pleases 
 
 Their chiefs to order, — were all cut to pieces. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Their column, though the Turkish batteries 
 tbunder'd [rampart, 
 
 Upon them, ne'ertheless had reach'd the 
 And naturally thought they could have plun- 
 der'd 
 The city, without being further hamper'd ; 
 But as it happens to brave men, they blun- 
 der'd — [per'd. 
 
 The Turks at first pretended to have scam- 
 Only to draw them 'twixt two bastion corners. 
 From whence they sallied on those Christian 
 scorners. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Then being taken by the tail — a taking 
 Fatal to bishops as to soldiers— these 
 
 Cossacques were all cut off as day was break- 
 ing, [lease— 
 And found their lives were let at a short 
 
 But perish'd without shivering or shaking, 
 Leaving as ladders their heap'd carcasses. 
 
 O'er which Lieutenant Colonel Yesouskoi 
 
 March'd with the brave battalion of Polouz- 
 ki:-. 
 
 LXXVII, 
 
 This valiant man kill'd all the Turks he met. 
 But could not eat them, being in his turn 
 
 Slain by some Mussulmans, who would not 
 yet, 
 Without resistance, see their city burn. 
 
 The walls were won, but 'twas an even bet 
 Which of the armies would have cause to 
 mourn : 
 
 'Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch, 
 
 For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch. i 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Another column also suffer'd much : — 
 And here we may remark with the Historian, 
 
 You should but give few c^jrtridges to such 
 Troops as are meant to march with greatest 
 glory on : 
 
 When matters must be carried by the touch 
 Of the bright bayonet, and they all should 
 hurry on, [ence, 
 
 They sometimes, with a hankering for exist- 
 
 Keep merely firing at a foolish distance. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 tXXIX. 
 
 197 
 
 A junction of the General Meknop's men 
 (Without the General, who had fallen some 
 time 
 Before, being badly seconded just then) 
 Was made at length with those who dared to 
 climb 
 The death-disgorging rampart once again ; 
 And though the Turk's resistance was sub- 
 lime. 
 They took the bastion, which the Seraskier 
 Defended at a price extremely dear. 
 
 LXXX.l 
 
 Juan and Johnson, and some volunteers 
 Among the foremost, offer'cl him good quar- 
 ter, 
 
 A word which little suits with Seraskiers, 
 Or at least suited not this valiant Tartar. 
 
 He died, deserving well his country's tears, 
 A savage sort of military martyr. 
 
 An English naval olHcer, who wish'd 
 
 ^o make him prisoner, was also dish'd : 
 
 * LXXXI. 
 
 For all the answer to his proposition 
 Was from a pistol-shot that laid him dead ; 
 
 On which tlie rest, without more intermission. 
 Began to lay about with steel and lead — 
 
 Tlie pious metals most in requisition 
 On such occasions : not a single head 
 
 Was spared, three thousands Mosleu'S 
 
 perish'd here, 
 
 And sixteen bayonets pierced the Seraskier. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 The city's taken— only part by part — 
 And Death is drunk with gore -. there's not 
 a street 
 
 Where fights not to the last some desperate 
 
 heart [beat. 
 
 For those for whom it soon shall cease to 
 
 Here War forgot his own destructive Art 
 In more destroying Nature ; and the heat 
 
 Of Carnage, like the Nile's sun-sodden Slime, 
 
 Engender'd monstrous shapes of every Crime. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 A Russian officer, in martial tread 
 Over a heap of bodies, felt his heel 
 
 Seized fast, as if 'twere by the serpent's head 
 Whose fangs Kve taught her human seed to 
 feel : [bled, 
 
 In vain hekick'd, and swore, and writhed, and 
 And howl'd for help as wolves do for a 
 meal — 
 
 The teeth still kept their gratifying hold, 
 
 As do the snbtle snakes described of old. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 A dying Moslem, who had felt the foot 
 Of a foe o'er him, snatcli'd at it, and bit 
 
 The very tendon, which is most acute — 
 (That which some ancient Muse or modern 
 Wit 
 
 Named after thee, Achilles) and quite 
 through't 
 He made the teeth meet, nor rclinquish'd it 
 
 Even with his life— for (but they lie) 'tis s;ud 
 
 To the live leg still clung the severed head. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 However this may be, 'tis pretty sure 
 The Russian officer for life was lamed, 
 
 FortheTurk'steeth stuck faster than a skewer. 
 And left him 'midst the invalid andmaiiu'd • 
 
 The regimental surireon could not cure 
 His patient, and perhaps was to be blamed 
 
 More than the head of the inveterate foe. 
 
 Which was cut off, and scarce even then let go. 
 
 LXXXVl. 
 
 But then the fact's a fact — and 'tis the part 
 Of a true poet to escape from lictioa 
 
 Whene'er he can ; for there is little art [tion 
 In leaving verse more free from the restric- 
 
 Of truth than prose, unless to suit the mart 
 For what is sometimes call'd poetic diction. 
 
 And that outrageous appetite for lies 
 
 Which Satan angles with, for souls, like flics. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 The city's taken, but not render'd ! — No ! 
 
 There's not a Moslem that hath yielded 
 sword : 
 The blood may gush out, as the Danube's flow 
 
 Rolls by tlie city wall ; but deed nor word 
 Acknowledge aiigbt of dread of death or foe: 
 
 In vain the yell of victory is roar'd 
 By the advancing Muscovite — the groan 
 Of the last foe is echoed by his own. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 The bayonet pierces and the. sabre cleaves. 
 
 And human lives are liivish'd every where. 
 As the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves 
 When the stripp'd forest bows to the bleak 
 air. 
 And groans ; and thus the peopled City 
 grieves. 
 Shorn of its best and loveliest, and left bare ; 
 But still it falls with vast and awful splinters. 
 As Oaks blown down with all their thousand 
 winters. 
 
198 
 
 DON JUAW. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 It is an awful topic — but 'tis not 
 My cue for any time to be terrific : 
 
 For checker'd as is seen our human lot 
 With good, and bad, and worse, alike pro- 
 lific 
 
 Of melancholy merriment, to quote 
 Too much of one sort would be soporific ; — 
 
 Without, or with, ofience to friends or foes, 
 
 I sketch your world exactly as it goes. 
 
 XC. 
 
 And one good action in the midst of crimes 
 Is " quite refreshing," in the affected phrase 
 
 Of these ambrosial, Pharisaic times, 
 With all their pretty milk-and-water ways, 
 
 And may serve therefore to bedew these 
 rhymes, 
 A little scorch'd at present with the blaze 
 
 Of conquest and its consequences, which 
 
 Make Epic poesy so rare and rich, 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Upon a taken bastion where there lay 
 Thousands of slaughter'd men, a yet warm 
 group 
 Of murder'd women, who had found their way 
 To this vain refuge, made the good heart 
 droop 
 And shudder ; — while, as beautiful as May, 
 A female child of ten years tried to stoop 
 I And hide her little palpitating breast 
 \ Amidst the bodies luU'd in bloody rest. 
 
 ' XCII. 
 
 Two villanous Cossacques pursued the child 
 VVith flashing eyes and weapons match'd 
 with them 
 The rudest brute that roams Siberia's wild 
 
 Has feelings pure and polish'd as a gem, — 
 The bear is civilized, the wolf is mild : 
 And whom for this at last must we con- 
 demn ? [ploy 
 Their natures ? or their sovereigns, who em- 
 All arts to teach their subjects to destroy? 
 
 XCII I. 
 
 Their sabres glitter'd o'er her little head, 
 Whence her fair hair rose twining with af- 
 fright. 
 Her hidden face was plunged amidst the 
 dead : [sight, 
 
 When Juan caught a glimpse of this sad 
 I shall not say exactly what he said. 
 
 Because it might not solace " ears polite ;" 
 But what he did, was to lay on their backs. 
 The readiest way of reasoning with Cos- 
 sacques. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 One's hip he slash'd, and split the other's 
 shoulder, [seek 
 
 And drove them with their brutal yelis to 
 If there might bechirurgeons who could solder 
 
 The wounds they richly merited, and shriek 
 Their baffled rage and pain ; while waxing 
 colder 
 
 4s he turn'd o'er each pale and gory cheeky 
 Don Juan raised his little captive from 
 The heap a moment more had made lier tomb. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 And she was chill as they, and on her face 
 A slender streak of blood announced how 
 near 
 
 Her fate had been to that of all her race ; 
 For the same blow which laid her Mother 
 here, [trace 
 
 Had scarr'd her brow, and left its crimson 
 As the last link with all she had held dear ; 
 
 But else nnhurt,'she open'd her large eyes. 
 
 And gazed on Juan with a wild surprise. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Just at tliis instant, while their eyes were fix'd 
 Upon each other, with dilated glance, 
 
 In Juan's look, pain, pleasure, hope, fear, 
 
 mix'd [chance 
 
 With joy to save, and dread of some mis- 
 
 Unto his protegfee ; while hers, transfix'd 
 With infant terrors, glared as from a trance, 
 
 A pure, transparent, pale, yet radiant face, 
 
 Like to a lighted alabaster vase ; — 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Up came John Johnson : (I will not say 
 "Jack," [place 
 
 For that were vulgar, cold, and common 
 On great occasions, such as an attack 
 
 On cities, as hath been the present case :) 
 Up Johnson came, with hundreds at his back. 
 
 Exclaiming: — "Juan! Juan! On, boy! 
 brace 
 your arm, and I'll bet Moscow to a dollar 
 That you and I will win St. George's collar.'' 
 
 XCVIIl. 
 
 " The Seraskier is knock'd upon the head. 
 But the stone bastion still remains, wherein 
 
 The old Pacha sitsamong some hundreds dead, 
 Smoking his pipe quite calmly 'midst the din 
 
 Of our artillery and his own : 'tis said 
 Our kill'd, already piled up to the chin, 
 
 Lie round the battery ; but still it batters. 
 
 And grape in volleys, like a vineyard, scatteifl- 
 
BON JUAN. 
 
 3 99 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 " Then up with me !" — Hut Juan answer'd, 
 
 Look [leave 
 
 Upon this child— I saved her — must not 
 
 Her life to eliance ; but point me outsome nook 
 
 Of safety, where she less may shrink and 
 
 grieve, 
 
 And I am with you." — Wliereon Johnson took 
 
 A glance around — and shrugg'd — and 
 
 twitch'd his sleeve 
 
 And black silk neckcloth — and replied, 
 
 " You're right ; [quite." 
 
 Poor thing ! what's to be done 1 I'm puzzled 
 
 Said Juan — " Whatsoever is to be 
 
 Done, I'll not quit her till she seems secure 
 Of present life a good deal more than we." — 
 
 Quoth Johnson — " Neither will I quite en- 
 sure ; 
 But at the least you may die gloriously."— 
 
 Juan replied — " At least I will endure 
 Whate'er is to be borne — but not resign 
 This child, who is parentless and therefore 
 mine." 
 
 CIV. 
 
 i; 
 
 CI. 
 
 Johnson said — " Juan, we've no time to lose ; 
 
 The child's a pretty child — a very pretty — 
 I never saw such eyes — but hark ! now choose 
 
 Between your fame and feelings, pride and 
 pity ;— 
 Hark !. how the roar increases !— no excuse 
 
 Will serve when there is plunder in a city ; — 
 1 should be loath to march without yon, but. 
 By God ! we'll be too late for the first cut." 
 
 CII. 
 
 But Juan was immoveable ; until 
 
 Johnson, who really loved him in his way, 
 Pick'd out among his followers with some skill 
 
 Such as he thoughtthe least given up toprey; 
 And swearing if the infant came to ill 
 
 That they should all be shot on the next day ; 
 But, if she were deliver'd safe and sound. 
 They should at least have fifty roubles round ; 
 
 cm. 
 
 And all allowances besides of plunder 
 In fair proportion with their comrades;— 
 then 
 
 Juan consented to march on through thunder, 
 Which thinn'd at every step their ranks of 
 men: 
 
 And yet the rest rush'd eagerly — no wonder. 
 For they were heated by the hope of gain, 
 
 A thing which happens every where eachday — 
 
 Nu Hero tiusteth wholly to half-pay. 
 
 And such is victory, and such is man ! 
 
 At least nine-tenths of what we call so; — 
 God 
 May have another name for half we scan 
 
 As human beings, or his ways are odd. 
 But to our subject : a brave Tartar Khan,- — . 
 
 Or " Sultan," as the author (to whose nod 
 In prose I bend ray humble verse) doth call 
 This chieftain — somehow would not yield 
 at all : 
 
 CV. 
 
 But flank'd by five brave sons (such is Poly- 
 gamy, 
 That she spawns warriors by the score, 
 where none 
 Are prosecuted for that false crime bigamy) 
 
 He never would believe the city won 
 While courage clung but to a single twig. — 
 Ami 
 Describing Priam's, Peleus', or Jove's son ? 
 Neither, — but a good, plain, old, temperate 
 
 man. 
 Who fought with his five children in the van. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 To take him was the point. The truly brave. 
 When they behold the brave oppress'd with 
 odds, [save ; — 
 
 Are touch'd with a desire to shield and 
 A mixture of vrild beasts and demi-gods 
 
 Are they — now furious as the sweeping wave. 
 Now moved with pity : even as sometimes 
 nods 
 
 The rugged tree unto the summer wind. 
 
 Compassion breathes along the savage mind. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 But he would not be taken, and replied 
 To all the propositions of surrender 
 
 By mowing Christians down on every side. 
 As obstinate as Swedish Charles at Bender. 
 
 His five brave boys no less the foe defied ; 
 AVhereon the Russian pathos grew less ten- 
 der. 
 
 As being a virtue, like terrestrial patience, 
 
 Apt to wear out on trifling provocations. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 And spite of Johnson and of Juan, who 
 Expended all their Eastern phraseology 
 
 In begging him, for God's sake, just to show 
 So much less fight as might form an apology 
 
 For them in saving such a desperate foe — 
 He hew'd away, like doctors of theology 
 
 When they dispute with sceptics ; and with 
 curses " [nurses. 
 
 Struck at his friends, as babies beat their 
 
2Q(I 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Nay, he had wounded, though but slightly, 
 both 
 
 Juan and Johnson ; whereupon they fell. 
 The first with sighs, the second with an oath. 
 
 Upon his angry Sultanship, pell-mell, 
 And all around were grown exceeding wroth 
 
 At such a pertinacious Infidel, 
 And pour'd upon him and his sons like rain. 
 Which they resisted like a sandy plain 
 
 ex. 
 
 Thai drinks and still is dry. At last they 
 perish'd — 
 His second son was levell'd by a shot ; 
 His third was sabred; and the fourth, most 
 cherish'd 
 Of all the five, on bayonets met his lot ; 
 The fifth, who, by aChristianmother nourish'd. 
 Had been neglected, ill-used, and what not. 
 Because deform'd, yet died all game and bot- 
 tom, 
 To save a sire who bliish'd that he begot him. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 The eldest was a true and tameless Tartar, 
 As great a scorner of the Nazarene 
 
 As ever Mahomet pick'd out for a martyr, 
 Who only saw the black-eyed girls in green, 
 
 Who make the beds of those who won't take 
 quarter 
 On Earth, in Paradise ; and when once seen, 
 
 Those Houris, like all other pretty creatures, 
 
 Do just whate'er they please, by dint of 
 features. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 And what they pleased to do with tlie young 
 Khan [guess ; 
 
 In Heaven, I know not, nor pretend to 
 But doubtless they prefer a fine young man 
 
 To tough old heroes, and can do no less ; 
 And that's the cause no doubt^why, if vte scan 
 
 A field of battle's ghastly wilderness. 
 For one rough, weather-beaten, veteran body. 
 You'll find ten thousand handsome coxcombs 
 bloody. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Your Houris also have a natural pleasure 
 In lopping off your lately married men. 
 
 Before the bridal Hours have danced their 
 measure. 
 And the sad, second moon grows dim again. 
 
 Or dull Repentance hath had dreary leisure 
 To wish him back a bachelor now and then. 
 
 And th<is your Houri (it may be) disputes 
 
 ^( these brief blossoms the immediate fruits. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Thus theyoung Khaij, with Houris in his sight. 
 Thought not upon the charms of four young 
 brides. 
 
 But bravely rush'd on his first heavenly night. 
 In short, howe'er our better Faitli derides, 
 
 These black-eyed, virgins make the Moslems 
 
 fight, [besides— 
 
 As though the):e were one Heaven and none 
 
 Whereas, if all Ije true we hear of Heaven 
 
 And Hell, there must at least be six or seven. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 So fully flash'd tlie phantom on his eyes, 
 That when the very lance was in his heart. 
 
 He shouted " Allah !" and saw Paradise 
 With all itffl veil of mystery drawn apart. 
 
 And bright Eternity without disguise 
 On his soul, like a ceaseless sunrise, dart ; 
 
 With Prophets, Houris, Angels, Saints, des- 
 cri,ed 
 
 In one voluptuous blaze,-^and then he died : 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 But, with a heavenly rapture on his face. 
 The good old Khan, who long had ceased to 
 see 
 
 Houris, or aught except his florid race 
 Who grew like Cedars round him glorioas- 
 
 When he beheld his latest hero grace [ly 
 
 The earth, which he became like a fell'd tree, 
 
 Paused for a moment from the fight, and cast 
 
 A glance on that slain son, his first and last. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 The soldiers, who beheld him drop his point, 
 Stbpp'd as if once more willing to concede 
 
 Quarter, in case he bade them not " aroint !" 
 As he before had done. He did not heed 
 
 Their pause nor signs : his heart was out of 
 joint. 
 And shook (till now unshaken) like a reed. 
 
 As he look'd down upon his children gone. 
 
 And felt — though done with life— he was 
 alone. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 But 'twas a transient tremor ; — with a spring 
 Upon the Russian steel his breast he flung. 
 
 As carelessly as hurls the moth her wing 
 A gainst the light wherein she dies : he clung 
 
 Closer, that all the deadlier they might wring. 
 Unto the bayonets which had pierced his 
 young ; 
 
 And throwing back a dim look on his sons. 
 
 In one wide wound pour'd forth his soul at 
 once. 
 
DON JTTAN. 
 
 201 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 'Tis strange enough— the rough, tough sol- 
 diers, who 
 Spared neither sex nor age in their career 
 Of carnage, when this old man was pierced 
 through, 
 And lay before them with his children near, 
 Touch'd by the heroism of him they slew, 
 
 Were melted for a moment ; though no tear 
 Flow'd from their blood-shot eyes, all red with 
 
 strife. 
 They honour'd such determined scorn of life. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 But the stone bastion still kept up its fire. 
 Where the chief Pacha calmly held his post : 
 
 Some twenty times he made the Rus7 retire. 
 And baffled the assaults of all their host ; 
 
 At length he condescended to inquire 
 If yet the city's rest were won or lost ; 
 
 And being told the latter, sent a Bey 
 
 To answer Ribas' summons to give way. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 In the mean time, cross-legg'd, with great sang 
 froid, 
 
 Among the scorching ruins he sat smoking 
 Tobacco on a little carpet ; — Troy 
 
 Saw nothing like the scene around ; — ^yet 
 looking 
 With martial stoicism, nought seem'd to annoy 
 
 His stern philosophy ; but gently stroking 
 His beard, he pufT'd his pipe's ambrosial gales, 
 As if he had three lives, as well as tails. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 The town was taken — whether he might yield 
 Himself or bastion, little matter'd now : 
 
 His stubborn valour was no future shield. 
 Ismail's no more ! The crescent's silver bow 
 
 Sunk, and the crimson cross glared o'er the 
 field, 
 But red with no redeeming gore : the glow 
 
 Of burning streets, like moonlight on the 
 water, [ter. 
 
 Was imaged back in blood, the sea of slaugh- 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 lAU that the mind would shrink from of ex- 
 cesses ; 
 All that the body perpetrates of bad ; 
 All that we read, hear, dream, of man's dis- 
 tresses ; [mad ; 
 All that the Devil would do if run stark 
 All that defies the worst which pen expresses ; 
 
 All by which Hell is peopled, or as sad 
 As Hell — mere mortals who their power 
 
 abuse, — 
 Was here (as heretofore and since) let loose. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 If here and there some transient trait of pity 
 Was shown, and some more noble heart 
 broke tlirough [pretty 
 
 Its bloody bond, and saved perhaps some 
 Child, or an aged, helpless man or two — 
 
 What's this in one annihilated city, [grow ? 
 Where thousand loves, and ties, and duties 
 
 Cockneys of London! Muscadius of Paris ! 
 
 Just ponder what a pious pastime war is : 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Think how the joys of reading a Gazette 
 Are purchased by all agonies and crimes : 
 
 Or if these do not move you, don't forget 
 Such doom may be your own in after times. 
 
 Meantime the taxes, Castlereagh, and debt. 
 Are hints as good as sermons, or as rhymes. 
 
 Read your own hearts and Ireland's present 
 story, [glory. 
 
 Then feed her famine fat with Wellesley'e 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 But still there is unto a patriot nation. 
 
 Which loves so well its countiy and its 
 
 A subject of sublimest exultation— [King, 
 Bear it, ye Muses, on your brightest wing ! 
 
 Howe'er the mighty locust. Desolation, 
 Strip your green fields, and to your har- 
 vests cling, [throne — 
 
 Gaunt Famine never shall approach tlie 
 
 Though Ireland starve, great George weighs 
 twenty stone. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 But let me put an end unto my theme : 
 
 There was an end of Ismail — hapless town ! 
 Far flash'd her burning towers o'er Danube's 
 stream. 
 And redly ran his blushing waters down. 
 The horrid war-whoop and the shriller scream 
 Rose still ; but fainter were the thunders 
 grown : 
 Of forty thousand who had mann'd the wall. 
 Some hundreds breathed — the rest were silent 
 all! 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 In one thing ne'ertheless 'tis fit to praise 
 The Russian army upon this occasion, 
 A virtue much in fashion now-a-days. 
 
 And therefore worthy of commemoration : 
 The topic's tender, so shall be my phrase^ 
 Perhaps the season's chill, and their long 
 station 
 In winter's depth, or want of rest and victual 
 Had made them chaste ; — they ravish'd very 
 little. 
 Cc 
 
202 
 
 SON JTTAN. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less 
 Might here and there occur some violation 
 
 In the other line ; — but not to such excess 
 As when the French, that dissipated nation, 
 
 Take towns by storm : no causes can I guess. 
 Except cold weather and commiseration ; 
 
 But all the ladies, save some twenty score, 
 
 Were almost as much virgins as before. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Some odd mistakes too happen'd in the dark. 
 Which show'd a want of lantliorns, or of 
 taste — [mark 
 
 Indeed the smoke was such they scarce could 
 Their friends from foes,-T-besides such things 
 from haste 
 
 Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark 
 Of light to save the venerably chaste : — 
 
 But six old damsels, each of seventy years, 
 
 Were all deflovrer'd by different Grenadiers. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 But on the whole their continence was great ; 
 
 So that some disappointment there ensued 
 To those who had felt the inconvenient state 
 
 Of " single blessedness," and thought it 
 good 
 (Since it was not their fault, but only fate. 
 
 To bear these crosses) for each waning prude 
 To make a. Roman sort of Sabine wedding. 
 Without the expense and the suspense of bed- 
 ding. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 Some voices of the buxom middle-aged 
 Were also heard to wonder in the din 
 
 (Widows of forty were these birds long caged) 
 " Wherefore the ravishing did not begin !" 
 
 But while the thirst for gore and plunder raged, 
 There was small leisure for superfluous sin ; 
 
 But whether they escaped or no, lies hid 
 
 In darkness — I can only hope they did. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 Suwarrow now was conqueror — a match 
 For Timour or for Zinghis in his trade.' 
 
 While mosques and streets, beneath his eyes, 
 
 like thatch [allay'd, 
 
 Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce 
 
 With bloody hands he wrote his first despatch ; 
 A nd here exactly follows what he said : — 
 
 " Glory to God and to the Empress !" (Powers 
 
 Eternal!/ such names mingled!^ "Ismail's 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 Methinks these are the most tremendous 
 words, [sin," 
 
 Since MenS, Menfe, Tekel, and " Uphar- 
 Which hands or pens have ever traced of 
 swords. 
 Heaven help me ! I'm but little of a parson : 
 What Daniel read was short-hand of the 
 lord's, [on 
 
 Severe, sublime ; the Prophetwrote no farce 
 The fate of Nations ; — but this Russ so witty 
 Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a burning city. 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 He wrote this Polar melody, and set it. 
 Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans, 
 
 Which few will sing, I trust, but none forget 
 it— 
 Fqr I will teach, if possible, the stones 
 
 To rise against Earth's tyrants. Never let it 
 Be said that we still truckle unto thrones ; — 
 
 But ye — our children's children ! think how we 
 
 Show'd what things were before the world was 
 free ! 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 That hour is not for us, but 'tis for you : 
 And as, in the great joy of your millennium, 
 
 You hardly will believe such things were true 
 As now occur, I thought that I would pen 
 you 'em ; 
 
 But may their very memory perish too !^ 
 Yet if perchance remember'd, still disdain 
 you 'em 
 
 More than you scorn the savages of yore. 
 
 Who painted their bare limbs, but not with gore. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 .4.nd when you hear historians talk of thrones, 
 And those that sate upon them, let it be 
 
 As we now gaze upon the Mammoth's bones. 
 And wonder what old world such things 
 could see, 
 
 Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones, 
 The pleasant riddles of Futurity — 
 
 Guessing at what shall happily be hid,' 
 
 As the real purpose of a Pyramid. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Reader ! I have kept my word, — at least so far 
 As the first Canto promised. You have now 
 
 Had sketches of love, tempest, travel, war — 
 All very accurate, you must allow. 
 
 And Epic, if plain truth should prove no bar ; 
 For I have drawn much less with a long bow 
 
 Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing, 
 
 But Poebus lends me now and then a string, 
 
DON JTTAN: 203 
 
 CXXXIX, His little captive gain'd him some applause 
 
 For saving her amidst the wild insanity 
 Of Carnage, — and I think he was more glad 
 
 in her 
 Safety, than his new order of St. Vladimir. 
 
 and 
 
 With which I still can harp, and carp 
 fiddle. 
 
 What further hath befallen or may befal 
 The Hero of this grand poetic riddle, 
 
 I by and bye may tell yon, if at all : 
 But now I choose to break off in the middle, 
 
 Worn out with battering Ismail's stubborn 
 wall. 
 While Juan is sent off with the despatch. 
 For which all Petersburgh is on the watch. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 This special honour was conferr'd, because 
 He had behaved with courage and humani- 
 ty : — [pause 
 
 Which last, men like, when they have time to 
 From their ferocities produced by vanity. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 The Moslem orphan went with her protector, 
 For she was homeless, houseless, helpless ; 
 all 
 
 Her friends, like the sad family of Hector, 
 Had perish'd in the field or by the wall : 
 
 Her very place of birth was bat a spectra 
 Ofwhatithad been; there the Muezzin's 
 call [wept. 
 
 To prayer was heard no more ! — and Juan 
 
 And made a vow to shield her, which he kept. 
 
XI 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO EIGHTH. 
 
 Note a, p. 1S9. stanza vUi. 
 
 "Allah! Allah! Hu!" 
 
 Allah Hul is properly the war cry of the Mussulmans, 
 and they dwell long on the last syllable, which gives it a 
 very wild and peculiar effect. 
 
 Note b, p. 190. stanza ix. 
 
 " Cai nage** (so Wordstvorth tells you) " is God's 
 'daughter." 
 
 " But thy* most dreaded instrument 
 In working out a pure intent. 
 Is man array'd for mutual slaughter ; 
 Yea, Carnage is thy daughter!" 
 
 Wordsworth's Tlianksgiving Ode, 
 
 Note c, p. 190. stanza xviU. 
 Was printed Grove, although his Tiame was Grose. 
 A fact: see the "Waterloo Gazettes. I recollect remark- 
 ing at the time to a friend :-*• There is fame ! a man 
 is killed, his name is Grose, and they print it Grove." 
 I was at College with the deceased, who was a very amia- 
 ble and clever man, and his society ia great request for 
 his wit, gayety, and " chansons & boire." 
 
 Note d. p. 191. stanza xxiii. 
 
 And this is rational 
 As any other notion, and Twt national ;J 
 
 See Major Vallency and Sir Lawrence Parsons. 
 
 * To wit, the Deity's : this is pcthaps as pretty a pedigree for 
 
 Murder as ever was found out by Garter ICing at Arms \Vl>at 
 
 would have been said> had any free-spoken people discovered such a 
 ItQcage? 
 
 Note e, p. 191. stanza xxv. ■; 
 
 'Tispity " that such meanings should pave Hell." 
 
 The Portuguase proverb says, that ** Hell is paved with 
 good intentions." 
 
 Note f, p. 192. stanza xxsdii. 
 
 J7iy humane discovery. Friar Bacon ! 
 
 Gunpowder is said to have been discoveredby this 
 Friar. 
 
 Note g, p. 19S. stanza xlvii. 
 
 Palisades, 
 Which scarcely rose much higher tfutn grass blades. 
 
 They were but two feet high above the level. 
 
 Note h, p. 198. stanza xcvii. 
 
 St. George's collar. 
 The Russian military order. 
 
 Note i, p. 302. stanza cxxxiii. 
 
 " Glory toGod. and to the Empress !" (Powers 
 Eternal ! ! such names mingled !) *• Ismail's ou7-'s .* 
 
 In the original Russian— 
 
 •* Slava bogu ! slava vam ! 
 Krepost Vzala, y ia tam."— 
 
 A kind of couplet ; for he was a poet 
 
w>®m 3mAm^ 
 
 CANTO IX. 
 
 Oh, Wellington ! (or "Vilainton" — for Fame 
 Sounds the heroic syllables both ways ; 
 
 France could not even conquer your great name. 
 But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase — 
 
 Beating or beaten she will laugh the same) 
 You have obtain'd great pensions and much 
 praise ; 
 
 Glory like yours should any dare gain^y. 
 
 Humanity vpould rise, and thunder " Nay !"» 
 
 II. 
 
 I don't thiuk that you used K — n — rd quite 
 well 
 
 In Marinet's afiair — in fact 'twas shabby, 
 And like some other things wont do to tell 
 
 Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey. 
 Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell, 
 
 Such tales being for the tea hours of some 
 tabby ; 
 But though your years as man tend fast to zero, 
 In fact your grace is still but a young Hero . 
 
 III. 
 
 Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so 
 much, 
 
 Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more: 
 You have repair'd Legitimacy's crutch, 
 
 A prop not quite so certain as before : 
 The Spanish, and the French as well as Dutch, 
 
 Have seen, and felt, how strongly you 
 restore ; 
 And Waterloo has made the world your debtor, 
 (I wish yourbards would sing it rather better.) 
 
 IV. 
 
 You are " the best of cut-throats :" — do not 
 start ; 
 The pbrase<is Shakspeare's and not misap- 
 plied : — [art. 
 War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting 
 
 Unless her cause by Right be sanctified. 
 If you have acted once a generous part. 
 The World, not the World's masters, wfll 
 decide. 
 And I shall be delighted to learn who, 
 Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo ? 
 
 I am no flatterer— you've supp'd full oi 
 
 fla'tery : [jer : 
 
 They say you like it too — 'tis no great won- 
 
 He whose whole life has been assault and bat- 
 
 tery, 
 
 At last may get a little tired of thunder ; 
 
 And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, 
 
 he [der, 
 
 May like being praised for every lucky blun- 
 
 Call'd " Saviour of the Nations"— not yet 
 
 saved. 
 And Europe's Liberator— still enslaved. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I've done. Now go and dine from off the plnte 
 Presented by the Prince of the Brazils, 
 
 And send the sentinel before your gale' 
 A slice or two from your luxurious meals ; 
 
 He fought, but has not fed so well of late. 
 Some hunger too they say the people feels : 
 
 There is no doubt that you deserve your ration, 
 
 Bat pray give back a little to the nation. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I don't mean to reflect — a man so great as 
 You, my Lord Duke ! is far above reflection. 
 
 The high Roman fashion too of Cincinnatus, 
 With modern history has but small connec- 
 tion ; 
 
 Though as an Irishman you love potatoes. 
 You need not take them under your direction; 
 
 And half a Million fur your sabine farm 
 
 Is rather dear ! — I'm sure I mean no harm. 
 
 Vlll. 
 
 Great men have always scorned great recom- 
 penses: 
 Epaminondas saved bis Thebes, and died, 
 Not leaving even his funeral expenses : 
 
 George AVashington had thanks and nought 
 beside. 
 Except the all-cloudless Glory (which few 
 men's is) 
 To free his country : Pitt too had his pride. 
 And as a high-soul'd Minister of State is 
 Renown'd for ruining Great Britain gratis. 
 C c 2 
 
206 
 
 DOW JUAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Never had mortal Man such opportuuity, 
 Except Napoleon, or abused it more : 
 
 You might have freed fallen Europe from the 
 
 Unity [shore : 
 
 Of Tyrants, and been blest from shore to 
 
 And now — What is your fame ? Shall the muse 
 
 tune it ye ? [o'er ? 
 
 Now — that the rabble's first vain shouts are 
 
 Go ! hear it in your famish'd Country's cries '. 
 
 Behold the world ! and curse your victories ! 
 
 X. 
 
 As these new Cantos touch on warlike feats, 
 To you the unflattering Muse deigns to in- 
 scribe 
 Truths, that you will not read in the Gazettes, 
 But which 'tis time to teach the hireling 
 tribe 
 Who fatten on their Country's gore, and debts, 
 
 Must he recited, and — without a bribe. 
 You did great things; but not being great in 
 
 mind, 
 Have left tmdone the greatest — and mankind. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Death laughs — Go ponder o'er the skeleton 
 With which men image out the unknown 
 thing. 
 That hides the past world, like to a set sun 
 Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter 
 spring- 
 Death laughs at all you weep for ;— look upon 
 This hourly dread of all ! whose threatened 
 sting 
 Turns life to terror, even though in its sheath : 
 Mark ! how its lipless mouth grins without 
 breath ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Mark ! how it laughs and scorns at all you are ! 
 
 And yet was what you are : from ear to ear 
 It lattghs not — there is now no fleshy bar 
 
 So call'd ; the Antic long hath ceased to 
 kear. 
 But still he smiles ; and whether near or far 
 
 He strips from man that mantle (far more dear 
 Than even the tailor's) his incarnate skin. 
 White, black, or copper — the dead bones will 
 gria. 
 
 xai. 
 
 And thus Death laughs, — it is sad merriment. 
 But still it is so ; and with such example 
 
 Why should not Life be equally content 
 With his Superior, in a smile to trample 
 
 Upon the nothings which are daily spent 
 Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample 
 
 Than the eternal deluge, which devours 
 
 Suns as rays— worlds like atoms — years like 
 hours. 
 
 XIV 
 
 " To be or not to be ! that is the (luesuoa," 
 Says Shakspeare, who just now is much in 
 fashion . 
 
 I am neither Alexander nor Hephajstion, 
 Nor ever had (or abstract fame much passion; 
 
 But would much rather have a sound diges- 
 tion. 
 Than Buonaparte's cancer : — could 1 dash on 
 
 Through fifty victories to shame or fame. 
 
 Without a stomach — what were a good name ? 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Oh dura ilia messorum !" " Oh 
 Ye rigid guts of reapers !" I translate 
 
 For the great benefit of those who know 
 What Indigestion is — that inward fate 
 
 Which makes all Styx through one small liver 
 
 flow . ■ [estate : 
 
 A peasant's sweat is worth his lord's 
 
 Let this one toil for bread — that rack for rent. 
 
 He who sleeps best, may be the most content. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " To be or not to be ?"— Ere I decide, 
 I should tie glad to know that which is being I 
 
 'Tis true we speculate both far and wide. 
 And deem, because vie see, we are ali- 
 seeing : 
 
 For my part, I'll enlist on neither side. 
 Until I see both sides for once agreeing. 
 
 For me, I sometimes think that Life is Death, 
 
 Rather than Life a mere affair of breath. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Que scais-je ?" was the Motto of Montaigne, 
 As also of the first Academicians ; 
 
 That all is dubious which Man may attain. 
 Was otje of their most favourite positions. 
 
 There's no such thing as certainty, that's 
 plain 
 As any of Mo' :ality's Conditions ; 
 
 So little do we know what we're about in 
 
 This world, I doubt if doUbt itself be doubt- 
 ing. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float. 
 Like Pyrrho, on a sea of speculation ; 
 
 But what if carrying sail capsize the boat 
 Your wise men don't know much of naviga- 
 tion ; 
 
 And swimming long in the abyss of thought 
 Is apt to tire : a calm and shallow station 
 
 Well nigh the shore, where one stoops down 
 and gathers 
 
 Some ripl'y shell, is best for moderate bather ; 
 
DOW JUAN. 
 
 207 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ■'• But heaven," as Cassio says, '' is above all — 
 No more of this then, let us pray !" We 
 have 
 
 Souls to save, since Eve's slip and Adam's fall. 
 Which tumbled all mankind into the grave, 
 
 Besides fish, beasts, and birds. " The Spar- 
 row's fall 
 Is special providence, " though how it gave 
 
 Offence, we know not; probably it perch'd 
 
 Upon the tree which Eve so fondly search'd. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Oh ! ye immortal Gods ! what is Theogony ? 
 Oh ! thou too mortal Man ! what is Philan- 
 thropy ' [mogony? 
 Oh ! World, which was and is, what is Cos- 
 Some people have accused me of Misan- 
 thropy ; 
 And yet I know no more than the mahogany 
 That forms this desk, of what they mean ; 
 Lykanthropy 
 I comprehend, for without transformation 
 Men become wolves on any slight occasion. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But I, the mildest, meekest of mankind. 
 Like Moses, or Melancthon, who have ne'er 
 
 Done any thing exceedingly unkind, — 
 And (though I could not now and then for- 
 bear 
 
 Following the bent of body or of mind) 
 Have always had a tendency to spare, — 
 
 Why do they cull me misanthrope ? Because 
 
 Tliq/ hate me, not I them .- — and here we'll 
 pause. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Tis time we should proceed with our good 
 poem, — ■ 
 
 For I maintain that it is really good. 
 Not only in the body, but the proem, 
 
 However little both are understood 
 Just now, — but by and by the Truth will show 
 'em 
 
 Herself in her sublimest attitude : 
 And till she doth, I fain must be content 
 To share her Beauty and her Banishment. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Our Hero (and, 1 trust, kind reader 1 yours — ) 
 Was left upon his way to the chief City 
 
 Of the immortal Peter's polished boors. 
 Who still have shown themselves more brave 
 than witty. 
 
 I know its mighty Empire now allures 
 Much flattery — ^even Voltaire's, and that's a 
 pity. 
 
 fox nie, I deem an absolute Autocrat 
 
 lot a Barbarian, but much worse than that. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And I will war, at least in words (and — 
 should 
 My chance so happen — deeds) with all 
 who war 
 With Thought ;— and ofThought's foes by far 
 most rude. 
 Tyrants and Sycophants have been and are. 
 I know not who may conquer : if I could 
 
 Have such a prescience, it should be no bar 
 To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation 
 Of every despotism in every nation. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 It is not that I adulate the people : 
 Without me there are Demagogues enough, 
 
 And infidels, to pull down every steeple 
 And set up in their stead some proper stulT. 
 
 Whether they may sow Scepticism to reap 
 Hell, 
 As is the Christian dogma rather rough, 
 
 I do not know ; — I wish men to be free 
 
 As much from mobs as kings — from you as me. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The consequence is, being of no party, 
 I shall offend all parties : — never mind ! 
 
 My words, at least, are more sincere and 
 hearty 
 Than if I sought to sail before the wind. 
 
 He who has nought to gain can have small art : 
 he 
 Who neither wishes to be bound nor bind, 
 
 May still expatiate freely, as will I, 
 
 Nor give my voice to Slavery's Jackall cry. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 That's an appropriate simile, that Jackall; — 
 I've heard them in the Ephcsian ruins howl 
 
 By night, as do that mercenary pack all. 
 Power's base purveyors, who for pickings 
 prowl, 
 
 And scent the prey their masters would at- 
 tack all. 
 However, the poor Jackalls are less foul 
 
 (As being the brave Lions' keen providers) 
 
 Than human Insects, catering for Spiders. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Raise but an arm ! 'twill brush their web away. 
 And without that, their poison and their 
 claws 
 
 Are useless. Mind, good People ! what I say^ — 
 (Or rather Peoples) — go on without pause ! 
 
 The web of these Tarantulas each day 
 Increases, till you shall make common cause: 
 
 None, save the Spanish fly and Attic Bee, 
 
 As yet are strongly stinging to be free. 
 
208 
 
 DOW JUAKT. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Don Juan, who had shone in the late slaughter 
 Wa.s ]fi{t upon his way with the despatch. 
 
 Where Blood was talk'd of as we would of 
 Water ; 
 And carcases that lay as thick as thatch 
 
 O'er silenced cities, merely served to flatter 
 Fair Catherine's pastime — who loolc'd on 
 the match 
 
 Between these nations as a main of cocks, 
 
 Wherein she liked her own to stand like rocks. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And there in a kibiika he roU'd on, 
 (A cursed sort of carriage without springs, 
 
 Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole 
 bone) 
 Pondering on glory, chivalry, and kings. 
 
 And orders, and on all tliat lie had done — 
 And wishing that post horses had the wings 
 
 Of Pegasus, or at the least Post Chaises 
 
 Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 At every jolt — and they were many-r-still 
 He turn'd his eyes upon his little charge, 
 
 As if he wish'd that she should fare less ill 
 Than he, in these sad highways left at lai'ge 
 
 To ruts, and flints, and lovely Nature's skill. 
 Who is no paviour, nor admits a barge 
 
 On her canals, where God takes sea and land, 
 
 Fishery and farm, both into his own hand. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 At least he pays no rent, and has best right 
 To be the first of what we used to call 
 
 " Gentlemen Farmers" — a race worn out quite, 
 Siiice lately there have been no rents at all, 
 
 And " Gentlemen" are in a piteous plight. 
 And ■' farmers" can't raise Ceres from her 
 fall: 
 
 She fell with Buonaparte What strange 
 
 thoughts 
 
 Arise, when we see Emperors fall with oats ! 
 
 XXXUI. 
 
 But Juan turn'd his eyes on the sweet child 
 Whom he had saved from slaughter— what a 
 trophy ! 
 Oh ! ye who build up monuments, defiled 
 With gore, like Nadir Shah, that costive 
 Sophy, 
 Who, after leaving Hindostan a wild. 
 
 And scarce to the Mogul a cup of coflee 
 To soothe his woes withal, was slain, the 
 
 sinner ! 
 Because he could no more digest his dinner ; c— 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Oh ye ! or we ! or he ! or she ! reflect, 
 That one life saved, especially if young 
 
 Or pretty, is a thing to recollect 
 Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sjirung 
 
 From the manure of human clav, though 
 deck'd 
 With all the praises ever said or sung ; 
 
 Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within 
 
 Your Heart joins Chorus, Tame is but a din. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Oh ! ye great Authors luminous, voluminous! 
 Ye twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes ! 
 Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers, illu- 
 mine us ! 
 Whether you're paid by Government in 
 bribes. 
 To prove the public debt is notconsaming ns — 
 Or, roughly treading on the " Courtier's 
 kibes" 
 With clownish heel, your popular circulation 
 Feeds you by printing half the real ra's Star- 
 vation ; — 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 '■)h, ye great Authors ! — "Apropos des bottes," 
 I have forgotten what I meant to say. 
 
 As sometimes have been greater Sages'lots \^~ 
 'Twas something calculated to allay 
 
 All wrath in barracks, palaces, or cots : 
 Certes itwould have been but thrown awaji 
 
 And that's one comfort for my lost advice. 
 
 Although no doubt it was beyond all price. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 But let it go : — it will one day be found 
 
 With other relics of " a former world," 
 When this world shall he former, underground, 
 Thrown topsy-turvy, twisted, crisp'd, and 
 curled. 
 Baked, fried, or burnt, turn'd inside-out, or 
 drown'd, \ 
 
 Like all the worlds before, which have been \ 
 hurl'd : 
 
 First out of, and then back again to Chaos, 
 The Superstratum which will overlay us. ] 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 So Cuvier says ; — and then shall come again 
 Unto the new Creation, rising out 
 
 From our old crash, some mystic, ancient strain 
 Of things destroy'd and left in airy doubt:| 
 
 Like to the notions we now entertain 
 Of Titans, Giants, Fellows of abogf 
 
 Some hundred ffeet in height, not to say nnU),i 
 
 And Mammoths, and your winged Crocodiles- 
 
 « 
 
DON 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Think if then George the Fourth should be 
 dug up ! 
 How the new worldlings of the then new 
 East 
 Will wonder where such animals could gup ! 
 (For they themselves will be but of the least : 
 Even worlds miscarry, when too oft they pup, 
 
 And every new Creation hath decreased 
 In size, from overworking the material— 
 Meo are but maggots of some huge Earth's 
 burial.) 
 
 XL. 
 
 How will — to these young people, just thrust 
 out 
 
 From some fresh Paradise, and set to plough, 
 And dig, andsvreat, andturn themselves about. 
 
 And plant, and reap, and spin, and grind, 
 and sow. 
 Till all the Arts at length are brought about, 
 
 Especially of war and taxing, — how, 
 I say, will these great relics, when they see 'em. 
 Look like the monsters uf a new Museum ? 
 
 xri. 
 
 But I am apt to grow too metaphysical : 
 " The time is outof joint,''— and so am I ; 
 
 I quite forget this poem's merely quizzical, 
 And deviate into matters rather dry. 
 
 I ne'er decide what I shall say, and this I call 
 Much too poetical : Men should know why 
 
 They write, and for what end ; but, note or 
 text, 
 
 I never know the word which will come next. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 So on I ramble, now and then narrating. 
 Now pondering : — it is time we should nar- 
 rate. 
 
 I left Don Juan with his horses baiting — 
 Now we'll get o'er the ground at a great 
 rate. 
 
 I shall not be particular in stating 
 His journey, we've so many tours of late : 
 
 Suppose him then at Petersburgh ; suppose 
 
 That pleasant capital of painted Snows ; 
 
 XUII. 
 
 Suppose him in a handsome uniform ; 
 
 A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume 
 Waving, like sails new shiver'd in a storm. 
 
 Over a cock'd hat in a crowded room, 
 And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn 
 Gorme, 
 
 Of .yellow casimire we may presume, 
 White stockings drawn uncurdled as new 
 
 milk 
 O'er limbs whosf symmetry set off the silk ; 
 
 JUAN. 209 
 
 { XLIV. 
 
 Suppose him sword by side, and hat in hand. 
 Made up by Youth, Fame, and an Army 
 tailor- 
 That great Enchanter, at whose rod's command 
 Beauty springs forth, andNatnre's self turns 
 paler, [grand. 
 
 Seeing how Art can make her work more 
 (^Wben she don't pin men's limbs in like - 
 jailor),— 
 Behold him placed as if upon a pillar ! He 
 Seems Love turn'd a Lieutenant of Artillery ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 His Bandage slipp'd down into a cravat ; 
 
 HisWings subdued to epaulettes ; his Quiver 
 Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at 
 
 His side as a small sword, but sharp as 
 ever; 
 His Bow converted into a cocked hat ; 
 
 But still so like, that Psyche were more 
 clever [stupid^ 
 
 Than some wives (who make blunders no less 
 If She had not mistaken him for Cupid. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 The courtiers stared, the ladies whisper 'd, 
 and 
 The Empress smiled ; the reigning favourite 
 frown'd— 
 I quite forget which of them was in hand 
 Just then, as they are rather numerous 
 found. 
 Who took by turns that difficult command 
 
 Since first her Majesty was singly crown'd : 
 But they were mostly nervous six-foot fellows, 
 All fit to make a Patagonian jealous. 
 XLVI I. 
 
 Juan was none of these, but slight and slim, 
 Blushing and beardless ; and yet ne'erthe- 
 less 
 There was a something in his turn of limb. 
 And still more in his eye, which seem'd to 
 express. 
 That though helook'd one of the Seraphim, 
 There lurk'd a Man beneath the Spirit's 
 dress. 
 Besides, the Empress sometimes liked a boy. 
 And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.d 
 
 XLVIll. 
 
 No wonder then that Yermolofi", or MomonoflT, 
 
 Or Scherbatoff, or any other off 
 Or on, might dread her Majesty had not room 
 enough 
 Within her bosom (which was not too tough) 
 For a new flame ; a thought tb cast of gloom 
 enough 
 Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough. 
 Of him who, in the language of his station, 
 Then held that " high oflicial situation." 
 Dd- 
 
•210 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 O, gentle ladies ! should you seek, to kuow 
 The import of this diplomatic phrase. 
 
 Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess* show 
 His parts of speech ; and in the strange displays 
 
 Of that odd string of words, all in a row. 
 Which none divine, and every one obeys. 
 
 Perhaps you may pick out some queer no meaning. 
 
 Of that weak wordy harvest the sole gleaning. 
 
 I think I can explain myself without 
 That sad inexplicable beast of prey — 
 
 That Sphinx, whose words would ever be a doubt. 
 Did not his deeds unriddle them each day — 
 
 That monstrous Hieroglyphic — that long Spout 
 Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh I 
 
 &nd here I must an anecdote relate. 
 
 But luckily of no great length or weight. 
 
 U. 
 
 An English lady asked of an Italian, 
 What were the actual and official duties 
 
 Of the strange thing, some Women set a value on. 
 Which hovers oft about some married Beauties, 
 
 Called " Cavalier Servente?" a Pygmalion 
 Whose statues warm (I fear, alas ! too true 'tis) 
 
 Beneath his Art. The dame, pressed to disclose 
 them. 
 
 Said — " Lady, I beseech you to suppose them." 
 
 LD. 
 
 And thus I supplicate your supposition. 
 And mildest. Matron-like interpretation. 
 
 Of the Imperial Favourite's Condition. 
 'Twas a high place, the highest in the nation 
 
 In fact, if not in rank ; and the suspicion 
 Of any one's attaining to his station. 
 
 No donbt gave pain, where each new pair of 
 shoulders. 
 
 If rather broad, made stocka rise and their holders. 
 
 LHI. 
 
 Juan, I said, was a most beauteous Boy, 
 And had retained his boyish look beyond 
 
 The usual hirsute seasons which destroy. 
 
 With beards and whiskers and the like, the fond 
 
 Parisian aspect which upset old Troy 
 
 And founded Doctor's Commons : — I have conned 
 
 The history of divorces, which, though chequered, 
 
 Calls Uion's the first damages on record. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And Catherine, who loved all thing (save her lord. 
 Who was gone to his place) and passed for much. 
 
 Admiring those (by dainty dames ahhorreds) 
 Gigantic Gentlemen, yet had a touch 
 
 Of Sentiment ; and he she most adored 
 Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such 
 
 A lover as had cost her many a tear. 
 
 And yet but made a middling grenadier. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Oh thou "teterrima Causa" of all "belli"— 
 Thou gate of Life and Death — thou nondescript ! 
 
 Whence is our exit and our entrance, — well I 
 May pause in pondering how all Souls are dipt 
 
 In thy perennial fountain :-^how ra^nfellj I 
 
 Know not, since knowledge saw her Dranches 
 stript 
 
 Of her first fruit ; but how he falls and rises 
 
 Since, TAouhast settled beyond all surmises. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Some call thee " the worst Cause of war," but 1 
 Maintain thou art the best : for after all 
 
 From thee we come, to thee we go, and why 
 To get at thee not batter down a wall. 
 
 Or waste a world ; since no one can deny 
 
 Thou dost replenish worlds both great and small ; 
 
 With, or without thee, all things at a stand 
 
 Are, or wonld be, thou Sea of Life's dry Land . 
 
 LVIL 
 
 Catherine, who was the grand Epitome 
 
 Of that great Cause of war, or peace, or what 
 
 You please (it causes all the things which be. 
 So you may take your choice of this or tbatj- 
 
 Catherine I say, was very glad to see 
 The handsome herald, on whose plumage sat 
 
 Victory ; and, pausing as she saw him kneel 
 
 With his dispatch, forgot to break the seal. 
 
 Lvm. 
 
 Then recollecting the whole Empress, nor 
 Forgetting quite the woman (which composed 
 
 At least three parts of this great whole) she tore 
 The letter open with an air which posed 
 
 The Court, that watched each look her visage wore 
 Until a royal smile at length disclosed 
 
 Fair weather for the day. Though rather spacious. 
 
 Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 211 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Great joy was hers, or rather joys ; the first 
 Was a ta'en city, thirty thousaiid slain. 
 
 Glory and triumph o'er her aspect burst, 
 As an East Indian Sunrise on the main. 
 
 These quench'd a moment her Ambition's 
 thirst — 
 So Arab Deserts drink in Summer's rain: 
 
 In vain ! — As fall the dews on quenchless 
 sands, 
 
 Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands ! 
 
 LX. 
 
 Her next amusement was more fanciful ; 
 
 She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who 
 threw 
 Into a Russian couplet rather dull [slew. 
 
 The whole gazette of thousands whom he 
 Her third, was feminine enough to annul 
 
 The shudder which runs naturally through 
 Our veins, when things called Sovereigns 
 
 think it best 
 To kill, and Generals turn it into jest. 
 
 LXl. 
 
 The two first feelings ran their course com- 
 plete. 
 And lighted first her eye and then her mouth ; 
 The whole court look'd immediately most 
 sweet, [drouth : — 
 
 Like flowers well water'd after a long 
 But when on the Lieutenant at her feet 
 
 Her Majesty, who liked to gaze on youth 
 Almost as much as on a new despatch, 
 Glancedmildly, all the world was on the watch. 
 
 LXII. 
 Though somewhat large, exuberant, and tru- 
 culent, 
 When wroth ; while pleased, she was as fine 
 a figure [lent. 
 
 As those who like things rosy, ripe and succu- 
 Would wish to look on, while they are in 
 vigour. 
 She could repay each amatory look you lent 
 With interest, and in turn was wont with 
 Rigour 
 To exact of Cupid's bills the full amount 
 At sight, nor would permit you to discount. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 With her the latter, though at times convenient. 
 
 Was not so necessary ; for they tell 
 That she was handsome, and though fierce 
 look'd lenient, 
 And always used her favourites too well. 
 I£ once beyond her boudoir's precincts in ye 
 went. 
 Your " Fortune" was in a fair way " to swell 
 A Man" (as Giles says);^ for thoughshewould 
 
 widow all 
 Nations, she liked Man as an individual. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 What a strange thing is man ; and what a 
 stranger 
 Is woman ! What a whirlwind is her head. 
 And what a whirl-pool full of depth and 
 danger 
 Is all the rest about her ! Whether wed. 
 Or widow, maid or mother, she can change 
 her 
 Mind like the wind : whatever she has said 
 Or done, is light to what she'll say or do ; — 
 The oldest thing on record, and yet new ! 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Oh Catherine ! (for of all interjections. 
 To thee both oh 1 and oA .' belong of right 
 
 In love and war) how odd are the connections 
 
 Of human thoughts, which jostle in their 
 
 flight ! [tions : 
 
 Just now yours were cut out in different sec- 
 
 First Ismail's capture caught your fancy 
 
 quite ; [batch ; 
 
 l^exl of new knights, the fresh and glorious 
 
 And Wurrfiy he who brought you the despatch ! 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Shakspeare talks of " the Herald Mercury 
 New lighted on a Heaven-kissing hill :" 
 
 And some such visions crossed her Majesty, 
 While her young Herald knelt before her 
 
 'Tis very true the hill seem'd rather high, [still. 
 For a lieutenant to climb up ; but skill 
 
 Smoothed even the Simplon's steep, and by 
 God's blessing 
 
 With Youth and Health all kisses are " heav- 
 en-kissing." 
 
 LXV II. 
 
 Her Majesty looked down, the Youth look'd 
 up— 
 And so they fell in love ; — She with his face. 
 His grace, his God-knows-what : for Cupid's 
 cup 
 With the first draught intoxicates apace, 
 A quintessential laudanum or " black drop," 
 Which makes one drunk at once, without 
 the base 
 Expedient of full bumpers ; for the eye [dry. 
 In love drinks all life's fountains (save tears) 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 He, on the other hand, if not in love. 
 
 Fell into that no less imperious passion, 
 Self-love— which, when some sort of Thing 
 above 
 Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion. 
 Or dutchess, princess, Empress, " deigns to 
 prove" 
 ('Tis Pope's phrase) a great longing, thongb 
 a rash one, 
 7or one especial person out of many. 
 Makes us believe ourselves as good as any. 
 
212 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Besides, he was of that delighted age 
 Which makes all female ages equal — when 
 
 We don't much care with whom we may en- 
 gage. 
 As bold as Daniel in the Lion's den, 
 
 So that we can our native Sua assuage 
 In the next Ocean, which may flow just 
 then, 
 
 To make a twilight in, just as Sol's heat is 
 
 Queuch'd in the lap of the salt Sea, or Thetis. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And Catherine (we must say thus much for 
 Catherine) [thing 
 
 Though bold and bloody, was the kind of 
 Whose temporary Passion was quite flattering, 
 
 Because each lover look'd a sort of king, 
 Made up upon an amatory pattern,i 
 
 A royal husband in all save the ring — 
 Which, being the damn'dest part of matrimony, 
 Seem'd taking out the sting to leave the 
 honey. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 And when you add to this, her womanhood 
 In its meridian, her blue eyes, or grey — 
 
 (The last, if they have soul, are quite as good, 
 Or better, as the best examples say : 
 
 Napoleon's, Mary's (Queen of Scotland) should 
 Lend to that colour a transcendant ray ; 
 
 And Pallas also sanctions the same hue. 
 
 Too wise to look through Optics black or 
 blue)— 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Her sweet smile, and her then majestic figure, 
 Her plumpness, her imperial condescension. 
 
 Her preference of a boy to men much bigger, 
 (Fellows whom Messalina's self would 
 pension) 
 
 Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigour. 
 With other extras, which we need not men- 
 tion, — 
 
 All these, or any one of these, explain 
 
 Enough to make a stripling very vain. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 And that's enough, for love is vanity. 
 Selfish in its beginning as its end. 
 
 Except where 'tis a mere Insanity, 
 A Maddening Spirit which would strive to 
 blend 
 
 Itself with Beauty's frail Inanity, 
 On which the passion's self seems to depend : 
 
 And hence some heathenish philosophers 
 
 Make love the Main Spring of the Universe.' 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Besides Platonic love, besides the lovo 
 
 Of God, the love of Sentiment, the Loving 
 Of faithful pairs — (I needs must rhyme with 
 dove, 
 That good old steam-boat which keeps 
 verses moving [glove 
 
 'Gainst Reason — Reason ne'er was hand-and- 
 With rhyme, but always leant less to im- 
 proving [tencer 
 The sound than sense) — besides all these pre' 
 To Love, there are those things which Words 
 name Senses ; , 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Those movements, those improvements in oar 
 bodies. 
 
 Which make all bodies anxious to get out 
 Of their own sand-pits, to mix with a Goddess, 
 
 For such all Women are at first no doubt. 
 How beautiful that moment ! and how odd is 
 
 That fever which precedes the languid rout 
 Of our Sensations ! What a curious way 
 The whole thing is of clothing souls in clay ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 The noblest kind of Love is Love Platonical, 
 To end or to begin with ; the next grand 
 
 Is that which may be christened Love Ca- 
 nonical, 
 Because the clergy take the thing in hand ; 
 
 The third sort to be noticed in our Chronicle 
 As flourishing in every Christian land. 
 
 Is, when chaste Matrons to their other ties 
 
 Add what may be called Marriage in Disguise. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Well, we wont analyse — our story must 
 Tell for itself : the Sovereign was smitten, 
 
 Juan much flatter'd by her love, or lust ; — 
 I cannot stop to alter words once written, 
 
 And the two are so mixed with human dust. 
 That he who names one, both perchamce may 
 hit on ; 
 
 But in such matters Russia's mighty Empress 
 
 Behaved no better than a common Sempstress. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 The whole court melted into one wide whisper, 
 And all lips were applied unto all ears ! 
 
 The elder Ladies' wrinkles curl'd much cris- 
 per 
 As they beheld ; the younger cast some leers 
 
 On one another, and each lovely lisper 
 Smiled as she talk'd the matter o'er ; but 
 
 Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye [tears 
 
 Of all the slaudinp lumy wlio stood by. 
 
BON 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 All the Ambassadors of all the Powers [man, 
 Inquired, Who was this very new young 
 
 Who promised to be great in some few hours 1 
 Which is full soon (though life is but a 
 span.) 
 
 Already they beheld the silver showers 
 Of rubles rain, as fast as Specie can, 
 
 Upon his Cabinet, besides the presents fants. 
 
 Of several ribbons and some thousand peas- 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Catherine was generous,— all such ladies are : 
 Love, that great opener of the heart and all 
 
 The ways that lead there, be they near or far, 
 Above, below, by turnpikes great or small, — 
 
 Love— (though she had a cursed taste for war, 
 And was not the best wife, unless we call 
 
 Such Clytemnestra, though perhaps 'lis better 
 
 That one should die, than two drag on the 
 fetter)— 
 
 W'' LXXXI. 
 
 Love had made Catherine make each lover's 
 fortune, 
 Unlike our own half-chaste Elizabeth, 
 Whose avarice all disbursements did impor- 
 tune. 
 If history, tbe grand liar, ever saith 
 The truth ; and though Grief her old age 
 might shorten. 
 Because she put a favourite to death, 
 Her vile, ambiguous method of flirtation, 
 And Stinginess, disgrace her Sex and Station. 
 
 LXXXIL 
 
 But when the levee rose, and all was bustle 
 In the dissolving Circle, all the nations' 
 
 JUAN. 213 
 
 Ambassadors began as 'twere to hustle 
 Round the young man with their congratu- 
 lations. 
 
 Also the softer Silks were heard to rustle 
 Of gentle dames, among whose recreations 
 
 It is to speculate on handsome faces. 
 
 Especially when such lead to high places. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Juan, who found himself, he knew not bow, 
 A general object of attention, made 
 
 His answers with a very graceful brow, 
 As if born for the Ministerial trade. 
 
 Though modest, on his unembarrassed brow 
 Nature had written " gentleman." He said 
 
 Little, but to the purpose ; and his manner 
 
 Flung hovering Graces o'er him like a banner. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 An order from her Majesty consign'd 
 Our young lieutenant to the genial care 
 
 Of those in office : all the World look'd kind 
 (As it will look sometimes with the first 
 stare, 
 
 Which Youth would not act ill to keep in mind) 
 As also did Miss Protasoif then there. 
 
 Named from her mystic office " I'Eprouveuse," 
 
 A term inexplicable to the Muse. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 With her then, as in humble duty bound, 
 Juan retired, — and so will 1, until 
 
 My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground. 
 We have just lit on a " Heaven-kissing 
 hill," 
 
 So lofty that I feel my brain turn round. 
 And all my fancies whirling like a mill ; 
 
 Which is a signal to my nerves and brain. 
 
 To take a quiet ride in some green lane. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO NINTH. 
 
 Note a. p. 205, itanza i. 
 Query— J/ej/ ! Printer's devil. 
 
 Note b. p. SO£f, stanza vi. 
 
 " I at this time got a post, being for fatigue, with four, 
 others. We were sent to break biscuit, and make a mess 
 for Lord Wellington's hounds. I was very hungry, and 
 thought it a good job at the time, as we got our own fill 
 while we broke the biscuit,— a thing 1 had not got for 
 some days.. When thus engaged, the Prodigal Son was never 
 once out of my mind ; and I sighed, as I fed the dogs, 
 over ray Iiumblc situation and my ruined hopes."— Jtm/. 
 
 nal of a Soldier of the list Segt. during the War in 
 Spain. 
 
 Note c. page 208, stanza xxxiil 
 
 He was killed in a Conspiracy, after his temper had been 
 exasperated by his extreme costivity to a degree of in- 
 sanity. 
 
 Note d. page 209. stanza xlvii. 
 
 He was the " grande passion" of the grande Cathe- 
 rine ; — see her Lives under the head of '* Lanskoi." 
 
 Note e. page 210, stanza xlix. 
 
 This was written long beforethc suicide of tliat person. 
 
ID®M 3WAm^ 
 
 CANTO X. 
 
 When NeTfton saw an apple fall, he found 
 In that slight startle from his contempla- 
 tion^ 
 
 'Tis said (for I'll not answer above ground 
 For any sage's creed or calculation — ) 
 
 A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round 
 In a most natural whirl, called " Gravita- 
 tion ;" 
 
 And this is the sole mortal who could grapple. 
 
 Since Adam, with a fall, or with an apple, 
 
 ir. 
 
 Man fell with apples, and with apples rose, 
 If this be true ; f^jr we must deem the 
 mode 
 
 In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose 
 Through the then unpaved stars the tnrnpiku 
 road, 
 
 A thing to counterbalance human woes : 
 For ever since immortal man hath glow'd 
 
 With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon 
 
 Steam-engines will conduct him to the Moon. 
 
 III. 
 
 And wherefore this exordium? — Why, just 
 now, 
 
 In taking up this paltry sheet of paper, 
 My bosom underwent a glorious glow. 
 
 And my internal Spirit cut a caper : 
 And though so much inferior, as I know, 
 
 To those who, by the dint of glass and va- 
 pour. 
 Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye, 
 I wish to do as much by Poesy. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In the Wind's Eye I have sail'd, and sail; 
 but for 
 The stars, I own my telescope is dim ; 
 But at the least I have shunn'd the common 
 shore. 
 And leaving land far out of sight, would 
 The Ocean of Eternity : the roar [skim 
 
 Of Breakers has not daunted my slight, 
 trim. 
 But sHll sea- worthy skilT ; and she may float 
 Where ships have founder'd, as doth many 
 a boat. 
 
 We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom 
 Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush/— 
 
 And far be it from my Muses to presume 
 (For I have more than one Muse at a push) 
 
 To follow him beyond the drawing-room : 
 It is enough that Fortune found him flush 
 
 Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those 
 things 
 
 Which for an instant clip Enjoyment's wings. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But soon they grow again and leave their nest, 
 " Oh !" saith the Psalmist, " that I had a 
 dove's 
 Pinions to flee away, and be at rest '." 
 And who that recollects young years and 
 loves, — [breast, 
 
 Though hoary how, and with a withering 
 And palsied Fancy, which no longer roves 
 Beyond its dimm'd eye's Sphere, — but would 
 much rather [father ? 
 
 Sigh like bis son, than cough like his grand- 
 
 VII. 
 
 But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') 
 
 shrink. 
 
 Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow. 
 
 So narrow as to shame their wintry brink, [low I 
 
 Which threatens inundations deep and yel- 
 
 Sucb difierence doth a few months malce. 
 
 You'd think [low ; 
 
 Grief a rich field which never would lie fal- 
 
 No more it doth, its ploughs but change their 
 
 boys, 
 Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys, 
 
 VIII, 
 
 But coughs will come when sighs depart — 
 and now 
 And then before sighs cease ; for oft the one 
 Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow 
 
 Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the Sun 
 Of life reach'd ten o'clock : and while a glow, 
 Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done, 
 O'er-spreads the cheek which seems too pura- j 
 for clay, | ' 
 
 Thousands blaze, lore, hope, die, — how hapa 
 py they !— 
 
SON XUAir. 
 
 215 
 
 IX. 
 
 But Juan was not meant to die so soon. 
 
 We left him in the focus of such Glory 
 As may be won by favour of the Moon 
 
 Or ladies' fancies — rather transitory 
 Perhaps ; but who would scorn the month of 
 Jane, 
 
 Because December, with his breath so hoary, 
 Must come 1 Much rather should he court the 
 
 ray, 
 To hoard up warmth against a wintry day. 
 
 X. 
 
 Besides, he had some qualities which fix 
 Middle-aged ladies even more than young : 
 
 The former know what's what ; while new- 
 fledged chicks 
 Know little more of love than what is sung 
 
 In rhymes, or dreamt (for fancy will play tricks) 
 In visions of those skies from whence Love 
 sprung. 
 
 Some reckon women by their Suns or Years, 
 
 1 rather think the Moon should date the dears. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And why? because She's changeable and 
 chaste. 
 
 I know no other reason, whatsoe'er 
 Suspicious people, who find fault in haste. 
 
 May choose to tax me with ; which is not 
 fair. 
 Nor flattering to " their temper or their taste," 
 
 As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air : 
 However, I forgive him, and I trust 
 He will forgive himself; — if not, I must. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Old enemies who have become new friends 
 Should so continue — 'tis a point of honour; 
 
 And I know nothing which could make amends 
 For a return to hatred : I would shun her 
 
 Like Garlick, howsoever she extends 
 Her hundred arms and legs, and fain out- 
 run her. [foes — 
 
 Old flames, new wives, become onr bitterest 
 
 Converted foes should scorn to join vrith those. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 This were the worst desertion : — renegadoes, 
 Even shufliing Southey, that incarnate lie, 
 Would scarcely join again the " reformadoes,"a 
 Whom he forsook to fill the Laureate's sty : 
 And honest men from Iceland to Barbadoes, 
 Whether in Caledon or Italy, 
 ' Should not vere round with every breath, nor 
 seize 
 To pain, the moment when you cease to please. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The lawyer and the critic but behold 
 The baser sides of literature and life, 
 
 And nought remains unseen, but much untold. 
 By those who scour those double vales of 
 strife. 
 
 While common men grow ignorantly old. 
 The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife. 
 
 Dissecting the whole inside of a question. 
 
 And with it all the process of digestion. 
 
 XV. 
 
 A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper. 
 And that's the reason he himself's so dirty ; 
 
 The endless soof* bestows a tint far deeper 
 Than can be hid by altering his shirt ; he 
 
 Retains the sable stains of the dark creeper, 
 At least some twenty-nine do out of thirty. 
 
 In all their habits ; — not so t/ou, I own ; 
 
 As Csesar wore his robe you wear your gown. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And all our little feuds, at least all mine, 
 Dear Jeflery, once my most redoubted foB, 
 
 (As far as rhyme and criticism combine 
 To make such puppets of us things below) 
 
 Are over: Here's a health to " Auld Lang 
 Syne !" 
 I do not know you, and may never know 
 
 Your face^ — but you have acted on the whole 
 
 Most nobly, and I own it from my soul. 
 
 XVIL 
 
 And when I use the phrase of " Auld Lang 
 Syne !" [pity 
 
 'Tis not address'd to you — the more's the 
 For me, for I would rather take my wine 
 With you, than aught (save Scott) in your 
 proud city. 
 But somehow, — it may seem a schoolboy's 
 whine, 
 And yet 1 seek not to be grand nor witty, 
 But I am half a Scot by birth, and bred 
 A w hole one, and my heart flies to my head,— 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 As " Auld Lang Syne" brings Scotland, one 
 and all, 
 Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills, 
 and clear streams, 
 TheDee,theDon,Balgounie'sBrig's6teia)afi,e 
 All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams 
 Of what I then dreamt, clothed in their own pall. 
 Like Banquo's ofispring ;— floating past me 
 seems 
 My childhood in this childishness of mine : 
 I care not — 'tis a glimpse of " Auld Lang 
 Syne. " 
 
 
2^16 
 
 DON JTTAir 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And though, as you remember, in a fit 
 Of ■wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and 
 curly, 
 I raii'd at Scots to show my wrath and wit, 
 Which must be own'd was sensitive and 
 surly, 
 Yet 'tis in vain such sallies to permit. 
 They cannot quench young feelings fresh 
 and early : [blood, 
 
 I " scotch'd not kill'd" the Scotchman in my 
 And love the land of " mountain and of flood." 
 
 XX. 
 
 Don Juan, who was real, or ideal, — 
 For both are much the same, since what men 
 think 
 
 Exists when the once thinkers are less real 
 Than what they thought, for mind can never 
 sink. 
 
 And 'gainst the body makes a strong appeal ; 
 And yet 'tis very puzzling on the brink 
 
 Of what is called Eternity, to stare. 
 
 And know no more of what is here, than there ; 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Don Jnan grew a very polish'd Russian — 
 Haw we wont mention, why we need not 
 say : [cussion 
 
 Few.youthful minds can stand the strong con- 
 Of any slight temptation in their way ; 
 
 But his just now were spread as is a cushion 
 S.nootiied for a monarch's seat of honour : 
 gay 
 
 Damsels, and dances, revels, ready money. 
 
 Made ice seem paradise, and winter sunny. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The favour of the Empress was agreeable ; 
 
 And though the duty wai'd a little hard. 
 Young people at his time of life should be able 
 
 To come off handsomely in that regard. 
 He now was growing up like a green tree, 
 able 
 
 For love, war, or ambition, which reward 
 Their luckier votaries, till old Age's tedium 
 Make some prefer the circulating medium. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 About this time, as might have been antici- 
 pated. 
 
 Seduced by youth and dangerous examples, 
 Don Juan grew, I fear, a little dissipated ; 
 
 Which is a sad thing, and not only tramples 
 On our fresh feelings, but — as being partici- 
 pated 
 
 With all kinds of incorrigible samples 
 Of frail humanity— must make us selfish, 
 And shut our souls up in us like a shell-fish. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 This we pass over. We will also pass 
 The usual progress of intrigues between 
 
 Unequal matches, such as are, alas ! 
 A young Lieutenant's with a not old Queen, 
 
 But one who is not so youthful as she was 
 In all the royalty of sweet seventeen. 
 
 Sovereigns may sway materials, bat not mat- 
 ter, [flatter. 
 
 And wrinkles, the d d democrats, wont 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And Death, the sovereign's Sovereign, though 
 the great 
 
 Gracchus of all mortality, who levels 
 With his Agrarian laws, the high estate 
 
 Of him who feasts, and fights, and roars, and 
 
 revels, [await 
 
 To one small grass-grown patch (which must 
 
 Corruption for its crop) with the poor devils 
 Who never had a foot of land till now, — 
 Death's a reformer, all men must allow. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 He lived (not Death, but Juan) in a hurry 
 Of waste, and haste, and glare, and gloss, 
 and glitter. 
 In this gay clime of bear-skins black and 
 furry— [bitter) 
 
 Which (though I hate to say a thing that's 
 Peep out sometimes, when things are in a 
 flurry [fitter 
 
 Through all the " purple and fine linen," 
 For Babylon's than Russia's royal harlot— 
 And neutralize her outward show of Scarlet. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And this same state we wont describe : we 
 would 
 Perhaps from hearsay, or from recollection ; 
 But getting nigh grim Dante's " obscure 
 wood," 
 That horrid Equinox, that hateful section 
 Of human years, that half-way house, that rude 
 Hut, whence wise travellers drive with cir- 
 cumspection 
 Iiife's sad post horses o'er the dreary frontier 
 Of age, and looking back to youth, give one 
 tear ; — 
 
 XXVllI. 
 
 I wont describe — that is, if I can help 
 Description; and 1 wont reflect- -that is, 
 
 If I can stave off thought, ivhich— as a whelp 
 Clings to its teat — sticks to me through the 
 abyss 
 
 Of this odd labyrinth ; or as the kelp 
 Holds "oy the rock ; or as a lover's kiss 
 
 Drains its first draught of lips : — but, as I said, j 
 
 I tfont philosophize, and uUl be read. 
 
SON JUAN. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Juan, instead of courting courts, was courted, 
 A thing which happens rarely : this he owed 
 
 Much to his youth, and much to his reported 
 Valour : much also to the blood he show'd, 
 
 Like a race-horse ; much to each dress he 
 sported. 
 Which set the beauty off in which he glow'd, 
 
 As purple clouds befringe the sun ; but most 
 
 He owed to an old woman and his post. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He wrote to Spain : — and all his near relations. 
 Perceiving he was in a handsome way 
 
 Of getting on himself, and finding stations 
 For cousins also, answer'd the same day. 
 
 Several prepared themselves for emigrations ; 
 And eating ices, were o'erheard to say. 
 
 That with the addition of a slight pelisse, 
 
 Madrid's and Moscow's climes were of a-piece, 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 His Mother Donna Inez, finding too 
 That in the lieu of drawing on his banker, 
 
 Where his assets were waxing rather few. 
 He had brought his spending to a handsome 
 anchor, — 
 
 Replied, " that she was glad to see him thro' 
 Those pleasures after which wild youth 
 will hanker ; 
 
 As the sole sign of man's being in his senses 
 
 Is, learning to reduce his past expenses. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 '* She also recommended him to God, 
 And no less to God's Son, as well as Mother, 
 
 Warn'd him against Greek-worship, which 
 looks odd 
 In Catholic eyes ; but told him too to smother 
 
 Outward dislike, which don't look well abroad 
 Inform'd him that he had a little brother 
 
 Born in a second wedlock ; and above 
 
 All, praised the Empress's maternal love. 
 
 XXXIH. 
 
 " She could not too much give her approbation 
 Unto an Empress, wiopreferr'd young men 
 Whose age, and what was better still, whose 
 nation 
 And climate, stopped all scandal (now and 
 then) :— 
 At home it might have given her some vexa- 
 tion ; 
 I But where thermometers sunk down to ten. 
 Or five, or one, or zero, she could never 
 Jelieve that virtue thaw'd before the river." 
 
 XXXJV. 
 
 217 
 
 Oh for aforty-parson power * to chant 
 Thy praise, Hypocrisy ! Oh for a hymn 
 
 Loud as the Virtues thou dost loudly vaunt, 
 Not practise ! Oh for trumps of cherubim ! 
 
 Or the ear-trumpet of my good old Aunt, 
 Who, though her spectacles at last grew 
 dim, 
 
 Drew quiet consolation through its hint. 
 
 When she no more could read the pious print. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 She was no hypocrite at least, poor soal, 
 But went to heaven in as sincere a way 
 
 As any body on the Elected Roll, 
 Which portions out upon the judgment day 
 
 Heaven's freeholds, in a sort of doomsday 
 scroll. 
 Such as the conqueror William did repay 
 
 His knights with, lotting others properties 
 
 Into some sixty thousand new knights' fees. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 I can't complain, whose ancestors are there, 
 
 Erneis, Radulphus — eight-and- forty manors 
 (If that my memory doth not greatly err) 
 Were their reward for following Billy's 
 banners ; 
 And though I can't help thinking 'twas scarce 
 fair [ners ; 
 
 To strip the Saxons of their hydes' , like tan- 
 Yet as they founded churches with the pro- 
 duce, [use. 
 You'll deem, no doubt, they put it to a good 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The gentle Juan flourish 'd, though at times " 
 He felt like other plants called Sensitive, 
 
 Which shrink from touch, as monarchs do 
 from rhymes. 
 Save such as Southey can afford to give. 
 
 Perhaps he long'd iu bitter frosts for climes 
 In which the Neva's ice would cease to live 
 
 Before May-day : perhaps, despite his duty. 
 
 In royalty's vast arms he sigh'd for beauty : , 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Perhaps, — but, sans perhaps, we need not 
 seek 
 For causes young or old : the canker-worm 
 Will feed npon the fairest, freshest cheek, 
 
 As well as further drain the withered form ; 
 Care, like a house-keeper, brings every week 
 
 His bills in, and however we may storm, 
 They mnst be paid : though six days smoothly 
 run. 
 
 The seventh will bring blue devils or a dun. 
 E e 
 
218 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 I don't know how it was, but he grew sick : 
 The Empress was alarm'd, and her physi- 
 cian [tick 
 (The same who physick'd Peter) found the 
 
 Of his fierce pulse betoken a condition 
 Which augur'd of the dead, however quick 
 Itself, and show'd a feverish disposition ; 
 At which the whole court was extremely 
 
 troubled, 
 The sovereign ahock'd, and all his medicines 
 doubled. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Low were the whispers, manifold the rumours : 
 Some said he had been pcison'd by Potem- 
 kin ; 
 
 Others talked learnedly of certain tumours, 
 Exhaustion, or disorders of the same kin ; 
 
 Some said 'twas a concoction of the humours, 
 Which with the blood too readily will claim 
 kin; 
 
 Others again were ready to maintain, 
 
 " 'Twas only the fatigue of last campaign." 
 
 XLl. 
 
 But here is one prescription out of many : 
 " Sodae-Sulphat. 3. vi. 3. s. Mannse optim. 
 
 Aq. fervent. F. 3. iss. 3ij. tinct. Sennas 
 Haustus" (And here the surgeon came 
 and cupp'd him) 
 
 " R. Pulv. Com. gr. in. Ipecacuanhse" 
 (With more beside if Juan had not stopp'd 
 'em). 
 
 " Bolus Potassae Sulphuret. sumendus, 
 
 Et Haustus ter in die capiendus." 
 
 XLII. 
 
 This is the way physicians mend or end us, 
 Secundum artem : but although we sneer 
 
 In health — when ill, we call them to attend 
 us, 
 Without the least propensity to jeer : 
 
 While that " hiatus maxime deflendus" 
 To be filled up by spade or mattock's near, 
 
 Instead of gliding graciously down Lethe, 
 
 We tease mild Baillie, or soft Abernethy. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Juan demurr'd at this first notice to 
 
 Quit ; and though death had threaten'd an 
 ejection, 
 
 His youth and constitution bore him through. 
 And sent the doctors in a new direction. 
 
 But still his state was delicate : the hue 
 Of health but flicker'd with a faint reflection 
 
 Along his wasted cheek, and seem'd to gravel 
 
 The Faculty— who said that he must travel . 
 
 The climate was too cold, they said, for him, 
 Meridian-born, to bloom in. This opinion 
 
 Made the chaste Catherine look a little grim. 
 Who did not like at first to lose her minion : 
 
 But when she saw his dazzling eye wax dim. 
 And drooping like an Eagle's with dipt 
 pinion, 
 
 She then resolved to send him on a mission, 
 
 But in a style becoming his condition. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 There was just then a kind of a discussion, 
 
 A sort of treaty or negociation 
 Between the British cabinet and Russian. 
 
 Maintain'd with all the due prevarication 
 With which great states such things are apt to 
 push on ; 
 
 Something about the Baltic's navigation. 
 Hides, train-oil, tallow, and the rights of 
 
 Thetis, 
 Which Britons deem their " uti possidetis." 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 So Catherine, who had a handsome way 
 Of fitting out her favourites, conferr'd 
 
 This secret charge on Juan, to display 
 At once her royal splendour, and reward 
 
 His services. He kiss'd hands the next day. 
 Received instructions how to play his card, 
 
 Was laden with all kinds of gifts and honours, 
 
 Which show'd what great discernment was the 
 donor's. 
 
 xLvir. 
 
 But she was lucky, and luck's all. Your 
 Queens 
 Are generally prosperous in reigning ; 
 Which puzzles us to know what Fortune 
 means. [waning. 
 
 But to continue; though her years were 
 Her climacteric teased her like her teens 
 And though her dignity brook'd no com- 
 plaining. 
 So much did Juan's setting off distress her, 
 She could not find at first a fit successor. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 But time the comforter will come at last 
 And four-and-twenty hours, and twice that 
 number 
 
 Of candidates requesting to be placed. 
 Made Catherine taste next night a quiet 
 slumber : — 
 
 Not that she meant to fix again in haste. 
 Nor did she find the quantity encumber, 
 
 But always choosing with deliberation, 
 
 Kept the place open for their emulation. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 While this high post of honour's in abeyance, 
 For one or two days, reader, we request 
 
 Vou'U mount with our young hero the convey- 
 ance [best 
 Which wafted him from Petersburgh : the 
 
 BHrouche, which had the glory to display once 
 The fair Czarina's Autocratic crest, 
 
 When, a new Iphigene, she went to Tauris, 
 
 Was given to her favourite,*^ and now bore hie. 
 
 L. 
 
 A bull-dog, and a bullfinch, and an ermine, 
 All private favourites of Don Juan ; — for 
 
 (Let deeper sages the true cause determine) 
 He had a kind of inclination, or 
 
 Weakness, for what most people deem mere 
 vermin. 
 Live animals ; an old maid of threescore 
 
 For cats and birds more penchant ne'er dis- 
 play'd, 
 
 Although he was not old, nor eveu a maid ; — 
 
 LL 
 
 The animals aforesaid occupied 
 
 Their station : there were valets, secretaries, 
 In other vehicles ; but at his side 
 
 Sat little Leila, who survived the parries 
 He made 'gainst Cossacque sabres, in the wide 
 
 Slaughter of Ismail. Though my wild Muse 
 varies 
 Her note, she don't forget the infant girl 
 Whom he preserved, a pure and living pearl. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Poor little thing ! She was as fair as docile, 
 
 And with that gentle, serious character, 
 .4s rare in living beings as a fossile 
 Man, 'midst thy mouldy Mammoths, " grand 
 Cuvier !" 
 Ill fitted was her ignorance to jostle 
 With this o'erwhelming world, where all 
 must err : 
 But she was yet but ten years old, and therefore 
 Was tranquil, though she knew not why or 
 wherefore. 
 
 LIIl. 
 
 Don Juan loved her, and she loved him, as 
 Nor brother, father, sister, daughter love. 
 
 I cannot tell exactly what it was ; 
 He was not yet quite old enough to prove 
 
 Parental feelings, and the other class, 
 Call'd brotherly affection, could not move 
 
 His bosom, — for he never had a sister : 
 
 Ah I if he had, how much he would have 
 miss'd her ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 219 
 
 And still less was it sensual ; for besides 
 That he was not an ancient debauchee, 
 
 (Who like sour fruit, to stir their veins' salt 
 tides, 
 As Acids rouse a dormant Alkali,) 
 
 Although ('twill happen as our planet guide.«) 
 His youth was not the chastest that might be. 
 
 There was the purest platonism at bottom 
 
 Of all his feelings — only he forgot 'em. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Just now there was no peril of temptation ; 
 
 He loved the infant orphan he had saved. 
 As Patriots (now and then) may love a nation ; 
 
 His pride too felt that she was not enslaved 
 Owing to him ; — as also her salvation 
 
 Through his means and the church's might 
 be paved. [ed 
 
 But one thing's odd, which here must be insert- 
 The little Turk refused to be converted. 
 
 Lvr. 
 
 'Twas strange enough she should retain the im- 
 pression 
 Through such a scene of change, and dread, 
 and slaughter ; [gression. 
 
 But though three bishops told her the trans- 
 She show'd a great dislike to holy water : 
 She also had no passion for confession ; 
 
 Perhaps she had nothing to confess: — no 
 
 matter ; [it — 
 
 Whate'er the cause, the church made little of 
 
 She still held out that Mahomet was a prophet. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 In fact, the only Christain she could bear [ed 
 Was Juan ; whom she seem'd to have select- 
 In place of what her home and friends once 
 were. 
 He naturally loved what he protected : • 
 And thus they form'd a rather curious pair, 
 
 A guardian green m years, a ward connected 
 In neither clime, time, blood, with her defend- 
 er ; [tender. 
 And yet this want of ties made theirs more 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Theyjourney'd on through Poland and through 
 
 Warsaw, 
 
 Famons for mines of salt and yokes of iron : 
 
 Through Courland also, which that famous 
 
 farce saw ['*Biron."e 
 
 Which gave her dukes the graceless name of 
 
 'Tis the same landscape which the modern Mars 
 
 saw [Syren ! 
 
 Who marched to Moscow, led by fame, the 
 
 To lose by one month's frost some twenty years 
 
 Of conquest, and his guard of grenadiers. 
 
^20 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Let this not seem an anti-climax : — " Oh ! 
 
 My Guard ! my old guard !" exclaimed 
 that God of Clay. 
 j"hink of the Thunderer's falling down below 
 
 Carotid-artery-cutting Castlereagh ! 
 Alas ! that glory should be chill'd by snow ! 
 
 But should we wish to warm us on our way 
 Through Poland, there is Kosciusko's name 
 Might scatter fire through ice, like Hecla's 
 flame. 
 
 LX. 
 
 From Poland they came on through I^russia 
 Proper, 
 
 And Konigsberg the capital, whose raunt. 
 Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper, 
 
 Has lately been the great Professor Kant. 
 Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper 
 
 About philosophy, pursued his jaunt 
 To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions 
 Have princes who spur more than their pos- 
 tillions. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 And thence through Berlin, Dresden and the 
 like. 
 
 Until he reach'd the castellated lihine : 
 
 Ye glorious Gothic scenes ! how much ye strike 
 
 All phantasies, not even excepting mine : 
 A grey wall, a green ruin, rusty pike, 
 
 Make my soul pass the equinoctial line 
 Between the present and past worlds, and 
 
 hover 
 Upon their airy confine, half-Eeas-over. 
 
 tXII. 
 
 But Juan posted on through Manheim, Bonn, 
 Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre 
 
 Of the good feudal times for ever gone, 
 On which I have not time just now to lec- 
 ture, flogne. 
 
 From thence ihe was drawn onwards to Co- 
 A city which presents to the inspector 
 
 Eleven thousand Maidenheads of bone. 
 
 The greatest numier Flesh hath ever known.'' 
 
 LXHI. 
 
 Trom thence to Holland's Hague and Hel- 
 voetsluys, 
 
 That water-land of Dutchmen and of ditches, 
 Where jumper expresses its best juice, 
 
 The poor man's sparkling substitute for 
 riches. 
 Senates and sages have condemn'd its use — 
 
 But to deny the mob a cordial, which is 
 Too often all the clothing, meat or fuel [ciiiel. 
 Good government has left them, seems but 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Here he embarked, and with a flowing sail 
 Went bounding for the island of the free. 
 Towards which the impatient wind blew half a 
 gale : 
 High dash'J the spray, the bows dipped in 
 the sea, [pale ; 
 
 And sea-sick- passengers turn'd somewhat 
 
 But Juan, season'd, as he well might be 
 By foirmer voyages, stood to watch the skiflis 
 Which pass'd, or catch the first glimpse of the 
 clifis. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 At length they rose, like a white wall along 
 The blue sea's border ; and Don Juan felt— 
 
 What even young strangers feel a little strong 
 At the first sight of Albion's chalky belt — 
 
 A kind of pride that he should be among 
 Those haughty shop-keepers, who sternly 
 dealt 
 
 Their goods and edicts out from pole to pole. 
 
 And made the very billows pay them toll. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 I have no great cause to love that spot of earth, 
 Which holds what ntig'At Aaue been the no- 
 blest nation ; 
 
 But though I owe it little but my birth, 
 1 feel a mix'd regret and veneration 
 
 For its decaying fame and former worth, [tion) 
 Seven years (the usual term of transporta- 
 
 Of absence, lay one's old resentments level. 
 
 When a man's country's going to the devil. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Alas ! could She bnt fnlly, truly, know 
 How her great name is now throughout ab- 
 horr'd ; 
 How eager all the earth is for the blow 
 
 Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword ; 
 
 How all the nations deem her their worst foe. 
 
 That worse than worst of foes, the once 
 
 adored [kind. 
 
 False friend, who held out freedom to man- 
 
 And now would chain them, to the very 
 
 mind ; — 
 
 JLXVIII. 
 
 Would she be proud, or boast herself the free. 
 Who is but first of slaves ? The nations are 
 
 In prison, — but the jailor, what is he? 
 No less a victim to the bolt and bar. 
 
 Is the poor privilege to turn the key 
 ITpon the captive, freedom ? He's as far 
 
 From the enjoyment of the earth and air 
 
 Who watches o'er the chain, as thjy who wear. 
 
 ti 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 221 
 
 tXIX. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Don Jaan now saw Albion's earliest beaaties. 
 Thy cliffs, dear Dover ! harbour, and hotel ; 
 
 Thy custom-honse, with all its delicate duties ; 
 Thy waiters running mucks at every bell ; 
 
 Thy packets, all whose passengers are booties 
 To those who upon land or water dwell ; 
 
 And last, not least, to strangers uniostrncted. 
 
 Thy long, long bills, whence nothing is de- 
 ducted. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Joan, though careless, young, and magni&qne. 
 And rich in rubles, diamonds, cash, and 
 credit. 
 
 Who did not limit much his bills per week, 
 Yet stared at this a little, though he paid it, — 
 
 (His Maggior Duomo, a smart subtle Greek, 
 Before him snmm'd the awful scroll and 
 read it :) 
 
 But doubtless as the air, though seldom sunny. 
 
 Is free, the respiration's worth the money. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 On with the horses ! Off to Canterbury ! 
 Tramp, tramp o'er pebble, and splash, splash 
 through puddle ; 
 Hurrah ! how swiftly speeds the post so merry I 
 Not like slow Germany, wherein they mud- 
 dle 
 Along the road, as if they went to bury 
 
 Their fare ; and also pause besides, to fuddle 
 With ** schnapps" — sad dogs ! whom ''Hunds- 
 
 fot" or " Ferflucter" 
 Affect no more than lightning a conductor. 
 
 LXXlt. 
 
 Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits. 
 Leavening his blood as cayenne doth a curry, 
 
 As going at full speed — no matter where its 
 Direction be, so 'tis but in a hurry, 
 
 And merely for the sake of its own merits ; 
 For the less cause there is for all this flurry. 
 
 The greater is the pleasure in arriving 
 
 At the great end of travel — which is driving. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 They saw at Canterbury the Cathedral ,- 
 Black Edward's helm, and Becket's blooay 
 stone. 
 Were pointed out as usual by the Bedral, 
 
 In the same quaint, uninterested tone : — 
 There's Glory again for you, gentle Reader ! 
 All 
 Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone. 
 Half-solved into those sodas or magnesias. 
 Which form that bitter draught, the human 
 species. 
 
 The effect on Juan was of course sublime : 
 
 He breathed a thousand Cressys, as he saw 
 
 That casque, which never stoop'd except to 
 
 Time. [awe, 
 
 Even the bold Churchman's tomb excited 
 
 Who died ip the then great attempt fo climb 
 
 O'er kings, who noii) at least must ta/fcoflaw 
 Before they butcher. Little Leila gazed, 
 And asked why such a. structure had been 
 raised : 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And being told it was " God's house," she said 
 He was well lodged, but only wonder'd how 
 
 He suffer'd Infidels in his homestead. 
 The cruel Nazarenes, who had laid low 
 
 His holy temples in the lands which bred 
 The True Believers : — and her infant brow 
 
 Was bent with grief that Mahomet should re- 
 sign 
 
 A mosque so noble, flung like pearls to swine. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 On, on, through meadows, managed like a 
 garden, 
 
 A Paradise of hops and high production ; 
 For after years of travel by a bard in 
 
 Countries of greater heat but lesser suction, 
 A green field is a sight which makes him par- 
 don [tion, 
 
 The absence of that more sublime construc- 
 Which mixes up vines, olives, precipices, 
 Glaciers, Tolcanos, oranges and ices. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 And when I think upon a pot of beer—— 
 But I wont weep ! — and so drive on, pos- 
 tillions ! 
 As the smart boys spurr'd fast in their career, 
 Juan admired these highways of free 
 millions ; 
 A country in all senses the most dear 
 
 To foreigner or native, save some silly ones. 
 Who " kick against the pricks" just at this 
 
 juncture. 
 And for their pains get only a fresh puncture. 
 
 LXXVIIl. 
 
 What a delightful thing's a turnpike road ! 
 
 So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving 
 The earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad 
 
 Air can accomplish, with his wide wings 
 waving. 
 Had such been cut in Phaeton's time, the God 
 
 Had told his son to satisfy his craving 
 With the York mail ; — but onward as we roll, 
 " Surgit amari aliquid" — the toll ! 
 
222 
 
 DOW JUAN. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Alas ! how deeply painful is all paymeDt ! 
 Take lives, take wives, take aught except 
 men's purses. 
 As Machiarel shows those in purple raiment,. 
 
 Such is the shortest way to general curses. 
 They hate a murderer much less than a clai- 
 mant 
 On that sweet ore which every body nurses. 
 Kill a man's family and he may brook it. 
 But keep your hands out of his breeches 
 pocket. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 So said the Florentine : ye monarchs hearken 
 To your instructor. Juan now was borne. 
 
 Just as the day began to wane and darken. 
 O'er the high hill, which looks with pride 
 ^ or scorn [in 
 
 Toward the great city. — Ye who have a spark 
 Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn 
 
 According as you take things well or ill ; — 
 
 Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill ! 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 The sun went down, the smoke rose up, as 
 from 
 A half-unquenched volcano, o'er a space 
 Which well beseem'd the " Devil's drawing- 
 room," 
 As some have qualified that wondrous place 
 But Juan felt, though not approaching home, 
 As one who, though he were not of the race, 
 Revered the soil, of those true sons the mother. 
 Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied 
 t'other.' 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and ship- 
 ping. 
 
 Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye 
 Could reach, with here and there a sail just 
 skipping 
 
 In sight, then lost amidst the forestry 
 Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping 
 
 On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy ; 
 A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown 
 On a fool's head— and there is London Town ! 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 But Juan saw not this : each wreath of smoke 
 Appear'd to him but as the magic vapour 
 
 Of some alchyrnic furnace, from whence broke 
 Tlie wealth of worlds (a wealth of tax and 
 paper :] 
 
 Tlie gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke 
 
 Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper. 
 Were nothing but the natural atmosphere, 
 Extremely wholesome, though but rarely 
 • clear. 
 
 LXXXIV. - 
 
 He paused^and so will I ; as doth a crew 
 Before they give their broadside. By and by 
 
 My gentle countrymen, we will renew 
 Our old acquaintance ; and at least I'll try 
 
 To lell you truths you will not take as true. 
 Because they are so ; — a male Mrs. Fry, 
 
 With a soft besom will I sweep your halls^ 
 
 And brush a web or two from off the walls. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Oh Mrs. Fry ! Why go to Newgate ? Why 
 Preach to poor rogues ? And wherefore not 
 begin 
 
 With C— It— n, or with other houses ? Try 
 Your hand atharden'd and imperial sin. 
 
 To mend the people's an absurdity, 
 A jargon, a mere philantliropic din, 
 
 Unless you make their betters better : — Fy ! 
 
 I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Teach them the decencies of good tlireescore ; 
 Cure them of tours, hussar and highland 
 dresses ; 
 Tell them that youth once gone returns no 
 more, 
 That hired huzzas redeem no land's distresses;. 
 Tell them Sir W— 11— m C— t— s is a bore, 
 Too dull even for the dullest of excesses, 
 The witless FalstafTof a hoary Hal, 
 A fool whose bells have ceased to ring at all; 
 
 iXXXVII. 
 
 Tell them.though it may be perhaps too late 
 On life's worn confine, jaded, bloated, 
 sated. 
 
 To set up vain pretences of being great, 
 'Tis not so to be good ; and be it stated, 
 
 The worthiest kings have ever loved least state ; 
 
 And tell them but you wont, and I have 
 
 prated 
 
 Just now enough; but by and by I'll prattle 
 
 Like Roland's horn in Roncesvalles' battle. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO TENTH. 
 
 Note a. page 215, stanza xiii. 
 " Reformers," or rather " Reformed." The Baron 
 Bradwardine in Waverley is authority for the word. 
 
 Note b. page 315, stanza xv. 
 Query, suit 7 Printer's DeviL 
 
 Note c. page 215, stanza xviii. 
 
 , The brig of Don near the " auld toun" of Aberdeen, 
 nith its one arch and its black deep salmon stream below, 
 is in my memory as yesterday. I still remember, though 
 perhaps I may misquote, the awful proverb which made me 
 pause to cross it, and yet lean over it with a childish de- 
 light, being an only son, at least by the Mother's side. 
 The saying as recollected by me was this, but I havenever 
 heard or seen it since I was nine years of age. 
 Brig of Balgounie, black's your wa*, 
 Wi* a wife's ae son, and a mear's aefoali 
 Doun ye shall fa' !"— 
 
 Note d. page 217, stanza xxxiv. 
 A metaphor taken from the " forty-horse power" of a 
 steam engine. That mad wag, the Reverend S. S. sitting 
 by a brother Clergyman at dinner, observed afterwards 
 
 that his dull neighbour had a " twelve-parson power*' of 
 converfation. 
 
 Note c. page 217, stanza xxxvi. 
 " Hyde." — I believe ahyde of land to be a legitimate 
 word, and as such subject to the tax of a quibble. 
 
 Note f. page 219, stanza xlix. 
 The Empress went to the Crimea accompanied by the 
 Emperor Joseph, in the year— I forget which. 
 
 Note g. page 219, stanza Iviii. 
 In the Empress Anne's time Biren her favourite assumevl 
 thenameandarmsof the "Birons" of France, which fami- 
 lies are yet extant with that of England : there are still the 
 daughters of Courland of that name; one of them I re- 
 member seeingin England intheble=sedyearofthe Allies — 
 
 the Dutchess of S. — to whom the English dutchess of 3 1 
 
 presented me as a namesake. 
 
 Note h. page 220, stanza Ixii. 
 St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins were still 
 extant in 1816, and may be so yet as much as ever. 
 
 Note i. page 232, stanza Ixxxl. 
 India : America. 
 
W&m ^UTAlTo 
 
 CANTO XI. 
 
 I. 
 
 When Bishop Berkeley said " there Tfas no 
 matter," [said : 
 
 And proved it — 'twas no matter what he 
 They say his system 'tis in vain to batter, 
 
 Too subtle for the airiest human head ; 
 And yet who can believe it ? I wculd shatter 
 
 Gladly all matters down to stone or lead, 
 Or adamant, to find the World a spirit, 
 And wear my head, denying that I wear it. 
 
 II. 
 
 What a sublime discoy'ry 'twas to make the 
 
 Universe universal Egotism, 
 That all's ideal — all ourselres : I'll stake the 
 World (be it what you will) that that's no 
 Schism. 
 Oh Doubt ! — if thou be'st Doubt, for which 
 some take thee, [prism 
 
 But which I doubt extremely — thou sole 
 Of the Truth's rays, spoil not my draught of 
 
 spirit ! 
 Heaven's brandy, though our brain can hardly 
 bear it, 
 
 III. 
 
 For ever and anon comes Indigestion, 
 (Not the most " dainty Ariel") and perplexes 
 
 Our soarings with another sort of que.stion : 
 And that which after all my spirit vexes, 
 
 Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye 
 on, 
 Without confusion of the sorts and sexes, 
 
 Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder. 
 
 The World, which at the worst's a glorious 
 blunder — 
 
 IV. 
 
 If it be Chance ; or if it be according 
 To the old Text, still better :— lest it should 
 
 Turn out so, we'll say nothing 'gainst the 
 wording. 
 As several people think such hazards rude. 
 
 They're right; our days are too brief for af- 
 fording 
 Space to dispute what no one eve.r could 
 
 Decide, and every body o)i£ day will 
 
 Know very clearly — or at least lie still. 
 
 V. 
 
 And therefore will I leave off metaphysical 
 Discussion, which is neither here nor there : J 
 
 If I agree that what is, is ; then this I call 1 
 Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair. 
 
 The truth is, I've grown lately rather phthisi- 
 cal : 
 I don't know what the reason is — the air 
 
 Perhaps ; but as I suffer from the shocks 
 
 Of illness, I grow much more orlhodoT. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The first attack at once proved the Divinity ; 
 
 (But that I never doubted, nor the Devil ;) 
 The next, the Virgin's mystical virginity ; 
 
 The third, the usual Origin of Evil ; 
 The fourth atonce establish'd thewhole Trinity 
 
 On so uncontrovertible a level. 
 That I devoutly wish'd the three were four. 
 On purfiose to believe so much the more. 
 
 VII. 
 
 To our theme. — The man who has stood on the 
 Acropolis, 
 And look'd down over Atlica ; or he 
 Who has sail'd where picturesque Constanti- 
 nople is. 
 Or seen Tombuctou, or hath taken tea 
 In small-eyed China's crockery-ware metro- 
 polis. 
 Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh, 
 May not think much of London's first appear- 
 ance — 
 But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Don J uan had got out on Shooter's hill ; 
 
 Sunset the time, the place the same declivity 
 Which looks along that vale of good and ill 
 
 Where London streets ferment in full activ- 
 ity ; 
 While every thing around was calm and still, 
 
 Except the creak of wheels, which on their 
 pivot he 
 Heard — and that bee-like, bubbling, busy ham 
 Of cities, that boils over with their scum : 
 
DOW JOAN. 
 
 225 
 
 IX. 
 
 1 say, Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation, 
 Walk'd on behind liis carriage, o'er llie 
 summit. 
 And lost in wonder of so great a nation, 
 Gave way to't, since he could not overcome 
 it. [station ; 
 
 " And here," he cried, " is Freedom's chosen 
 Here peals the people's voice, nor can en- 
 tomb it 
 Racks, prisons, inquisitions ; resurrection 
 Awaits it, each new meeting or election. 
 
 " Here are chaste wives, pure lives ; here 
 people pay [dear, 
 
 But what they please ; and if that things be 
 'Tis only that they love to throw away 
 
 Their cash, to show how much they have a- 
 Here laws are all inviolate ; none lay [year. 
 Traps for the traveller ; every highway's 
 clear : 
 Here — " he was interrupted by a knife, 
 With, — "Damn yonr eyes! your money or 
 y.ourlife !" — 
 
 XI. 
 
 These freeborn sounds proceeded from four 
 pads [loiter 
 
 Tn ambush laid, who had perceived him 
 Behind his carriage ; and like handy lads, 
 
 Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre. 
 In which the heedless gentleman who gads 
 
 Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter, 
 May find himself within that Isle of riches 
 Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Juan, who did not understand a word 
 Of English, save their shibboleth, " God 
 damn !" 
 
 And even that he had so rarely heard, [lam," 
 He sometimes thought 'twas only tlieir " Sa- 
 
 Or " God be with you !" — and 'tis not absurd 
 To think so : for half English as I am 
 
 (To my misfortune) never can I say 
 
 I heard them wish " God with you," save that 
 way ;— 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Juan yet quickly understood their gesture, 
 And being somewhat choleric and sadden, 
 
 Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture. 
 And fired it into one assailant's pudding — 
 
 Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture, 
 And roar'd out, as he writhed his native mud 
 
 Unto his nearest follower or henchman, [in, 
 
 " Oh Jack ! I'm floored by that '"^re bloody 
 Frenchman !'* 
 
 xir. 
 
 On which Jack and his train set oil at speed. 
 And Juan's suite, late scatter'd at a distance. 
 
 Came up, all marvelling at such a deed, 
 And oflering, as usual, late assistance. 
 
 Juan, who saw the Moon's late minion bleed 
 As if his veins would pour out his existence. 
 
 Stood calling out for bandages and lint, 
 
 And wish'd he had been less hasty with his 
 flint. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Perhaps," thought he, " it is the country's 
 wont 
 
 To welcome foreigners in this way : now 
 1 recollect some innkeepers who don't 
 
 Diflfer, except in robbing with a bow, 
 In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front. 
 
 But what is to be done ? I can't allow 
 The fellow to lie groaning on the road : 
 So take him up ; I'll help you with the load." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But ere they could perform this pious duty, 
 The dying man cried, " Hold ! I've got my 
 gruel ' [booty ; 
 
 Oh ! for a glass of max ! We've miss'd our 
 
 Let me die where 1 am !" And as the fuel 
 Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty 
 The drops fell from his death-wound, and 
 he drew ill 
 His breath, — he from his swelling throat untied 
 A kerchief, crying "Give Sal that!" — and 
 died. 
 
 XVlt. 
 
 The cravat stain'd with bloody drops fell down 
 Before Don Juan's feet : he could not tell 
 
 Exactly why it was before him thrown, 
 Nor what the meaning of the man's farewelL 
 
 Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town, 
 A thorough varmint, and a real swell. 
 
 Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled. 
 
 His pockets first and then his body riddled. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Don Jnan, having done the best he could 
 In all the circumstances of the case, 
 
 As soon as " Crowner's quest" allowed, pur- 
 sued 
 His travels to the capital apace ; — 
 
 Esteeming it a little hard he should 
 In twelve hours' time, and very little space. 
 
 Have been obliged to slay a freeborn native 
 
 In self-defence : this made him medilatire. 
 Ff 
 
SON JUAN. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He from the world had cut off a great man, 
 Who in bis time bad made heroic bustle. 
 
 Who in a row like Tom could lead the van, 
 Booze in the ken, or at the spelken hustle ? 
 
 Who queer e flat? Who (spite of Bow-street's 
 ban) 
 On the hish toby-spice so flash the muzzle ? 
 
 Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal (his blow- 
 ing) 
 
 So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing?'' 
 
 XX. 
 
 But Tom's no more — and so no more of Tom. 
 
 Heroes must die ; and by God's blessing 'tis 
 Not long before the most of them go home. 
 
 Hail ! Thamis, hail ! Upon thy verge it is 
 That Juan's chariot, rolling like a drum 
 
 In thunder, holds the way it can't well miss. 
 Through Kennington and all the other " tons," 
 Which make us wish ourselves in town at 
 once ; — 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Through Groves, so called as being void of 
 trees, 
 (Like lucus from no light ;) through prospects 
 named [please. 
 
 Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to 
 Nor much to climb •, through little boxes 
 framed 
 Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease, 
 AVith " To be let," npon their idoors pro- 
 claim'd : [dise," 
 
 Through " Rows" most modestly called " Para- 
 Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice ; — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, 
 and a whirl 
 
 Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion ; 
 Here taverns wooing to a pint of " purl," 
 
 There mails fast flying oflTlike a delusion ; 
 There barbers' blocks with periwigs in curl 
 
 In windows ; hete the lamplighter's infusion 
 Slowly distilled into the glimmering glass, 
 (For in those days we had not got to Gas ;— ) 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Through this, and much, and more, is the ap- 
 proach 
 
 Of travellers to mighty Babylon : 
 Whether they come by horse, orchaise, orcoach, 
 
 With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one. 
 I could say more, but do not choose to encroach 
 
 Upon tlie guide-book's privilege. The Sun 
 Had set some time, and night was on the ridge 
 Of twilight, as the parly cross'd the bridge. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 That's rather fine, the gentle sound of Thamis — 
 Who vindicates a moment too his stream — 
 
 Though hardly heard through multifarious 
 
 " damme's." [gleam, 
 
 The lamps of Westminster's more regular 
 
 The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine 
 where fame is 
 A spectral resident — whose pallid beam 
 
 In shape of moonshine hovers o'er the pile — 
 
 Make this a sacred part of Albion's isle. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Druid's groves are gone — so much the 
 better : [it ?— 
 
 Stone-Henge is not — but what the devil is 
 But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter, ' 
 That madmen may not bite you on a visit; 
 The bench too seats or suits full many a debtor; 
 The Mansion House too (though some people 
 quiz it) 
 To me appears a stiflF yet grand erection ; 
 But then the Abbey's worth the whole collec- 
 tion. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The line of lights too up to Charing Cross, 
 Pall Mall, and so forth, have a coruscation 
 
 Like gold aa in comparison to dross, 
 Match'd with the Continent's illumination. 
 
 Whose cities Night by no means deigns to gloss. 
 The French were not yet a lamp-lighting na- 
 tion, [lanthorn, 
 
 And when they grew so — on their new-found 
 
 Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A row of gentlemen along the streets 
 Suspended, may illuminate mankind. 
 
 As also bonfires made of country seats ; 
 But the old way is best for the purblind : 
 
 The other looks like phosphorus on sheets, 
 A sort of Ignis-fatuus to the mind. 
 
 Which, though 'tis certain to perplex and 
 frighten. 
 
 Must burn more mildly ere it can enlighten. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But London's so well lit, that if Diogenes 
 Could recommence to hunt his honest man, 
 
 And found him not amidst the various progenieJ 
 Of this enormous city's spreading spawn 
 
 'Twere not for want of lamps to aid his dodg- 
 ing his 
 Yet undiscover'd treasure. What / can, 
 
 I've done to find the same throughout life's 
 journey, 
 
 But see the world is only one attorney. 
 
DON JTTAN. 
 
 227 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Over the stones still rattling, up Pall Mall, 
 Through crowds and carriages, but waxing 
 thinner [spell 
 
 As thundered knockers broke the long seal'd 
 Of doors 'gainst duns, and to an early dinner 
 
 Admitted a small parly as night fell,^ 
 Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner, 
 
 Pursued his path, and drove past some Hotels, 
 
 St. James's Palace and St James's " Hells."'' 
 
 XXX. 
 
 They reach'd the Hotel : forth stieam'd from 
 the front door 
 
 A tide of well-clad waiters, and around 
 The mob stood, and as usual several score 
 
 Of those Pedestrian Paphians who abound 
 In decent London, when the daylight's o'er ; 
 
 Commodious but immoral, they are found 
 Useful, like Mai thus, in promoting marriage. — 
 But Juan now is stepping from his carriage 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Into one of the sweetest of hotels. 
 Especially for foreigners — and mostly 
 
 For those whom favour or whom fortune swells, 
 And cannot find a bill's small items costly. 
 
 There many an Envoy either dwelt or dwells, 
 (The den of many a diplomatic lost lie) 
 
 Until to some conspicnous square they pass, 
 
 And blazon o'er the door their names in brass. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Juan, whose was a delicate commission. 
 Private, though publicly important, bore 
 
 No title to point out with due precision 
 The exact affair on which he was sent o'er. 
 
 'Twaa merely known, that on a secret mission 
 A foreigner of rank had graced our shore, 
 
 Young, handsome and accomplish'd, who 
 was said [head. 
 
 (In whispers) to have turn'd his sovereign's 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Some rumour also of some strange adventures 
 Had gone before him, and his wars and 
 loves ; 
 
 And as romantic heads are pretty painters, 
 And, above all, an Englishwoman's roves 
 
 Into the excursive, breaking the indentures 
 Of sober reason, wheresoe'er it moves. 
 
 He found himself extremely in the fashion. 
 
 Which serves our thinking people for a pas- 
 sion. 
 
 I don't mean that they are passionless, but 
 quite 
 
 The contrary ; but then 'tis in the head ; 
 Yet as the consequences are as bright 
 
 As if they acted with the heart instead. 
 What after all can signify the .site 
 
 Of ladies' lucubrations ? So they lead 
 In safety to the place for which you start, 
 What matters if the road be head or heart? 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Juan presented in the proper place. 
 
 To proper placemen, every Russ credential ; 
 And was received with all the due grimace. 
 
 By those who govern in the mood potential. 
 Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth 
 face. 
 Thought (what in state affairs is most essen- 
 Ual) 
 That they as easily might do the youngster. 
 As hawks may pounce upon a woodland song- 
 ster. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 They err'd, as aged men will do ; but by 
 And by we'll talk of that ; and if we don't, 
 
 'Twill be because our notion is not high 
 Of politicians and their double front. 
 
 Who live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie : — 
 Now what I love in women is, they wont 
 
 Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it 
 
 So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And, after all, what is a lie ? 'Tis but 
 The truth in masquerade ; and I defy 
 
 Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests to put 
 A fact without some leaven of a lie. 
 
 The very shadow of true Truth would shut 
 Up annals, revelations, poesy. 
 
 And prophecy — except it should be dated 
 
 Some years before the incidents related . 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Praised be all liars and all lies ! Who now 
 Can tax my mild Muse with misanthropy ? 
 
 She rings the world's " Te Deum," and her 
 brow 
 Blushes for those who will not :— but to sigh 
 
 Is idle ; let us like most others bow. 
 Kiss hands, feet, any part of Majesty, 
 
 After the good example of" Green Erin," 
 
 Whose Shamrock now seems rather worse fot 
 wearing. 
 
228 
 
 OOKT JUAN. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Don Juan was presented, and his dress 
 And mien excited general admiration — 
 
 I don't know wiiicli was more admired or less : 
 One monstrous diamond drew much observa- 
 tion, 
 
 Which Catherine in a moment of "ivresse" 
 (In love or brandy's fervent fermentation) 
 
 Bestowed upon him, as the public learn'd ; 
 
 And, to say truth, it had been fairly earn'd. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Besides the Ministers and underlings, 
 Who must be courteous to the accredited 
 
 Diplomatists of rather wav'ring kings, 
 Until their royal riddle's fully read, 
 
 The very clerks,— those somewhatdirty springs 
 Of office, or the House of Office, fed 
 
 By foul corruption into streams,— even they 
 
 AVere hardly rude enough to earn their pay : 
 
 XLI. 
 
 And insolence no doubt is what they are 
 Employ'd for, since it is their daily labour. 
 
 In the dear offices of peace or war ; 
 And should you doubt, pray ask of your next 
 ■neighbour. 
 
 When for a passport, or some other bar 
 To freedom, he applied (a grief and d bore) 
 
 If he found not this spawn of taxborn riches, 
 
 Like lap-dogs, the least civil sons of b s. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 But Juan was received with much " empresse- 
 ment :" — 
 These phrases of refinement I must borrow 
 From our next neighbours' land, where, like a 
 chessman. 
 There is a move set down for joy or sorrow 
 Not only in mere talking, but the press. Man 
 In islands is, it seems, downright and 
 thorough. 
 More than on continents — as if the sea 
 (See Billingsgate) made even the tongue more 
 free .. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 And yet the British " Damme's" rather Attic : 
 
 Your Continental oaths are but incontinent, 
 
 And turn on things which no Aristocratic 
 
 Spirit would name, and therefore even I 
 
 wont anent": 
 
 This subject quote ; as it would be schismatic 
 
 In politesse, and have a sound affronting in't : 
 
 But " Damme's" quite ethereal, though too 
 
 darings 
 Platonic blasphemy, the soul of swearing. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 For downright rudeness, ye may stay at home ; 
 
 For true or false politeneoS (and scarce thai 
 INow) you may cross the blue deep and white 
 foam — 
 
 The first the emblem (rarely thoogh)ofwhat 
 You leave behind, the next of much you come 
 
 To meet. However, 'tis no time to chat 
 On general topics : poems must confine 
 Themselves to Unity, like this of mine. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 In the Great World, — which being interpreted 
 Meaneth the West or worst end of a city. 
 
 And about twice two thousand people bred 
 By no means to be very wise or witty, 
 
 But to sit up while others lie in bed. 
 And look down on the Universe with pity, — 
 
 Juan, as an inveterate Patrician, 
 
 Was well received by persons of condition. 
 
 XLVl. 
 
 He was a bachelor, which is a matter 
 Of import both to Virgin and to Bride, 
 
 The former's hymeneal hopes to flatter ; 
 
 And (should she not hold fast by love or 
 pride) 
 
 'Tis also of some moment to the latter : 
 A rib's a thorn in a wed Gallant's side. 
 
 Requires decorum, and is apt to double 
 
 The horrid sin — and what's still worse, the 
 trouble. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 But Juan was a bachelor— of arts. 
 
 And parts, and hearts : he danced and sung, 
 and had 
 An air as sentimental as Mozart's 
 
 Softest of melodies ; and could be sad 
 Or cheerful, without any " flaws or starts," 
 
 Just at the proper time ; and though a lad. 
 Had seen the world — which is a curious 
 
 sight. 
 And very much unlike what people write. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Fair virgins blush'd upon him ; wedded dames 
 Bloom'd also in less transitory hues ; 
 
 For both commodities dwell by the Thames, 
 The painting and the painted ; youth, ceruse. 
 
 Against his heart preferr'd theiv usual claims. 
 Such as no gentleman can quite refuse ; 
 
 Daughters admired his dress, and pious 
 mothers 
 
 Enquired his income, and if he bad brothers. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 289 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 The milliners who furnish " drapery Misses"* 
 Throughout the season, upon speculation 
 
 Of payment ere the honey moon's last kisses 
 Have waned into a crescent's coruscation, 
 
 Thought such an opportunity as this is, 
 Of a rich foreigner's initiation, 
 
 Not to be overlook'd — and gave such credit, 
 
 That future bridegrooms swore, and sigh'd, 
 and paid it. 
 
 The Blues, tliat tender tribe, who sigh o'er 
 sonnets, 
 
 And with the pages of the last Review 
 line the interior of their heads or bonnets, 
 
 Advanced in all their azure's hijthest hue : 
 They talked bad French of Spanish, and upon 
 its 
 
 Late authors ask'd him for a hint or two ; 
 And which was softest, Russian or Castilian ? 
 And whether in his travels he saw Ilion ? 
 
 LI. 
 
 Juan, who was a little superficial. 
 
 And not in literature a great Drawcansir, 
 
 Examin'd by this learned and especial 
 Jury of matrons, scarce knew what to 
 answer : 
 
 His duties warlike, loving or ofiicial. 
 His steady application as a dancer, 
 
 Had kept him from the brink of Hippocrene, 
 
 Which now he found was blue instead of 
 green. 
 
 Lll. 
 
 However, he replied at hazard, with 
 
 A modest confidence and calm assurance, 
 Which lent his learned lucubrations pith, 
 And pass'd for arguments of good en- 
 durance. 
 That prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith, 
 (Who at sixteen translated " Hercules 
 Furens" 
 Into as furious English) with her best look. 
 Set down his sayings in her common-place 
 book. 
 
 LIIL 
 
 Juan knew several languages — as well 
 He might — and brought them up with skill, 
 in time 
 
 To save his fame with each accomplish'd belle 
 Who still regretted that he did not rhyme. 
 
 There wanted but this requisite to swell 
 His qualities (with them) into sublime ; 
 
 Lady Fitz-Frisky, and MissMaevia Mannish, 
 
 Both long'd extremely to be sung in Spanish. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 However, he did pretty well, and was 
 
 Admitted as an aspirant to all 
 The Coteries, and, as in Banquo's glass, 
 
 At f reat assemblies or in parties small. 
 He saw ten thousand living authors pass, 
 
 That being about their average numeral ; 
 Also the eighty " greatest living poets," 
 As every paltry magazine can show it's. 
 
 LV. 
 
 In twice five years the " greatest living poet," 
 Like to the champion in the fisty ring. 
 
 Is call'd on to support his claim, or show it, 
 Although 'tis an imaginary thing. 
 
 Even I — albeit I'm sure I did not know it. 
 Nor sought of foolscap subjects to be king, — 
 
 Was reckon'd, a considerable time, 
 
 The grand Napoleon of the realms of rhyme. 
 
 tVI. 
 
 But Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero 
 My Leipsic, and my Mount Saint Jean 
 seems Cain : 
 
 " La Belle Alliance" of dunces down at zero. 
 Now that the Lion's fall'n, may rise again: 
 
 But I will fall at least as fell my hero ; 
 Nor reign at all, or as a monarch reign ; 
 
 Or to some lonely isle of Jailors go, 
 
 With turncoat Southey for my turnkey Lowe. 
 
 LVIL 
 
 Sir Walter reigned before me ; Moore and 
 Campbell 
 
 Before and after ; but now grown more holy. 
 The Muses upon Sion's hill must ramble 
 
 With poets almost clergymen, or whoHy ; 
 
 LVIII. 
 
230 DON 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then there's my geutle Euphues; who, they 
 say, 
 Sets up for being a sort of moral me ; 
 He'll find it rather difiicult some day 
 
 To turn out both, or either, it may be. 
 
 Some persons think that Coleridge hath the 
 
 sway; [three ; 
 
 And Wordsworth has supporters, two or 
 
 And that deep-mouth'd Boeotian " Savage 
 
 Landor" [gander. 
 
 Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's 
 
 LX. 
 John Keats, who was kill'd off by one cri- 
 tique, 
 Just as he really promised something great, 
 If not intelligible, — without Greek 
 
 Contrived to talk about the Gods of late. 
 
 Much as they might have been supposed to 
 
 speak. 
 
 Poor fellow ! His was an untoward fate ; 
 
 'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,' 
 
 Should let itself be snuff'd out by an Article. 
 
 LXl. 
 
 The list grows long of live and dead pretenders 
 
 To that which none will gain — or none will 
 
 know 
 
 The Conqueror at least ; who, ere time renders 
 
 His last award, will have the long grass 
 
 grow 
 
 Above his burnt-out brain, and sapless cinders. 
 
 If I might-augur, I should rate but low 
 Their chances ; — they're too numerous, like 
 the thirty [dirty. 
 
 Mock tyrants, when Rome's annals wax'd but 
 
 LXII. 
 
 This is the literary lower Empire, 
 
 Where the Praetorian bands take up the 
 
 matter ; — [samphire," 
 
 A " dreadful trade," like his who " gathers 
 
 The insolent soldiery to soothe and flatter. 
 With the same feelings as you'd coax a vam- 
 pire, [satire, 
 
 Now, were T once at home, and in good 
 I'd try conclusions with those Janizaries, 
 And show them what an intellectual war is. 
 
 LXIII. 
 I think I know a trick or two, would turn 
 
 Their flanks ;— but it is hardly worth my 
 while 
 With such small [rear to give myself concern : 
 
 Indeed I've not the necessary bile ; 
 My natural temper's really aught but stern, 
 
 And even my Muse's worst reproof's a smile; 
 And then she drops a brief and modern curtsey. 
 And glides away, assured she never hurts ye. 
 
 JUAN. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 My Juan, whom I left in deadly peril 
 Amongst live poets and blue ladies, paitt 
 
 With some small profit through that field sii 
 
 sterile. [las: 
 
 Being tired in time, and neither least noi 
 
 Left it before he had been treated very ill ; 
 And henceforth found himself more gail] 
 class'd 
 
 Amongst the higher spirits of the day, 
 
 The sun's true son, no vapour, but a ray. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 His morns he pass'd in business— which dis- 
 sected, 
 
 Was like all business, a laborious nothing, 
 That leads to lassitude, the most infected 
 
 And Centaur Nessus garb of mortal clothing, 
 And on our sofas makes us lie dejected. 
 
 And talk of tender horrors of our loathing 
 AUkindsof toil, save for our country's good — 
 Which grows nu better, though 'tis time it 
 should. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 His afternoons he pass'd in visits, luncheons. 
 
 Lounging, and boxing ; and the twilight houi 
 In riding round those vegetable puncheons 
 
 Called " Parks," where there is neitbei 
 fruit nor flower 
 Enough to gratify a bee's slight munchings ; 
 
 But after all it is the only " bower," 
 (In Moore's phrase) where the fashionable fait 
 Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air, 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the 
 world ! 
 Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, 
 then roar 
 Through street and square fast flashing cha- 
 riots hurl'd 
 Like harness'd meteors ; then along the flooi 
 Chalk mimics painting ; then festoons are 
 twirl'd ; 
 Then roll the brazen thunders of the door, 
 Which opens to the thousand happy few 
 An earthly Paradise of " Or Molu." 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 There stands the noble Hostess, nor shall sinl 
 With the three-thousandth curtsey ; there 
 the Waltz, 
 
 The only dance which teaches girls to think, 
 Makes one in love even with its very faults. 
 
 Saloon, room, hall o'erflow beyond their brink, 
 And long the latest of arrivals halts, 
 
 'Midst royal dukes and dames condemned to 
 climb. 
 
 And gain an inch of staircase at a time. 
 
H&K 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Thrice happy he who, after a survey 
 Of the good company, cau win a comer, 
 
 A door that's in, or boudoir out of the way,". \ 
 Where he may fix himself like small " Jaclr 
 Hornea," 
 
 And let the Babel run round as it may. 
 And look on as a mourner, or a scorner. 
 
 Or an approver, or a mere spectator. 
 
 Yawning a little as the night grows later. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 But this wont do, save by and by ; and he 
 
 Who, like Don Juan, takes an active share, 
 Vlust steer with care through all that glittering 
 sea 
 Of gems and plumes and pearls and silks, 
 to where 
 He deems it is his proper place to be ; 
 
 Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air, 
 Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skill 
 Where Science marshals forth her own quad- 
 rille. 
 
 LXXT. 
 
 Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views 
 Upon an heiress or his neighbour's pride, 
 
 Cet him take care that that which he pursues 
 Is not at once too palpably descried. 
 
 Pull many an eager gentleman oft rues 
 His haste : impatience is a blundering guide 
 
 Amongst a people famous for reflection, 
 
 Who like to play the fool with circumspection. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 But, if you can contrive, get next at supper ; 
 
 Or, if forestalled, get opposite and ogle : — 
 Oh ye ambrosial moments ! always upper 
 
 In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle, 
 Which sits for ever upon Memory's crupper, 
 
 The Ghost of vanished pleasures once in 
 vogue ! Ill 
 Can tender souls relate the rise and fall 
 Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 But these precautionary bints can touch 
 Only the common run, who must pursue, 
 
 And watch, and ward ; whose plans a word 
 too much 
 Or little overturns ; and not the few 
 
 Or many (for the number's sometimes such) 
 Whom a good mien, especially if new. 
 
 Or fame, or name, for wit, war, sense, or non- 
 sense, [since. 
 
 Permits whate'er they please, or did not long 
 
 JUAN. 231 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome, 
 Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger. 
 Like other slaves of course must pay his ran- 
 som 
 Before he can escape from so much danger 
 As will environ a conspicuous man. Some 
 
 Talk about poetry, and " rack and manger," 
 And ugliness, disease, as toil and trouble ; — 
 I wish they knew the life of a young noble. 
 
 LXXV. 
 They are young, but know not youth — it is an- 
 ticipated ; 
 Handsome but wasted, rich without a sou ; 
 Their vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated ; 
 Their cash comes from, their health goes to 
 a Jew ; [ted ; 
 
 Both senates see their nightly votes participa- 
 Betweenthe tyrant's and the tribunes' crew; 
 And having voted, dined, drank, gamed, and 
 
 whored, 
 The family vault receives another lord. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 " Where is the world," cries Young, " aAeighty ? 
 Where 
 The world in which a man was born 7" Alas ! 
 Where is the world of eight years past ? Tuia* 
 there — 
 I look for it— 'tis gone, a Globe of Glass ! 
 Crack'd, shiver'd, vanish'd, scarcely gazed 
 on ere 
 A silent change dissolves the glittering mass. 
 Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, 
 
 kings. 
 And dandies, all are gone on the wind's wings. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Where is Napoleon the Grand? God knows : 
 Where little Castlereagh ? The devil can tell : 
 
 Where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all those 
 Who bound the bar or senate in their spell ? 
 
 W here is the unhappy Queen, with all her woes ? 
 And where the Daughter, whom the Isles lov- 
 ed well ? [Cents ? 
 
 Where are those martyr'd Saints the Five per 
 
 And where — oh where the devil are the rents ? 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Where's Brummel ? Dish'd. Where's Long 
 
 Pole Wellesley? Diddled. 
 
 Where's Whitbread? Romilly? Where's 
 
 George the Third ? [died) 
 
 Where is his will ? (That's not so soon unrid- 
 
 And where is "Fum" the Fourth, our " royal 
 
 bird ?" 
 
 Gone down it seems to Scotland to be fiddled 
 
 Unto by Sawney's violin, we have heard : 
 "Caw me, caw thee" — for six months hath 
 
 been hatching 
 This scene of royal itch and loyal scratching. 
 
iSSl DON 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 IVhere is Lord This? An J where my Lady 
 That ? 
 
 The Honourable Mistresses and Misses ? 
 Some laid aside like an old Opera hat, 
 
 Married, unmarried, and remarried : ((his is 
 An evolution oft performed of late), [hisses ? 
 
 Where are the Dublin shouts — and London 
 
 Where are the Grenvilles ? Turn'd as usual. 
 
 Where [were. 
 
 My friends the Whigs ? Exactly where they 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Where are the Lady Carolines and Francesses? 
 
 Divorced or doing thereanent. Ye annals 
 So brilliant, where the list of routs and dances 
 is, — [nels 
 
 Thou Morning Post, sole record of the pan- 
 Broken in carriages, and all the phantasies 
 Of fashion, — say what streams now fill those 
 channels ? [tinent 
 
 Some die, some fly, some languish on the con- 
 Because the times have hardly left them one 
 tenant. 
 
 LXXXf. 
 Some who once set their caps at cautious 
 Dukes, [brothers : 
 
 Have takea up at length with younger 
 Some heiresses have bit at sharpers' hooks : 
 Some maids have been made wives, some 
 merely mothers ; 
 Others have lost their fresh and fairy looks : 
 
 In short, the list of alterations bothers. 
 There's little strange in this, but something 
 strange is [changes. 
 
 The unusual quickness of these common 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Talk not of seventy years as age ; in seven 
 I have seen more changes, down from mon- 
 archs to 
 The humblest individual under heaven, 
 
 Than might suffice a moderate century 
 ,■,• through. 
 
 •I knew that nought was lasting, but now even 
 Change grows too changeable, without be- 
 ing new : 
 Nought's permanent among the human race, 
 Except the Whigs not getting into place. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 I have seen Napoleon, who seem'd quite a Ju- 
 piter, 
 Shrink to a Saturn. I have seen a Duke 
 (No matter which) turn politician stupider, 
 If that can well be, than his wooden look. 
 But it is time that I should hoist my " blue 
 Peter" 
 And sail for a new theme : — 1 have seen — 
 and shook 
 To see It — the King hiss'd, and then carest; 
 But don't pretend to settle which was best. 
 
 JUAN. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 I have seen the landholders without a rap — 
 I have seen JohannaSouthcote— I have seen 
 
 The House of Commons turn'd to a tax- trap — 
 I have seen that sad affair of the late Queen— 
 
 1 have seen crowns worn instead of a fool's cap 
 — I have seen a Congress doing all that's 
 mean — 
 
 I have seen some nations like o'erloaded asses 
 
 Kick off their burthens — meaning the high 
 classes. 
 
 LXXXV. . 
 
 I have seen small poets, and great prosers, and ' 
 Interminable — not eternal — speakers — 
 
 I have seen the Funds at war with house and 
 
 land — [squeakers — 
 
 I have seen the Country Gentlemen turn 
 
 I have seen the people ridden o'er like sand 
 By slaves oa horseback— I have seen malt 
 liquors 
 
 Exchanged for " thin potations" byjohn Bull— 
 
 I have seen John half detect himself a fool — 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 But " Carpe diem," Juan, " Carpe, carpe '." 
 
 To-morrow sees another race as gay 
 And transient, and devour'd by the same 
 harpy. 
 " Life's a poor player,"— then " play out the 
 play. 
 Ye villains !" and above all keep a sharp eye 
 Much less on what you do than what yon 
 say : 
 Be hypocritical, be cautious, be 
 Not what you seem, but always what you see. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 But how shall I relate in other Cantos 
 Of what befell our hero in the land. 
 
 Which 'tis the common cry and lie to vaunt aa 
 A moral country ? But I hold my hand — 
 
 For I disdain to write an Atalantis ; 
 But 'tis a» well at once to understand. 
 
 You are not a moral people, and you know it 
 
 Without the aid of too sincere a poet. 
 
 LXXXVIIL 
 
 What Juan saw and underwent, shall be 
 My topic, with of course the due restriction 
 
 Which is required by proper courtesy ; 
 And recollect the work is only fiction, 
 
 .And that I sing of neither mine nor me. 
 Though every scribe, in some slight turn of 
 diction. 
 
 Will hint allusions never meant. Ne'er doubt 
 
 This — when 1 speak, I don't hint but speak on*. 
 
DON JtrAW. 
 
 233 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Whether he married with the third or fourth 
 Ofispring of some sage, husband- hunting 
 Countess, 
 
 Or whether with some virgin of more worth 
 (I mean iu Fortune's matrimonial bounties) 
 
 He took to regularly peopling Earth, 
 Of which your lawful awful wedlock fount 
 is,— 
 
 Or whether he was taken la for damages, 
 
 For being too excursive in his homages, — 
 
 XC. 
 
 Is yet within the unread events of time. 
 
 Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will 
 back 
 Against the same given quantity of rhyme, 
 
 For being as much the subject of attack 
 As ever yet was any work sublime, 
 
 By those who love to say that white is blark. 
 So much the better !— I may stand alone, 
 But would not change my free thoughts for a 
 throne. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO ELEVENTH. 
 
 Note a. page 226, stanza xix. 
 
 The advance of science and of language has rendered it 
 Unneccs3ar>- to translate the above good and true English, 
 Bpoken in its original purity by the select mobility and tlieir 
 patrons. The following is a Etanza of a Eong which was 
 very popular, at least in my early days : 
 
 « On the high toby-spice flash the muzzle, 
 
 In spite of each gallows old scout ; 
 If you at the spcllken can't hustle. 
 
 You'll be hobbled in making a Clout. 
 
 Then your Blowing will wax gallows haughty. 
 When she hears of your scaly mistake, 
 
 She'll surely turn snitch for the forty — 
 That her Jack may be regular weight-" 
 
 If there be any Gemman so ignorant as to require a tra- 
 duction, I refer him to my old friend and corporeal jwstor 
 and master, John.Tackson, Esq., Professor of Pugilism j who 
 I trust still retains the strength and symmetry of his model 
 of a form, togetlier with his good-humour and athletic as 
 well as mental accomplishments. 
 
 Note b. page 227, stanza xxix. 
 
 « Hells,** gaming-houses. What their number may now 
 tie in this life, I know not. Before I was of age I knew 
 them pretty accurately, both *• gold" and " silver." I was 
 once nearly called out by an acquaintance because when 
 ho asked me where I thought that his soul would be found 
 hereafter, I answered, " In Silver Hell.'* 
 
 Note c. page 228, stanza xliii. 
 
 " Anent" was a Scotch phrase meaning "concerning"— 
 
 "with regard to:" it has been made English by the Scotch 
 
 Novels ; and as the Frenchman said — " If it be 7w(, ougfit 
 
 to be English.*' 
 
 Note d. paj^e 229, stanza xlix, 
 
 " Drapery Blisses"— This term is probably any thing 
 now but a mystery. It was however almost eo to me 
 when I first returned from the East in J811— 1812. It 
 means a pretty, a highborn, a fashionable young female, 
 well instructed by her friends, and furnished by her mil- 
 liner witli a wardrobe upon credit, to be repaid, when 
 marriedy by the husband. The riddle was first read to me 
 by a young and pretty heiress, on my praising the 
 "drapery" of an "untochered" but " pretty vii^inities" 
 (like Mrs. Anne Page) of the then day, which has now 
 been some years yesterday : — she assured me that thething 
 was common in London ; and as her own thousands and 
 blooming looks, and rich simplicity of array, put any sus- 
 picion in her own case out of the question, 1 confess I gave 
 some credit to the allegation. If necessary, authorities 
 might be cited, in which case I could quote both 
 '• draiiery" and the wearers. Let us hope, howe?er, that 
 it is now obsolete. 
 
 Notec. page 230, stanza Ix. 
 
 " Divins Farticulam Aurs.** 
 
 o« 
 
Q>a>^ ^w^m* 
 
 CANTO XII. 
 
 Op all the barbarous Middle Ages, that 
 Which is most barbarous is the middle age 
 
 Of man ; it is — I really scarce know what ; 
 But when we hover between fool and sage, 
 
 And don't know justly what we would be at — 
 A period something like a printed page. 
 
 Black letter npon foolscap, while our hair 
 
 Grows grizzled, and we are not what we were ;- 
 
 II. 
 
 Too old for yontb, — too young at thirty-fire, 
 To herd with boys, or hoard with good three- 
 score, — 
 
 I wonder people should be lefit alive ; 
 But since they are, that epoch is a bore : 
 
 Love lingers still, although 'twere late to wive ; 
 And as for other love, the illusion's o'er ; 
 
 And money, that most pare imagination. 
 
 Gleams only through the dawn of its creation. 
 
 in. 
 
 Gold ! Why call we misers miserable ? 
 
 Theirs is the pleasure that can neyer pall ; 
 Theirs is the best bower-anchor, the chain cable 
 
 Which holds fast other pleasures great and small. 
 Ye who bnt see the saving man at table. 
 
 And scorn his temperate board, as none at all, 
 And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing. 
 Know not what visions spring from each cheese- 
 parmg. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love or lost makes man sick, and wine much sicker ; 
 
 Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss ; 
 But making money^ slowly first, then quicker. 
 
 And adding still a little through each cross 
 (Which will come over things) beats love orlicjuor. 
 
 The gamester's counter, or the stateman's droas, 
 Gold ! I still prefer thee unto paper, 
 ■Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour. 
 
 V. 
 
 Who hold the balance of the world ? Who reign 
 O'er Congress, whether royalist or liberal ? 
 
 Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain ? 
 (That make old Europe's journals squeak and 
 gibber all.) 
 
 Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain 
 Or pleasure ? Who make politics run glibber all? 
 
 The shade of Bonaparte's noble daring ?— 
 
 Jew Rothschild, and his fellow Christian, Baring. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Those, and the tmly liberal Lafitte, 
 
 Are the true lords of Europe. Every loac 
 
 Is not a merely speculative hit. 
 But seats a nation or upsets a throne. 
 
 Republic's also get involved a bit; 
 Columbia's stock hath holders not unknown 
 
 On 'Change ; and even thy silver soil, Peru, 
 
 Must get itself discounted by a Jew. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Why call the miser miserable ? as 
 
 I said before, the frugal life is his. 
 Which in a saint or cynic ever was 
 
 The theme of praise : a hermit would not miss 
 Canonization for the self-same cause. 
 
 And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities ; 
 Becanse, you'll say, nought calls for such a trial ;-- 
 Then there's more merit in his self-denial. 
 
 vni. 
 
 He is your only poet ; — passion, pure 
 And sparkling on from heap to heap, displays 
 
 Possess'd, the ore, of which mere hopes allure 
 Nations athwart the deep : the golden rays 
 
 Flash up in ingots from the mine obscure ; 
 On him the diamond pours its brilliant blaze ; 
 
 While the mild emerald's beam shades down the 
 dies 
 
 Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes. 
 2 G 2 
 
236 
 
 DON JVAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The lands on either side are his : the ships 
 From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay, nnloads 
 
 For him the fragrant produce of each trip ; 
 Beneath his cars of Ceres grosjn the rpads, 
 
 And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip ; 
 His very Cellars might be king's abodes ; 
 
 While he, despising every sensual call. 
 
 Commands — the intellectual lord of all. 
 
 Perhaps he hath great mojects in his mind. 
 To build a college, or to found a race, 
 
 A hospital, a church,— ?ud leave behind 
 Some dome sijrmpunted by his meagre face : 
 
 Perhaps he faii^ would liberate mankind 
 Even with the very ore which makes them base ; 
 
 Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation. 
 
 Or revel ip tlie joys.of cj^lpulafion, 
 
 XL 
 
 But whether all, or each, or none of these 
 May be the hoarder's principle of action. 
 
 The fool will call such mania a disease : — 
 What is his own ? Go — look at each transaction. 
 
 Wars, revels, loves — do these bring men more ease 
 
 Than the mere plodding through each " vulgar 
 
 fraction ?" 
 
 Or do tliey benefit mankind ? Lean miser 1 
 
 Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours— who's 
 wiser? 
 
 XIL 
 
 How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chests 
 Containing ingots, bags of dollars, corns 
 
 (Not of old Victors, all whose heads and chests 
 Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines. 
 
 But) of tine unolipt gold, where dully rests 
 Sotp.e likeness, which the glittering cirque con. 
 fines. 
 
 Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp : — 
 
 Yes.!' ready money. is AJ^ildin'ftJamp... , 
 . * 'ii! iti Ihem t»irm t'ai'i 
 
 xni 
 
 " Love rules the camp, the court, the grove," — " for 
 Love ' [bard ; 
 
 ". Is Heaven, ^nd Heave.n is Loye :" — so sings the 
 Which it were rather diflic\ilt,to prove, 
 
 (A thing witli poetry in gen^tftl hfird.) 
 Perhaps there may be son>etbing in " the grove," 
 
 At least it rhymes to " Love ;" hut I'm prepared 
 To doubt (no less than landlords of their rental) 
 If " courts" and " camps" be quite so sentimental. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But if Love don't. Cash does, and Cash alone : 
 Cash rules the grove, and fells it too besides ; 
 
 Without cash, camps were thin, and courts were 
 
 none ; [brides." 
 
 Without cash. Malthas tells yon — "take no 
 
 So Cash rules Love the ruler, on his own 
 
 High ground as Virgin Cynthia sways the tides ; 
 
 And as for " Heaveq being Love," why not say 
 honey 
 
 Is wax ? Heaven is not Love, 'tis Matrimony. 
 
 X,V. 
 
 Is not all love prohibited whatever. 
 Excepting marriage ? which is love no doubt, 
 
 After a sort ; but somehow people never 
 With the same thought the two words have 
 helped out : 
 
 Love may eii^t wilk marriage aijd s/ipt^ld ever. 
 And marriage also may exist without ; 
 
 But love sans banns is both a sin apd shame. 
 
 And ought to go by quite another name. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Now if the " coiirf" and " eainp fmd" grqve" he 
 not 
 
 Recruited all with constant married men. 
 Who never coveted their npighbpur's lot, 
 
 I say that line's a lapsus of the pen ; — 
 Strange too in my " buon camerado** Seoitt, 
 
 So celebrated for his morale, whpn 
 My Jeffrey held him up as an example 
 To me;— of which these morals are a sample. 
 
 XiVlI. 
 
 Well, if I doin't succeedi I ^me supcfeded, 
 And that's enough ; succeeded in niy yaifth, 
 
 Ttie only tivfip when m^ch success is ^^ed^d : 
 And my success produced what I in soflfl) 
 
 Cared most about ; it need not now be pl^^ded — 
 yVhate'er it was, 'twas mine ; I've pa(d, in truth. 
 
 Of late, the penalty of such suqces?. 
 
 But hare not learn'd tp vyish it any les^ 
 
 xvin. 
 
 That suit in Chancery, — which some persons plead 
 In an appeal to the unborn, whoift^ey. 
 
 In the faith of their procrej^tive creed. 
 Baptize Posterity, or ft^turp elay, — 
 
 To me laems but a dubious kind of vecid 
 To lean on fpriSflpiiort in ^ny w^ ; 
 
 Since odds are that posterity will knpw 
 
 No more of them, than fhfyflf.Jjier, I trow, 
 '.'hin inr. 
 
BON JUAN. 
 
 937 
 
 !crx. 
 
 Wi>3> r™ PoeterUy — aod so are you ; 
 
 And whom 49 we remember ? Not a hundred. 
 Were every memory written down all trne, 
 
 The tenth or twentieth name would bq but blun- 
 dered ; 
 Even Plutarch's lives have but pick'd out a few. 
 
 And 'gainst those fe>v your annalists have thun- 
 dered ; 
 And Mitford in the nineteenth century 
 Gives,with Greek truth, the good old Greek the lie." 
 
 XX. 
 
 Good people all, of every degree. 
 Ye gentle readers and ungentle writers, 
 
 lu this twelfth Canto 'tis my wish to be 
 As serious as if 1 had for inditers 
 
 iVlalthns and Wilberforce : the last set free 
 The Negroes, and is worth a million Gghiers ; 
 
 While Wellington has but enslav'd the Whites, 
 
 And Malthas does the thing'gainet which he writes. 
 
 M 
 
 iiib j^in'I ' 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I'm serious — so are all men upon paper ; 
 
 And why should I not form my speculation, 
 .^nd hold up to the sun my little taper ? 
 
 Mankind just now seemed wrapt in meditation 
 On Constitutions and Steam-boats of vapour ; 
 
 While sages write against all procreation. 
 Unless a man can calculate his means 
 Of feeding brats thjs moment his wife weao.s. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Tliat'a noble ! "Rjat's romantic ! For my part, 
 T think that " Philo-gen^tivenesp " is— 
 
 (Now here's a word quite after my own Iieart, 
 Though there's a shorter a good deal than this. 
 
 If that politeness set it not apart ; 
 
 But I'm resolved to say nought that's amiss)— 
 
 I say methinks that " Philo-genitlveness " 
 
 Might meet from J^en a little more forgiveness. 
 
 xxni. 
 
 And now to business. — O my gentle Juan ! 
 
 Thou art in London— in that pleasant place 
 Where every kind of mischief's daily bre\ying. 
 
 Which can a^yait warm youth in its \yild race. 
 Tis true, that thy career is not a new one ; 
 
 Thou art no novice in the headlong chase ; 
 Of early life ; but this is a new land, 
 Whirh foreigners can never undersiaud. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 What with a small diversity of climate. 
 Of hot or cold, mercurial or sedate, 
 
 I conid send forth my mandate like a primate 
 Upon the rest of Europe's social state ; 
 
 But thou art the most diificnit to rhyme at. 
 Great Britain, which the Muse may penetrate. 
 
 All countries have their " Lions," but in thee 
 
 There is but one superb menagerie. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But I am sick of politics. Begin, 
 " Paulo Majora." Juan, nndecided 
 
 Amongst the paths of being " taken in," 
 Above the ice had like a skaiter glided : 
 
 When tired of play, he flirted without sin 
 With some of those fair creatures who have 
 prided 
 
 Themselves on innocent tantalization. 
 
 And hate all vice except its reputation. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But these are few, and in the end they make 
 Some devilish escapade or stir, which shows 
 
 That even the purest people may mistake 
 Their way through virtue's primrose paths of 
 snows 
 
 And tlien men stare, as if a nevy ^8^ spake 
 To Balaam, and from tongue to ear o'erflo^ys 
 
 Quicksilver Small talk, ending (if you note it) 
 
 With the kind world's Amen !— " Who would have 
 thought it ?" 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 The little Leila, with her orient eyes. 
 
 And taciturn Asiatic disposition, 
 (Which saw all Western things with spi^ll sg/'priac, 
 
 To the surprise of people of condition. 
 Who think that novelties are butterilies 
 
 To be pursued as food for inanitioji) 
 Her charming figure and romantic hjstory 
 Became a kind of fashionable mystery. 
 
 XXVUI. 
 
 The women much divided — as is usual 
 Amongst the sex in little things or great 
 
 Think not, fair creatures, that I mean to abuse you 
 all— 
 I have always liked you better than I state : 
 
 Since I've grown moral, still I must accijse jou all 
 Of being apt to talk at a great rate ; 
 
 And now there was a general sensation 
 
 Amongst you, about Leila's education. 
 
SON JUAN. 
 
 XXDC. 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 In one point only were yon settled — and 
 
 Yon had reason;'tvras tbatayonngChild of Grace, 
 
 As beantiful as her own native land. 
 And far away, the last bud of her race, 
 
 Howe'er onr friend Don Jnan might command 
 Himself for five, four, three, or two years' space. 
 
 Would be much better taught beneath the eye 
 
 Of Peeresses whose follies had s-un dry. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 So first there was a generous emulation. 
 And then there was a general competition 
 
 To undertake the orphan's education. 
 As Juan was a person of condition. 
 
 It had been an af&ont on this occasion 
 To talk of a subscription or petition ; 
 
 But sixteen dowagers, ten unwed she sages, 
 
 Whose tale belongs to " Hallam's Middle Ages." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And one or two sad, separate wives, without 
 A frnit to bloom upon their withering bough — 
 
 Begged to bring np the little girl, and " om<," — 
 For that's the phrase that settles all things now, 
 
 Meaning a virgin's first blush at a rout. 
 
 And all her points aa thorough-bred to show : 
 
 And I assure you, that like virgin honey 
 
 Tastes their first season (mostly if they have money.) 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 How all the needy honourable Misters, 
 Each ont-at-elbow Peer, or desperate Dandy, 
 
 The watchful mothers and the careful sisters, 
 (Who, by the by, when clever, are more handy 
 
 At making matches, where " 'tis gold that glisters 
 Than their he relatives) like flies o'er candy 
 
 Buzz round " the Fortune" with their busy battery. 
 
 To turn her head with waltzing and with flattery ! 
 
 xxxra. 
 
 Each aunt, each cousin hath her speculation ; 
 
 Nay, married dames will now and then discover 
 Such pure disinterestedness of passion, 
 
 I've known them court an heiress for their lover. 
 " Tantaene !" Such the virtues of high station, 
 
 Even in the hopeful Isle, whose outlet's " Dover !" 
 While the poor rich wretch, object of these cares 
 Has cause to wish her sire had had male heirs. 
 
 Some are soon bagged, but some reject three doz@ 
 Tis fine to see them scattering refusals 
 
 And wild dismay o'er every angry cousin 
 (Friends of the party), who begin accusals 
 
 Such as — " Unless Miss (Blank) meantto have cha 
 sen 
 " Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals 
 
 "To his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I 
 pray, 
 
 " Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day ? 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Why ?— Why ?— Besides, Fred really was at- 
 tached; 
 
 " 'Twas not her fortune — he has enough without ; 
 "The time will come she'll wish that she had 
 snatched 
 
 " So good an opportunity, no doubt : — 
 " But the old marchioness some plan had hatchefilj^ 
 
 " As I'll tell Aurea at to-morrow's rout : 
 " And after all poor Frederick may do better — ■ 
 " Pray, did you see her answer to his letter?" 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 Smart uniforms and sparkling coronets 
 Are spurned in torn, until her turn arrives. 
 
 After male loss of time, and hearts, and bets 
 Upon the sweep-stakes for substantial wives ; 
 
 And when at last the pretty creature gets 
 Some gentleman, who fights, or writes, or drives. 
 
 It soothes the awkward squad of the rejected 
 
 To find how very badly she selected. 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 For sometimes they accept some long pursuer. 
 
 Worn out with importunity ; or fall 
 (But here perhaps the instances are fewer) 
 
 To the lot of him who scarce pursued at all. 
 A hazy widower turned of forty's sore '' 
 
 (If 'tis not vain examples \q recall) 
 To draw a high prize : now, howe'er he got her, ' 
 See nought more strange in this than f other lottery. 
 
 xxxvin. 
 
 X, for my part — (one " modem instance" more, 
 " True, 'tis a pity — pity 'tis, 'tis true") 
 
 Was chosen from out an amatory score. 
 Albeit iny years were less discreet than few; 
 
 But though I also had reformed before 
 Those became one who soon were to be two,. 
 
 I'll not gainsay the generous public's voice. 
 
 That the young lady made a monstrous choice 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 239 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Oil, pardon iny digression— or at least 
 Peruse ! 'Tis always with a moral end 
 
 That I dissert, like grace before a feast: 
 For like an aged aunt, or tiresome friend, 
 
 A rigid guardian, or a zealous priest. 
 My Muse by exhortation means to mend 
 
 All people, at all times, and in most places. 
 
 Which puts my Pegasus to these prave paces. 
 
 Xli. 
 
 But now I'm going to be immoral ; now 
 I mean to shew things really as they are. 
 
 Not as they ought to he : for I avow. 
 That till we see what's what in fact, we're far 
 
 Prom much improvement with that virtuous plough 
 'Which skims the surface, leaving scarce a scar 
 
 Upon the black loam long manured by Vice, 
 
 Only to keep its corn at the old price. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 But first of little Leila we'll dispose ; 
 
 For like a day-dawn she was young and pure, 
 Or like the old comparison of snows. 
 
 Which are more pure than pleasant to bo sure. 
 Like many people every body knows, 
 
 Don Juan was delighted to secure 
 A goodly guardian for his infant charge, 
 Who might not profit much by being at large. 
 
 XLIL 
 
 Besides, he had found out that he was no tutor ; 
 
 (I wish that others would find out the same) 
 And rather wished in such things to stand neuter. 
 
 For silly wards will bring their guardians blame : 
 So when he saw each ancient dame a suitor 
 
 To make his little wild Asiatic tame. 
 Consulting "the Society for Vice 
 "Suppression," Lady Pinchbeck was his choice. 
 
 Moreover I've remarked (and I was once 
 A slight observer in a modest way) 
 
 And so may every one except a dunce. 
 That ladies in their youth a little gay. 
 
 Besides their knowledge of the world, and sense 
 Of the sad consequence of going astray, 
 
 Are wiser in their warnings 'gainst the woe 
 
 Which the mere passionless can never know. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 While the harsh Prude indemnifies her virtue 
 By railing at the unknown and envied passion. 
 
 Seeking far less to save you than to hurt you. 
 Or whafs still worse, to put you out of fashion,— 
 
 The kinder veteran with calm words will court you 
 Entreating you to pause before you dash on : 
 
 Expounding and illustrating the riddle 
 
 Of Epic Love's beginning, end, and middle. 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 Now whether it be thus, or that they are stricter. 
 As better knowing why they should be so, 
 
 I think you'll find from many a family picture, 
 That daughters of such mothers, as may know 
 
 The world by experience rather than by lecture. 
 Turn out much better for the Sraithfield Show 
 
 Of vestals brought into the marriage mart, ,/y ■ 
 
 Than those bred up by prudes without a heart' ^ ,,■)' 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 I said that Lady Pinchbeck had been talked about — 
 As who has not, if female, young, and pretty? 
 
 But now no more the ghost of Scandal stalked about ; 
 She merely was deemed amiable and witty. 
 
 And several of her best bon-mots were hawked 
 about ; 
 Then she was given to charity and pity. 
 
 And passed (at least the latter years of life) 
 
 For being a mqst exemplary wiff. , ^ ^ , ,. 
 
 XLIU. 
 
 Olden she was — but had been very young ; 
 
 Virtuous she was— and had been, I believe. 
 Although the world has such an evil tongue 
 
 That but ray chaster ear will not receive 
 
 An echo of a syllable that's wrong : 
 
 In fact there's nothing makes me so much grieve 
 As that abominable tittle tattle. 
 Which is the cud eschewed by human cattle. 
 
 I 
 
 XLVin. 
 
 High in high circles, gentle in 1 er own 
 She was the mild reprover of the young 
 
 Whenever — which means every day — they'd shown 
 An awkward inclination to go wrong. 
 
 The quantity of 'good she did's unknown 
 Or at the least would lengthen out my song : 
 
 In brief, the Uttle orphan of the East 
 
 Had raised an interest in her which increased. 
 
240 
 
 DON JUAIV. 
 
 xtix. 
 
 Juan too was a sort of favttririte with her, 
 Because she thought him a good heart at Bottom 
 
 A little spoiled, but lioi so altogether ; 
 Which was a wonder, if you thitik who got him 
 
 And how he had been tost, he scarfcfe knew Whither 
 Though this might rain others, it did not him. 
 
 At least entirely — for he had seen tob many 
 
 Changes in youth, to be sorprised at any. 
 
 And tHts^ ViiiiMtes fell Bb'St' ih fd<A ; 
 
 For wlien th#y happen at a riper age. 
 People are apt tb Maine the Fates, forsooth. 
 
 And wonder Providence is not more sti^e. 
 Adversity is the first path to truth : 
 
 He who hath proved war, storm, or woman's rage. 
 
 Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty. 
 
 Hath won the experience which is deemed so 
 
 weighty. 
 
 LI. 
 
 How fat it profits is Another riatter.— 
 Our hero gladly saw his little charge 
 
 Safe with a lady, whose last grown-up daughter 
 Being long raarrifed, and thus set at large, 
 
 Had left all the accomplishments she tangbt hei*, 
 To be transmitted, like the Lord Mayor's barge, 
 
 To the next comer ; or — as it will tell 
 
 More Muse like — like Cytherea's shell. 
 
 LH. 
 
 1 call such things transmission ; for there is 
 A floating balance of accomplisiimeut 
 
 Which forms a pedigi-ee from Miss to Miss, 
 According as their minds or backs are bent. 
 
 Some waltz ; some draw ; some fathom tlie abyss 
 Of Metaphysics; others are content 
 
 With mn'Sic ; the most moderate shine as wits. 
 
 While others have a genius turned for nH. 
 
 tin. 
 
 But whether fits, or wits, or harpsichorda. 
 
 Theology, Fine Arts, or finer stays 
 May be the baits for gentlemen or lords 
 
 With regular descent, in these our days. 
 The last year to the new transfers its hoards ; 
 
 New vestals claim mens' eyes with the same praise 
 Of " elegant" et eeetera, in fresh batches — 
 All matchless creatures and yet bent on matches. 
 
 MV. 
 
 But now I will begin my poem. 'Tie 
 Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new. 
 
 That from the first of Cantos op to this 
 
 I've not begou what we have to go through. 
 
 These first twelve books are merely flourishes, 
 Preludios, trying just a string or two 
 
 Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure ; 
 
 And when so, yon shall have the Overture. 
 
 LV. 
 
 My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin 
 About what's called SnccesS; of hot ^rfcceeding ; 
 
 Such thonglits are quite bHoW the strain they have 
 chosen ; 
 'Tis a " great moral lesSoii" thiiy arS reading. 
 
 I thought, at setting off, about tWo dozen 
 Cantos wodld do ; but at Apollo's pleading. 
 
 If that my Pegasus should not be foundered 
 
 T think to cantef gently through a Imndred! 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Don Juan saw that microcosm on stilts. 
 
 Yclept the Great World ; for it is the least. 
 
 Although the higb^st : hot as swords have hilts 
 By which their power of mischief is increased. 
 
 When man in battle or in qnarf el tilts. 
 Thus the low world, north, south^ or west or 
 east. 
 
 Must still obey the high — which is their handle. 
 
 Their moon, their sun, their gas, their farthing 
 candle. 
 
 Lvn. 
 
 ,.,!,;;, :,.-.r, . . ' .-im* «'nH iH .v.f>^- 
 
 He had many firiends who had many wives, and was 
 
 Well looked upon by botli, to that extent 
 Of friendsliip which you may accept or pass. 
 
 It docs nor good nor harm ; being mertly meant 
 To keep the wheels going of the higher class. 
 
 And draw them nightly when a ticket's sent : 
 And what with masquerades, and fetes, and balls. 
 For the first season such a life scarce palls. 
 
 LVm. 
 
 A young unmarried man, #ith a goofl ilarae 
 And fortune, has an awkward part to pTn^ ; 
 
 For good society is but a game, 
 
 * The royal game f Goose," as I may say. 
 
 Where every body has some separate aim, 
 An end to answer, or a plan to lay — 
 
 The single ladies wishing to be double. 
 
 The married ones to save the virgins (ronblf. 
 
BON JVAN. 
 
 241 
 
 US.. 
 
 I don't meau this as general, but particular 
 Examples may be found of such pursuits : 
 
 Tliough several also keep their perpendicular 
 Like poplars, with good principles for roots j 
 
 Yet many have a method more reticular — 
 " Fishers for men," like Syrens with soft lutes. 
 
 For talk six times with the same single lady. 
 
 And you may get the wedding dresses ready. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Perhaps yoa'U have a letter from the mother. 
 To say her daughter's feelings are trepanned ; 
 
 Perhaps you'll have u visit from the brother, 
 All strut, and stays, and whiskers, to demand 
 
 What " your intentions are ?" — One way or other 
 It seems the virgin's heart expects your baud ; 
 
 And between pity for her case and yours. 
 
 You'll add to Matrimony's list of cures. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Vve known a dozen weddings made even thus, 
 And some of them' high names : I have also known 
 
 Young men who — though they hated to discuss 
 Pretensions which they never dreamed to have 
 shown — 
 
 Yet neither frightened by a female fuss. 
 Nor by raustacbios moved, were let alone. 
 
 And lived, as did the broken-hearted fair. 
 
 In happier plight than if they formed a pair. 
 
 Lxn. 
 
 There's also nightly, to the uninitiated, 
 A peril — not indeed like love or marriage. 
 
 Bat not the less for this to be depreciated : 
 It is— I meant and mean not to disparage 
 
 The shew of virtue even in the vitiated— 
 It adds an outward grace unto their carriage— 
 
 But to denounce the amphibious sort of harlot, 
 
 " Couleur de rose," who's neither white nor scarlet. 
 
 Lxm. 
 
 Snch is your cold coquette, who %an't say " No," ' 
 And won't say " Yes," and keeps yon on and 
 I off-ing, 
 
 lOn a lee shore, till it begins to blow — 
 ! Then sees your heart wrecked, with an inward 
 ! scoffing. 
 
 This works a world of sentimental woe, 
 ■ And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin ■ 
 But yet is merely innocent flirtation, 
 l^ot quite adultery, but adulteration. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Ye Gods, I grow a talker !" Let us prate. 
 
 The next of perils, though I place it stem-eittf 
 Is when, without regard to " Church or State." 
 
 A wife makes or takes love in upright earnest. 
 Abroad, such things decide few womrns' fate — 
 
 (Such, early traveller ! is the troth thon learn- 
 est)— 
 But in old England, when a young bride errs. 
 Poor thing ! Eve's was a trifling case to her's. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 For 'tis a low, newspaper, humdrum lawsuit 
 Country, where a yoaog couple of the same ages 
 
 Can't form a friendship, but the world o'erawes it. 
 Then there's the vulgar trick of those d — d 
 damages i 
 
 A verdict — grievous foe to those who cause it ! — 
 Forms a sad climax to romantic homages; 
 
 Besides those soothing speeches of the pleaders. 
 
 And evidences which regale all readers . 
 
 IS.VI. 
 
 But they who blunder thus are raw beginners ; 
 
 A little genial sprinkling of hypocrisy 
 Has saved the fame of thousand splendid sinners, 
 
 The lovliest Oligarchs of our Gynocracy ; 
 You may see such at all the balls and dinners, 
 
 Among the proudest of our Aristocracy, 
 So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste — 
 And all by having tact as well as taste. 
 
 LXVH 
 
 luan, who did not stand in the predicament 
 
 Of a mere novice, had one safeguard more : 
 For he was sick — no, 'twas not the word sick I 
 meant — 
 But he had seen so much good love before, 
 Tliat he was not in heart so very weak ; — I meant 
 
 But thus much, and no sneer against the shore 
 Of white clifts, white necks, blue eyes, bluer stock- 
 ings. 
 Tithes, taxes, duns, and doors with donble knock- 
 ings. 
 
 Lxvm. 
 
 But coming young from lands and scenes romantic. 
 Where lives, not lawsuits, must be risked for 
 Passion, 
 
 And Passion's self must have a apice of frantic, 
 Into a country where His half a fashion, 
 
 Seem'd to him half commercial, half pedantic, 
 Howe'er he might esteem thia moral nation • 
 
 Besides (alas ! his taste — for^ve and pity !) 
 
 At flrst he did not think the women pretty. 
 2H 
 
243 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LXfX. 
 
 I say aifirst ...for he found out at last, 
 But by degrees, that they were fairer far 
 
 Than the more glowing dames whose lot is cast 
 Beneath the influence of the Eastern star. 
 
 A further proof we should not judge in haste ; 
 Yet inexperience could not be his bar 
 
 To taste : — ^the truth is, if men would confess. 
 
 That novelties please less than they impress. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Thongh travelled, I have never had the luck to 
 Trace up those shuffling negroes, Nile or Niger, 
 
 To that impracticable place Timbuctoo, 
 Where Geography finds no one to oblige her 
 
 With such a chart as may be safely stuck to — 
 For Europe ploughs in Afric like " bos piger :" 
 
 But if I hadbeenid Timbuctoo, there 
 
 No doubt I should be told that black is fair. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 It is, I will not swear that black is white ; 
 
 But 1 suspect in fact that white is black, 
 And the whole matter rests upon eye-sight. 
 
 Ask a blind man, the best judge. You'll attack 
 Perhaps this new position — but I'm right ; 
 
 Or if I'm wrong, I'll not be ta'en aback — 
 He hath no mom nor night, but all is dark 
 Within ; and what seest thou ? A dubious spark. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 But I'm relapsing into metaphysics. 
 That labyrinth, whose clue is of the same 
 
 Construction as your cures for hectic phfhisics, 
 I'hose bright moths fluttering round a dying 
 Hame: 
 
 And this reflection brings me to plain physics. 
 And to the beauties of a foreign dame. 
 
 Compared with those of our pure pearls of price. 
 
 Those Polar summers, all sun, and some ice. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Or say they are like virtuous mermaids, whose 
 Beginnings are fair faces, ends mere fishes ;— 
 
 Not that there's not a quantity of those 
 Who have a due respect for their own wishes. 
 
 Like Bussians rushing from hot baths to snows « 
 Are they, at bottom virtuous even when vicious : 
 
 They warm into a scrape, but keep of course. 
 
 As a reserve, a plunge into remorse. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But this has nought to do with their outsidea. 
 
 I said that Juan did not think them pretty 
 At the first blush : for a fair Briton hides 
 
 Half her attractions — probably from pity — 
 And rather calmly into the heart glides. 
 
 Than storms it as a foe would take a city ; 
 But once there (if you doubt this, prithee try^ 
 She keeps it for you like a true ally. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 She cannot step as does an Arab barb. 
 Or Andalnsian girl from mass returning. 
 
 Nor wear as gracefully as Gauls her garb. 
 Nor in her eye Ausonia's glance is burning ; 
 
 Her voice, though sweet, is not so fit to warb- 
 le those bravuras (which I still am learning 
 
 To like, thongh I have been seven years in Italy, 
 
 And have, or had, an ear that served me prettily)^ 
 
 LXX VI. 
 
 , She cannot do these things, nor one or two 
 Others, in that off'-hand and dashing style 
 
 Which takes so much— to give the devil his doe ; 
 Nor is she quite so ready with her smile. 
 
 Nor settles all things in one interview, 
 
 (A thing approved as saving time and toil) ; — 
 
 But though the soil may give yon time and tronble. 
 
 Well cultivated, it mil render double. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 And if in fact she takes to a "grande passion," 
 
 It is a very serious thing indeed -: 
 Nine times in ten 'tis but caprice or fashion. 
 
 Coquetry, or a wish to take the lead. 
 The pride of a mere child with a new sash on 
 
 Or wish to make a rival's bosom Meed. 
 But the tenth instance will be a Tornado, 
 For there's no saying what they will or may do. 
 
 LXXVHL 
 
 The reason's obvious ; if there's an eclat. 
 
 They lose their caste at once, as do the Farias ; 
 
 And when the delicacies of the law 
 Have filled their papers with their comments 
 various, 
 
 Society, that china without flaw, 
 (The hypocrite !) will banish them like Marius, 
 
 To sit amidst the mins of their guilt : 
 
 For Fame's a Carthage not so soon rebuilt. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 243 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Perhaps this is as it should be ; — it is 
 A comment od the Gospel's " Sin no more. 
 
 And be thy sins forgiven :" — bat upon this 
 I leave the saints to settle their own score. 
 
 Abroad, though doubtless they do much amiss. 
 An erring woman finds an opener door 
 
 For her return to Virtue — as they call 
 
 That lady who should be at home to all. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 For me, I leave the matter where 1 find it. 
 Knowing that sach uneasy Virtue leads 
 
 People some ten times less in fact to mind it. 
 And care but for discoveries and not deeds. 
 
 And as for Chastity, you'll never bind it 
 By all the laws the strictest lawyer pleads. 
 
 But aggravate the crime you have not prevented. 
 
 By rendering desperate those who had else re- 
 pented. 
 
 LXXXL 
 
 But Juan was no casuist, nor had pondered 
 Upon the moral lessons of mantind: 
 
 Besides, he had not seen of several hundred 
 A lady altogether to his mind. 
 
 A little "blase" — 'tis not to be wondered 
 At, that his heart had got a tougher rind : 
 
 And though not vainer from his past success, 
 
 No doubt his sensibilities were less. 
 
 Lxxxn. 
 
 He also had been busy seeing sights— 
 The Parliament and all the other houses ; 
 
 Had sat beneath the gallery at nights, 
 To hear debates whose thunder roused (not 
 rouses) 
 
 The world to gaze opon those northern hghts ^ 
 Which flashed as far as w re the musk-bull 
 browses ; 
 
 He had also stood at times behind the throne — 
 
 But Grey was not arrived, and Chatham gone. 
 
 Lxxxm. 
 
 He saw however, at the closing session. 
 That noble sight, when really free the nation, 
 
 A king in constitutional possession 
 Of such a throne as is the proudest station. 
 
 Though despots know it not — till the progression 
 Of freedom shall complete their education. 
 
 TTis not mere splendour makes the show august 
 
 To eye or heart — it is the people's trust. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 There too he saw (whate'er he may be now) 
 A Prince, the prince of princes at the time, 
 
 With fascination in his very bow. 
 
 And fiill of promise, as the spring of prime. 
 
 Though royalty was written on his brow. 
 
 He had then the grace too, rare in every clime. 
 
 Of being, without alloy of fop or beau, 
 
 A finished gentleman from top to toe. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 And Juan was received as hath been said. 
 Into the best society : and there 
 
 Occurred what often happens, I'm afraid, 
 However disciplined and debonnaire : — 
 
 The talent and good humour he displayed. 
 Besides the marked distinction of his aii. 
 
 Exposed him, as was natural, to temptation. 
 
 Even though himself avoided the occasion. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 But what, and where^ with whom, and when, and 
 why. 
 
 Is not to be put hastily together ; 
 And as my object is morality 
 
 (Whatever people say) I do'nt know whether 
 I'll leave a single reader's eyelid dry. 
 
 But harrow up his feelings till they wither. 
 And hew out a huge monument of pathos,. 
 As Philip's swi proposed- to do with Athos.' 
 
 LXXXVH. 
 
 Here the twelfth Canto of our introduction 
 Ends. When the body of the book's begun, 
 
 You'll find it of a different construction 
 From what some people say, 'twill be when 
 done : 
 
 The plan at present's simply in concoction. 
 I can't oblige you, reader, to read on ; 
 
 That's your afiair, not mine : a real spirit 
 
 Should neither court neglect, nor dread to bear it. 
 
 Lxxxvm. 
 
 And if my thunderbolt not always rattles. 
 Remember, reader! you have had before 
 
 The worst of tempests and the best of battles 
 That e'er were brewed from elements or gore. 
 
 Besides the most sublime of— Heaven knows whak 
 else: 
 An Usurer could scarce expect much more — 
 
 But my best Canto, save one on Astronomy, 
 
 Will turn upon " Political Economy, 
 2H2 
 
BON JIT AN. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 That is your present theme for popularity : 
 Now that the Public Hedge hath scarce a stake. 
 
 It grows an act of patriotic charity. 
 To show the people the best way to break. 
 
 My plan (but 1, if bat for singularity, 
 
 Reserve it) will be very sure to take. 
 Meantime read all the National-Debt sinkers. 
 And tell me what you think of your great thiDLerjs. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO TWELFTH. 
 
 Note a, p. 337. staoz^v ^i^ 
 
 And Mitfori in the nineteenth century 
 
 Gives, with Greek truth, the good old Greek the lie. 
 
 See Mitford's Greece. " Graciae Ferai.*' His great 
 pleasure consists in praisiag tyrants, abasing Plntarch, 
 spelling oddly, and writing qnaintly ; and what is strange, 
 after all, his is the best modern history of Greece in any 
 language, and he is perhaps the best of all modern histo- 
 rians whatsoever. Having named his sins, it is but fair to 
 state his virtues — learning, labour, research, wrath, aod 
 partiality. I call the latter virtues in a writer, because 
 they make him write in earnest, 
 
 Noteb, p. S38. stanza xxxvii. 
 A hazy widosfer, turned 0/ forty's sine. 
 
 This line may puzzle the commentators more th an the 
 present geDerailoD. 
 
 Note c, p. S42. stanza luuii. 
 Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows. 
 The Russians, as is well known, ran out from their hot 
 
 baths to plunge into the Neva; a pleasant practical antt, 
 thesis which it seems does them no harm. 
 
 Note d, p. 243. stanza Ixxxii. 
 
 The world to gaze upon those northern lights. 
 
 For a description and print of this iohabitaut of the 
 Polar Region and native country of Aororse fioreales, see 
 Parry's Voyage in search of a North West Passage. 
 
 Note e, p. 243. stanza buntvi. 
 
 And hew out a huge monument 'of pathos, 
 As Philip's son proposed to do wiih Athos. 
 
 A sculptor projected to hew Mount Athos into a statue of 
 Alexander, with a city in one hand, and, I belteve, a river 
 in his pocket, with various other similar devices. But 
 Alexander's gone, and Athos remains, I trust ere long to 
 look over a nation of freemen. 
 
n)(Dsr ^w^m* 
 
 CANTO xni. 
 
 I NOW mean to be aerious ; — it is time. 
 Since laughter now-a-days is deemed too serions. 
 
 A jeat at Vice, by Virtue's called a crime. 
 And critically held as deleterious : 
 
 Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime. 
 Although when long a little apt to weary us ; 
 
 And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn, 
 
 As an old temple dwindled to a column. 
 
 The Lady Adeline Amandeville 
 
 ('Tis an old Norman name, and to be found 
 In pedigrees by those who wander still 
 
 Along the last fields of that Gothic ground) 
 Was high-bom, wealthy by her father's will. 
 
 And beauteous, even where beauties most abound, 
 In Britain — which of course true patriots find 
 The goodliest soil of Body and of Mind. 
 
 m. 
 
 I'll not gainsay them : it is not my cue ; 
 
 I leave them to their taste, no doubt the best 
 An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue, 
 
 Is no great matter, so 'tis in request, 
 'Tis nonsense to dispute abont a hue — 
 
 The kindest may be taken as a test 
 The fair sex should be always fair ; and do man 
 Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman. 
 
 I know that some would fain postpone this era. 
 Reluctant aa all placemen to resign 
 
 Their post ; but their's is merely a chimera. 
 For they have passed life's equinoctial line : 
 
 But then they have their claret and madeira 
 To irrigate the dryness of decline ; 
 
 And County Meetings, and the Parliament, 
 
 And debt, and what not, for their solace sent. 
 
 VI 
 
 And is there not Religion, and Reform, 
 Peace, War, the taxes, and what's cali'd the 
 "Nation?" 
 The struggle to be Pilots in a storm ? 
 
 The landed and the monied speculation ? 
 The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm. 
 
 Instead of love, that mere hallucination ? 
 Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure ; 
 I Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Rough Johnson, the great moralist, professed. 
 Right honestly, " he liked an honest hater !"- 
 
 The only truth that yet has been confest 
 Within these latest thousand years or later. 
 
 Perhaps the fine old fellow spoke in jest : — 
 For my part, I am but a mere spectator. 
 
 And gaze where'er the palace or the hovel is. 
 
 Much in the mode of Goethe's Mephistopheles ; 
 
 IV. 1 
 
 I And after that serene and somewhat dnll 
 
 Epoch, that awkard comer turned for days 
 ' More quiet, when our Moon's no more at full, 
 We may presume to criticise or praise ; 
 Because indifference begins to lull 
 Our passions, and we walk in \visdoni's ways ; 
 j Also because the figure and the face 
 Hint, that 'tis time to give the younger place 
 
 vra. 
 
 But neither love nor hate in much excess ; 
 __Though 'twas not once so. If I sneer sometimes 
 It is because I cannot well do less. 
 
 And now and then it also suits my rhymes. 
 I shonid be very willing to redress 
 
 Men's wrongs, and rather check than punish 
 crimes. 
 Had not Cervantes, in that too true tale 
 Of Quixote, shown how all auch efforts fail. 
 
246 
 
 SON JUAN-. 
 
 IX. 
 
 or all tales 'tis the saddest — and more sad. 
 Because it makes us senile ; his hero's right. 
 
 And still pursues the right ; — to curb the bad, 
 His only object, and 'gainst odds to fight. 
 
 His guerdon : 'tis his virtue makes him mad ! 
 But his adventures form a sorry sight ; — 
 
 A sorrier still is the great moral taught 
 
 By that real Epic unto all who have thought 
 
 X. 
 
 Redressing injury, revenging wrong, 
 To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiff; 
 
 Opposing singly the united strong. 
 From foreign yoke to free the helpless native ; 
 
 Alas ! must noblest views, like an old song. 
 Be for mere fancy's sport a theme creative ; 
 
 A jest, a riddle. Fame through thin and thick sought! 
 
 And Socrates himself but Wisdom's Quixote ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 Cervantes smil'd Spain's Chivalry away ; 
 
 A single laugh demolish'd the right arm 
 Of his own country ; — seldom since that day 
 
 Has Spain had heroes. While Romance could 
 charm. 
 The world gave ground before her bright array ; 
 
 And therefore have his volumes done such harnr. 
 That all their glory, as a composition. 
 Was dearly purchased by his land's perdition. 
 
 xa 
 
 I'm " at my old Lunes" — digression, and forget 
 
 The Lady Adeline Amundeville ; 
 The fair most fatal Juan ever met. 
 
 Although she was not evil nor meant ill 
 Bnt Destiny and Passion spread the net, 
 
 (Fate is a good excnse for our own will 
 And canght them ;— what do they not catch, me- 
 
 thinks? 
 But I'm not (Edipus, and life's a Sphinx. 
 
 xm 
 
 I tell the tale as it is told, nor dare 
 To venture a solution : " Davus sum !" 
 
 And now I will proceed upon the pair. 
 Sweet Adeline, amidst the gay world's hum. 
 
 Was the Queen-Bee, the glass of all that's fair. 
 Whose charms made all men speak, and women 
 dumb. 
 
 The last's a miracle, and such was reckoned. 
 
 And since that time there has not been a second. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Chaste was she, to detraction's desperation. 
 And wedded unto one she had loved well — 
 
 A man known in the councils of the nation. 
 Cool, and quite English, imperturbable. 
 
 Though apt to act with fire upon occasion. 
 
 Proud of himself and her : the world could tell 
 
 Nought against either, and both seemed secure — 
 
 She in her virtue, he in his hauteur. 
 
 XV 
 
 J 
 
 It chanced some diplomatical relations. 
 Arising out of business, otten brought 
 
 Himself and Juan in their mutual stations 
 Into close contact. Though reserved, nor canght 
 
 By specious seeming, Juan's youth and patience. 
 And talent, on bis haughty spirit \vrought. 
 
 And formed a basis of esteem, which ends 
 
 In making men what Courtesy calls friends. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And thus Lord Henry, who was cantious as 
 Reserve and pride could make him-, and fiill slow 
 
 In judging men — when once his judgment was 
 Determined, right or wrong, on friend or foe. 
 
 Had all the pertinacity pride has. 
 Which knows no ebb to its imperious flow. 
 
 And loves or hates, disdaining to be guided. 
 
 Because its own good pleasure bath decided. 
 
 XVU. 
 
 His friendships therefore, and no less aversions. 
 Though ofl well founded, which confirmed but 
 more 
 
 His prepossessions, like the laws of Persians 
 And Medes,would ne'er revoke what went before. 
 
 His feelings had not those strange fits, like tertians, 
 Of common likings, which make some deplore 
 
 What they should laugh at— the mere ague still 
 
 Of men's regard, the fever or the chill. 
 
 xvra. 
 
 " Tis not in mortals to command success : 
 
 " But do you more, Sempronius — donH deserve it" 
 
 And take my word, you won't have any less 
 Be wary, watch the time and always serve it : 
 
 Give gently way, when there's too great a press , 
 And for your conscience, only learn to nerve it,— 
 
 For like a racer, or a boxer training, ' 
 
 'Twill make, if proved, vast efforts without paining 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 247 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Lord Henry also liked to be, superior. 
 As moat men do, the little or the great; 
 
 The very lowest find out an inferior. 
 At least they think so, to exert their state 
 
 Upon : for there are very few things wear;er 
 Than solitary Pride's oppressive weight, 
 
 Which mortals generously would divide, 
 
 By bidding others carry while they ride. 
 
 XX. 
 
 In birth, in rank, in fortune likewise equal. 
 O'er Juan he could no distinction claim ; 
 
 In years he had the advantage of time's sequel ; 
 And, as he thought, in country much the same — 
 
 Because bold Britons have a tongue and free qnill. 
 At which all modern nations vainly aim ; 
 
 And the Lord Henry was a great debater. 
 
 So that few members kept the house up later. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 These were advantages : and then he thought — 
 It was his foible, but by no means sinister — 
 
 That few or none more than himself had caught 
 Court mysteries, having been himself a minister — 
 
 He liked to teach that which he had been taught. 
 And greatly shone whenever there had been a 
 stir; 
 
 \nd reconciled all qualities which grace man. 
 
 Always a Patriot, and sometimes a Placeman. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 He liked the gentle Spaniard for his gravity ; 
 
 He almost honoured him for his docility, 
 Becacse, though young, he acquiesced with suavity. 
 
 Or contradicted but with proud humility. 
 3c knew the world, and would not see depravity 
 
 In faults which sometimes show the soil's fertility, 
 [f that the weeds o'erlive not the first crop, — 
 Cor then they are very difficult to stop. 
 
 xxm. 
 
 ^nd then he talked with him about Madrid 
 Constantinople, and such distant places; 
 
 Vhere people always did as they were bid, 
 Or did what they should not with foreign graces. 
 
 )f coursers also spake they: Henry rid 
 Well, like most Englishmen, and loved the races 
 
 ind Juan, like a true-bom Andalusian, 
 
 lonld back a horse, as despots ride a Russian, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And thus acquaintance grew^ at noble routs, 
 And diplomatic dinners, or at other — 
 
 For Juan stood well both with Ins and Outs, 
 As in Freemasonry a higher brother. 
 
 Upon his talent Henry had no doubts. 
 His manner showed him sprung from a high 
 mother ; 
 
 And all men like to show their hospitality 
 
 To him whose breeding matches with his quality. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 At Blank-Blank Square ; — for we will break no 
 squares 
 
 By naming streets : .-jince men are so censorious, 
 And apt to sow an author's wheat vnth tares, 
 
 Keapiug allusions private and inglorious. 
 Where none were dreamt of, unto love's affairs. 
 
 Which were, or are, or are to be notorious. 
 That therefore do I previously declare, 
 Lord Henry's mansion was in Blank-Blank Square. 
 
 xxvr. 
 
 Also there bin ^ another pious reason 
 
 For making squares and streets anonymous ; 
 
 Which is, that there is scarce a single season 
 Which doth not shake some very splendid house 
 
 With some slight heart-quake of domestic treason — 
 A topic scandal doth delight to rouse : 
 
 Such I might stumble over unawares. 
 
 Unless I knew the very chastest Squares. 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 'Tifi true, I might have chosen Piccadilly, 
 A place where peccadillos are unknown ; 
 
 But I have motives, whether wise or silly, 
 For letting that pure sanctuary alone. 
 
 Therefore I name not square, street, place, until I 
 Find one where nothing naughty can be shown, 
 
 A vestal shrine of innocence of heart; 
 
 Such are but I have lost the London Chart 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 At Henry's mansion then in Blank-Blank Square, 
 Was Juan a recherche, welcome guest. 
 
 As many other noble Scions were ; 
 And some who had but talent for their crest; 
 
 Or wealth, which is a passport every where ; 
 Or even mere fashion, which indeed's the best 
 
 Recommendation, and to be well drest 
 
 Will very often supersede the rest. 
 
248 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 \ 
 
 XXtX. 
 
 And since " there's safety in a multitude 
 " Of counsellors," as Solomon has said, 
 
 Or some one for hira, in some sage, grave mood ;- 
 Indeed we see the daily proof displayed 
 
 In Senates, at the Bar, in wordy feud. 
 Where'er collective wisdom can parade, 
 
 Which is the only cause that we can guess. 
 
 Of Britain's present wealth and happiness ; — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But as " there's safety grafted in the number 
 " Of Counsellors" for men,— thus for the sex 
 
 A large acquaintance lets not Virtue slumber ; 
 Or should it shake, the choice will more perplex— 
 
 Variety itself will more encumber. 
 
 'Midst many rocks we guard more against wrecks ; 
 
 And thns with women : howsoe'er it shocks some's 
 
 Self-Jove, there's safety in a crowd of coxcombs. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 But Adeline had not the least occasion 
 For such a shield, which leaves but little merit 
 
 To virtue proper, or good education. 
 
 Her chief resource was in her own high spirit. 
 
 Which judged mankind at their due estimation ; 
 And for coquetry, she disdained to wear it : 
 
 Secure of admiration, its impression 
 
 Was faint, as of an every day possession. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 To all she was polite without parade ; 
 
 To some she showed attention of that kind 
 Which flatters, but is flattery con\ eyed 
 
 In such a sort as cannot leave behind 
 A trace unworthy either wife or maid ; — 
 
 A gentle, genial courtesy of mind. 
 To those who were, or passed for meritorious. 
 Just to console sad Glory for being glorious; 
 
 XXX in. 
 
 Which is in all respects, save now and then, 
 A dull and desolate appendix. Gaae 
 
 Upon the shades of those distinguished men. 
 Who were or are the puppet-shows of praise, 
 
 The praise of persecation. Gaze ag&in 
 
 On the most favoured ; and amidst the blaze 
 
 Of sunset halos o'er the laurel-browed. 
 
 What can ye recognize ? — a gilded cloud. 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 There also was of course in Adeline ^. 
 
 That calm Patrician polish in the address, 
 
 Which ne'er can pass the equinoctial line |, 
 
 Of any thing which Nature would express : ', 
 
 Just as a Mandarin finds nothing fine, — f| 
 
 At least his manner snfiers not to guess '] 
 
 That any thing he views can greatly please. *' 
 Perhaps we have borrowed this from the Chinese- 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Perhaps from Horace : his " Nil admirar^' 
 Was what he called the " Art of Happiness ; 
 
 An art on which the artists greatly vary. 
 And have not yet attained to much success. 
 
 However, 'tis expedient to be wary : 
 
 Indifference certes don't produce distress ; 
 
 And rash enthusiasm in good society 
 
 Were nothing but a moral Inebriety. 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 But Adeline was not indifferent : for 
 CNow for a common place !) beneath the snow. 
 
 As a volcano holds the lava more 
 Within — et cetera. Shall I go on ? — No ! 
 
 I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor. 
 So let the often-used volcano go. 
 
 Poor thing ! How frequently by me and others, 
 
 It hath been stirred up till its smoke quite smothers 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 I'll have another figure in a trice ; — 
 
 What say you to a 'bottle of champagne ? 
 
 Frozen into a very vinous ice, 
 
 Which leaves few drops of that immortal rain, 
 
 Yet in the very centre, past all price. 
 About a liquid glassfull will remain ; 
 
 And this is stronger than the strongest grape 
 
 Could e'er express in its expanded shape: 
 
 xxxvm. 
 
 'Tis tile whole spirit brought to a quintessence ; 
 
 And thns the chilliest aspects may concentre 
 A hidden nectar under a cold presence. 
 
 And such are many — though only meant her. 
 From whom I now deduce these moral lessons. 
 
 On which the muse has always sought to enter. 
 And your cold people are beyond all price. 
 When once you have broken their confounded ioe 
 
DOM JUAN. 
 
 249 
 
 XXXK. 
 
 lut after all they are a Norih-West Passage ; 
 
 Unto the glowing India of the soul ; 
 Ind as the good ships sent apon that message 
 
 Have not exactly ascertained the Pole 
 Thoogh Parry's efforts look a luckly presage) 
 
 Thns gentlemen may ran upon a shoal ; 
 ?or if the Pole's not open, but all frost, 
 A chance still) 'tis avoyage or vessel lost, 
 
 I- 
 
 XL. 
 
 XlilV 
 
 ind young beginners may as v?ell commence 
 With quiet craising o'er the ocean vpoman ; 
 
 While those who are not beginners, should have 
 sense 
 Enough to make for port, ere time shall summon 
 
 With his grey signal flag, and the past tense. 
 The Uteeny " Fuimus" of all things human. 
 
 Must be declined.while life's thin thread's spun out 
 
 Between the gaping heirand gnawing gout. 
 
 XLJ. 
 
 But Heaven must be diverted ; its diversion 
 Is sometimes truculent— but never mind : 
 
 riie world upon the whole is worth the assertion 
 (If but for comfort) that all things are kind : 
 
 And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian, 
 Of the two Principles, but leaves behind 
 
 As many doubts as any other doctrine 
 
 Has ever puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in. 
 
 XLIl 
 
 The English winter— ending in July, 
 
 To recommence in August — now was done. 
 'Tis the postilion's Paradise : wheels fly ; 
 
 On roads. East, South,North,West, there is arun, 
 iBut for post horses who tinds sympathy ? 
 . Man's pity's for himself, or for his son, 
 Always premising that said son at college 
 Has not contracted much more debt than knowledge. 
 
 XLin. 
 
 The London winter's ended in July — 
 Sometimes a little later. I don't err 
 
 this; whatever otiier blunders lie 
 Upon my shoulders, here I must aver 
 
 ily Muse a glass of Weathcrology; 
 For Parliament is our Barometer: 
 
 jet Radicals its other acts attack, 
 
 f3 i^essions form our only almanack. 
 
 I 
 
 When its quicksilver's down at zero, — lo ! 
 
 Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage I 
 Wheels whirl from Carlton palace to Soho, 
 
 And happiest they who horses can engage ; 
 The turnpikes glow with dust ; and Rotten Row 
 
 Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age ; 
 And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces. 
 Sigh — as the postboys fasten on the traces. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 They and their bills, "Arcadians both,"' are left 
 To the Greek Kalends, of another session. 
 
 Alas ! to them of ready cash bereft, 
 What hope remains? Of hope the full possession. 
 
 Or generous dratl, conceded as a gift. 
 
 At a long date — till they can get a fresh one 
 
 Hawked about at a discount, small or large ; 
 
 Also the solace of an overcharge. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But these are trifles. Downward flies my Lord 
 Nodding beside my Lady in his carriage. 
 
 Av/ay ! Away ! " Fresh horses !" are the words, 
 A nd changed as qnickly as hearts after marriage ; 
 
 The obsequious landlord hath the change restored ; 
 The postboys have no reason to disparage 
 
 Their fee; but ere the watered wheels mayhiss hence. 
 
 The ostler pleads for a reminiscence. 
 
 XLVn. 
 
 'Tis granted ; and the valet mounts the dickey — 
 That gentleman of lords and gentlemen ; 
 
 Also my Lady's Gentlewoman, tricky, 
 
 " Tricked out, but modest more than poet's pen 
 
 Can paint. Cost Yiaggino i Ricchi !" 
 (Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then. 
 
 If but to show I've travelled ; and what's travel, 
 
 Uuless it teaches one to quote and cavil ?) 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The London winter and the country summer 
 Were will nigh over. 'Tis perhaps a pity. 
 
 When Nature wears the gown that doth become her, 
 To lose those best months in the sweaty city. 
 
 And wait until the nightingale grows dumber. 
 Listening debates not very wise or witty. 
 
 Ere Patriots their true country can remember ; — 
 
 Buttbere^ no shooting save grouse)till S'^ptember. 
 21 
 
250 
 
 AON JUAN. 
 
 XIAX. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 ['ve done with my tirade. The world was gone ; 
 
 The twice two thousand, for whom earth was 
 made. 
 Were vanish'd, to be what they call alone— 
 
 That is, with thirty servants for parade. 
 As many guests or more ; before whom groan 
 
 As many covers, duly, daily laid- 
 Let none accuse old England's hospitality- 
 Its quantity is but condensed to quality. 
 
 <L. 
 
 Lord Henry and the Lady Adeline 
 Departed like the rest of their compeers. 
 
 The peerage, to a mansion very fine ; 
 The Gothic Babel of a thousand years. 
 
 None than themselves conld boast a longer line. 
 Where time through heroes and through beauties 
 steers ; 
 
 And oaks as olden as their pedigree 
 
 Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree. 
 
 U. 
 
 A paragraph in every paper told 
 
 Of their departure : such is modem fame ; 
 'lis pity that it takes no further hold 
 
 ThRU an advertisement, or much the same '^ 
 Whene'er the ink be dry, the sound grows cold. 
 
 The Morning Post was foremost to proclaim— 
 " Departure, for his country seat, to day, 
 "Lord H. Amundeville and Lady A. 
 
 LH. 
 
 " We understand the splendid host intends 
 " To entertain, this autumn, a select 
 
 " And numerous party x)f his noble friends ; 
 " Midst whom we have heard, from sources quite 
 correct, 
 
 " The Duke of D— the shooting, season spends, 
 " With many more by rank and fashion decked ; 
 
 '* Also a foreigner of high condition. 
 
 " The envoy of the secret Russian Mission," 
 
 LDI 
 
 And thus we see — who doubts the Morning Post ? 
 
 (Whose articles are like the " Thirty Nine,") 
 Which those most swear to who believe them 
 most) — 
 Our gay Russ Spaniard was ordained to shine. 
 Decked by the rays reflected from bis host. 
 With those who, Pope says, " greatly daring 
 dine." 
 'Tis odd, but true, — last war the News abounded 
 More with these dinners than the killed or 
 wounded ; — 
 
 i 
 
 As thus : "On Thursday there was a grand dion^r. 
 "Present, Lords A. B. C."— EaiJs, dokes, bj 
 name 
 Announced with no less pomp than victory's winner 
 
 Then underneath, and in the very same 
 Column; " Date, Falmouth. There has lately beei 
 here 
 " The Slap-Dash Ke^ment, so well known t( 
 fame; 
 " Whose loss in the late action we regret : 
 " The vacancies are filled up — see Gazette." 
 
 LV. 
 
 To Norman Abbey whirled the noble pair, — 
 An old, old monastery once, and now 
 
 Still older mansion, of a rich and rare 
 Mixed Gothic, such as Artists all allow 
 
 Few specimens yet left uscan compare 
 Withal : it lies perhaps a little low. 
 
 Because the monks preferred a hill behind 
 
 To shelter their devotion from the wind. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 It stood embosomed in a happy valley, 
 Crown'd by high woodlands, where the Druic 
 oak 
 
 Stood like Caractacus in act to rally 
 His host, with broad arms 'gainst the tliundeil 
 stroke ; : 
 
 And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally 
 The dappled foresters — as day awoke. 
 
 The branching stag swept down with all his herd 
 
 To quaff a brook which mnrmnred like a bird. 
 
 Lvn. 
 
 Before the mansion lay a lucid lake. 
 Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed 
 
 By a river, which its softened way did take 
 In currents through the calmer water spread 
 
 Around ; the wild fowl nestled in the brake 
 And sedges, brooding in their liqnidbed : 
 
 The woods sloped downwards to its brlnk:r~<l 
 stood 
 
 With their green faces fix'd upon the flooA. 
 
 Lvm. 
 
 Its outlet dash'd into a deep cascade 
 
 Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding 
 
 Its shriller echos — like an infant made 
 Quiet — sank into softer ripples, gliding 
 
 Into a rivulet ; and thus allayed, 
 Pursned itf course, now gleaming, and now htdin 
 
 lU windings through the woods ; now clear, np 
 blue, 
 
 According as the skies their ^adows threw. 
 
OOSr JUAN. 
 
 a&i 
 
 LIX. 
 
 A glorious, remnant of the Gotliic pile, 
 
 (While yet the church was Rome's) stood half 
 apart 
 In a grand arch, which once screened many an aisle 
 
 These last had disappeared — a loss to art : 
 The first yet frown'd soperbly o'er the soil, 
 
 And kindled feelings in the roughest heart. 
 Which mourned the power of time's or tempests 
 
 march. 
 In gazing on that venerable arch. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle. 
 
 Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone ; 
 But these had fallen, not when the friars fell. 
 
 But in the war which struck Charles from his 
 throne. 
 When each house was a fortalice — as tell 
 
 The annals of full many a line undone, — 
 The Gallant Cavaliers, who fought in vam 
 For tbose who knew not to resign or reign. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 But in a liigher niche, alone, but crown'd 
 The Virgin Mother of the God-bom child. 
 
 With her son in her blessed arms, look'd round. 
 Spared by some chance when all besides was 
 spoii'd ; 
 
 She made the earth below seem holy ground. 
 This may be superstition, weak or wild. 
 
 But even the faintest relics of a shrine 
 
 Of any worship wake some thoughts divine. 
 
 Lxn. 
 
 A miglity window, hollow in the centre, 
 Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings. 
 
 Through which the deepen'd glories once could 
 enter, 
 Streaming from off the sun like seraph's wings. 
 
 Now yawns all desolate : now loud, now fainter, 
 The gale sweeps through its Network, and oft 
 sings 
 
 The owl his anthem, where the silenced'qnire 
 
 Lie with their hallelujahs qnench'd like fire. 
 
 LXin. 
 
 But in the noontide of the moon, and when 
 The wind is winged from one point of heaven, 
 
 There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then 
 Is musical — a dying accent driven 
 
 rhrough the huge arch, which soars and sinks 
 again. 
 Srime deem it but the distant echo given 
 
 lack to the night wind by the waterfall, 
 
 ind harmonized by the old choral wall - 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Others that some original shape, or form 
 Shaped by decay perchance, hath given the power 
 
 (Though less than that of Memnon's statue warm 
 In Egypt's rays, to harp at a fixed hour) 
 
 To this grey ruin, mth a voice to charm. 
 
 Sad, but serene, it sweeps o'er tree or tower : 
 
 The cause 1 know not, nor can solve ; but such 
 
 The fact : — I've heard it,— once perhaps too much 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play'd. 
 Symmetrical,. but deck'd with carvings quaint — 
 
 Strange faces, like to men in masquerade. 
 And here perhaps a monster, there a Saint : 
 
 The spring gosh'd tlurongh grim mouths, of granite 
 made. 
 And sparkled into basins, where it spent 
 
 Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles, 
 
 Like man's vain glory, and bis vainer troubles. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 The mansion's self was vast and venerable, 
 With more of the monastic than has been 
 
 Elsewhere preserved ; the cloisters still were stable. 
 The cells too, and refectory, I ween • 
 
 An exquisite small chapel had been able, 
 Still unimpaired, to decorate the scene ; 
 
 The rest had been reform'd, replac'd, or,suot> 
 
 And spoke more of the 'baron than the monV. 
 
 LXVIL 
 
 Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, 
 join'd 
 
 By no quite lawful'marriage of the arts. 
 Might shock a Connoisseur ; bnt when combined, 
 
 Form'd a whole, which, irregular in parts. 
 Yet left a grand impression on the mind. 
 
 At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts 
 We gaze upon a Giant for his stature. 
 Nor judge at first if all be true to Nature. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Steel barons, molten the next generation 
 To silken rows of gay and garter'd Earls, 
 
 Glanced from the walls in goodly preservation. 
 And Lady Marys blooming into girls. 
 
 With fair long locks, had also kept their station : 
 And countesses matnre in robes and pearls : 
 
 Also some beauties of Sir Peter Lely, 
 
 Whose drapery hints we may admire them freely. 
 
252 
 
 SON JVAN. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Judges in very formidable ermine 
 
 Were there, witti brows that did not mach invite 
 The accnsed to thinlc their Lordships would deter- 
 > mine 
 
 His cause by leaning much from might to right ! 
 Bishops, who had not left a single sermon ; 
 
 Attornies-General, awful to the sight. 
 As hinting more (unless our judgments warp us) 
 Of the "Star Chamber" than of "Habeas Corpus." 
 
 LXX. 
 
 ,.;|.i'lili.r!iiiM'f ,C'II .;) , .irnri .ili )y.'. i 
 
 Generals, some all in armour, of the old 
 And iron time, ere Lead had ta'en the lead ; 
 
 Others in wigs of Marlborough's martial fold, 
 Huger than twelve of our degenerate breed : 
 
 Lordlings, with staves of white or lieys of gold : 
 Nimrods,whose canvass scarce contain'dthe steed; 
 
 And here and there some stern high Patriot stood. 
 
 Who could not get the place for which he sued. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 But ever and anon, (o soothe your vision. 
 Fatigued with these hereditary glories. 
 
 There rose a C^lo Doici or a Titian, 
 Or wilder group of savage Salvatores : 4 
 
 Here danced Albano's boys, and here the sea shone 
 In Vernel's ocean lights ; and there the stories 
 
 Of martyrs awed, as Spagnoletto tainted 
 
 His brush with all the blood of all the sainted. 
 
 LXXH. 
 
 Here sweetly spread a landscap3 of Loraine ; 
 
 There Rembrandt made his darkness equal light. 
 Or gloomy Caravaggio's gloomier stain 
 
 Bronzed o'er some lean and stoic anchorite :— 
 But lo ! a Teniers woos, and not in vain. 
 
 Your eyes to revel in a livelier sight ; 
 His bell-moiithed goblet makes me feel quite Da- 
 nish « [nish. 
 Or Dutch with thirst— What ho I a flask of Rhe- 
 
 LXXIIL 
 
 O reader ! if that thou canst read, — and know, 
 'Tis not enough to spell, or even to read. 
 
 To constitute a reader, there must go 
 
 Virtues of which both you and I have need. 
 
 Firstly, begin witli the beginning — (though 
 That clause is hard ;) and secondly, proceed ; 
 
 Thirdly, conunence not with the end — or, sinning 
 
 \n this sort, end at least with thu beginniu". 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But, reader, thou hast patient been of late. 
 While I, without remorse of rhyme, or fear. 
 
 Have built and laid out ground at such a rate, 
 Dan Phcebus takes me for an auctioneer. 
 
 That Poets were so from their earliest date. 
 By Homer's " Catalogue of Ships " is clear ; 
 
 Bat a mere modern must be moderate — 
 
 I spare you then the furniture and plate. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 The mellow autumn came, and with it came 
 The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. 
 
 The corn is cut, the manor full of game ; 
 The painter ranges, and the sportsman beats 
 
 In russet jacket : — lynx-like is his aim. 
 
 Full grows his bag, and wonder/«/ his feats. 
 
 Ah nutbrown Parlridges ! Ah brilliant Pheasants | 
 
 And ah, ye Poachers ! — 'Tis no sport for peasants 
 
 LXXVt 
 
 An English autumn, though it bath no vines. 
 Blushing with Bacchant coronals along 
 
 The paths, over which the far festoon entwines 
 The red grape in the sunny lands of song, 
 
 Hath yet a purchased choice of choicest wines ; 
 The Claret light, and the Madeira strong. 
 
 If Britain mourn her bleakness, we can tell her. 
 
 The very best of vineyards is the cellar. 
 
 LXXVIl. 
 
 Then, if she hath not that serene decline 
 
 Which makes the Southern's Autumn's day 
 appear 
 
 As if 'twould to a second spring resign 
 The season, rather than to winter drear, — 
 
 Of in-door comforts still she hath a mine,— 
 The sea-coal fires, the earliest of the year ! 
 
 Without doors too she may compete in mellow. 
 
 As what is lost in green is gained in yellow. 
 
 Lxxvni. . 
 
 And for the effeminate viUeggiatnra — 
 Rise with more horns than hounds — she hath 
 the chase. 
 
 So animated U>at it might allure a 
 Saint from his beads to join the jocund race 
 
 Even Nimrod's self might leave the plains of Dura, 
 And wear the Melton jacket for a space : 
 
 If she hath no wild bores, she hath a tame 
 
 Preserve of Bores, who ought to befmade game. 
 
DON JUAW 
 
 ,253 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 The noble guests assembled at the Abbey, 
 Conisisting of-we give the sex the pas— 
 
 The duchess of FitzFulke ; the Countess Crabby ; 
 The Ladies Scilly, Bnsey ;— Miss Eclat, 
 
 Miss Bombazeen, Miss Mackstay, Miss O'Tabby, 
 And Mrs. Rabbi, the rich banker's sqoaw ; 
 
 Also the honourable Mrs. Sleep, 
 
 Who look'd a white lamb, yet was a black sheep : 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 With other Countesses of Blank— but rank : 
 At once the "he" and the "elite" of crowds; 
 
 Who pass like water filtered in a tank, 
 All purged and pious from their native clouds ; 
 
 Or paper turned to money by the Bank ; 
 No matter how or why, the passport shrouds 
 
 The " passee" and the past : for good society 
 
 Is no less famed for tolerance than piety 
 
 {P LXXXI. 
 
 That 18 to a certain point ; which point 
 Forms the most difficult in pnnctaalion. 
 
 Appearances appear to form the joint 
 On which it hinges in a higher station ; 
 
 And so that uo explosion cry " Aroint 
 " Thee, Witch !" or each Medea has her Jason 
 
 Or (to the point with Horace and with Pulci) 
 
 " Omne iuhipunctum, quse ntiscuit utile dulci." 
 
 LXXXil. 
 
 1 can't exactly trace their rule of right. 
 Which hath a little leaning to a lottery. 
 
 I've seen a virtuous woman put down quite 
 By the mere combination of aCoterie ; 
 
 Also a So-So Matron boldly fight 
 Her way back to the world by dint of plottery. 
 
 And shine the very Stria of the spheres. 
 
 Escaping with a few slight scarlesa sneers. 
 
 Lxxxra. 
 
 I have seen more than I'll say : — but we will see 
 How our vilkggiatura will get on. 
 
 The party might consist of thirty-three 
 
 Of highest caste — the Brahmins of the ton. 
 
 I have named a few, not foremost in degree. 
 But ta'en at ha:!ard as the rhyme may run. 
 
 By way of sprinkling, scatter'd amongst these 
 
 There also were some Irish absentees. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 7M 
 
 There was ParoUes too, the legal bnlly. 
 Who limits all his battles to the bar 
 
 And senate ; when invited elsewhere, truly. 
 He shows more appetite for words than war. 
 
 There was the young bard Rackrhyme, who had 
 newly 
 Come out and glimmer'd as a six-weeks' star" 
 
 There was Lord Pyrrho too, the great freethinker ; 
 
 And Sir John Pottledeep, the mighty drinker. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 There was the Onke of Dash, who was — a duke, 
 "Aye, every inch a" duke; there were twelve 
 peers ^" 
 
 Like Charlemagne's— and all such peers in look 
 And intellect, that neither eyes nor ears 
 
 For commoners had ever them mistook. 
 There were the six Miss Rawbolds — pretty dears ! 
 
 All song and sentiment ; whose hearts were set„;^ 
 
 Less on a convent than a coronet y -' 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 There were four Honourable Misters, whose ,v;'! 
 
 Honour was more before their names than after ; 
 There was the preox Chevalier de la Rose, 
 
 Whom France and Fortune lately deign'd to 
 waft here. 
 Whose chiefly harmless talent was to amuse ; 
 
 But the clubs found it rather serious laughter. 
 Because — such was magic his power to please— 
 The dice seem'd charm'd too with his rapartees. 
 
 LXXXVIL 
 
 There was Dick Dubious the metaphysician, , " 
 Who loved philosophy and a good dinner ; 
 
 Angle, the soi-disant mathematician ; 
 Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race winner. 
 
 There was the Reverend Rodomont Precisian, 
 Who did not hate so much the sin as sinner ; 
 
 And Lord Augustus Filz-Plantagenet, 
 
 Good at all things, but better at a bet. 
 
 Lxxxvnr. 
 
 There was Jack Jargon, the gigantic guardsman , 
 The General Fireface, famous in the field, 
 
 A great tactician, and no less a swordsman, 
 
 Who ate, last war, more Yankees than he klH'd. 
 
 There was the waggish Welch Judge, Jefleries 
 Hardsman, 
 In his grave office so completely skill'd^ 
 
 That when a culprit came for condemnation. 
 
 He had his judge's joke for consolation. 
 
DON JUAK. 
 
 LXXXK. 
 
 Good company's a cheas-board— there are kingS; 
 
 Queens, bishops, knights, rooks, pawns; the 
 world's a game ; 
 Saye that the puppets pall at there own strings ; 
 
 Methinks gay Panch hath something of the same. 
 My Muse, the butterfly hath but her %Tings, 
 
 Not stings, and flits through ether without aim. 
 Alighting rarely : — were she bnt a hornet. 
 Perhaps there might be vices which would mourn it. 
 
 XC. 
 
 I had forgotten — but must not forget — 
 
 An Orator, the latest of the session. 
 Who had delivered well a very set 
 
 Smooth speech, his first and maidenly transgres- 
 sion 
 Upon debate : the papers echoed yet 
 
 With his debut, which made a strong impression, 
 And rank'd with what is every day display'd— 
 " The best first speech that ever yet was made." 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Proud of his " Hear hims," proud too of his vote 
 
 And lost virginity of oratory. 
 Proud of his les'ning (just enough to quote) 
 
 He revelled in his Ciceronian glory : 
 With memory eicellent to get by rote. 
 
 With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story. 
 Graced with some merit, and with more eifrontery, 
 "His Country's pride," he came down to the 
 country. 
 
 XCU. 
 
 There also were two wits by acclamation 
 
 Longbow from Ireland, Strongbow from the 
 Tweed, 
 
 Both lawyers and both men of education ; 
 But Strongbow's wit was of more polish'd breed : 
 
 Longbow was rich in an imagination 
 As beautiful and bounding as a steed. 
 
 But sometimes stumbling over a potatoe, — 
 
 While Strongbow's best things might have come 
 from Cato. 
 
 XCIU. 
 
 Strongbow was like a new-tun'd harpsichord ; 
 
 But Longbow wild as an iEolian harp. 
 With which the winds of heaven can claim accord, 
 
 And make a music, whether flat or sharp. 
 Of Strongbow's talk you would not change a word : 
 
 At Longbow's phrases you might sometimes carp; 
 Both wits — one born so, and the other bred. 
 This by his heart — his rival bj his head. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 If all these seem an heterogeneous mass 
 
 To be assembled at a country seat. 
 Yet think, a specimen of every class 
 
 Is better than a humdrum tete-a-tete. 
 The days of Comedy are gone, alas ! 
 
 When Congreve's fool could vie with Moliere's 
 bUe : 
 Society b smoothed to that excess. 
 That manners hardly differ more than dzess. 
 
 XCV. 
 
 Our ridicules are kept in the back-ground — 
 
 Ridiculous enough, but also dull : 
 Professions too are no more to be found 
 
 Professional ; and there is nought to cull 
 Of folly's fruit; for though your fools abound. 
 
 They're barren, and not worth the pains to pull. 
 Society is now one polish'd horde, 
 Porm'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bared. 
 
 XCVl. 
 
 But from being farmers, we turn gleaners, gleaning 
 The scanty but right well-threshed ears of truth ; 
 
 And, gentle reader ! when you gather meaning. 
 You may be Boaz, and I — modest Ruth. 
 
 Further I'd quote, but Scripture intervening 
 Forbids. A great impression in my youth 
 
 Was made by Mrs. Adams, where she cries 
 
 " That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies."! 
 
 XCVIl 
 
 But what we can we glean in this vile age 
 Of chafl', although our gleanings be not gristi 
 
 I must not quite omit the talking sage, 
 Kit-Cat,, the famous conversationist. 
 
 Who, in his common -place book, had a page 
 Prepar'd each mom for evenings. " List, oh list !" 
 
 " Alas, poor GhoKt !" — What unexpected, woes 
 
 Await those who have studied their bon mots ! 
 
 xcvra. 
 
 Firstly, they must allure the conversation 
 By many windings to their clever clinch ; 
 
 And secondly, must let slip no occasion. 
 Nor bate (abate) their hearers of an inch. 
 
 But take an ell — and make a great sensatioc 
 If possible : and thirdly, never flinch 
 
 When some smart talker puts them to the test, 
 
 Bnt seize the last word, which no doubt's the best 
 
DON JUAN 
 
 255 
 
 XCIX. 
 Lord Henry and his Lady were (he hosts ; 
 
 ITie party we have tonched on were the gnests ! 
 Their table was a board to tempt even ghcsts 
 
 To pass the Styx for more substantial feasta. 
 I will not dwell upon ragouts or roastSj 
 
 Albeit all human history attests, 
 That happiness for man — Che hungry sinner ! — 
 Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. 
 
 ^tness the lands vehich "flow'd with milk and 
 honey," 
 
 Held out onto the hungry Israelites : 
 To this we have added since, the love of money. 
 
 The only sort of pleasure which requites. 
 Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny; 
 
 We tire of Mistresses and Parasites ; 
 But oh. Ambrosial Cash! Ah! who would lose 
 
 thee ? 
 Wlien we no more can use, or even abuse thee ! 
 
 CI, 
 
 The gOTitlemen got up betimes to shoot. 
 Or hunt: the young, because they liked the 
 sport — 
 
 The first thing boys like, after play and fruit : 
 The middle-aged, to make the day more short; 
 
 For ennui is a growth of English root. 
 Though nameless in our language — we retort 
 
 The fact for words, and let the French translate 
 
 That awfnl yawn which sleep cannot abate. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 I 
 
 cu. 
 
 The elderly walked through the library, 
 And tumbled books^ or criticised the pictures. 
 
 Or sauntered through the gardens piteously. 
 And made upon the hot-house several strictures, 
 
 Or rode a nag which trotted not too high. 
 Or on the morning papers read their lectores. 
 
 Or on the watch their longing eyes would fix, 
 
 Longing at sixty for the hour of six. 
 
 cni 
 
 But none were " g^ne :" the great hour of anion 
 Was rung by dinner's knell ; till then all were 
 
 Masters of their own time — or in communion. 
 Or solitary, as they chose to bear 
 
 The hours, which how to pass is but to few known. 
 Each rose op at his own, and bad to spare 
 
 What time he chocie for dress, and broke bis fast 
 
 When, where, and how he chose for that repast 
 
 The ladies — some rouged, some a little pale — 
 Met the mom as they might. If fine, they rode. 
 
 Or walked ; if foul, they read, or told a tale. 
 Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad ; 
 
 Discussed the fashion which might next prevail. 
 And settled bonnets by the newest code. 
 
 Or cramm'd twelve sheets into one little letter. 
 
 To make each correspondent a new debtor. 
 
 CV. 
 
 For some had absent lovers, all had friends. 
 
 The earth has nothing like a She epistle. 
 And hardly heaven — because it never ends. 
 
 I love the mystery of a female missal. 
 Which, like a creed, ne'er says all it intends. 
 
 But full of cunning as Ulysses' whistle. 
 When he allured poor Dolon : — you had better 
 Take care what you reply to such a letter. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Tbftn there were billiards, cards too, but no dice ;— 
 Save in the Clubs no man of honour plays; — 
 
 Boats when 'twas water, skaiting when 'twas ice, 
 And the hard frost destroyed the scenting days.- 
 
 And angling tco, that solitary vice. 
 Whatever Isaac Walton sings or says : 
 
 The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet 
 
 Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it^ 
 
 CVIL 
 
 With evening came the banquet and the wine ; 
 
 The conversazione ; the duet. 
 Attuned by voices more or less divine, 
 
 (My heart or head aches with the memory yet-i 
 The four Miss Rawbolds in a glee would &hine ; 
 
 But the two youngest loved more to be set 
 Down to the harp — because to music's charms 
 They added graceful necks, white hands and arms. 
 
 cvm. 
 
 Sometimes a dance (though rarely on field days. 
 For then the gentlemen were rather tired) 
 
 Displayed some sylph-like figures in its maze : 
 Then there was small-talk, ready when required ; 
 
 Flirtation— but decorous : the mere praise 
 
 Of charms that should or should not be admired. 
 
 The hunters fought their fox-hunt o'er again, 
 
 And then retreated soberly — at ten. 
 
256 
 
 SON JtJAN. 
 
 CK. 
 
 The politicians, in a nook apart, 
 
 Biscuss'd the world, and settled all the spheres ; 
 The wits watch every loop-hole for their art. 
 
 To introdace a bon-mot head and ears ; 
 Small is the rest of those who would be sttiart, 
 
 A moment's good thing may have cbst them years 
 Before they find an hour to introduce it, 
 Aud then, even theny some bore may mnkn them 
 lose it 
 
 ex. 
 
 But all was gentle and aristocratic 
 In this our pnrty ; polish'd, smooth and cold. 
 
 As Phidian forms cut out of marble Attic. 
 There now are no 'Squire Westerns as of old ; 
 
 And our Sophias are not so emphatic. 
 But fair as then, or fairer to behold. 
 We have no accomplish'd blackguards, like Tom 
 
 Jones, 
 But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones. 
 
 CXL 
 
 They separated at an early hour ; 
 
 That is ere midnight — which is London's noon : 
 But in the country ladies seek their bower 
 
 A little earlier than the waning moon. 
 Peace to the slumbers of each folded flower — 
 
 May the rose call back its true colours soon ! 
 Good hours of fair cheeks are the fairest tinters. 
 And lower the price of rouge— at least some win- 
 ters. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRTEENTH. 
 
 Note a, p. S45. stanza vii. 
 
 Right honestly " he Hied an honest hater '" 
 
 " Sir, I like a good hater."— See the life of Dr. John- 
 son, itec. 
 
 Note b, p. 247. stanza xxvi. 
 
 Also there bin another pioics reaso'it 
 " With every thing that pretty im, 
 " My lady swset, arise." — Shakspeare. 
 
 Mote c, p. 249- stanza xlv. 
 
 They and their bills, " Arcadians both,^'' are left. 
 
 *' Arcades ambo." 
 
 Note d, p. 252. stanza Ixxt. 
 
 Or wilder grovp of savage Salvatores\ 
 
 Salvator Rosa. 
 
 Note e. p. 2u3. staoza Ixxii. 
 His Dcll-?nouthed goblet mahcs me feel quite Danish. 
 
 If I err not, " Your Dane" is one of lago's Catalogue 
 of Nations, " exquisite in their drinking." 
 
 Note f. p. 252. stanza Ixxvi, 
 
 Even Nimrod^s xelf might leave the plains of Dura, 
 
 In Assyria. 
 
 Note g. p. 254. stanza xcvi. 
 A great impresfion in my youth 
 Was made by Mrs. Adams, where she cries 
 " That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies.'" 
 
 "Mrs. Adams answered Mr. Adams, that it was blas- 
 phemous to talkof Scriptuwont of chnrch." ITiis dognia 
 was broached to her hasband — the best Christian in any 
 book. See Joseph Andrews, in the latter chapters." 
 
 Note h. p. S.'^S. stanza cvi. 
 
 Whatever Isaac Walton tings or says: 
 The quaint old cruel coicomb, in his guilet 
 Should have a hook, and a smalt trout to pull it. 
 
 It would have taught him humanity at least. This 
 sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote (amongst 
 the novelists) to show their sympathy for innocent sports 
 and old songs, teaches how to sew up frogs, and break 
 their legs by way of experiment, in addition to the art of 
 angling, the cruellest, the coldest, and the stupidest of pre- 
 tended sports. They may talk about the beauties of nature, 
 but the angler merely thinks of his dish offish ; he has no 
 leisure to take his eyes from off the streams, and a single 
 bite is worth to him more than all the scenery around. 
 Besides, some fish bite best on a rainy day. The whale, 
 the shark, and the tunny fishery have somewhat of noble 
 and perilous in them ; even net fishing, trawling, &c. are 
 more humane and useful. But angling— No angler can 
 be a good man. 
 
 " One of the best men I ever knew ;— as humane^ ddt 
 cate-minded, generous, and excellent a creature as any in 
 the world, was an angler : true, he angled with painted , 
 flies, and would have been incapable of the extravagancies 
 of I. Walton." 
 
 The above addition was made by a friend in reading 
 over the MS.— "Audi alteram partem"— I leave ic to 
 counterbalance my own observatinn. 
 
>: .-, .,1! v!- 
 
 .wTiitrt vaxi 
 
 m^m 4^ w 412^4 
 
 868 
 
 LL. 
 
 CANTO xrv. 
 
 If from great Natnre's or our own abyss 
 Of ttion^t, we conid bat snatcb a certainty. 
 
 Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss- 
 But then 'twould spoil much good philosophy. 
 
 One system eats another up, and this 
 Much as old Saturn ate his progeny ; 
 
 For when his pions consort gave him stones 
 
 In lieu of sons, of these made he no bones. 
 
 But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast. 
 And eats her parents, albeit the digestion 
 
 Is difficult Pray tell me, can you make fast. 
 After due search, your faith to any question? 
 
 Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast 
 You bind yourself, and call some mode the best 
 one. 
 
 Nothing more true than not to trust yunr senses ; 
 
 And yet what are your oilier evidences ? 
 
 i »tn'jl. v!l'ol3 1 1 
 
 m. 
 
 For me, I Imow nongbt ; nothing I deny. 
 Admit, reject, contemn ; and what know you, 
 
 Except perhaps that you were bom (x) die ? 
 And both may after all turn oat nntrue. 
 
 An age may come. Font of Eternity, 
 When nothing shall be either old or new. 
 
 Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, 
 
 And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep. 
 
 IV". 
 
 A sleep without dreams, alter a rough day 
 Of toil, is what we covet most : and yet 
 
 |How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay ! 
 The very Suicide that pays his debt 
 
 At once without instalments (an old way 
 Of paying debts, which creditors regret) 
 
 Lets out impatiently bis rushing breath. 
 
 Less from disgust of life than dread of death. 
 
 'Tis round him, near him, here, there, every where ; 
 
 And there's a conrage which grows out of fear. 
 Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare 
 
 The worst to know it :— wheu the mountains rear 
 Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there 
 
 You look down, o'er the precipice, and drear 
 The gulf of rock yawns, — you can't gaze a minute 
 Without an awful vrish to plunge within it 
 
 VI. 
 
 'TIS true, you don't — hut, pale and struck with ter- 
 ror. 
 
 Retire : but look into your past impression ! 
 And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror 
 
 Of your own thoughts, in all their self confession. 
 The larking bias, be it truth or error. 
 
 To the unknown; a secret prepossession. 
 To plunge with all your fears — but where ? You 
 
 know not. 
 And that's the reason why yon do — or do not. 
 
 VIL 
 
 But what's this to the purpose ? you will say. j, j 
 Gent Reader, nothings a mere speculation, . 
 
 For which my sole excuse is — 'tis my way. 
 Sometimes with and sometimes without occasion 
 
 I write what's uppermost, without delay ; gj^ 
 
 This narrative is not meant for narration, / 
 
 But a mere airy and fantastic basis. 
 
 To build up common things with common places. 
 
 Vltl. 
 
 Yon know, or don't know, that great Bacon saith, 
 " Fling up a straw, 'twill show the way the wind 
 blows ;" 
 
 And such a straw, borne on by human breath. 
 Is Poesy, according as the mind glows ; 
 
 A paper kite which flies 'twixt life and death, 
 A shadow which the onward Soul behind throws : 
 
 And mine's a bubble not blown up for praise, 
 
 Bat just to play with as an infant plays. 
 2K 
 
268 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The world ia all before me— or behiDcl ; 
 
 For I have seen a portion of that same/; •fjj \ 
 And quite enough for me to keep in mind ; 
 
 Of passions toe, I have proved enough to blame, 
 To the great pleasure of our friends, mankind. 
 
 Who like to mix some slight alloy with fame : 
 For I was rather famous in ray time. 
 Until I fairly knock'd it up with rhyme 
 
 X/. 
 
 I hare brought this world about my ears, and eke 
 The other; that's to say, the Clergy — who 
 
 Upon my head have bid their thunders break 
 In pious libels by iio means a few. . ; , " 
 
 And yet 1 can't help scribbling once a week. 
 Tiring old readers, nor discovering new. 
 
 In youth I wrote because my mind was full. 
 
 And now because J feel it growing dull. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But " why thea publish ?" — There are no rewards 
 Of fame or profit when the world grows weary. 
 
 I ask in turn,— why do you play at cards ? 
 Why drink? Why read ?— To make SPrae i^onr 
 less dreary. . . :.i.;.,',i ,,>n 
 
 It occupies me to turn back regards 
 ,0n what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery ; 
 
 And what I write I cast upon the stream. 
 
 To swim or sink— <I have had at least my dream. 
 
 Xtl. 
 
 Ma'teiJwlntl 
 
 I think tba't Avere I certain of Sncceis, 
 1 hardly could compose another line : 
 
 So long I've battled either more or less. 
 That no defeat can drive me from the Nine. 
 
 This feeling 'tis not easy to express, ' 
 
 And yet 'tis not affected I opine. 
 
 In play, there are two pleasures for your choosing — 
 
 The one is winning and the other losing. 
 
 xin. 
 
 Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction : 
 
 She gathers a repertory of facts. 
 Of course with some reserve and slight restriction. 
 
 But mostly sings of human things and acts — 
 And that's one cause she meets with contradiction ; 
 
 For too much truth at first sight ne'er attracts ; 
 And were her object only what's called glory. 
 With more ease too she'd tell a difierent story. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 Love, war, a tempest— surely there's variety ; j 
 Also a seasoning slight of lucubration ; \ 
 
 A bird's eye view too of that wild. Society ; •' 
 
 A slight glance thrown on men of every station. 
 
 If you have nought else, here's at least satiety 
 Both in performance and in preparation ; 
 
 And though these lines should only line portman- 
 teaus. 
 
 Trade will be all the better for these Cantos. 
 
 XV 
 
 The portion of this world which I at present 
 Have taken up to fill the following sermon. 
 
 Is one of which there's no description recent : 
 The reason why, is easy to determine : 
 
 Although it seems both prominent and pleasant^ /) 
 There is a sameness in its gems and ermine, 
 
 A dull and family likeness through all ages. 
 
 Of no great promise for poetic pages. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 With much to excite, there's little to exalt ; 
 
 Nothing that speaks to all men and all tinie^ ; „ 
 A sort of varnish over every fault, 
 
 A kind of common-place, even in their crimes ; 
 Factitious passions, wit without much salt, 
 
 A want of that true nature which sublimes 
 Whate 'er.it shews with truth; a smooth monnton; 
 Of character, in those at least who have got any. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Sometimes indeed, like soldiers off parade. 
 
 They break their ranks and gladly leave tin 
 drill ; 
 
 But then the roll-call draws them back afraid. 
 And they must be or seem what they were : stil 
 
 Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade ; 
 But when of the first sight you have had your fill 
 
 It palls — at least it did so upon me. 
 
 This Paradise of Pleasure and Ennui. 
 
 xvni. 
 
 When we have made our love, and gamed OQ 
 gaming, 
 Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, somethin 
 more ; 
 With dandies dined ; heard senators declaiming ; ! 
 
 Seen beauties brought to market by the score. 
 Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming ; 
 
 There's little left but to be bored or bore. 
 Witness those "ci-devant jeuties komtnes" Wk 
 
 stem 
 
 The stream, nor leave the world which leavet 
 them. 
 
CON JUAN. 
 
 259 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Tis said — indeed a general complaint— 
 That no one has succeeded in describing 
 
 The Monde, exactly as they ought to paint. 
 Some say, that Authors only snatch, by bribing 
 
 The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint. 
 To furnish matter for their moral gibing ; 
 
 And that their books have hot one style in com- 
 mon — 
 
 My lady's prattle filtered through her woman. . 
 
 XX. 
 
 Bat this can't well be true, just now ; for writers 
 Are grown of the Beau Monde a part potential 
 
 'Ive seen them balance even the scale with fighters. 
 Especially when young, for that's essential. 
 
 Why do their sketches fail them as inditers 
 Of what they deem themselves most consequen 
 tial, , . . 
 
 The real portrait of the highest tribe? 
 
 'Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe.'" 
 
 Uhk 
 
 ^ XXI 
 
 " HaudigTiara ioquor ;" these are Niujee, *' quartim 
 " Pars parva fiti/^ but still art and part 
 
 Now I could much more easily sketch a harem, 
 A battle, wreck, or history of the heart. 
 
 Than these things ; and besides, I wish to spare 'em 
 For reasons which I choose to keep apart. 
 
 "Telabo Cereris sacrum qui vulyaret" — 
 
 Which means that vulgar people must not share it 
 
 xxn. 
 
 And therefore what I throw ofi" is ideal — 
 Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of Freemasons ; 
 
 Which bears the same relation to the seal. 
 As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's. 
 
 The grand Arcanum's not for men to see all ; 
 My music has some mystic diapasons ; 
 
 And there is much which could not be appreciated 
 
 In any Manner by the onimtiated. * 
 
 xxin. 
 
 jAIas ! Worlds fall — and Woman, since she fell'd 
 The world (as, since that history, less polite 
 
 Than tme, hath been a creed so strictly held) 
 Has not yet given up the practice quite. 
 
 Poor Thing of Usages! Coerced, compell'd 
 Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right, 
 
 vondem'd to child-bed, as men for their sins 
 
 {aye shaving too entail'd upon their chins, — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A'daily plague, which in the aggregate 
 
 May average on the whole witli parturition. 
 
 But as to women, who can penetrate 
 The real sufferings of their she condition ? 
 
 Man's very sympathy with their estate 
 Has much of selfishness, and more suspicion. 
 
 Their love, their virtue, beauty, education. 
 
 But form good housekeepers, to breed a nation. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 All this were very well, and can't be better ; 
 
 But even this is difficult. Heaven knows 
 So many troubles from her birth beset her 
 
 Such small distinction between fi^ends and foes. 
 The gilding wears so soon off from her fetter. 
 
 That but ask any woman if she'd choose 
 
 (Take her at thirty, that is) to have been 
 Female or Biale,.a school boy or a Queen ? .,'. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Petticoat Influence" is a great reproach, ^ , . 
 
 Which even those who obey would fain be thought 
 To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach ; 
 
 But since beneath it upon earth we are brought, 
 By various joltings of life's hackney coach, 
 
 I for one venerate a petticoat — 
 A garment of a mystical sublimity. 
 No matter whether russet, !)jlkj 01 dimiQ;.. , 
 
 xxva 
 
 >o 
 
 Much I respect, and much I have adored. 
 In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil, 
 
 WTiich holds a treasure like a miser's hoard, 
 And more attracts by all it doth conceal— 
 
 A golden scabbard on a Damasque sword, 
 A loving letter -.rith a mystic seal, . , 
 
 A cure for grief— for what can ever ranUdj' 
 
 Before a petticoat and peeping ankle. 
 
 xxvni. 
 
 ■ '.•■ ■ .f 
 
 And when upon a silent sullen day. 
 With a Sirocco, for example, blowing, 
 
 When even the sea looks dim with alHts sprajytA 
 And sulkily the river's ripples flowing. 
 
 And the sky shows that very ancient gray, 
 The sober sad antithesis to glowing, — 
 
 'Tis pleasant, iClhen any thing is pleasant^ 
 
 To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant. " ' 
 
260 
 
 l:DOM JUAN. 
 
 xxtx. 
 
 We left our heroes and our heroines 
 
 In that fair clime which don't depend on climate, 
 Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs, 
 
 Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at, 
 Because the sun, and stars, and aogbt that shines. 
 
 Mountains, and all we can be moat sublime at. 
 Are there oft dull and dreary as a dun — 
 Whether a sky's or tradesman's is all one. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 An in-door life is less poetical ; 
 
 And out of door hath showers, and mists, and 
 sleet, 
 With which I conld not brew a pastoral 
 
 But be it as it may, a bard most meet 
 All difficalties, whether great or small, 
 
 To spoil his undertaking or Complete, 
 And work away like spirit npon matti^r, 
 Embarrass'd somewhat both with fire and water. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 J.ian — in this rvspectat least like saints — 
 Was all things nnto people of all sorts. 
 
 And liv'd cotltentedly, without tomplaints, 
 lb camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts — 
 
 Bom with that happy soul which seldom faints. 
 And mingling modestly in toils or Sports. 
 
 He likewise could be most things to all women. 
 
 Without the cdxfcbtbbvy bf cBttain She Men. 
 
 xxxu. 
 
 A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange ; 
 
 'Tis also subject to the double danger 
 Of tumbling first, and having in exchange 
 
 Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger ; 
 Bat Juan had been early taught to range 
 
 The wilds, as doth an Arab tnra'd Avenger, 
 So that his borae, or charger, hunter, hack. 
 Knew that he jl^8^, ^a rider mjiis ^)|c^, 
 
 XXXIII, 
 
 And now in this new field, with some applause. 
 He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, and 
 rail. 
 
 And never craned^ and made but few "faux pat," 
 And only fretted when the scent 'gan foil. 
 
 He broke, 'tis true, some statutes of the laws 
 Of hunting — for the sagest yOnth is frsil : 
 
 Rode o'er the hounds, it may be, now and then. 
 
 And once o'er several Country Gentlemen. 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 But on the whole, io general admiration 
 He acquitted both himself and horse : the 'sqnin 
 
 Marvell'd at merit of another nation ; 
 The boors cried " Dang it ! who'd have thougl 
 it?''-Sire8, 
 
 The Nestors of the sporting generation 
 Sworo praises and recall'd their former fires ; 
 
 The huntsman's self relented to a grin. 
 
 And rated him almost a whipper4a^ 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Such were his trophies— not of spear and shield. 
 But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxei 
 brushes ; 
 
 Yet I must own,— altnough in this I yield 
 To patriot syn<pathy a Briton's bliuhes,— 
 
 He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield, 
 Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushei 
 
 And whatnot, though he rode beyond all price, 
 
 Ask'd next day, " If mei> pver l^n^ted twice?" 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 He had also a quality uncommon 
 To early risers after a long chase. 
 
 Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon 
 December's drowsy day to his dull race, — 
 
 A quality agreeable to woman. 
 When her soft, liquid words run on apace. 
 
 Who likes a listener, whether Saint or Sinner — 
 
 He did not fall asleep just after dinner. 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 But, light and airy, stood on the alert. 
 And shone in the best part of dialogue. 
 
 By humouring always what they might assert. 
 And listening to the topics most in vogue : 
 
 Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert ; 
 And smiling but in secret — canning rogue ! 
 
 He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer ,^ 
 
 In .ihort, there never was a better hearer. 
 
 xxxvm. 
 
 And then he danced ; — all foreigners «zcel ' 
 The serious Angles in the eloquence 
 
 Of pantomime ; — he danced, I say, right well. 
 With emphasis, and also with good sense— 
 
 A thing in footing indispensable : 
 He danced without theatrical pretence. 
 
 Not like a ballet-master in the van 
 
 Of his drill'd nympbs, bnl like a gentleman. 
 
 I 
 
■IDON JUAN. 
 
 SiSt 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Chaste were his steps, tach kept within doe bound, 
 And elegance was sprinkled o^r his figure ! 
 
 Xiike swift Camilla, he scarce skimut^d the ground. 
 And rather held in than put forth his vigour ; 
 
 And then he had an ear for masic^s sound. 
 Which might defy a Crotchet Critic's rigour. 
 
 Such classic pas — sans flaws — set oft' our liero. 
 
 He glauced like a personified Bolero ; 
 
 XL. 
 
 Or, like a flying Hour before Aurora, 
 Tn Guido's famoos fresco, which alone 
 
 Is worth a tour to Rome, although no more a 
 Remnant were there of the old world's sole throne. 
 
 The ^ tout ensemble" of his movements wore a 
 Grace of the soft Ideal, seldom shown. 
 
 And ne'er to be described ; for to the dolour 
 
 Of bards and proaers, words are void of colour. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 No marvel then he was a favourite ; 
 
 A full-grown Cupid, very much admired ; 
 A little spoilt, but by no means so quite ; 
 
 At least he kept his vanity retired. 
 Sach was his tact, he could alike delight 
 
 The chaste, and those who are not so much in- 
 spired- [serie," 
 The Duchess of Fitz-Fuike, who loved " tracas- 
 Began to treat him with some small "agacerie." 
 
 XLH. 
 
 She was a fme and somewhat full-blown blonde, 
 
 Desirable, distinguish'd, celebrated 
 For several winters in the grand, grand Monde, 
 
 rd rather not say what might be related 
 Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground ; 
 
 Besides there might be falsehood in what's stated: 
 Her late performance had been a dead set 
 At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet 
 
 XLIIL 
 
 This noble personage began to look 
 A little black upon this new flirtation ; 
 
 But such small licences must lovers brook > 
 Mere freedoms of the female corporation. 
 
 Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke ! 
 'Twill but precipitate a situation 
 
 Extremely disagreeable, but common 
 
 To calculators when they count on woman. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The circle smiled, then wbisper'd, and then sneer'd; 
 
 The Misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd ; 
 Some hop'd things might not tnm outas they fear'd ; 
 
 Some would not deem such women could be 
 found ; 
 Some ne'er believed one half of what they heard ; 
 
 Some look'd perplex'd, and otheie look'd pro- 
 found ; 
 And several pitied with sincere regret 
 Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-PIantsgene* 
 
 XLV. 
 
 But what is odd, none ever named the Duke, '■ ' ' 
 Who, rne might think,was something in the afiiiir. 
 
 True, he was absent, and 'twas rnmonr'd, took 
 But small concern about the when, or where. 
 
 Or what his consort did : if he could brook 
 Her gaieties, none had a right to stare : '• ' 
 
 Their's was that best of unions, past all donbt,''"' ■' 
 
 Which never meets, and therefore can't fall out 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But, oh ! that I should ever pen so sad a lineB xi'i' 
 Fired with an abstract love of virtae, she, ' ' 
 
 My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline, 
 Began to think the duchess' conduct free ; 
 
 Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line. 
 And waxing chiller in her courtesy. 
 
 Looked grave and pale to see her friend's fragility 
 
 For which most friends reserve their sensibility. 
 
 XLVn. 
 
 There's nought in this bad world like sympathy : 
 "Tis so becoming to the soul and face, 
 
 Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh. 
 And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace. 
 
 Without a friend, what were humanity. 
 To hunt our errors up with a good grace ? 
 
 Consoling us with — " Would you had thought 
 twice! -.1111 
 
 " Ah I if you had but follow'd my advice !" 
 
 xLvni. 
 
 O Job ! you had two friends : one's quite enough, 
 
 Especially when we are ill at ease ; 
 They are but bad pilots when the weather's rough. 
 
 Doctors less famous for their cures than fees. 
 Let no man grumble when his friends fa|l off. 
 
 As they will do like leaves at the first breeze ; 
 When your affairs come round, one w^y or t'other. 
 Go to the coffee-house, and iiXt another, ^ 
 
262 
 
 -DON JUAN. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 But this is not my maxim: had'it been,. . , 
 Some heart-aches had been spared me ; yet I 
 care not — 
 
 I would not be a tortoise in his screen 
 
 Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather 
 wear not 
 
 'Ti.'i better on the whole to have felt and seen ;, 
 That which humanity may bear, or bear not : 
 
 'Twill teach discernment to the sensitive, ' , , > 
 
 And not to pour their ocean in a sieve. 
 
 L. 
 
 Of all the horrid hideous notes of woe, 
 
 Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast, 
 
 Is that portentous phrase, " I told you eo," 
 Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past. 
 
 Who, stead of saying what you now should do. 
 Own they foresaw that you would fall at last. 
 
 And solace your slight lapse 'gainst "Ao7jos?Bprc,?«" 
 
 With a long memorandum of old stories.,^ diidV'/ j 
 
 U. 
 
 The Lady Adeline's serene severity 
 
 Was not confined to feeling for her friend. 
 
 Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity. 
 Unless her habits should begin to mend : 
 
 But Juan also shared in her austerity. 
 
 But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd. 
 
 His inexperience moved her gentle ruth. 
 
 And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth. 
 
 LU. 
 
 These forty days' advantage of her years— 
 
 And her's were those which can face calculation. 
 Boldly referring to the list of peers 
 
 And noble births, nor dread the enumeration- 
 Gave her a right to have maternal fears. 
 For a young gentleman's fit education. 
 Though she was far from that leap year, whose leap. 
 In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap. 
 
 . : :\,.-: ->■ . ,, „, ;..( ji/rt Ii|:ii ■pot i: '... 
 
 LOI. 
 
 This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirty- 
 Say seven-and-twenty ; for I never knew 
 
 The strictest in chronology and virtue 
 
 Advance beyond, while they could pass for new. 
 
 O Time ! Why dost thou pause ?Thy scythe, so dirty 
 With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew. 
 
 Reset it ; shave more smoothly, also slower. 
 
 If but to keep thy credit as a mower. 
 
 But Adeline was iar from that jipe age. 
 Whose ripeness is but bitter at the best, 
 
 Twas rather her experience made her sage, 
 For she had seen the world, and stood its test. 
 
 As I have said in— I forget what page ; 
 
 My Muse despises reference, as you have gaess'd 
 
 By this time ; — but strike six from seven-and-twenty 
 
 And you will find her sum of years in plenty. 
 
 LV. 
 
 At sixteen she came out ; presented, vaunted. 
 She put all coronets into commotion : 
 
 At seventeen too the world was still enchanted 
 With the new Venus of their brilliant oceau. 
 
 At eighteen, though below her feet still panted 
 A hecatomb of suitors with devotion; 
 
 She had consented to create again 
 
 That Adam, called " the Happiest ol Men." 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Since then she had sparkled throi s;h three glowing 
 winters, , > .. 
 
 Admir'd, ador'd ;. but also so correct. 
 That she had puzzled all the acntest hinters. 
 
 Without the apparel of being circumspect ; 
 They could not even glean the slightest splinters 
 
 From o£r the marble, which had no defect 
 She had also snatch'd a moment since her marriage 
 To bear a son and heir — and one miscarriage. 
 
 Lvn. 
 
 Fondly the \yheeling fire-flies flew around her. 
 Those little glitterers of the London night ; 
 
 But none of these possess'd a sting to wound her— 
 She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight. 
 
 Perhaps she wish'd an aspirant profoander ; 
 But whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right ; 
 
 And whether coldness, pnde, or virtue, dignity 
 
 A woman, so she's good, what does it signify ? 
 
 (IMZ 
 LVIU. 
 
 I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle 
 
 Which.wltb the landlord makes too long a standi 
 Leaving all-claretless the unmoistened throttle. 
 
 Especially vvith politics on hand ; 
 I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle. 
 
 Who whirl the dust as Simmooms whirl the sand; 
 I hate it, as I hate an argument, 
 A Laureat's ode, or servile Peer's " Content" 
 
DON JVAN/l 
 
 2631 
 
 LIX 
 
 ^19 sad to back into the roots of things. 
 They are so ranch intertwisted with the earth; 
 
 So that the branch a goodly verdure flings, 
 I reck not if an acorn gave it birth. 
 
 To trace all actions to their secret springs 
 Would make indeed some melancholy mirth ; 
 
 But this is not at present my concern^ 
 
 And I refer you to wise OxenstieroJ*'':'-'!'' 
 
 t ;i:ii V-jliy H'jii,; 
 
 > 1 n tiio myt Tfitn Jj fhbr> to .I't >I'I 
 
 With the kind view of saving an eclat, 
 Both to tlie duchess and the diplomatisit. 
 
 The Lady Adeline, as scon's she saw 
 That Juan was unlikely to resist — 
 
 (For Foreigners don't know that a faux pas 
 In England ranks quite on a different list 
 
 From those of other lands nnblest vrith Juries, 
 
 Whose verdict for such sin a certain cure is ;— ) 
 
 LXI. 
 
 rhe Lady Adeline resolved to take 
 
 Such measures as she thought might best impede 
 rhe further progress of this sad mistake. 
 
 She thought with some simplicity indeed ; 
 But innocence is bold even at the stake. 
 
 And simple in the world, and doth not need 
 Nor use those palisades by dames erected, 
 (Vhose virtue lies in never being detected. 
 
 Lxn. 
 
 (t was not that she fear'd the very worst : 
 His Grace was an enduring, married man, 
 
 And was not likely all at once to burst 
 Into a scene, and swell the clients' clau 
 
 Of Doctors' Commons: but she dreaded first 
 The magic of her Grace's talisman, 
 
 Kad next a quarrel (as he seemed to fret) 
 
 l^ith Lord AHgnstoa.Fitz-FUot^gienet. ,, ,„ 
 
 tlwitcqiivK) fli»»-n>Aoil« j^d) v((<ind s-.iii 
 
 Lxin. 
 
 Her Grace too pass'd for being an Intriginante, 
 And somewhat mechanie in her amorous sphere : 
 
 One of those pretty, precious plagnes which haunt 
 A lover with caprices soft and dear, 
 
 rhat like to make a quarrel, when they can't 
 Find one, each day'of the delightful year ; 
 
 Bewitching, torturing, as they freeze or glow, 
 
 ^nd— what is worst of all — won't let yon go : 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 The sort of thing to turn a young man's head, jujj 
 Or make a Werter of him in the end, i,/ 
 
 No wonder then a purer soul should dread, 
 This sort of chaste liaison for a friend ; 
 
 It were much better to be wed or dead, j,, , 
 
 Thau wear a heart a woman loves to rend. ,A 
 
 'Tis best to pause, and think ere you rush on, ni^H 
 
 If that a " bonne fortune " be really "bonne," ^n^ 
 
 LXV, 
 
 And first, in the o'erflowiog of her heart, 
 Which really knew or thonght it knew no guile 
 
 She called her husband now and then apart. 
 And bade him counsel Juan, With a smile '2 
 
 Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art 
 To wean Don Juan from the Siren's wile ; 
 
 And answer'd, like a State.sman or a Prophet,' 
 
 In such guise, that she could make nothing of it?" 
 
 ' kn./ 
 
 iluT 
 O' 
 
 LXVL 
 
 Firstly, he said, " he never interfered 
 " In any body's business but the king's :" 
 
 Next, that "he never judged from what appear'd, 
 " Without strong reason, of those sorts of things. 
 
 Thirdly, that " Juau had more brain than beard, 
 " And was not to be held in leading strings ;" 
 
 And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice, 
 
 " That good but rarely came from good advice* 
 
 Lxvn, 
 
 And, therefore, doubtless to approve the trnth 
 Of the last axiom, he advised his spouse 
 
 To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth. 
 At least as far as biensi^nce allows : 
 
 That time would temper Juan's fanlts of youth ; 
 That yonng men rarely made monastic vows , 
 
 That opposition only more attaches 
 
 But here a messenger brought in dispatches : . , t, 
 
 Lxvni. 
 
 And being of the Council called " the Privy," ; ) 
 Lord Henry walk'd into his Cabinet, 
 
 To furnish matter for some future Livy 
 To tell how he reduced the nation's debt ; 
 
 And if their full contents I do not give ye, 
 It is because 1 do not know them yet. 
 
 But 1 shall add them in a brief appendix. 
 
 To come between mine epic and its index. 
 
28* 
 
 DON JVAN. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Bat ere he weni, he added a slight hint. 
 Another gentle common-place or two, 
 
 Snch as are coined in conversation's mint, 
 And pass, for want of better, thongh not new : 
 
 Then broke his packet, to see what was in't. 
 And having caaaally glanced it throngn. 
 
 Retired ; and, as he went out, calmly kissed her, 
 
 Less like a yonng wife than an aged sister. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 He was a cold, good, honourable man. 
 Proud of his birth, and prond of every thing ; 
 
 A goodly spirit for a state divan, 
 A figure fit to walk before a king ; 
 
 Tall, stately, fbrm'd to lead the courtly van 
 On birthdays, glorious with a star and string ; 
 
 The very model of a Chamberlain — 
 
 And such I mean to make him when I reign. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 But there was something wanting on the whole— 
 I don't know what, and therefore cannot tell — 
 
 Which pretty women — the sweet souls ! — call SouL 
 Certes it was not body ; he was well 
 
 Proportion'd, as a poplar or a pole. 
 A handsome man, that human miracle ; 
 
 And in each cironmstance of love or war 
 
 Had still preserved his perpendicular. 
 
 Lxxn. 
 
 Still there was something wanting, as I've said — 
 That nndefinable '' Je ne s(ais qiioi." 
 
 Which for vphat I know, may of yore have led 
 To Homer's Diad, since it drew to Troy 
 
 The Greek JGve, Helen, from the Spartan's bed ; 
 Though on the whole, no doubt, the Oardan boy 
 
 Was much inferior to the King Menelaus : — 
 
 But thus it is some women will betray ns. 
 
 LXXIIL 
 
 There is an awkward thing which mnch perplexes. 
 Unless like wise Tiresias we had proved 
 
 By turns the difference of the several sexes. 
 Neither can show quite how they would be loved. 
 
 The sensual for a short time but connects us — 
 The sentimental boasts to be unmoved ; 
 
 But both together form a kind of centaur. 
 
 Upon whose back 'tis better not to venture. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 A something all-sufficient for the heart ■ ;. „;) 
 Is that for which the sex are always seeking i^ 
 
 But how to fill gp that same vacant part 7 
 There lies the rub — and thia they are but weak 
 in. 
 
 Frail mariners afloat withont a chui, 
 They run before the wind through high seal 
 
 And when they have made the shore through ever] 
 
 shock, 
 'Tis odd, or odds, it may ti^n out a rock. 
 
 LXXV 
 
 There is a flower called " Love in Idleness," 
 For which see Shakspeare's ever blooming gar- 
 den ; — 
 
 I will not make his great description less, 
 And beg his British Godship's humble pardon, ^ 
 
 If in my extremity of rbime's distress ; •' 
 
 I touch a single leaf where he is warden ; — 
 
 But though the flower is different, with the French 
 
 Oi fiwiss Rousseau, cry, Villi la Pervfnche '." 
 
 LXXYJ. 
 
 Eureka! I have found it! Whatlmeas, 
 To say is, not that Love is Idleness, 
 
 But that in Love such Idleness has been 
 An accessary, as 1 have cause to guess. 
 
 Hard labour's an indifferent go-between ; 
 Your men of business are not apt to express 
 
 Much passion, since the merchant-ship, the Argo, 
 
 Convey'd Medea as her Supercargo. 
 
 LXXVIL 
 
 " Beaius ilk prooul !" from " negotiis," 
 Saith Horace ; the great little poet's wrong ; 
 
 His other maxim, *' NosciUira sociis,^ 
 Is much more to the purpose of his song ; 
 
 Though even that were sometimes too ferocious. 
 Unless good company he kept too long; 
 
 But, in his teeth, whate'er their state or station. 
 
 Thrice happy they who have an occupation ! 
 
 LXXVIH. 
 
 I 
 
 Adam exchanged his Paradise for ploughing. 
 Eve made up millinery with fig leaves — ■ 
 
 The earliest knowledge from the tree so knowmft 
 As far as I know, that the Church receives : 
 
 And since that time it need not cost much showingt 
 That many of the ills o'er which man grieves. 
 
 And still more women, spring from not employing 
 
 Some hoiirq to make the remnant worth enjoying. 
 
DON JTrAN-. 
 
 '•><\' 
 
 Lxxrx. 
 
 And hence high life is o{t a dreary void, 
 A rack of pleasures, where we must iovent. 
 
 A something wherewithal to be annoyed 
 Bards may sing what they please about Content 
 
 Contented, when translated, means bnt cloyed; 
 And hence arise the woes of sentiment. 
 
 Bine devils, and Blue-stockings, and Romances 
 
 Reduced to practise and performed like dances. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 I do declare, upon an affidavit, 
 
 Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen ; 
 Nor, if unto the world I ever gave it. 
 
 Would some beUeve that such a tale had been ; 
 But such intent I never had, nor have it; 
 
 Some truths are better kept behind a screen. 
 Especially when they would look like lies; 
 1 therefore deal in generalities. 
 
 LXXXI 
 
 "An oyster may be cross'd in Love,"— and why' 
 Because he mopetb idly in his shell. 
 
 And heaves a lonely subterraqueoos sigh, 
 Much as a Monk may do within his cell : 
 
 And d propos of monks, their piety 
 With sloth hath found it difficnlt to dwell ; 
 
 Those vegetables of the Catholic creed 
 
 Are apt exceedingly to run to seed. 
 
 Lxxxn. 
 
 WilLerforce ! thou man of black renown. 
 Whose merit none enough can sing or say. 
 
 Thou hast struck one immense Colossus down. 
 Thou moral Washington of Africa ! 
 
 Bnt there's another little thing, I own. 
 Which you should perpeti"ate some summer's 
 day, 
 
 And set the other half of earth to rights ; 
 
 YoD have freed the blaclcs — now pray shut op the 
 whites. 
 
 Lxxxni. 
 
 Shut up the bald-coot bully Alexander: 
 Ship off the Holy Three to Senegal ; 
 
 reach them that " sauce for goose is sauce for 
 gander," 
 And ask them how they like to be in thrall ? 
 
 jiiut up each high heroic Salamander, 
 Who eats fire gratis (since the pay's but small) ; 
 
 thnt up — no, not the King, but tlie Pavilion, 
 
 )r else 'twill co.it us all another million. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Shut up the world at large, let Bedlam out : 
 And yon will be perhaps surprised to find 
 
 All things pursue exactly the same root. 
 As now with those oi soi-disant sound mind. 
 
 This I could prove beyond a single donbt. 
 Were there a jot of sense among mankind ; 
 
 But till that point dappid, is found, alas ! 
 
 Like Archimedes, I leave earth as 'twas. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Our gentle Adeline had one defect— 
 
 Her heart was vacant, though a splendid 
 mansion ; 
 Her conduct had been perfectly correct, 
 
 As she had seen nought claiming its expansion, 
 A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd. 
 
 Because 'tis frailer, doubtless, than a stanch one ; 
 But when the latter works its own undoing. 
 If s inner crash is like an Earthquake's ruin. 
 
 LXXXVl. 
 
 She loved her lord, or thought so ; but that love 
 Cost her an effort which is a sad toil. 
 
 The stone of Sysiphus, if once we move 
 Our feelings 'gainst the natm-e of the solL 
 
 She had nothing to complain of, or reprove. 
 No bickerings, no connubial turmoil : 
 
 Their union was a model to behold. 
 
 Serene, and noble, — conjugal, but coW. 
 
 Lxxxva 
 
 There was no great disparity of years. 
 Though much in temper ; but they never 
 clash'd : 
 
 They moved like stars nnited in their spheres. 
 Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'ct^ 
 
 Where mingled and yet separate appears *^' 
 
 The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd 
 
 Through the serene and placid glassy deep. 
 
 Which fain woald lull its river child to sleep. 
 
 Lxxxvur. 
 
 Now when she once had ta'eo an interest 
 In any thing, however she might flatter 
 
 Herself that her intentions were the best, 
 Intense intentions are a dangerous matter ; 
 
 Impressions were much stronger than she guess'd. 
 And gather'd as they ron like growing water 
 
 Upon her mind ; the more so, as her breast 
 
 Was not at first too readily impressed, 
 'i L 
 
266 
 
 DON JUAN 
 
 LXXXK. 
 
 But wheD it was, she had that InrkiDg demon 
 Of doable nature, and thus doubly named — 
 
 Firmness yclept in heroes, kings, and seamen. 
 That is, when they succeed ; but greatly blamed 
 
 As obstitiacpj both in men and women. 
 
 Whene'er their triumph pales, or star is tamed — 
 
 And 'twill perplex the casuist in morality 
 
 To fix the due bounds of this dangerous quality. 
 
 xc 
 
 Had Bonaparte won at Waterloo, 
 It had been firmness ; now 'tis pertinacity : 
 
 Must the event decide between the two? 
 I leave it to your people of sagacity 
 
 To draw the line between the false and true. 
 If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacity. 
 
 My business is with Lady Adeline, 
 
 Who in her way too was a heroine. 
 
 XCt. 
 
 She knew not her own heart; then how should I? 
 
 I think not she was then in love with Juan : 
 If so, she would have had the strength to fly 
 
 The wild sensation, unto her a new one ; 
 She merely felt a oonmon sympathy 
 
 (I will not say it was a false or true one) 
 In him, because she thought he was in danger, — 
 Her husband's friend, her own, young, and a stran- 
 ger. 
 
 She was, or thought she was, his friend— and this 
 Without the farce of friendship or romance, 
 
 Platonism, which leads so oft amiss 
 
 Ladies who have studied friendship but in France 
 
 Or Germany, where people purely kiss. 
 To thus much Adeline would not advance ; 
 
 But of such friendship as man's may to man be. 
 
 She was as capable as woman can be. 
 
 xcm. 
 
 No doabt tiie secret influence of the sex 
 Will there, as also in the ties of blood. 
 
 An innocent predominance annex. 
 And tune the concord to a finer mood. 
 
 If free from passion, which all friendships checks, 
 And your true feelings fully understood, 
 
 No friend like to a woman earth discovers. 
 
 So that you have not been nor will be lovers. 
 
 xcrv. 
 
 Love bums within its breast the very germ 
 Of change : and how should this be otherwise . 
 
 That violent thmgs more quickly find a term 
 Is shewn through nature's whole analogies : 
 
 And how should the most fierce of all be firm ? 
 Would you have endless lightning in the skies ? 
 
 Methinks Love's very title says enough : 
 
 How should "the tender Passion e'erbe touyA" 
 
 XCV. 
 
 Alas ! by all experience, seldom yet 
 
 (I merely quote what I have heard from many) 
 Had lovers not some reason to regret 
 
 The passion which made Solomon a Zany. 
 I've also seen some wives (not to forget 
 
 The marriage state, the best or worst of any) 
 Who were the very paragons of wives. 
 Yet made the misery of at least two lives. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 I've also seen some female yWendi! ('tis odd 
 But true — as, if expedient, I could prove) 
 
 That faithful were through thick and thin, abroad. 
 At home, far more than ever yet was hmt— | 
 
 Who did not qnit me when Oppression trod ^ 
 Upon me ; whom no scandal could remove ; 
 
 Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles. 
 
 Despite the snake Society's loud rattles. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Whether l)on Juan and chaste Adeline 
 Grew friends in this or any other sense. 
 
 Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine : 
 At present 1 am glad of a pretence 
 
 To leave them hovering, as the effect is fine, . (^ 
 And keeps the atrocious reader in suspensti „ 
 
 The surest way for ladies and for books 
 
 To bait their tender or their tenter books. 
 
 xcvin. 
 
 Whether they rode, or walked, or^studied Spanish 
 To read Don Quixote in the original, 
 
 A pleasure before which all others vanish ; 
 
 Whether their talk was of the kind called "small," 
 
 Or serious, are the topics I must banish 
 To the next Canto ; where perhaps I shall 
 
 Say something to the purpose, and display 
 
 Considerable talent in my way. 
 
DON JtTAIir. 
 
 267 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Above all, 1 beg all men to forbear 
 Anticipating anght aboat the matter : 
 
 They*I! only make mistakes aboat the fair, 
 And Joan too, especially the latter. 
 
 And I shall tg^e a much more serions air 
 Than I have yet done, in this Epic Satire. 
 
 It is not clear that Adeline and Juan 
 
 Will fall; bat if they do, 'twill be their ruin. 
 
 Bat f reat things spring from little : Would you thini. 
 That in our youth, as dangerous a passion 
 
 As e'er brought man and woman to the brink 
 Of rnin, rose from such a slight occasion, 
 
 As few would ever dream could form the link 
 Of such a sentimental situation ? 
 
 You'll never guess, I'll bet you millions, milliards — 
 
 It all sprung from a harmless game at billiards. 
 
 CI. 
 
 'Tis strange, — but true ; for Truth is always strange ; 
 
 Stranger than Fiction : if it could be told. 
 How much would novels gain by the exchange ; 
 
 How differently the worM would men behold ' 
 How oft would vice and virtue places change ' 
 
 The new world would be nothing to the old. 
 If some Columbus of the moral seas 
 Would show mankind their soul's Antipodes 
 
 ClI. 
 
 What " Antres vast and deserts idle " then 
 Would be discover'd in the human soul ! 
 
 What Icebergs in the hearts of mighty^men. 
 With self-love in the centre as their Pole ' 
 
 What Anthropophagi is nine of ten 
 Of those who hold the kingdoms in control ! 
 
 Were things but only call'd by their right name, 
 
 Cxsar himself would be asham'd of Fame. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTEENTH. 
 
 Note a, p. S6o, stanza xxxiii. 
 And never craned, and made but few " faoipas." 
 Craning. — " To crane" is, or was, an expression used to 
 denote a Gentleman's stretching out bis neck over a hedge, 
 "to look before he leaped:" — a pause in his "vaulting 
 ambition,"— which in the field doth occasion some delay 
 and execration in those who may be immediately behind 
 the equestrian sceptic. " Sir, if you don't choose tj take 
 the leap, let me :" — was a phrase which generally sent the 
 aspirant on again ; and to good purpose :• for though the 
 <* horse and rider" might fall, they made a gap, throagh 
 which, and over him and his steed, the field might follow. 
 
 Note b, p. 201. stanza xlviii. 
 When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, 
 Go to the coffee-house, and take another. 
 In Swift's or Horace Walpole's letters I think it is mcn- 
 UoDed. that somebody regretting the loss ti a h-iend, was 
 
 ■ answered by io universal Pyljules : " When I lose one, I 
 go to the Saint James's Coffee-House, and take another." 
 I recollect having heard an anecdote of the same land. 
 Sir W. D. was a great gamester. Coming in one day to 
 the club of which he was a member, he was observed to 
 jook melanchoiy. " What is the matter, Sir William ?" 
 cried Hare, of facetious memory. ** Ah I" replied Sir W, 
 "Ihave just /i7jr poor Lady D." " Lost ! yr\xaX. at f QMtiixt 
 or Hazard ?" was the consolatory wjoinder of the querist. 
 
 Note c, p. S63. stanza lix. 
 
 And I refer you towisi Oxenstiern. 
 
 The famous Chancellor Oxenstiem said to his son, on 
 the latter expressing his surprise upon the great effects 
 arising from petty causes in the presumed mystery of poli- 
 tics : " You see by this, my son, with how little wLidom the 
 kingdoms of the world are governed." 
 
^q>^ (Pw^sr* 
 
 CANTO XV. 
 
 Ah ! — What shoiild follow slips from my reflection? 
 
 Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be 
 As a-propos of hope or retrospection. 
 
 As though the lurking thought had follow'd free. 
 All present life is but an Inteijection, 
 
 An « Oh !" or « Ah !'' of joy or misery. 
 Or a « Ha ! ha !".or " Bah !"— a yawn, or " Pooh !» 
 Of which perhaps the latter is most true. 
 
 ' Bnt more or less, the whole's a syncope 
 Or a singultus— emblems of Emotion, 
 
 The grand Antithesis to great Eunni, 
 
 Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean. 
 
 That Watery Outline of Eternity, 
 Or miniature at least, as is my notion. 
 
 Which ministers unto the soul's delight. 
 
 In seeing matters which are out of sight. 
 
 lU. 
 
 But all are better than the sigh supprest. 
 Corroding in the cavern of the heart. 
 
 Making the countenance a masque of rest. 
 And taming hnman natnre to an art. 
 
 Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best; 
 Dissimulation always sets apart 
 
 A comer for herself; and therefore Fiction 
 
 Is that which passes with least contradiction. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell ? Or rather, who cannot 
 Remember, mthout telling, passion's errors ? 
 
 The drainer of oblivion, even the sot. 
 
 Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors : 
 
 What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float. 
 He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors ; 
 
 The ruby glass that shakes within his hand. 
 
 Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand. 
 
 And as for Love — O Love '.—We will proceed. 
 
 The Lady Adeline Amandeville, 
 A pretty name as one would wish to read. 
 
 Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill. 
 There's music in the sighing of a reed ; 
 
 There's music in the gushing of a rill ; 
 There's music in all things, if men had ears : 
 Their Earth is but an echo of the spheres. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Lady Adeline, right honourable. 
 And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so ; 
 
 For few of the soft sex are very stable 
 In their resolves— alas ! that I should say so ! 
 
 They differ as wine differs from its label. 
 When once decanted ;— I presume to guess so. 
 
 But will not swear ; yet both upon occasion, 
 
 Till old, may undergo adulteration. 
 
 vn. 
 
 But Adeline was of the purest vintage, 
 The nnmingled essence of the grape ; and yet 
 
 Bright as a new Napoleon from its mintage, 
 Or glorious as a diamond richly set ; 
 
 A page where Time should hesitate to print ag«. 
 And for which Nature might forgo her debt — 
 
 Sole creditor who process doth involve in't 
 
 The luck of finding every body solvent 
 
 vin. 
 
 O Death > then dannest of all dons ! thon daily 
 Knockest at doors, at first with modest tap. 
 
 Like a meek tradesman when approaching palely 
 Some splendid debtor he would take by sap 
 
 But oft denied, as patience 'gins to fail, he 
 Advances with exasperated rap, 
 
 And (if let in) insists, in terms unhandsome. 
 
 On ready money or " a draft on Ransom.'* 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 269 
 
 IX. 
 
 Whate'er thou takest, spare a while poor Beanty ! 
 
 She ia so rare, and thou hast so mnch prey. 
 What though she now and then may slip fi'om duty: 
 
 The more's the reason why you ought to stay. 
 Gaunt Gourmand ! with whole nations for your 
 booty, 
 
 You should be civil in a modest way : 
 Suppress then some slight feminine diseases. 
 And take as many heroes as Heaven pleases. 
 
 Pair Adeline, the more ingenuous 
 Where she was interested (as was said) 
 
 Because she was not apt, like some of ns, 
 To like too readily, or too high bred 
 
 To shew it — (points we need not now discnss) — 
 Would give op artlessly both heart and head 
 
 Unto such feelings as seem'd innocent, 
 
 For objects worthy of the sentiment. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Some parts of Juan's history, which Rumour, 
 That live Gazette, had scatter'd to disfigure 
 
 ihe had beard ; but women hear with more good 
 humour 
 Sach aberrations than we men of rigour 
 
 besides, bis conduct, since in England, grew more 
 Strict, and his mind assumed a manlier vigour ; 
 
 because he had, like Alcibiades, 
 
 [Tie art of living in all climes with ease. 
 
 xn. 
 
 ^is mannev was perhaps the more seductive. 
 Because he ne'er seem'd anxious to seduce ; 
 
 Nothing affected, studied, or constructive 
 Of coxcombry or conquest : no abuse 
 
 )f his attractions marr'd the fair perspective. 
 To indicate a Cupidon broke loose, 
 
 ^ind seem to say, " resist us if you can " — 
 
 yhich makes a dandy while it spoils a man. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 hey are wrong — thaf s not the way to set about it ; 
 , As, if they told the truth, could well be shown. 
 ^ii right or wrong, Don Juan was without it ; 
 i In fact, his manner was his own alone ; 
 incere he was— at least you could not doubt it. 
 In listening merely to his voice's tone. 
 le Devil hath not in all his quiver's choice 
 1 arrow for the heart like a sweet voice. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 By Nature soft, his whole address held off 
 Suspicion : though not timid, his regard 
 
 Was such as rather seem'd to keep aloof. 
 To shield himself, than put you on yoar guard : 
 
 Perhaps 'twas hardly quite assured enongh. 
 But Modesty's at times its own reward. 
 
 Like Virtue ; and the absence of pretension 
 
 Will go much further than there's need to mention. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Serene, accomplished, cheerful but not loud ; 
 
 Insinuating without insinuation ; 
 Observant of the foibles of the crowd, 
 
 Yet ne'er betraying this in conversation ; 
 Proud with the proud, yet courteously proud. 
 
 So as to make them feel he knew his station 
 And theirs : — without a struggle for priority 
 He neither'brook'd nor claim'd superiority. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 That is, with men : with woman he was what 
 They pleased to make or take him for ; and their 
 
 Imagination's quite enough for that : 
 So that the outline's tolerably fair. 
 
 They fill the canvas up — and " verbnm sat." 
 If once their phantasies be brought to bear 
 
 Upon an object, whether sad or playful. 
 
 They can transfigure brighter than a Raphael. , 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Adeline, no deep judge of character. 
 Was apt to add a colouring from her own 
 
 *Tis thus the good will amiably err. 
 And eke the wise, as has been often shown. 
 
 Experience is the chief philosopher. 
 
 Bat saddest when his science is well known : 
 
 And persecuted sages teach the schools 
 
 Their folly in forgetting there are fools. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 Was it not so, great Locke ? and greater Bacon ? 
 
 Great Socrates? Andthoa Diviner stiil,» 
 Whose lot it is by man to be mistaken. 
 
 And thy pure creed made sanction of all ill ? 
 Redeeming worlds to be by bigots shaken. 
 
 How was thy toil rewarded ? We might fill 
 Volumes with similar sad illustrations. 
 But leave them to the conscience of tlie nations. 
 
270 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 1 perch npon an humbler promontory^ 
 
 Amidst life's infinite variety : 
 With no great care for what is nicknamed glory. 
 
 But speculating as I cast mine eye 
 On what may suit or may not suit my story, 
 
 And never straining hard to versify, 
 I rattle on exactly as I'd talk. 
 With any body in a ride or walk. 
 
 XX. 
 
 T don't know that there may be much ability 
 Shown in this sort of desultory rhyme ; 
 
 But there's a conversational facility. 
 
 Which may round otf an hour npon a time. 
 
 Of this I'm sure at least, there's no servility 
 In mine irregularity of chime. 
 
 Which rin?8 what's uppermost of new or hoary. 
 
 Just as I feel the " Improvisatore." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Omnia vult belle Matho dicere — die aliquando. 
 
 "Et bene die neutrum, die aliquando male." 
 The first is rather more than mortal can do ; 
 
 The second may be sadly done or gaily ; 
 The third is still more difficult to stand to ; 
 
 The fourth we hear, and see, and say too, daily. 
 The whole together is what I could wish. 
 To serve in this conundrum of a dish. 
 
 xxa. 
 
 A modest hope — but modesty's my forte. 
 And pride my feeble ; — let us ramble on..^ 
 
 I meant to make this poem very short. 
 But now 1 can't tell where it may not run. 
 
 No doubt, if I had wish'd to pay my court 
 To critics, or to hail the setting sun 
 
 Of tyranny of all kinds, my concision 
 
 Were more ; — hut I was bom for opposition. 
 
 xxm. 
 
 Bu I then 'tis mostly on the weaker side. 
 
 So that I verily believe if they 
 Who now are basking in thei ."ull-blown pride. 
 
 Were shaken down, and ''dogs had had their 
 day," 
 Though at the first I might perehance deride 
 
 Their tumble, I should turn the other way, 
 And wax an Ultra-royalist in loyalty, 
 Because I hate even democratic royalty. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 T- think I should have made a decent spouse, 
 If I had never proved the soft condition ; 
 
 1 think I should have made monastic vows. 
 But for my own peculiar superstition : 
 
 'Gainst rhyme 1 never should have knock'd m 
 brows. 
 Nor broken my own head, nor that of Priscian, 
 
 Nor worn the motley mantle of a poet, 
 
 If some one had not told me to forego it 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But " laissez aller" — knights and dames I sing. 
 Such as the times may furnish. 'Tis a flight 
 
 Which seems at first to need no lofty wing. 
 Plumed by Longinus or the Stagyrite ; 
 
 The difficulty lies in colouring 
 (Keeping the due proportions still in sight) 
 
 With Nature manners which are artificial. 
 
 And rend'ring general that which is especial. ^ 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The difference is, that in the days of old 
 Men made the manners ; manners now mak 
 men — 
 
 Pinned like a flock, and fleeced too in their fold, 
 At least nine, and a nin.^ beside often. 
 
 Now this at ail events must render cold 
 Your writers, who must either draw again 
 
 Days better drawn before, or else assume 
 
 The present, with their common-place costume. 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 We'll do our best to make the best on't ; — March 
 March, my Muse ! If yon cannot fly, yet flu 
 ter; 
 
 And when you may not be sublime, be arch, 
 Or starch, as are the edicts statesmen utter. 
 
 We surely may find something worth research : 
 Columbus found a new world in a cutter. 
 
 Or brigantine, or pink, of no great tonnage. 
 
 While yet America was in her non-age. 
 
 xxvnt 
 
 When Adeline, in all her growing sense 
 
 Of Juan's merits and his situation. 
 Felt on the whole an interest intense — 
 
 Partly perhaps because a fresh sensation, 
 Or that he bad an air of innocence. 
 
 Which is for innocence a sad temptation, — 
 As women hate half measures, on the whole, 
 She 'gan to ponder how to save his soul. ' 
 
 i 
 
DON JTTAN. 
 
 271 
 
 xxtx. 
 
 She had a good opinion of advice. 
 Like all who give and eke receive it gratis, 
 
 For which small thanks are still the market price. 
 Even where the article at highest rate is, 
 
 >he thonght upon the sobject twice or thrice. 
 And morally decided, the best state is 
 
 Tot morals, marriage ; and this question carried, 
 
 She seriously advised him to get married. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 fnan replied, with all becoming deference. 
 He had a predilection for that tie ; 
 
 3ut that, at present, with immediate reference 
 To his own circumstances, there might lie 
 
 Some difficulties, as in his own preference. 
 Or that of her to whom he might apply : 
 
 Phat still he'd wed with such or such a lady, 
 
 f that they were not married all already 
 
 fk- XXXI 
 
 Next to the making matches for herself. 
 And daughters, brothers, sisters, kith or kin, 
 
 Arranging them like books on the same shelf, 
 Tnere's nothing women love to dabble in 
 
 Hore (like a stock-holder in growing pelf ) 
 Tha;i match-making in general : 'tis no sin 
 
 Jertes, bat a preventative, and therefore 
 
 rhat is, no donbt, the only reason wherefore. 
 
 xxxu. 
 
 Jot never yet (except of coarse a Miss 
 Unwed, or mistress never to be wed, 
 
 ^r wed already, who object to this) 
 Was there chaste dame who had not in her head 
 
 lome drama of the marriage unities. 
 Observed as strictly both at board and bed, 
 
 \b those of Aristotle, though sometimes 
 
 'hey turn out melodrames or pai.tomimes. 
 
 xxxm. 
 
 Iiey generally have some only son, 
 Some heir to a large property, some friend 
 f an old family, some gay Sir John, 
 Or grave Lord George, with whom perhaps 
 
 might end 
 . line, and leave posterity undone. 
 Unless a marriage was applied to mend 
 he prospect and their morals : and besides, 
 bey hare at hand a blooming glut of brides. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 From these they will be careful to select. 
 For this an heiress, and for that a beauty ; 
 
 For t'other one a songstress who hath no defect. 
 For one who promises much duty ; 
 
 For this a lady no one can reject. 
 
 Whose sole accomplishments were quite a booty ^ 
 
 A second for her excellent connections ; 
 
 A third, because there can be no objections. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 When Rapp the Harmonist embargoed marriage'' 
 In his faarmonioas settlement — (which flourishes 
 
 Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage. 
 Because it breeds no more months than it nou- 
 rishes. 
 
 Without those sad expenses which disparage 
 What Nature naturally most enconragei.)^ 
 
 Why call'd he " Harmony " a state sans wedlock ? 
 
 Now here I have got the preacher at a dead lock. 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 Because he either meant to sneer at harmony 
 Or marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly. 
 
 But whether reverend Rapp learu'd this in Germany 
 Or no, 'tis said his sect is rich and godly. 
 
 Pious and pure, beyond what 1 can term any 
 Of ours, although they propagate more broadly. 
 
 My objection's to his title, not his ritual, 
 
 Althoagh I wonder how it grew habitoal. 
 
 xxxvu. 
 
 But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons. 
 Who favour malgre Malthas, generation — 
 
 Professors of that genial art and patrons 
 Of all the modest part of propagation. 
 
 Which after all at such a desperate rate runs. 
 That half its produce tends to emigration. 
 
 That sad result of passions and potatoes — 
 
 Two weeds which pose oar economic Gates. 
 
 xxxvin. 
 
 Had Adeline read Malthns ? I can't tell ; 
 
 I wish she had ; his book's the eleventh command- 
 ment. 
 Which says, " thou shalt not marry," unless u-ell: 
 
 This he (as far as I can understand) meant ' 
 'Tis not my purpose on his views to dwell. 
 
 Nor canvass what " so eminent a hand" meant c 
 But certes it conducts to lives ascetic. 
 Or turning marriage info arithmetic. 
 
272 
 
 DON JVASI 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But Adeline, who probably presumed 
 That Saaa had enough of maintenance. 
 
 Or separate maintenance, in case 'twas doom'd — 
 As on the whole it is an even chance 
 
 That bridegrooms, after they are fairly groomed. 
 May retrograde a little in the dance 
 
 Of marriage — (which might form a painter's fame 
 
 Like Holbein's "Dance of Death"— bat 'tis the 
 same) ; 
 
 XL. 
 
 But Adeline determined Juan's wedding 
 
 lo her own mind, and that's enough for woman, 
 But then with whom ? There was the sage Miss 
 Reading, 
 Miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and Miss 
 Knowman, 
 And the two fair co heiresses Giltbedding. 
 She deem'd his merits soraethiog more than com- 
 mon: 
 All these were unobjectionable matches. 
 And might go on, if well wound up, lite watches. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer's sea, 
 That usual paragon, an only daughter, 
 
 Who seem'd the cream of equanimity. 
 Till skimm'd — and then there was some milk and 
 water. 
 
 With a slight shade of Blue too it might be. 
 Beneath the surface ; but what did it matter? 
 
 Love's riotous, but marriage should have quiet, 
 
 And beiug consumptive, live on a milk diet 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And then there was the Miss Audaoia Shoestring, 
 A dashing demoiselle of good estate, 
 
 Wl)ose heart was fixed upon a star or blnestring ; 
 But whether English Dukes grew rare of late, 
 
 Or that she had not harp'd upon the true string. 
 By which such sirens cao attract our great. 
 
 She took up with some foreign younger brother, 
 
 A Russ or Turk — the one's as good as t'other. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 And then there was — but why should T go on. 
 Unless the ladies should go off ?— there was 
 
 Indeed a cectain fair and fairy one. 
 Of the best class, and better than her class, — 
 
 Aurora Raby, a young star who shone 
 
 O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass, 
 
 A lovely being, scarcely form'd or moulded, 
 
 A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded ; 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Rich, noble, but an orphan ; left an only 
 Child to the care of guardians good and kind, 
 
 But still her aspect had an air so lonely ! 
 Blood is not water ; and where shall we find 
 
 Feelings of youth like those which overthrown lii 
 By death, when we are left, alas ! behind. 
 
 To feel, in friendless palaces, a hoioe 
 
 Is wanting, adid our best ties in the tomb ? 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Early in years, and yet more infantine 
 In figure, she had something of sublime 
 
 In eyes which sadly shoue, as seraph's shine. 
 All youth— but with an aspect beyond time; 
 
 Radiant and grave — as pitying man's decline ; 
 Mournful — but mournful of another's crime. 
 
 She look'd as if she sat by Eden's door. 
 
 And grieved fo' those who could return no more 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 She was a Catholic too, sincere, austere. 
 As far as her own gentle heart allow'd. 
 
 And deem'd that fallen worship far more dear 
 Perhaps because 'twas fallen: her sires wei 
 proud 
 
 Of deeds and days when they had filled the ear 
 Of nations, and had never bent or bow'd 
 
 To novel power ; and as she was the last. 
 
 She held their old faith and old feelings fast 
 
 XLvn. 
 
 She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew 
 As seeking not to know it ; silent, lone. 
 
 As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew. 
 And kept her heart serene within its zone. ." 
 
 There was awe in the homage which she drew ; 
 Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throne 
 
 Apart from the surrounding world, and strong 
 
 In its own strength— most strange in one so youn( 
 
 xLvm 
 
 Now it so happen'd in the catalogue 
 Of Adeline, Anrora was omit'ed. 
 
 Although her birth and wealth had given Iierv0| 
 Beyond the charmers we have already cited ; 
 
 Her beauty also seem'd to form no clog 
 Against her being mention'das well fitted, 
 
 By many virtues, to be worth the trouble 
 
 Of single gentlemen who would be double. 
 
 fc| 
 
DON JIT AN. 
 
 273 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 ad this omission, like that of the bust 
 Of Bratas at the pageant of Tiberius, 
 ade Juan wonder, as no doubt he must. 
 This he express'd half smiling and half serious, 
 Tien Adeline replied with some disgust. 
 And with an air, to say the least, imperious, 
 le marrell'd " what he saw in such a baby 
 1^3 that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby ?" 
 
 laD rejoined — " She was a Catholic, 
 " And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion ; 
 Since he was sure his rtiother would fall sick, 
 "And the Pope thunder excommunication, 
 
 [f- " But here Adeline, who seem'd to pique 
 
 Herself extremely on the inoculation 
 
 f others with her own opinions, stated — 
 
 s nsual — the same reason which she late did. 
 
 LI. 
 
 ad wherefore not ? A reasonable reason. 
 If good, is none the worse for repetition ; 
 bad, the best way's certainly to teaze on. 
 And amplify: you loose much by concision, 
 ^hereas insisting in or out of season 
 Convinces all men, even a politician ; 
 r — ^what is just the same — it wearies out, 
 I the end's gain'd, what signifies the route ? 
 
 LH. 
 
 'hy Adeline had this slight prejudice — 
 
 For prejudice it was — against a creature 
 
 i pure as sanctity itself from vice, 
 
 Witli all the added charms of form and feature, 
 
 >r me appears a question far too nice, 
 
 'Since Adeline was liberal by nature ; 
 
 tit Nature's Nature, and has more caprices 
 
 'lan I have time, or will, to take to pieces. 
 
 Lin. 
 
 ■ 
 
 rliaps she did Dot like the qnlet way 
 
 iVith which Aurora on those baubles look'd, 
 
 nich charm most people in their calier day : 
 
 ?ixt there are few things by mankind ie.ss brook'd, 
 
 d womankind too, if we so may say, 
 
 [nan finding thus their geniua stand rebuked, 
 
 e "Anthony's by Caesar," by the few 
 
 io look upon them as they onght to do. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 It was not envy — Adeline had none ; 
 
 Her place was far beyond it^ and her mind. 
 It was not scorn — which coald not light on one 
 
 Whose greatestycM/if was leaving few to find. 
 It was not jealousy, I think : bat shun 
 
 Following the " Ignes Fatui " of mankind. 
 
 It was not but 'tis easier far, alas ! 
 
 To say what it was not than what it was 
 
 LV: 
 
 Little Aurora deem'd she was the theme 
 
 Of mnch discussion. She was there a gnest. 
 
 A beanteons ripple of the brilliant stream 
 
 Of rank and youth, though purer than the rest. 
 
 Which flow'd on for a moment in the beam 
 
 Time sheds a moment o'er each sparkling crest 
 
 Had she known this,she would have calmly smiled — 
 
 She had so much, or little^ of the child. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The dashing and prond air of Adeline 
 Imposed not upon her : she saw her blaze 
 
 Much as she would have seen a glowworm shine. 
 Then tum'd unto the stars of loftier rays. 
 
 Juan was something she could not divine. 
 Being no Sibyl in the new world's ways ; 
 
 Yet she was nothing dazzled by the meteor, 
 
 Becaase she did not pin her faith on feature. 
 
 Lvn. 
 
 His fame too, — for he had that kind of fame 
 Which sometimes plays the deuce with woman- 
 kind, 
 
 A heterogeneous mass of glorious blame, 
 Half virtues and whole vices being combined ; 
 
 Faults which attract because they are not tame ; 
 Follies trick'd out so brightly that they blind : — 
 
 These seals upon her wax made no impression. 
 
 Such was her coldness or her self-possession. 
 
 Lvni. 
 
 Juan knew nought of such a character — 
 High, yet resembling not his lost Haidee ; 
 
 Yet each wns radiant in her proper sphere ; 
 The Island girl, bred up by the lone sea. 
 
 More warm, as lovely, and not less sincere, 
 VVas Nature's all : Aurora could not be. 
 
 Nor would be thus: — the dilference in them 
 
 Was such as lies between a flower and a gem. 
 2M 
 
274 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Having wound ap with this sublime comparison, 
 Methinks we may proceed upon our narrative, 
 And, as my friend Scott says, " I sonnd my Wari- 
 son ; " 
 Scott, the superlative of my comparative — 
 Scott, who can paint your Christian knight or Sa- 
 racen, 
 Serf, lord, man, with such skill as none would \ 
 share it, if 
 There had not been one Shakspeare and Voltaire, 
 Of one or both of whom he seems the heir. 
 
 LX, 
 
 I say, in my slight way I may proceed 
 To play upon the surface of Humanity. 
 
 I write the world, nor care if the world read. 
 At least for this I cannot spare its vanity. 
 
 My Muse hath bred, and still perhaps may breed 
 More foes by this same scroll : — when I began it, t 
 
 Thought that it might turn out so — now I hww it. 
 
 Bat still I am, or was, a pretty poet 
 
 LX*. 
 
 The conference or congress (for it ended 
 As congresses of late do) of the Lady 
 
 Adeline and Don Juan, rather blended 
 Some acids with the sweets — for she was heady ; 
 
 But, ere the matter could be marr'd or mended. 
 The silvery bell rang, not for "dinner ready," 
 
 Belt for that honr, called half-hour, given to dress. 
 
 Though ladies' robes seem scant enough for less. 
 
 Lxn. 
 
 Great things were now to be achieved at table. 
 With massy plate for armour, knives and forks 
 
 For weapons ; but what Muse since Homer's able 
 (His feasts are not the worst part of his works) 
 
 To draw up in array a single day-bill 
 
 Of modern dinners ? where more mystery lurks 
 
 In soups or sauces, or a sole ragout. 
 
 Than witches, b — ches, or physicians brew. 
 
 Lxia 
 
 There was ai goodly " sonpe a la bonne femme," 
 Though God knows whence It came from ; there 
 was too 
 
 A turbot for relief of those who cram. 
 Relieved with dindon a la Parigeux ; 
 
 There also was the sinner that I am ! 
 
 How shall I get this gourmand stanza through ? — 
 
 Soupe a la Beanveaa, whose relief was Dory, 
 
 Relieved itself by pork, for greater glory.' 
 
 But I must crowd all into one grand mess 
 Or mass ; for should I stretch into detail, 
 
 IVIy Muse woold run much more into excess. 
 Than when some squeamish people deem I 
 frail. 
 
 But though a " bonne vivante," I must confess 
 Her stomach's not her peccant part ; this tale 
 
 However doth require some slight refection. 
 
 Just to relieve her spirits from dejection. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Fowls a la Conde, slices eke of salmon. 
 
 With sauces Genfevoises and haunch of venist 
 Wines too which might again have slain yoi 
 Ammon — 
 A man like whom I hope we sha'nt see mi 
 soon; 
 They also set a glazed Westpbalian ham on. 
 
 Whereon Apicius would bestow his benison ; 
 And then there was Champagne with foam 
 
 whirls, 
 As white as Cleopatra's melted pearls. 
 
 lAVt 
 
 Then there was God knows what " a I'Allemand 
 "A I'Espagnole," "timballe," and "Salpicon" 
 
 With things I can't withstand or understand. 
 Though swallow'd with mnch zest upon ' 
 whole. 
 
 And " entremets " to piddle with at hand. 
 Gently to lull down the subsiding soul ; 
 
 While great Lucullus' (Robe triumphal) mufflej 
 
 (There's Fame) — young partridge fillets, deck'd « 
 truiBes."' 
 
 Lxvn. 
 
 What are l]aefillet$ on the victor's brow 
 To these ? They are rags or dust Whew 
 the arch 
 
 Which nodded to the nation's spoils below ? 
 Where the triumphal chariots' haughty march 
 
 Gone to where victories must like dinners go. 
 Further I shall not follow the research ; 
 
 But oh ! ye modern heroes with your cartridges, 
 
 When will your names lend lustre e'en to p 
 tridges. 
 
 LXVIH. 
 
 Those truflles too are no bad accessaries. 
 Followed by " Petits puifs d'Amour " — a dish 
 
 Of which perhaps the cookery rather varies, 
 So every one may dress it to his wish. 
 
 According to the best of dictionaries. 
 Which cncyclopedize both flesh and fish : 
 
 But even sans " confitures " it no less true is, 
 
 There's oretty picking in those " petits puits,"» 
 
HON JTTAH. 
 
 UtlX. 
 
 
 375 
 
 he mind is Irsl in mighty contempla'.ion 
 or intellect expended on two courses ; 
 nd indigestion's grand multiplication. 
 Requires arithmetic beyond ray forces, 
 ('ho would suppose from Adam's ximple ration. 
 That cookery could have called forth snch re- 
 sources, 
 8 form a science and a nomenclature 
 rem out the commonest demands of nature ? 
 
 LXX. 
 
 he glasses jingled, and the palates tingled ; 
 The diners of celebrity dined well ; 
 he ladies with more moderation mingled 
 In the feast, pecking less than I can tell ; 
 Iso the younger men too ; for a springald 
 Can't, like ripe age, in gormandise excel,] 
 gt thinks less of good eating than the whisper 
 Vhen seated next him) of some pretty lisper. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 las ! I mnst leave undescribed the gibier. 
 The salmi, the consomme, the puree, 
 II which I use to make my rhymes run glibber 
 Than conld roast beef in our rough John Bull 
 
 way: 
 mnst not introduce even a spare rib here, 
 " Bubble and squeak" would spoil my I'quid 
 
 lay : 
 at I have dined, and must forego, alas ! 
 he chaste description even of a " Becasse ;" 
 
 Lxxn. 
 
 jnd fmits, and ice, and all that art refines 
 From nature for the service of the goiit — 
 
 We or the gout, — pronounce it as inclines 
 Your stomach I Ere yon dine, the French will 
 do; 
 
 iut after, there are sometimes certain signs 
 Which prove plain English truer of the two. 
 
 last ever had the goutt 1 have not had it — 
 
 Iut 1 may have, and you too. Reader, dread it. 
 
 Lxxm. 
 
 'lie simple olives, best allies of wine. 
 Must I pass over in my bill of fare ? 
 jmust although a favonrite " plat" of mine 
 In Spain, and Lucca, Athens, every where : 
 n them and bread, 'twas oft my lot to dine, 
 1 The grass my table-cloth in open air, 
 n Saniam or Hymetus, like Diogenes, 
 f whom half my philofiophy the progeny is. 
 
 Lxxnr. 
 
 Amidst this tumult offish, flesh, and fowl. 
 And vegetables, all in masquerade. 
 
 The guests were placed according to their roll. 
 But various as the various meats display'd ; 
 
 Don Juan sat next an " si I'Espagnole" — 
 No damsel, but a dish, as hath been said ; 
 
 But so far like a lady, that 'twas dres^ 
 
 Superbly, and contained a world of zest. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 By some odd chance too he was jilaced between 
 
 Aurora and the Lady Adeline — 
 A situation difficult I ween. 
 
 For man therein, with eyes and heart to dine. 
 Also the conference which we have seen 
 
 Was not such as to encourage him to shine ; 
 For Adeline, addressing few words to him. 
 With two transcendant eyes seemed to look thro' 
 him. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 I sometimes almost think that eyes have eare ; 
 
 ITiis much is sure, that, out of earshot things 
 Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears. 
 
 Of which I ca'nt tell whence their knowtedge 
 springs ; — 
 
 Like that 6ame mystic music of the spheres. 
 
 Which noone hears so loudly though it rings, 
 'Tis wonderful how oft the sex have heard 
 Long dialogues which pass'd without a word ; 
 
 Lxxvn. 
 
 Aurora sat with that indiflerence 
 
 Which piques a preux Chevalier— as it ought : 
 Of all olfences that's the worst offence. 
 
 Which seems to hint yon are not worth 
 thought 
 Now Juan, tliough no coxcomb in pretence. 
 
 Was not exactly pleased to be so caught. 
 Like a good ship entangled among ice. 
 And after so much excellent advice. 
 
 Lxxvra. 
 
 To his gay nothings, nothing was replied. 
 Or something which was nothing, as urbanity 
 
 Required. Aurora scarcely look'd aside, 
 Nor even smiled enough for any vanity. 
 
 The devil was in the girl ! Could it oe pride? 
 Or modesty, or absence, or inanity ? 
 
 Heaven knows ! But Adeline's malicious eyes 
 
 Sparkled with her successful prophecies; 
 
276 
 
 SON JUAir. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 And look'd aa mnch as if to say, "I said it;" — 
 A kind of triumph I'll not recommend. 
 
 Because it sometimes, as I have seen or read it. 
 Both in the case of lover and of friend. 
 
 Will pique a gentleman, for his own credit. 
 To bring what was a jest to a serious end ; 
 
 For all men prophesy what is or was. 
 
 And hate those who won't let them come to pass. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Juan was diawn thus into some attentions. 
 Slight but select, and just enough to express, 
 
 To females of perspicuous comprehensions. 
 That he would rather make them more than less. 
 
 Aurora at the last (so history mentions. 
 Though probably mnch less a fact than guess) 
 
 So far rel^x'd her thoughts from their sweet prison. 
 
 As once or twice to smile, if not to Hsten. 
 
 Lxxxr. 
 
 From answering she began to question : this 
 With her was rare ; and Adeline, who as yet 
 
 Thought her predictions went not much amiss. 
 Began to dread she'd thaw to a coquette — 
 
 So very difficult, they say, it is 
 To keep extremes from meeting, when once set 
 
 In motion ; but she here too much refin'd, 
 
 Aurora's spirit was not of that kind- 
 
 lixxxn. 
 
 But Juan had a sort of winning way, 
 
 A proud humility, if snch there be, 
 Which show'd such deference to what females say. 
 
 As if each charming word were a degree. 
 His tact too temper'd him from grave to gay. 
 
 And taught him when to be reserved or free ; 
 He had the art of drawing people out. 
 Without their seeing what he was about. 
 
 Lxxxin. 
 
 Aurora, who in her indifference 
 
 Confounded. him in common with the crowd 
 Of flatterers, though she deem'd he had more sense 
 
 Than whispering foplings, or tffdd ^vitlings loud — 
 Commenced (from such slight tilings will great com- 
 mence) 
 
 To feel that flattery whicn attracts the proud 
 Rather by deference than compliment. 
 And wins even by a delicate dissent. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 And then he had good looks ; — that point was Carrie 
 Nem. con. amongst the women, which i grieve 
 
 To say leads oft to Crim. con. with the married— 
 A case which to the juries we may leave. 
 
 Since with digressions we too long have tarried. 
 Now though we know of old that looks deceiv( 
 
 And always have done, somehow these good loolt 
 
 Make more impression than the best of books. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Aurora, who look'd more on books than faces 
 Was very young, although so very sage. 
 
 Admiring more Minerva than the graces. 
 Especially upon a printed page. 
 
 But Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces. 
 Has not the natural stay of strict old age ; 
 
 And Socrates, that model of all duty, 
 
 Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for beanty. 
 
 LXXXVI 
 
 And girls of sixteen are thus farSocratic, 
 
 But innocently so, as Socrates ; 
 And really, if the Sage sublime and Attic 
 
 At seventy years had phantasies like these. 
 Which Plato in his dialogues dramatic 
 
 Has shown, I know notwhy they should displeaa 
 In virgins — always in a modest way. 
 Observe, that with me's a " sine qua." ^ 
 
 Lxxxvn. 
 
 Also observe, that like the great Lord Coke, 
 (See Littleton) whene'er I have expressed 
 
 Opinions two, which at first sight may look 
 Twin opposites, the second is the best 
 
 Perhaps I have a third too in a nook. 
 
 Or none at all — which seems a sorry jest ; 
 
 But if a writer should be quite consistent. 
 
 How could he possibly show things existent? 
 
 Lxxxvni. 
 
 If people contradict themselves, can I 
 Help contradicting them, and every body. 
 
 Even my veracious self? — But that's a lie ;• 
 I never did so, never will — how should l| 
 
 He who doubts all things, nothing can deny ^ 
 Truth's fountains may be clear — her streams an 
 muddy. 
 
 And cut through such canals of contradiction. 
 
 That she must often navigate o'er fiction. 
 
jyON JUAN. 
 
 277 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Apologne, fable, poesy, and parable. 
 
 Are false, but may be rendered also true 
 By those who sow them in aland that's arable. 
 
 'Tis wonderful what fable will not do ! 
 *Tis said it makes reality more bearable : 
 
 Bat what's reality ? Who has ila clue ? 
 Philosophy ? No ; she too much rejects. 
 Religion ? Yes ; bnt which of all her sects. 
 
 XC. 
 
 Some millions must be wrong, tiiat'a pretty clear ; 
 
 Perhaps it may turn out that all were right 
 God help us ! Since we have need on our career 
 
 Tj keep oar holy beacons always bright, 
 Tis time that some new Prophet should appear. 
 
 Or old indulge man with a second sight 
 Opinions wear out in some thoasand years, 
 Withoat a small reireshment from the spheres. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 But here again, why will I thus entangle 
 Myself with metaphysics? None can hate 
 
 So much as I do any kind of wrangle ; 
 And yet, such is my folly, or my fate, 
 
 I always knock, my head against some angle. 
 About the present, past, or future state : 
 
 Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tynan, 
 
 For I \vas bred a moderate Presbyterian. 
 
 xca 
 
 Bat though I am a temperate Theologian, 
 
 And also meek as a Metaphysician, 
 Impartial between Tynan and Trojan, 
 
 As Eldon on a lunatic commission, — 
 In politics my duty is to show John 
 
 Bull something of the lower world's condition. 
 It makes my blood boil like the springs oi Hecla, 
 To see men let these scoundrel Sovereigns break 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 r 
 
 law. 
 
 xcin. 
 
 But politics, and policy, and piety. 
 Are topics which I sometimes introduce. 
 
 Not only for the sake of their variety, 
 But as snbservient to a moral use ; 
 
 Because my business is to dress society, 
 And stuff with sage that very verdant goose. 
 
 And now, that we may furnish with some matter all 
 
 Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural. 
 
 And now I will give up all argnment(' 
 And positively henceforth no temptation 
 
 Shall " fool me to the top op of my bent ." 
 
 Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation. 
 
 Indeed I never knew what people meant 
 By deeming that my Muse's conversation 
 
 Was dangerous ;— I tiiink she is as harmless 
 
 As some who labour more and yet may charm ]e&& 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost? 
 
 No; but you have heard — I understand — be 
 dumb! 
 And don't regret the time you may have lost. 
 
 For you have got that pleasure stiil to come 
 And do not think I mean to sneer at most 
 
 Of these things, or by ridicule benumb 
 That sonrce of the sublime and the mysterious: — 
 For certain reasons, my belief is serious. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Serious ? Yon laogh ; —yon may : that will I not ; 
 
 My smiles must be sincere or not at all. 
 I say I do believe a haunted spot 
 
 Exists — and where ? That shall I not recal. 
 Because I'd rather it should be forgot, 
 
 " Shadows the soul of Richard " may appal 
 In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very 
 Like those of the Philosopher of Malmsbury.B 
 
 xcvn. 
 
 The night (I sing by night — sometimes aU owl. 
 And now and then a nightingale) — is dim. 
 
 And the load shriek of sage Minerva's fowl 
 Rattles around me her discordant hymn: 
 
 Old portraits from old walls upon me scowt— 
 I wish to heaven they would not look so gnm ; 
 
 The dying embers dwindle in the grate — 
 
 I think too that I have sate up too late : 
 
 xcvia 
 
 And therefore, though 'tis by no means my way. 
 To rhyme at noon — when I have other things 
 
 To think of, if I ever think, — I say 
 I feel some chilly midnight shndderlngs. 
 
 And prudently postpone, antil mid-day. 
 Treating a topic which alas but brings 
 
 Shadows ; — but yon must be in my condition 
 
 Before you learn to call this superstition. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 
 
 'Twixt night and mom, upon the horizon's^ verge. 
 
 How little do we know that which we are ! 
 How leas what we maybe ! The eternal awrge 
 
 Of time aiid tide rolls on, Emd bears afar 
 Our babbles ; as the old barst^ new emerge, 
 
 Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves 
 
 Of Empires heave but like some passing waves. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTEENTH. 
 
 Note a, p. 269. stUnza xviii. 
 Great Socrates T and thou Dhiner still. 
 
 As it is necessary in thase times to avoid ambiguity, I 
 say, that Imean,by"Diviners*in," Christ. If ever God 
 was Man — or Man God — he was both. I never arraigned 
 his creed, bat the use— or abuse— made of it. Mr. Can- 
 ning one day (laoted Christianity to sanction Negro Slavery, 
 and Mr. Wilberforce had little to say in reply. And was 
 Christ crucified that black men might be scourged P If so, 
 he had better been born a Mulatto, to give both colours on 
 equal chance of freedom, or at least salvation. 
 
 Note b, p. S71, st^nxa xxxv. 
 Whin.Rapp the Harmonist embargoed marriage. 
 
 This extraordinary and flonrishing German colony in 
 .America doej not entirely exclude matrimony, as the 
 " Shakers " do ; but lay3 such restrictions upon it as pre- 
 vent more than a certain quantum of bixtbs within a cer- 
 tain number of years j which births (as Mr. Hulme ob- 
 serves) generally arrive " in a little flock l^ke those of a 
 farmer's lambs, all within the same m,onth perhaps." 
 These Harmonists (so called from the naine of their settle- 
 ment) are represented as a remarkably flourishing, pious, 
 and quiet people. See the various recent writers on Ame- 
 rica. 
 
 Note c, P.S7I, stanza xxxviii. 
 
 Nor canvats tnhat *' so eminent a hand " meant. 
 
 Jacob Tonson, according to Mr. Fope, ynda accustopjied 
 to call his writers, " able pens" — " persons of honour," 
 and especially "eminent hands." Vide Corrtjpondence, 
 &c. &c. 
 
 Note d, p. S74, stanza Ixvi. 
 
 While gnat ImcuIIus* (Robe triomphal) muffies — 
 (There's V3.mz)-poung partridge, Jillets, deeh'd a ith trvjles. 
 
 A dish " a la LucaUus." This hero who conqueied the 
 East, has left his more extended celebrity to the trans* 
 plantation of cherries (which he first brought into Europe), 
 and the nomenclature of some very good dishes ; — and I 
 am not sure that (barring indigestion) he has not done 
 more service to mankind by his cookery than by his con- 
 quests. A cherry-tree may weigh against a bloody laurel : 
 besides, he has contrived to earn celebrity from both. 
 
 Note e, p. 274, stanza bcviii. 
 
 There's pretty picking in those " peiits puils.'* 
 
 " Petit puits d'amonr garnes des confiture!;," a classical 
 and well-known dish for part of the flank of a second 
 course. 
 
 Note f, p. 370. stanza Ixxxvi. 
 Observe ; for that with me't a " sine qua," 
 SubaudiluT " Non ;" omitted for the sake of euphony. 
 
 Note g, p. 277. stanza xcvi. 
 
 I.ike those cf the Philosopher of Malmsbury, 
 
 Hobbes, wh3, doubting of his own soul, paid that compli* 
 ment to the souls of other people as to decline their visits, 
 of which he had some apprehen^on. 
 
Q>(£)Sr 47Wii^« 
 
 CANTO XVI. 
 
 The antique Persians tanght three usefnl tilings. 
 To Jraw the bow, to ride, and speak the troth. 
 
 This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings, 
 A mode adopted since by modem yonth. 
 
 Bows have they, generally with two strings ; 
 Horses they ride without remorse or ruth ; 
 
 At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever, 
 
 But draw tlie long bow better now than ever. 
 
 n. 
 
 The cause of this effect, or this defect, — 
 
 " For this effect defective comes by cause," — 
 
 Is what I have not_ leisure to inspect ; 
 But this I must say in my own applause. 
 
 Of all the Muses that I recollect, 
 
 Whate'er may be her follies on her 0aws 
 
 In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction 
 
 The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction. 
 
 m. 
 
 And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats 
 From any thing, this Epic will contain 
 
 A wilderness of the most rare conceits. 
 
 Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain. 
 
 'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets. 
 Yet mixed so slightly that yon can't complain, 
 
 But wonder they so few are, since my tale is 
 
 " De rebns canctis et quibusdam aliis." 
 
 IV. 
 
 But of all truths which she has told, the most 
 Tme is that which she is about to tell. 
 
 I said it v^as a story of a ghost — 
 What then ? I only know it so befel. 
 
 Have yon explored the limits of the coast. 
 Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell? 
 
 =Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as 
 
 The sceptics who wouldnot believe Colombus. 
 
 Some people would impose now with authority, 
 Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle ; 
 
 Men whose historical superiority 
 Is always greatest at a miracle. 
 
 But Saint Angustine has the great priority. 
 Who bids all men believe the impossible, 
 
 Because 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he 
 
 Quiets at once with " quia impossible." 
 
 VI. 
 
 And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all ; 
 
 Believe : — if 'tis improbable, yon must : 
 And if it is impossible, you shall: 
 
 "Tis always best to take things upon trust, 
 I do not speak profanely, to recal 
 
 Those holier mysteries which the wise and jnst 
 Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, 
 As all truths must, the more they are disputed. 
 
 Vn. 
 
 I merely mean to say what Johnson said. 
 That in the course of some six thousand years. 
 
 All nations have belived that from the dead 
 A visitant at intervals appears ; 
 
 And what is strangest upon this strange head. 
 Is that whatever bar the reason rears 
 
 'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger still 
 
 In its behalf, let those deny who will. 
 
 fVii. 
 
 The dinner and the soiree too were done. 
 
 The supper too discussed, the dames admired. 
 
 The banqneteers had dropped off one by one — 
 The song was silent, and the dance expired • 
 
 The last thin petticoats were vanished, gone 
 Like fleecy clouds into the sky retired. 
 
 And nothing .brighter gleamed through the saloon 
 
 Than dying tapers— and the peeping moon. 
 
280 
 
 BON JUAN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The evaporation of a joyous day 
 
 I3 like the last glass of Champagne, without 
 The foam which made its virgin bumper gay ; 
 
 Or like a system coupled with a doubt ; 
 Or like a soda bottle when its spray 
 
 Has sparkled and lel half its opirit out ; 
 Or like a billow left by storms behind. 
 Without the animation of the wind ; 
 
 Or like an opiate which brings troubled rest, 
 Or none ; or like — like nothing that I know 
 
 Except itself; such is the human breast ; 
 A thing, of which similitudes can show 
 
 No real likeness, — like the old Tyrian vest 
 Dyed purple, none at present can tell how, 
 
 If from a shell-fish or from cochineal. • 
 
 So perish everv tyrant's robe piece-meal. 
 
 XL 
 
 But nerf to dressing for a rout or ball, 
 Undressing is a woe ; our robe de chambre 
 
 May sit like that of Nessus and recal 
 Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than 
 amber. 
 
 Titus exclaim'd " I've lost a day !" Of all 
 The nights and days most people can remember, 
 
 I have had of both, some not to be disdained) 
 
 I wish they'd state how many they have gained. 
 
 XIL 
 
 And Juan, on retiring for the night. 
 
 Felt restless, and perplexed, and compromised ; 
 He thought Aurora Baby's eyes more briglit 
 
 Than Adeline (such is advice) advised; 
 If he had known exactly his own plight. 
 
 He probably would have philosrphised ; 
 A great resource to all, and ne'er denied 
 Till wanted ; therefore Juan only sighed. 
 
 xm. 
 
 He sighed ; — the next resource is the full moon. 
 Where all sighs are deposited ; and now 
 
 It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone 
 As clear as such a climate will alloW : 
 
 And Juan's mind was in the proper tone 
 To hail her with the apostrophe—" O Thou !» 
 
 Of amatory, egotism the Tuistn, 
 
 Which further to explain would be a truism. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But lover, poet, or astronomer. 
 
 Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold. 
 Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her : 
 
 Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides 1 
 cold 
 Sometimes unless my feelings rather err ;) 
 
 Deep secrets to her rolling light are told ; 
 The ocean's tides and mortal's brains she sways. 
 And also hearts, if there be truth in layg. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed 
 For contemplation rather than his pillow : 
 
 The Gothic chamber where he was enclosed. 
 Let in the rippling sound of the lake's billow, 
 
 With all the mystery by midnight caused 
 Below his window waved (of course) a willow ; 
 
 And he stood gazing out on the cascade 
 
 That flashed and after darkened in the shade. 
 
 xvx 
 
 Upon his table or his toilet, — tcMch 
 Of these is not exactly ascertained — 
 
 (I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch 
 Of nicety, where a fact is to be gained) 
 
 A lamp burned high, while he leant from a niche, 
 Where many a Gothic ornament remained, 
 
 In chiselled stone and painted glass, and all 
 
 That time has left our fathers of their Hall. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw 
 His chamber door wide open — and went forth 
 
 Into a gallery, of a sombre hue. 
 
 Long, furnished with old pictures of great worth , 
 
 Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too. 
 As doubtless sliould be people of bigli birth. 
 
 But by dim lights the portraits of the dead | 
 
 Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread. 
 
 xvni. 
 
 The forms of the grim knight and pictured sainl 
 Look living in the moon ; and as you turn 
 
 Backward and forward to the echoes faint 
 Of your own footsteps — voices from the urn 
 
 Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint 
 Start from the frames which fence their aspects 
 stern. 
 
 As if to ask how you can dare to keep ^ 
 
 A vigil there, where all hut death should sleep. ^ 
 
PON JUAW. 
 
 XIX 
 
 tuiA the pale smile of Beauties in the grave, 
 The charms of other days, in starlight gleams 
 
 Glimmer on high ; their buried locks still wave 
 Along the canvas ; their eyes glance like dreams 
 
 On ours, or spars within some dusky cave. 
 But death is imaged in their shadowy beams. 
 
 A picture is the past ; even ere its frame 
 
 Be gilt, who sate bath ceased to be the same. 
 
 XX. 
 
 As Juan mnsed on matability. 
 
 Or on his mistress— terms synonymous — 
 No sound except the echo of his sigh 
 
 Or step ran sadly through that antique house. 
 When suddenly he heard, or thougiit so, nigh. 
 
 A supernatural agent — or a mouse 
 Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass 
 Most people as it plays along the arras. 
 
 XXL 
 
 I was uo mouse, but lo ! a monk, arrayed 
 
 In cowl and beads, and dusky garb appeared, 
 "Sow in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard ; 
 jHis garments only a slight murmur made ; 
 
 He raov'd as shadowy as the sisters weirdj 
 But slowly ; and as he passed Juan by, 
 Gl^ced, without pausing, on him a bright eye. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Juan was petrified ; he had heard a hint 
 or such a spirit in these halls of old. 
 
 But thought, like most men, there was nothing in't 
 Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold, 
 
 Cuined from surviving superstition's mint, 
 U hich passes ghosts in currency like gold, 
 
 Biif rarely seen, like gold compared with paper, 
 
 ^x^l\ did he see this? or was it a vapour? 
 
 xxui. 
 
 Once, twice, thrice, passed — repassed, the thing 
 of air, 
 Or earth beneath, or heaven or t'other place ; 
 
 ^nd Juan gazed upon it with a stare. 
 Yet could not speak or move ; but, on its base 
 s stands a statue, stood ; he felt his hair 
 Twine like a knot of snakes around his face ; 
 
 ie taxedihis tongue for words, which were not 
 granted, 
 
 To ask the reverend person what he wanted. 
 
 The third time, afler a still longer paostr. 
 
 The shadow passed away— but where ? the hall 
 
 Was long, and thus far there was no great cause 
 To think his vanishing unnatural : 
 
 Doors there were many, through which, by thelftWS 
 Of physics, bodies whether short or tall 
 
 Might come or go ; but Juan could not state 
 
 Thropgti whiph the spectre seem'd to evaporate. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 He stood — ^how long he knew not, but it seemed 
 An age, — expectant, powerless, witli his eyes 
 
 Strained on the spot where 6rst the figure gleamed; 
 Then by degrees recalled his energies. 
 
 And would have passed the whole off as a dreaui, 
 But could not wake ; he was, he did surmise, 
 
 Waking already, and returned at length 
 
 Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strenght. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 All there was as he lift it : sttH liis taper 
 Bumt, and not blue, as modest tapers use, 
 
 Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour ; 
 He rubbed his eyes, and they did not refuse 
 
 Their office ; he took up an old newspaper ; 
 The paper was right easy to peruse ; 
 
 He read an article the king attacking. 
 
 And a long eulogy o( " Patent Blacking." 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 This savoured of this world ; but his hand shook- 
 He shut the door and after having read 
 
 A paragragh, I think about Home Tooke, 
 Uodrest, and rather slowly weut to bed. 
 
 There, couched all snugly on his pillow's nook, 
 With what he had seen his phantasy he fed. 
 
 And though it was no opiate, slumber crept 
 
 Upon him by degrees, and so he slept. 
 
 XXVUI 
 
 He woke betimes ; and, as may be supposed. 
 
 Pondered upon his visitant or vision, 
 And whether it ought not to bedisclosea, 
 
 At risk of being quizzed for superstition. 
 Tfae more he thought,the more his mind was posed • 
 
 In the mean time, his valet, whose precision 
 Was great, because his master brooked no less. 
 Knocked to inform him it was time to drey^. 
 2 N 
 
DON JUAlff. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 He dressed ; and like young people he was wont 
 To take some trouble with his toilet, but 
 
 This moraiDg; rather spent less time upoD't ; 
 Aside his very mirror soon was put ; 
 
 His curls fell negligently o'er his front. 
 
 His clothes were not curbed to their usual cnt, 
 
 His very necklotb's Gordian knot was tied 
 
 Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And when he walked down into the saloon, 
 fle sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea. 
 
 Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon. 
 Had it not happened scalding hot to be. 
 
 Which made him have recourse unto his spoon ; 
 So much distrait he was, (hat all could see 
 
 That something was the matter — Adeline 
 
 The first— bat whcU she could not -well divine. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 She looked, and saw him pale, and turned as pale 
 Herself; then hastily looked down, and mut- 
 tered 
 
 Something, but what's not stated in my tale. 
 Lord Henry said, his muffin was ill buttered ; 
 
 The duchess of Pitz-Fulke played with her veil. 
 And looked at Juan hard, but nothing uttered. 
 
 Aurora Raby with her large dark eyes. 
 
 Surveyed him with a kind of calm surprise. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 But seeing him all cold and silent still. 
 And every body wondering more or less, 
 
 Fair Adeline inquired, "If he were ill?" 
 He started, and said, " Yes — no — rather — yes." 
 
 The family physician had great skill. 
 And being present, now began to express 
 
 His readiness to feel his pulse and tell 
 
 The cause, but Juan said, " He was quite well." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Quite well ; yes, no," — These answers were 
 mysterious. 
 
 And yet his looks appeared to sanction both. 
 However they might savour of delirious ; 
 
 Something like illness of a sudden growth 
 Weighed on his spirit, though by no means serious. 
 
 But for the rest, as he himself seemed loth 
 To stale the case, it might be ta'en for granted 
 It was not the physician that he wanted. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Lord Heni-y, who had now discussed his chocolate 
 Also the muffin whereof he complained. 
 
 Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate. 
 At which he marvelled since it had not rained ; 
 
 Then asked her grace what news were of the Dab 
 of late? 
 Her Grace replied, Ms Grace was rather painei 
 
 With some slight, light, hereditary twinges 
 
 Of gout, wliich rusts aristocratic hinges. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Then Henry turn'd to Juan and addressed ' - 1 
 A few words of condolence on his slate : 
 
 " You look," quoth he, " as if you had had yoa 
 rest 
 Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late." 4 
 
 " What Friar ?" said Juan ; and he did his best 
 To put the question with an air sedate. 
 
 Or careless ; but the eflfort was not valid 
 
 To hinder him from growing still more pallid. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Oh ! have you never heard of the Black Friar ? 
 
 The spirit of these walls?"— "In truth not L" 
 " Why Fame — but Fame you know's sometimes i 
 liar — 
 
 Tells an odd story, of which by tlie bye : 
 Whether with time the spectre has grown shyer. 
 
 Or that our sires had a more gifted eye 
 For such sights, though the tale is half believed, 
 The Friar of late has not been oft perceived. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " The last time was ^' " I pray," said Adeline, 
 
 ( Who watched the changes of Don Juan's broH 
 And from its context thought she could divine 
 Connections stronger than he chose to avow 
 With this same legend) — " if you but design 
 To jest, you'll choose some otber Iheroe just 
 now 
 Because the present tale has oft been told. 
 And is not much improved by growing old." 
 
 xxxvni. 
 
 " Jest !" quotli Milor, "Why Adeline, you know 
 That we ourselves — 'twas in the Honey Moon — | 
 
 Saw " " Well, no matter, 'twas so long ago ; 
 
 But, come, I'll set your story to a tune." 
 
 Graceful as Dian, when she draws her bow. 
 She seized her harp whose strings were kindled; 
 soon 
 
 As touched, and plaintively began to play ,1 
 
 The air of " "Twas a Friar of Orders Grey." \ 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 283 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 "Bat add the \vords," cried Henry, "which yoa 
 made ; 
 
 For Adeline is half a poetess," 
 Turning round to the rest, he smiling said. 
 
 Of course the others could not but express 
 In courtesy their wish to see displayed 
 
 By one, three talents, for there were no less— 
 The voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once, 
 Gonid hardly be united by a dance. 
 
 XL. 
 
 After some fascinating hesitation, — 
 
 The charming of these charmers, who seem 
 bound 
 I can't tell why, to thia dissimulation, — 
 
 Fair Adeline, with eyes fixed on the ground 
 At first, then kindling into animation, 
 
 Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound. 
 And sang with much simplicity, — a merit 
 Not the less precious^ that we seldom hear it. 
 
 I. 
 
 Beware! beware! of the Black Friar, 
 
 Who sitteth by Norman stone. 
 For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air. 
 
 And his mass of the days that are gone. 
 When the Lord of the Hill, Auiundeville, 
 
 Made Norman Church his prey, 
 And expelled the friars, one friar still 
 
 Would not be driven away. 
 
 2. 
 
 Though he came in his might, with King Henry's 
 right. 
 
 To turn church lands to lay. 
 With svvord in hand, and torch to Iigl# 
 
 Their walls, if they said nay. 
 A monk remained, unchased, unchained. 
 
 And he did not seem formed of clay. 
 For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the 
 church. 
 
 Though he is not seen by day. 
 
 And whether for good, or whether for ill. 
 
 It is not mine to say ; 
 But still to the boose of Amundeville 
 
 He abideth night and day. 
 3y the marriage bed of their lords, 'tis said, 
 
 He fiits on the bridal eve ; 
 \nd 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death. 
 
 He comes — but not to grieve. 
 
 When an heir Is boni, he's heard to mourn. 
 
 And when aught is io befal 
 That ancient line, in the pale moonshine 
 
 He walks from hall to hall. 
 His form you may trace, but not his face, 
 
 'Tis shadowed by his cowl : 
 But his eyes may be seen from the folds betiveen, 
 
 And they seem of a parted soul. 
 
 But beware ! beware ! of the Black Friar. 
 
 He still retains b's sway. 
 For he is yet the church's heir 
 
 Whoe'er may be the lay. 
 Amimdeville is lord by day. 
 
 But the monk is lord by night, 
 Nor wine nor wassail coald raise a \assal 
 
 To question that friar's right 
 
 6. 
 
 Say nought to him as he walks the hall. 
 
 And he'll say nought to you ; 
 He sweeps along in his dusky pall, 
 
 As o'er the grass the dew. 
 Then Grammercy ! for the Black Friar ; 
 
 Heaven sain him ! fair or foul. 
 And whatsoe'er may be his prayer, 
 
 Let ours be for his soul. 
 
 XLI 
 
 The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wires 
 Died from the touch (hat kindled them to sound ; 
 
 And tlie pause followed, which when song expires 
 Pervades a moment those who listen round ; 
 
 And then of course the circle much admires. 
 Nor less applauds as in politeness bound. 
 
 The tones, the feeling, and the execution. 
 
 To the performer's diffident confusion. 
 
 XLH. 
 
 Fair Adeline, though in a careless way. 
 As if she rated such accomplishment 
 
 As the mere pastime of an idle day. 
 Pursued an instant for her own content. 
 
 Would now and then as 'twere without display. 
 Yet with display in fact at times relent 
 
 To such performances with haughty smile. 
 
 To shew she could, if it were worth her while. 
 
m 
 
 DON JVABT. 
 
 XHII. 
 
 Now this (but we will whisper it aside) 
 Was — pardon the pedantic illustration — 
 
 Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride. 
 As did the Cynic on some like occasion : 
 
 Deeming the sage would be much mortified 
 Or thrown into a philosophic passion. 
 
 For a spoilt carpet— but the " Attic Bee" 
 
 Was much consoled by bis own repartee. ^ 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Thus Adeline would throw into the shade 
 (By doing easily whene'er she chos^, 
 
 What dilettanti do with vast parade) 
 Their sort o{ /lalf profession', for it grows 
 
 To something tike this when too Oft displayed j 
 And that it is so, every body knows. 
 
 Who have heard Miss That or This, 6t Lady 
 T'other, 
 
 Show off— to please their coitipany o^ iBOther. 
 
 xtv. 
 
 Oh ! the long evenings of duets and trios ! 
 
 The admirations and the speculations ; 
 The " Mamma Mia's !" and the "Amor Mio's !" 
 
 The " Tanti palpiti's'' on such occasions : 
 The " Lasciami's," and quavering "Addio's !'* 
 
 Amongst our own most musical of nations ; 
 With " Tn mi chamas's" from Portingale, 
 To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail. ^ 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 In Babylon's bravuras — as the home 
 
 Heart-ballads of Green Erin or Grey Highlands, 
 Tliat bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam 
 
 O'er far Atlantic continents or islands, 
 The calentures of music which o'ercorae 
 
 All mountaineers with dreates that they are nigh 
 lands 
 No more to be beheld but in such visions^ — 
 Was Adeline w*ll versed, as compositions. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 She also had a twilight tinge of " Blue," 
 Could write rhymes, and compose more thaft 
 she wrote ; 
 
 Made epigrams oc£asi6nalIytoo 
 
 Upon her friends, as every body ought. 
 
 But still from that sublimer azure hue. 
 So much the preseut dye, she was remote, 
 
 Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet, 
 
 Ac.'^what was worse, was not ashamed to show it 
 
 xLvra. 
 
 Aurora — since we are touching upon taste, 
 Which now-a-days is the thermometer 
 
 By whose degrees all characters are classed — 
 Was more Shakspearian, if 1 do not err. 
 
 The worlds beyond this world's perplexing waste 
 Had more of her existence, for in her ,J 
 
 There was a depth of feeling to embrace | 
 
 Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Spaqt 
 
 XLIX. ^ 
 
 Njt so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace, 
 The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind 
 
 If she had any, was upon her face, 
 And that was of a fascinating kind. 
 
 A little turn for mischief you might trace 
 Also thereon — but that's not much ; We find 
 
 Few females without some such gentle leaver., 
 
 For fear we should snppose us quite in heaven. 
 
 L. 
 
 I have not heard she was at all poetic. 
 Though once she was seen reading the " Bati 
 Guide," 
 And " Haley's Triumphs," which she deemed pa. 
 thetic. 
 Because, she said, her temper had been tried, 
 So much, the bard had really been prophetic 
 Of what she had gone through with^since s 
 ■bride. 
 But of all verse, what most insured her praise 
 Were .sonnets to herself, or " Bonts rimes " 
 
 LI. 
 
 'Twere difficult to say what was the tfeject 
 Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay 
 
 To bear on What appeared to her the subject 
 Of Juan's nervous feelings on tlmt day. 
 
 Perhaps sho merely had the simple projifct 
 To laugh him out of his supposed dismay ; 
 
 Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in H, 
 
 Thongh why I cannot say — at least this niimile. 
 
 LIL 
 
 But so far the immediate effect 
 
 Was to restore him to his self-propriety, 
 A thing quite necessary to the elect. 
 
 Who wish to take the tone of their socjetjy . 
 In which you cannot be too circumspect. 
 
 Whether the mode be persiflage or pieiyj 
 But wear the newest mantle of hypucri^. 
 On pain of much displeasing the Gynocrasy, 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 Lin. 
 
 And tlierefore Juan now began to rally 
 His spirits, and without more explanation. 
 
 To jest upon such themes in many a sally. 
 Her Grace too also seized the same occasion. 
 
 With varioas similar remarks to tally. 
 
 Bat wished for a still more detailed narration 
 
 Of this same mystic Friar's carious doings. 
 
 About the present family's deaths and wooinf^. 
 
 LTV. 
 
 Of these few could say more than has been said ; 
 
 They passed as such things do, for superstition 
 With some, while others, who had more in dread 
 
 The theme, half credited the strange tradition ; 
 And much was talked on all sides on (hat head ; 
 
 But Juan, when cross-questioned on the vision, 
 Which some supposed (though he had not avowed 
 
 it) 
 Had stirred him, ansirered in a way to cload it 
 
 I LV. 
 
 |A.nd then, the mid-day having worn to one, 
 
 The company prepared to separate ; 
 [Some to their several pastimes, or to none, 
 I Some wondering 'twas so early, some so late. 
 jThere was a goodly match too, to be run 
 I Between some ^eyhonnds on my Lord's estate, 
 (iVnd a young rac6-horse of old pedigree, 
 Uatched for the spring, whom several went to see. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Lliere was a pic to re-dealer who had brought 
 A special Titian, warranted original, 
 
 3o precious that it was not to be bought. 
 Though princes the possessor were besieging all. 
 
 The king himself had cheapened it, but thought 
 T!ie Civil List (he deigns to accept, obliging all 
 
 ■Es subjects by his gracious acceptation) 
 
 Too scanty, in these times of low taxation. 
 
 LVtJ. 
 
 Jnt as Lord Henry was a connoisseur, — 
 The friend of artists, if not arts, — the owner, 
 
 Vitli motives the most classical and pare. 
 So that he would have been the very donor, 
 
 (ather than seller, had his wants been fewer, 
 So much he deemed his patronage an honour, 
 
 lad brought the Capo d'opera, not for sale, 
 
 Sutfor his judgment— never knotvn to fail. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 There was a modem Goth, I mean a Gothic 
 Bricklayer of Babel, called an architect. 
 
 Brought to survey these grey walls, which thou^ 
 so thick. 
 Might have from time acquired some slight 
 defect ; 
 
 Who after rummaging the Abbey through thick 
 And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect 
 
 New buildings of correctest conformation. 
 
 And throw down old, which he called restoration. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 The cost would be a trifle — an "old song," 
 Set to some thousands 'tis the usual burthen 
 
 Of that same tune, when people hum it long)~- 
 Tbe price would speedily repay its worth in 
 
 Ad edifice no less sublime than strong. 
 
 By which Lord Henry's good taste would go 
 forth in 
 
 Its glory, through ail ages shining sunny, 
 
 For Gothic daring shown in English money.'* 
 
 LX. 
 
 There were t\to lawyers busy on a mortgage 
 Lord Henry wish'd to raise for a new purchase ; 
 
 Alsj a lawsuit upon tenures burgage. 
 And one' on tithes, which sure ore Discord's 
 torches, 
 
 Kirdling Religion till she throws down her gage, 
 " Untying" squires " to fight against the 
 churches ;"e 
 
 TLere was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman. 
 
 For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 There were two poachers canght in a steel trap. 
 Ready for jail, their place of conralescence ; 
 
 There was a country girl in a close cap 
 
 And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since — 
 
 Since — since — in youth, I had the sad mishap — 
 But luckily I have paid few parish fees since); 
 
 That scarlet cloak, alas ! nncloscd with Rigonr, 
 
 Presents the problem of a double figure. 
 
 LXU. 
 
 A reel vrithin a bottle is a mystery. 
 One can't tell how it e'er got ia or out. 
 
 Therefore the present piece of natural history 
 I leave to those whe are fond of solving doubt* 
 
 And merely state, though not for the consistory. 
 Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout 
 
 The constable, beneath a warrant's banner, 
 
 Had bagged tins poacher upon Nature's manwr. 
 
266 
 
 TJON JUAW. 
 
 LXIU. 
 
 Now Jastices of Peace mnst judge all pieces 
 Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game 
 
 And morals of the comitry from caprices 
 
 Of those who have not a licence for the same ; 
 
 And of all things, excepting tithes and leases. 
 Perhaps these are most ditficiilt to tame ; 
 
 Preserving partridges and pretty wenches 
 
 Are puzzles to the most precautions benches. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 The present cnlprit was extremely pale. 
 Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red 
 
 By nature, as in higher dames less hale 
 
 'Tis white, at least when they jnst rise from bed ; 
 
 Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail. 
 Poor soul ! for she was country born and bred. 
 
 And knew no better in her immorality 
 
 Than to wax white— for blushes are for quality. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Her black, bright, doNvncast, yet espiegle eye, 
 Had gathered a large tear into its comer. 
 
 Which the poor thing at times essayed to dry. 
 For she was not a sentimental mourner. 
 
 Parading all her sensibility. 
 
 Nor insolent enough to scorn the scomer. 
 
 But stood in trembling, patient tribulation. 
 
 To be called up for her examination. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Of course these groups were scatter'd here and 
 there. 
 
 Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent. 
 The lawyers in the stndy j and in air 
 
 The prize pig, ploughman, poachers; the men 
 sent 
 From town, viz. architect and dealer, were 
 
 Both busy (as a general in his tent 
 Writing dispatches) in their several stations, 
 Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations. 
 
 Lxvn. 
 
 But this poor girl was left in the great hall. 
 While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail, 
 
 Discussed (he hated beer yclept the " small ") 
 A mighty mug of moral double ale. 
 
 She waited until Justice could recal 
 Its kind attentions to their proper pale. 
 
 To name a thing in nomenclature rather 
 
 Perplexing fc* iiost virgins — a chiKVs father. 
 
 LXVUl. 
 
 You see here was enough of occupation 
 For the Lord Henry, linked with dogs am 
 horses. 
 
 There was much bustle too and preparation 
 Below stairs on the score of second courses. 
 
 Because, as suits their rank and situation. 
 Those who in counties have great land resources 
 
 Have " public days," when all men may carouse, 
 
 Though not exactly what's called " open house." 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 But otam a v,-^ek cc fortnight, uninvited 
 (Thus w? trilKslato a general invitation) 
 
 All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted. 
 May drop in without cards, and take their statior 
 
 At the full board, and sit alike delighted 
 With fashionable wines and conversation ; 
 
 And as the isthmus of the grand connection. 
 
 Talk o'er themselves, the past and next electiou. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Lord Henry was a great electioneerer. 
 Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit 
 
 But county contests cost him rather dearer. 
 Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl uf Gift 
 gabbit 
 
 Had English influence, in the self-same spl|ere 
 here ; 
 His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrabbit, 
 
 Was member for the " other Interest," (meaning 
 
 The same self-interest, with a different leaning ) 
 
 LXXl 
 
 Courteous and cautions therefore in his connty. 
 He was all things to all men, and dispensed 
 
 To some civility, to others bounty. 
 And promises to all — which last commenced 
 
 To gather to a somewhat large amount, he 
 Not calculating how much they condensed ; 
 
 But what with keeping some, and breaking otliers. 
 
 His word had the same value as another's. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 A friend to freedom and freeholders — yet 
 No less a friend to government — he held. 
 
 That he exactly the just medium hit 
 'Twixt place and patriotism' — albeit compelled 
 
 Such was his Sovereign's pleasure (though unfit. 
 He added modestly, when rebels railed) 
 
 To hold some sinecures he wished abolished, 
 
 But that with them all law would be dem jlisbr^d. 
 
 I 
 
EON JUAN. 
 
 287 
 
 LXXUI. 
 
 He was " free to confess" — (whence comes this 
 phrase ? 
 Is't English ? No — 'tis only parliamentary) 
 ' That innovation's spirit now-a-days 
 
 Had made more progress tlian for the last century. 
 1 He would not tread a factious path to praise, 
 i Though for the public weal disposed to ven- 
 I tore high ; 
 
 ' As for his place, he could but say this of it. 
 That the fatigae was greater than the profit 
 
 Lxxrv. 
 
 Heaven, and his friends, knew that a private life 
 Had ever been his sole and whole ambition ; 
 i But could he quit his king in times of strife 
 
 Which threatened the whole country with perdi- 
 tion? 
 When demagogues would with a butcher's knife 
 
 Cat through and through (oh! damnable incision!) 
 The Gordion or the Georgi -an knot whose strings 
 Have tied together Commons, Lords, and Kings. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Sooner " come place into the civil list 
 
 And champion him to the utmost — " he would 
 keep it, 
 Till duly disappointed or dismissed : 
 
 Profit he cared not for, let others reap it ; 
 But should the day come when place ceased to 
 exist, 
 The country would have far more cause to weep 
 it: 
 For how could it go on ? Explain who can ! 
 He gloried in the name of Englishman. 
 
 I LiXXVI. 
 
 ! He was as independent — aye, much more — 
 
 Than those who were not paid for independence. 
 
 As common soldiers, or a common Shore, 
 
 [ Have in their several arts or parts ascendence 
 j O'er the irregulars in lust or gore. 
 
 Who do not give professional attendance. 
 Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager 
 to prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar. 
 
 Lxxvn. 
 
 All this (save the last stanza) Henry said. 
 And thought, t say no more — I've said too much ; 
 
 Por all of us have either heard or read 
 Of — or upon the hustings — some slight such 
 
 Hints from the independent heart or head 
 Of the official candidate. I'll touch 
 
 No more on this — the dinner-bell hath rung. 
 
 And grace is said ; the grace I should have mng. — 
 
 Lxxvra. 
 
 But I'm too late, and therefore most make play. 
 
 Twas a great banquet, such as Albioa old 
 Was wont to boast — as if a glutton's tray 
 
 Were something very glorious to behold. 
 But 'twas a public feast and public day, — 
 
 Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold. 
 Great plenty, much formality, small cheer. 
 And every body out of their own sphere 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 The squires familiarly formal, and 
 
 My lords and ladies proudly condescending ; 
 The very servants puzzling how to hand 
 
 Their plates without it might be too much bending 
 From their high places by the sideboard's stand — 
 
 Yet, like their masters, fearful of offending. 
 For any deviation from the graces 
 Might cost both men and master too — their places. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen. 
 Whose hounds ne'er erred, nor greyhounds deign- 
 ed to lurch ; 
 
 Some deadly shots too, Septerabrizers, seen 
 Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search 
 
 Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen. 
 There were some massy members of the church. 
 
 Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches. 
 
 And several who sang fewer psalms than catches. 
 
 LXXXL 
 
 There were some country wags too — and, alas ! 
 
 Some exiles from the town, who had been driven 
 To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass. 
 
 And rise at nine in lien of long eleven. 
 And lo ! upon that day it came to pass, 
 
 I sate next that o'erwhelming son of h eaven , 
 The very powerful parson, Peter Pith, 
 The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with. 
 
 Lxxxn. 
 
 I knew him in bis livelier London days, 
 A brilliant dber out, though but a curate ; 
 
 And not a joke he cut but earned its praise. 
 Until preferment, coming at a sure rate, 
 
 (O Providence ! how wondrous are thy ways. 
 Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdu- 
 rate ?) 
 
 Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o'er Lincoln, 
 
 A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on. 
 
DON JUAl!? 
 
 LXXXIU. 
 
 His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes ; 
 
 Bat botli were thrown away amongst the fens : 
 For wit hath no great friends in aguish folks.. 
 
 No longer ready ears and short-hand pens 
 Imbibed the gay bon mot, or happy hoax : 
 
 The poor priest was reduced to common sense. 
 Or to coarse efiforts very loud and long, 
 To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 There is a diflference, says the song, ** between 
 A beggar and a queen," or was (of late 
 
 The latter worse used of the two we've seen — 
 But we'll say nothing of affairs of state) 
 
 A diiference " 'twixt a bishop and a dean," 
 A difference between crockery ware and plate, 
 
 As between English beef and Spartan broth — 
 
 And yet great heroes have been bred by both. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 But of all nature's discrepancies, none 
 Upon the whole is greater than the difference 
 
 Beheld between the country and the town. 
 Of which the latter merits every preference 
 
 From those who have few resources of their own. 
 And only think, or act, or feel with reference 
 
 To some small plan of interest or ambition — 
 
 Both which are limited to no condition. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 But " en avant !" The light loves languish o'er 
 Long banquets and too many guests, although 
 
 A sb'ght repast makes people love much more, 
 Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know, 
 
 Even from oar grammar upwards, friends of yore 
 With vivifying Venus, who doth owe 
 
 To these the inventions of champagne and truffles ; 
 
 Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Dully past o'er the dinner of the day ; 
 
 And Juan took his place, he kn<9w not where. 
 Confused, in 'tlie confusion, and distrait. 
 
 And sitting as if nailed upon his chair; 
 Though knives and forks clanged round as in a fray 
 
 He seemed unconscious of all passing there, 
 Till some one, with a groan, oxprest a wish 
 (Unliecded twice) to have a fin of fish. 
 
 LXXXVIIf. 
 
 Oii which, at the third asking of the banns. 
 He started ; and perceiving smiles around 
 
 Broadening to grins, he coloured more than once. 
 And hastily — as nothing can confound 
 
 A wise man more than langhter from a dance — 
 Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound. 
 
 And with such hurry, that ere he could curb it. 
 
 He had paid his neighbour's prayer with half a tur 
 bot. 
 
 Lxxxrx. 
 
 This was no bad mistake, aa it occurred. 
 
 The supplicator being an amateur ; 
 But others who were left with scarce a third, 
 
 Were angry — as they well might, to be suie. 
 They wondered how a young man so absurd 
 
 Lord Henry at his table should endure ; 
 And this, and his not knowing how much oats 
 Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes 
 
 xe. 
 
 They little knew, or might have sympathized, 
 That he the night before had seen a ghost, 
 
 A prologue which but slightly harmonized 
 With the substantial company engrossed 
 
 By Matter, and so much materialised. 
 
 That one scarce knew at what to marvel most 
 
 Of two things — how (the question rather odd is) 
 
 Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies 
 
 xct 
 
 1 
 
 But wtiat confused him more tlian smile or stare 
 From all the 'squires and 'squiresses around. 
 
 Who wondered at the abstraction of his air. 
 Especially as he had been renowned 
 
 For some vivacity among the fair, 
 Even in the country circle*s narrow boand — 
 
 For little things upon my Lord's estate 
 
 Were good small talk for others still less great)— 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his, 
 And sometliing like a smile upon her cheek, 
 
 Now this he really rather took amiss ; 
 
 In those who rarely smile, their smile bei^eak* 
 
 A strong external motive ; and in this 
 
 Smile of Aurora's there was naught to pique 
 
 Or hope, or love, witli any of the wiles 
 
 Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles. 
 
SON JVAfS. 
 
 289 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Twas a mere qaiet smile of contemplatioii, 
 Indicative of some surprise and pity ; 
 
 And Jnan grew carnation witli vexation, 
 Whicli was not very wise and still less witty, 
 
 ■Snce he had gained at least her obsertation, 
 A most important ontwork of the city — 
 
 \s Juan should have known, had not his senses 
 
 By last night's ghost been driven from their defences. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 But what was bad, she did not blush in turn. 
 Nor seem embarrassed — quite the contrary : 
 
 Her aspect was as usual, still — not stern— 
 And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye, 
 
 Y*et grew a little pale — with what ? concern ? 
 I know not ; but her colour ne'er was high — 
 
 Though sometimes faintly flushed and always clear. 
 
 As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 But Adeline wa."! occupied by fame 
 
 This day: and watching, witching, condescending 
 To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game. 
 
 And dignity with courtesy so blending. 
 As all must blend whose part it is to aim 
 
 (Especially as the sixth year is ending) 
 At their lord's, son's, or similiar connections 
 Safe conduct through the rocks of re-eieptions. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Thoogli this was most expedient on the whole. 
 And usual — Juan, when he cast a glance 
 
 On Adeline while playing her grand rote, 
 Which she went through as though it were 
 dance. 
 
 Betraying only now and then her soul 
 By a look scarce preceptibly askance 
 
 (Of weariness or scorn) began to feel 
 
 Some doubt how much of Adeline was real : 
 
 xcvn. 
 
 So well she acted all and every part 
 By turns— with that vivacious versatility, 
 
 Wliich many people take for want of heart. 
 They err — 'tis merely what is called mobility,^ 
 
 A thing of temperament and not of art. 
 Though seeming so, from its supposed facility ; 
 
 And false though true ; for surely they're sincerest, 
 
 Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest. 
 
 xcvin 
 
 This makes your actors, artists, and romancers. 
 Heroes sometimes, though seldom— sages never ; 
 
 But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers. 
 Little that's great, but much of what is clever ; 
 
 Most orators, but very few financiers. 
 Though all Exchequer Chancellors endeavour. 
 
 Of late years to dispense with Cocker's rigours, 
 
 And grow quite figurative with their figures. 
 
 xcrx. 
 
 The poets of arithmetic are they 
 
 Who, though they prove not two and two to be 
 Five, as they wonld do in a modest way. 
 
 Have plainly made it out that four are three. 
 Judging by what they take and what they pay 
 
 The SinkingFund's unfathomable sea, 
 That most unliquidating liquid leaves 
 The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives. 
 
 a 
 
 While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces, 
 The fair Fitz Fulke seemed very. much at ease ; 
 
 Though too well bred to quiz men to their faces. 
 Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seia 
 
 The ridicules of people in all places — 
 That honey of your fashionable bees— 
 
 And store it up for mischievous enjoyment ; 
 
 And this at present was her kind empIoymenV,. 
 
 CI. 
 
 However, the day closed, as days must close ; 
 
 The evening also waned — and coffee came. 
 Each carriage was announced, and l.^dies rose. 
 
 And curtseying off, as curtsies country dame, 
 Retired ; with most unfashionable bows 
 
 Their docile squires also did the same. 
 Delighted with their dinner and their host, 
 But with the Lady Adeline the most. 
 
 CII. 
 
 Some praised her beauty ; others her great grace ; 
 
 The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity 
 Was obvious in each feature of her face. 
 
 Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity 
 Yes ; she was truly worthy herhigh places. 
 
 No one could envy her deserved prosperity. 
 And then her dress — what beautiful simplicity 
 Draperied her form with curious felicity ! e 
 2 
 
290 
 
 SON JUAN. 
 
 cni 
 
 Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their praises. 
 
 By an impartial indemoiticatioD 
 For all her past exertion and soft phrases, 
 
 In a most edifyiog conversation, 
 Which turned upon tlieir late guests' miens and 
 faces. 
 
 And families even to the last relation, 
 Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses^ 
 And truculent distortion of their tresses. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 True, she said little — 'twas the rest that broke 
 
 Forth into universal epigram ; 
 But then 'twas to the purpose what she spoke : 
 
 Like Addison's " faint praise," so wont to damn. 
 Her own but served to set off every joke, 
 
 As music chimes in with a melodrame. 
 How sweet the task to shield an absent friend ! 
 I ask but this of mine, to — not defend. 
 
 CV. 
 
 There weie but two exceptions to this keen 
 Skirmish of wits o'er the departed ; one, 
 
 Aurora, with her pure and placid mien ; 
 And Juan too, in general behind none 
 
 In gay remark on what he had heard or seen. 
 Safe silent now, his usual spirits gone : 
 
 In vain he heard the others rail or rally. 
 
 He would not join them in a single sally. 
 
 CVl. 
 
 'Tis true he saw Aurora look as though 
 She approved his silencp ; she perhaps mistook 
 
 Its motive for that charity we owe 
 
 But seldom pay the absent, nor would look 
 
 Further ; it might or it might not be so. 
 But Juan sitting silent in his nook, 
 
 Observing little in his reverie, 
 
 l^iit saw this much, which he was glad to see. 
 
 cva 
 
 The ghost at least had done him thus much good. 
 
 In making him as silent as a ghost. 
 If in the circumstances which ensued 
 
 He gained esteem where it was worth the most. 
 And certainly Aurora had renewed 
 
 In him some feeBngs he had lately lost 
 Or hardeu'd ; feelings which, perhaps ideal, 
 Are so divine, tliat I must deem (hem real : — 
 
 cvm. 
 
 The love of higher things and better days ; 
 
 The tmbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance 
 Of what is called the world and the world's ways 
 
 The moments when we gather from a glance 
 More joy than from all future pride or praise. 
 
 Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance 
 The heart in an existence of its own. 
 Of which another's bosom is the zone. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Who would not sigh Ai on rm RvBepeim ! 
 
 That hath a memory, or that kado. heart? 
 Alas ! her star must fade like that of Dian ; 
 
 Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart. 
 Anacreon only had the soul to tie an 
 
 Unwithering myrlle round the blunted dart 
 Of Eros : but thongh thou hast played us man 
 
 tricks. 
 Still we respect thee, " Alma Venns Genetrix !" 
 
 ex. 
 
 And full of sentiments, sublime as billows 
 
 Heaving between this world and worlds beyonf 
 
 Don Juan, when tlie midnight hour o*" pillows 
 Arrived, retired to his; but to despond 
 
 Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows 
 Waved o'er his couch ; he meditated, fond 
 
 Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleef 
 
 And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weej 
 
 CXI. 
 
 The night was as before : he was imdrtst. 
 Saving his night-gown, which is an undress ; 
 
 Completely " sans culotte," and without vest ; 
 In short, he hardly could be clothed with less ; 
 
 But apprehensive of his spectral guest. 
 He sate with feelings awkward to express, 
 
 (By those who have not had such visitations) 
 
 Expectant of the ghost's fresh operation.*). 
 
 cxn. 
 
 And not in vain he listened — Hash ! what's that?- 
 I see — I see — Ah, no . — 'tis not — yet 'tis — 
 
 Ye powers ! it is the— the— the — Pooh ! the cat! 
 The devil may take that stealthy pace of his ! 
 
 So like a spiritual pit- 
 
 Or tip-toe of an amatory Miss, 
 
 Gliding the first time to a reudesvous. 
 
 And dreading the chaste ■"choes of her shu- 
 
DON JVAN. 
 
 291 
 
 CXHI. 
 
 cxvm. 
 
 gain— what is't ? The wind ? No, no,— this time 
 
 It is the sable Friar as before, 
 
 ''ith awful footsteps regular as rhyme, 
 
 Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more 
 
 gain, through shadows of the night sublime. 
 
 When deep sleep fell on men, and the world 
 
 wore 
 he starry darkness round her'like a girdle 
 aangled with gems — the monk made his blood 
 
 curdle. 
 
 CXIV 
 
 . noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass, i> 
 Which sets the teeth on edge ; and a slight 
 clatter 
 
 like showers which on the midnight gusts will 
 
 pass. 
 Sounding like very supernatural water, 
 
 lame over Juan's ear, which throbbed, alas ! 
 For iramaterialisra's a serious matter ; 
 
 o that even those whose faith is the most great 
 
 Q souls immortal, shun them tete-a-tete. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 ^ere his eyes open ? — ^Yes ! and his mouth too. 
 
 Surprise has this effect — to make one dumb, 
 iTet leave the gate which Eloquence slips through 
 
 As wide as if a long speech were to come. 
 fJigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew, 
 ' Tremendous to a mortal tympanum : 
 [lis eyes were open, and (as was before 
 stated) his mouth. What opened next ? — the door. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 opened with a most infernal creas. 
 
 Like that of Hell. " Lasciate ogni speranza 
 ''oi che entrate !" The hinge seemed to speak, 
 
 Dreadful as Dante's rhima, or this stanza ; 
 )r — but all words upon such themes are weak : 
 
 A single shade's sufficient to entrance a 
 tero — for what is substance to a spirit? 
 (r how is't mailer trembles to come near it ? 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 'he door flew wide, not swiftly, — but, as fly 
 The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight — 
 nd then swung back ; nor close — but stood awry 
 Half letting in long shadows on the light, 
 /^hich still in Juan's candlesticks burned high. 
 For he had two, both tolerably bright, 
 nd in the door-way, darkening Darkness, stood 
 |he sable Friar in his solemn hood. 
 
 Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken 
 
 The night before ; but being sick of shaking 
 He first inclined to think he had been mistaken ; 
 
 And then to be ashamed of such mistaking ■ 
 His ovra internal ghost began to awaken 
 
 Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking- 
 Hinting that soul and body on the whole 
 Were odds against a disembodied soul. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 And then his dread grew wrath, and his wratli 
 fierce ; 
 
 And he arose, advanced — the shade retreated ; 
 But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce. 
 
 Followed, his veins no longer cold, but heated. 
 Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce. 
 
 At whatsoever risk of being defeated : 
 The ghost stopped, menaced, then retired, until 
 He reached the ancient wall, then stood stone still. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 Juan put forth one arm — Eternal powers ! 
 
 It touched no soul, nor body, but the wall, 
 On'which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers, 
 
 Checquered mth all the tracery of the hall ; 
 He shuddered, as no doubt the bravest cowers. 
 
 When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal. 
 How odd, a single hobgoblin's non-entity. 
 Should cause more fear than a whole host's iden- 
 tity.' 
 
 CXXl 
 
 But still the shade remained : the blue eyes glared, 
 And rather variably for stony death ; 
 
 Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared. 
 The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath. 
 
 A straggling curl showed he had been fair-haired ; 
 A red lip, with two rows of pearl beneath. 
 
 Gleamed forth, as through the casement's ivy 
 shroud 
 
 The moon peeped, just escaped from a grey cloud. 
 
 CXXIl 
 
 And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust 
 His other arm forth — Wonder upon wonder ! 
 
 It pressed upon a hard but glowing bust. 
 
 Which beat as if there was a warm heart under 
 
 He found, as people on most trials must. 
 That he had made at first a silly blunder. 
 
 And that in his confusion he had caught 
 
 Only the wall, instead of what he sought. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 cxxni. 
 
 The i^hostj if ghost it were, seemed a sweet sohI 
 As ever larked beneath a holy hood . 
 
 A dimpled chinj a neck of ivory, stole 
 
 Forth into something ranch like flesh and blood ; 
 
 Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl. 
 
 And they revealed — alas ! that e'er they should ; 
 
 In full, voluptuous, but not o'er grown bulk. 
 
 The phantom of her frolic Grace— Fitz-Pulke ! 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTEENTH. 
 
 Note a, p. 280. stanza x. 
 If from asbell-Jish or from cochintaU 
 The composition of the old Tyrian purple, whether from 
 a shelUflsh, or from cochineal, or from kermes, is stilt an 
 article of dispute ; and even its colour — some say purple, 
 others scarlet : I say nothing. 
 
 Note b, p. 284, stanza xliii. 
 
 For a spoilt carpet — but the ** Attic Bee" 
 
 Was muck consoled by his own repartee. 
 
 1 think that it was a carpet on which Diogenes trod, 
 
 with " Thus Itrample on the pride of Plato." "With greater 
 
 pride," as the other replied. But as carpets are meant to 
 
 be trodden upon, my memory probably misgives me, and it 
 
 might be a robe or tapestry, or a table-^iloth, or some other 
 
 expensive and uncynical piece of furniture. 
 
 Note c, p. SB4, stanza xlv. 
 
 With " Tumichamas's'^ from Pordngale, 
 To soothe OUT ears, -lest Italif should fail. 
 I remember that the mayoress of a provincial town, some- 
 what surfeited with a similar display from foreign parts, 
 did rather indecorotjsly break through the applauses of an 
 intelligent audience — intelligent, I mean, as to nmsic — for 
 the words, besides being in recondite languages (it was some 
 years before the peace, ere all the world had travelled, and 
 while I was yet a collegian) — were sorely disguised by the 
 performers ; this mayoress, I say, broke out with, " Rot 
 yo\ir Italiaoos ! for my part I loves a simple ballat." Ros- 
 sini will go a good way to bring most people to the same 
 opinion, some day. Who w.iuld imagine that he was to be 
 the successor of Muzart ? However, [ state this with diffi- 
 dence, as a liege and loyal admirer of Valian music in 
 general, and of much of Rossini's ; but we may say as the 
 connoisseur did of painting, in the Vicar of Wakefield^ 
 " That the picture would be better painted if the painter 
 had taken more pains." 
 
 Note d, p. S85, stanza lix. 
 
 For Gothic daring shown in English money. 
 
 " Ansu Romano, are Veneto," is the inscription (and 
 well inscribed in this instance) on the sea walls between the 
 
 Adriatic and Venice. The walls were a republican work 
 of the Venetians ; the inscription, I believe. Imperial : and 
 inscribed by Napoleon the First. It is time to continue to 
 him that title— there will be another by and by, "Spe» 
 altera mundi," if he live ; let him not defeat it like his fatheri 
 But in any case he will be preferable to the Imbeciles. There 
 is a glorious field Tor him, if he knows how to cultivate it. 
 
 Note e, p. 285, stanza Ix. 
 
 "Untying" squires " to fight against the churches.'* 
 
 " Though ye untie iha winds, and bid them fight 
 Against the churches." — Macbeth. 
 
 Note f, p. 289. stanaa xcrii. 
 They err — ^tis merely what is called mob Hit v. 
 In French " mobility." I am not sure that mobility \i 
 Eoglish ; but it is expressive of a quality which rathei 
 belongs to other climates, though it is sometimes seen to a ' 
 great extent in our own. It may be defined as an exces- . 
 sive susceptibility of immediate impressions — at the same 
 time 'without losing the part ; and is, though sometimes ap* 
 parently useful to the possessor^ a most painful and un* j 
 happy attribute. 
 
 Note g, p. 309' stanza cii. ' 
 
 *' Draperied her form with curious felicity I'* 
 
 " Curiosa felicitas." — Petronius Arbiter, 
 
 Note b, p. S9i. stanxa cxiv. 
 
 A noise like to wetjingers dra^n on glass. ,, 
 
 See the account of the Ghost of the Uncle of Princt | 
 
 Charles of Saxony, raised by Schroepfer — " Karl — Karl— :l 
 
 was— wait woltmich ?" ■ 
 
 1 
 
 Note i, p. CQl, stanza cxx. 
 
 Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity f 
 
 '* Shadows to-night 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, 
 Than could the substance of ten thousand soldiers,"&Ci 
 See Richard III. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Memoirs 3 
 
 On leaving Newstead Abbey 7 
 
 Epitaph on a Friend ib. 
 
 A Fragment S 
 
 The Tear ib. 
 
 An Occasional Prologue 9 
 
 On the death of Mr. Foi ib. 
 
 Stanzas to a Lady, with the Poems of Camoeus 10 
 
 To M ib. 
 
 To Woman ib. 
 
 ToM. S. G ib 
 
 Song 11 
 
 To 12 
 
 To Mary, on receiving her Picture . . . . ib. 
 
 Damxtas 13 
 
 To Marion ib. 
 
 Oscar of Alva ib. 
 
 To the Duke of D. 17 
 
 TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. 
 
 Adrian*s Address to his Soul when dying . 19 
 
 Translation ib. 
 
 Translation from Cafullos ib. 
 
 Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Ti- 
 
 bullus ib* 
 
 Translation from Catullus ib. 
 
 Imitated from Catullus , . . 20 
 
 Translation from Anacreon. To liis Lyre . ib- 
 
 ■ Ode in. '. , ib. 
 
 Fragments of School Exercises ib. 
 
 Episode of Nisus and Euryalus 21 
 
 Translation from the Medea of Eiirpides. . . 25 
 
 PDGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Thoughts suggested by a College Examination 26 
 
 To the Earl of 27 
 
 Granta, a Medley 28 
 
 Lacbin y Gair 29 
 
 To Romance 30 
 
 Elegy on Newstead Abbey 31 
 
 The Death of Calmar and Orla 33 
 
 To E. N. L. Esq 36 
 
 To 37 
 
 Stanzas ib. 
 
 ri.|c 
 Lines written beneath an Elm, in the Church- 
 yard of Harrow on the Hill 3S 
 
 English Bards and Scotch Reviewers ... 39 
 
 ON DOMESTIC (URCDMSTANCES, &C. 
 
 Fare Thee Well 58 
 
 A Sketch from Private Life 59 
 
 Farewell to England 60 
 
 To my Daughter on the moming of her Birth . 63 
 
 To Jessy 63 
 
 To 64 
 
 Farewell ib. 
 
 Song to Inez * ib. 
 
 Ode to the Island of St, Helena ib. 
 
 To 65 
 
 To 6C 
 
 Stanzas for Music ib. 
 
 To the Lily of France 67 
 
 Lines to T. Moore, Esq ib. 
 
 Stanzas for Music ' . . 6S 
 
 On the Star of the Legion of Honour . . . ib. 
 
 Waterloo 69 
 
 Madame Lavalette 70 
 
 Farewell to France 71 
 
 Adieu to Malta ib. 
 
 The Corse of Minerva 72 
 
 Lines addressed to Mr. Hobhouse .... 73 
 
 Enigma 74 
 
 Don Juan. Canto 1 77 
 
 Canto II 100 
 
 Canto in • . 122 
 
 Canto IV. 135 
 
 Canto V 148 
 
 Canto VI. 167 
 
 Canto VII 180 
 
 Canto Vm. 189 
 
 Canto IX . 205 
 
 Canto X 214 
 
 Canto XL 223 
 
 Canto XII 235 
 
 Canto XIII. 345 
 
 Canto XrV 257 
 
 Canto XV 26S 
 
 Canto XVI 279