AUTHOR Lord Byron

TITLE Don Juan, Dedication

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     Bob Southey! You're a poet, poet laureate,		
       And representative of all the race.
     Although 'tis true that you turned out a Tory at
       Last, yours has lately been a common case.
     And now my epic renegade, what are ye at
       With all the lakers, in and out of place?
     A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye
     Like four and twenty blackbirds in a pye,

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     Which pye being opened they began to sing'		
       (This old song and new simile holds good),	
     'A dainty dish to set before the King'		
       Or Regent, who admires such kind of food.	
     And Coleridge too has lately taken wing,		
       But like a hawk encumbered with his hood,	
     Explaining metaphysics to the nation.		
     I wish he would explain his explanation.		

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     You, Bob, are rather insolent, you know,
       At being disappointed in your wish
     To supersede all warblers here below,
       And be the only blackbird in the dish.
     And then you overstrain yourself, or so,
       And tumble downward like the flying fish
     Gasping on deck, because you soar too high,
     Bob, And fall for lack of moisture quite a dry 

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And Wordsworth in a rather long Excursion
       (I think the quarto holds five hundred pages)
     Has given a sample from the vasty version
       Of his new system to perplex the sages.
     'Tis poetry, at least by his assertion,
       And may appear so when the Dog Star rages,
     And he who understands it would be able
     To add a story to the tower of Babel.

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     You gentlemen, by dint of long seclusion
       From better company, have kept your own
     At Keswick, and through still continued fusion
       Of one another's minds at last have grown
     To deem, as a most logical conclusion,
       That poesy has wreaths for you alone.
     There is a narrowness in such a notion,
     Which makes me wish you'd change your lakes for ocean.

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     I would not imitate the petty thought,
       Nor coin my self-love to so base a vice,
     For all the glory your conversion brought,
       Since gold alone should not have been its price.
     You have your salary; was't for that you wrought?
       And Wordsworth has his place in the Excise.
     You're shabby fellows--true--but poets still
     And duly seated on the immortal hill.

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     Your bays may hide the baldness of your brows,
       Perhaps some virtuous blushes; let them go.
     To you I envy neither fruit nor boughs,
       And for the fame you would engross below,
     The field is universal and allows
       Scope to all such as feel the inherent glow.
     Scott, Rogers, Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe will try
     'Gainst you the question with posterity.

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     For me, who, wandering with pedestrian Muses,
       Contend not with you on the winged' steed,
     I wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses,
       The fame you envy and the skill you need.
     And recollect a poet nothing loses
       In giving to his brethren their full meed
     Of merit, and complaint of present days
     Is not the certain path to future praise.

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     He that reserves his laurels for posterity
       (Who does not often claim the bright reversion)
     Has generally no great crop to spare it, he
       Being only injured by his own assertion.
     And although here and there some glorious rarity
       Arise like Titan from the sea's immersion,
     The major part of such appellants go
     To--God knows where--for no one else can know.

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     If fallen in evil days on evil tongues,
       Milton appealed to the avenger, Time,
     If Time, the avenger, execrates his wrongs
       And makes the word Miltonic mean sublime,
     He deigned not to belie his soul in songs,
       Nor turn his very talent to a crime.
     He did not loathe the sire to laud the son,
     But closed the tyrant-hater he begun.

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     Think'st thou, could he, the blind old man, arise
       Like Samuel from the grave to freeze once more
     The blood of monarchs with his prophecies,
        Or be alive again--again all hoar
     With time and trials, and those helpless eyes
       And heartless daughters--worn and pale and poor,
     Would he adore a sultan? He obey
     The intellectual eunuch Castlereagh?

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     Cold-blooded, smooth-faced, placid miscreant!
       Dabbling its sleek young hands in Erin's gore,
     And thus for wider carnage taught to pant,
       Transferred to gorge upon a sister shore,
     The vulgarest tool that tyranny could want,
       With just enough of talent and no more,
     To lengthen fetters by another fixed
     And offer poison long already mixed.

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     An orator of such set trash of phrase,
       Ineffably, legitimately vile,
     That even its grossest flatterers dare not praise,
       Nor foes--all nations--condescend to smile.
     Not even a sprightly blunder's spark can blaze
       From that Ixion grindstone's ceaseless toil,
     That turns and turns to give the world a notion
     Of endless torments and perpetual motion.

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     A bungler even in its disgusting trade,
       And botching, patching, leaving still behind
     Something of which its masters are afraid,
       States to be curbed and thoughts to be confined,
     Conspiracy or congress to be made,
       Cobbling at manacles for all mankind,
     A tinkering slave-maker, who mends old chains,
     With God and man's abhorrence for its gains.

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     If we may judge of matter by the mind,
     Emasculated to the marrow, it
     Hath but two objects, how to serve and bind,
     Deeming the chain it wears even men may fit,
     Eutropius of its many masters, blind
     To worth as freedom, wisdom as to wit,
     Fearless, because no feeling dwells in ice;
     Its very courage stagnates to a vice.

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     Where shall I turn me not to view its bonds,
       For I will never feel them. Italy,
     Thy late reviving Roman soul desponds
       Beneath the lie this state-thing breathed o'er thee.
     Thy clanking chain and Erin's yet green wounds
       Have voices, tongues to cry aloud for me.
     Europe has slaves, allies, kings, armies still,
     And Southey lives to sing them very ill.

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     Meantime, Sir Laureate, I proceed to dedicate
       In honest simple verse this song to you.
     And if in flattering strains I do not predicate,
       'Tis that I still retain my buff and blue;
     My politics as yet are all to educate.
       Apostasy's so fashionable too,
     To keep one creed's a task grown quite
     Herculean Is it not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian?

TITLE Don Juan, I

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     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.

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     Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
       Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
     Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
       And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
     Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
       Followers of fame, 'nine farrow' of that sow:
     France, too, had Buonaparte and Dumourier
     Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

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     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, Desaix, Moreau,
       With many of the military set,
     Exceedingly remarkable at times,
     But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

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     Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
       And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
     There 's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
       'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
     Because the army 's grown more popular,
       At which the naval people are concern'd;
     Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
     Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

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     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.

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     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.

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     That is the usual method, but not mine--
       My way is to begin with the beginning;
     The regularity of my design
       Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning,
     And therefore I shall open with a line
       (Although it cost me half an hour in spinning)
     Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father,
     And also of his mother, if you 'd rather.

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     In Seville was he born, a pleasant city,
       Famous for oranges and women--he
     Who has not seen it will be much to pity,
       So says the proverb--and I quite agree;
     Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty,
       Cadiz perhaps--but that you soon may see;
     Don Juan's parents lived beside the river,
     A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     His father's name was Jose--Don, of course,--
       A true Hidalgo, free from every stain
     Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source
       Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain;
     A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse,
       Or, being mounted, e'er got down again,
     Than Jose, who begot our hero, who
     Begot--but that 's to come--Well, to renew:

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart
       All Calderon and greater part of Lope,
     So that if any actor miss'd his part
       She could have served him for the prompter's copy;
     For her Feinagle's were an useless art,
       And he himself obliged to shut up shop--he
     Could never make a memory so fine as
     That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inez.

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     Her favourite science was the mathematical,
       Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity,
     Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all,
       Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity;
     In short, in all things she was fairly what I call
       A prodigy--her morning dress was dimity,
     Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin,
     And other stuffs, with which I won't stay puzzling.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She knew the Latin--that is, 'the Lord's prayer,'
       And Greek--the alphabet--I 'm nearly sure;
     She read some French romances here and there,
       Although her mode of speaking was not pure;
     For native Spanish she had no great care,
       At least her conversation was obscure;
     Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem,
     As if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble 'em.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Some women use their tongues--she look'd a lecture,
       Each eye a sermon, and her brow a homily,
     An all-in-all sufficient self-director,
       Like the lamented late Sir Samuel Romilly,
     The Law's expounder, and the State's corrector,
       Whose suicide was almost an anomaly--
     One sad example more, that 'All is vanity'
     (The jury brought their verdict in 'Insanity').

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     In short, she was a walking calculation,
       Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their covers,
     Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education,
       Or 'Coelebs' Wife' set out in quest of lovers,
     Morality's prim personification,
       In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers;
     To others' share let 'female errors fall,'
     For she had not even one--the worst of all.

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     O! she was perfect past all parallel--
       Of any modern female saint's comparison;
     So far above the cunning powers of hell,
       Her guardian angel had given up his garrison;
     Even her minutest motions went as well
       As those of the best time-piece made by Harrison:
     In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her,
     Save thine 'incomparable oil,' Macassar!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Perfect she was, but as perfection is
       Insipid in this naughty world of ours,
     Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss
       Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers,
     Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss
       (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours),
     Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve,
     Went plucking various fruit without her leave.

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     He was a mortal of the careless kind,
       With no great love for learning, or the learn'd,
     Who chose to go where'er he had a mind,
       And never dream'd his lady was concern'd;
     The world, as usual, wickedly inclined
       To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd,
     Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two--
     But for domestic quarrels one will do.

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     Now Donna Inez had, with all her merit,
       A great opinion of her own good qualities;
     Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it,
       And such, indeed, she was in her moralities;
     But then she had 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     This was an easy matter with a man
       Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard;
     And even the wisest, do the best they can,
       Have moments, hours, and days, so unprepared,
     That you might 'brain them with their lady's fan;'
       And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard,
     And fans turn into falchions in fair hands,
     And why and wherefore no one understands.

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     'T is 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?

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     Don Jose and his lady quarrell'd--why,
       Not any of the many could divine,
     Though several thousand people chose to try,
       'T was surely no concern of theirs nor mine;
     I loathe that low vice--curiosity;
       But if there 's anything in which I shine,
     'T is in arranging all my friends' affairs,
     Not having of my own domestic cares.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And so I interfered, and with the best
       Intentions, but their treatment was not kind;
     I think the foolish people were possess'd,
       For neither of them could I ever find,
     Although their porter afterwards confess'd--
       But that 's no matter, and the worst 's behind,
     For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs,
     A pail of housemaid's water unawares.

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     A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,
       And mischief-making monkey from his birth;
     His parents ne'er agreed except in doting
       Upon the most unquiet imp on earth;
     Instead of quarrelling, had they been but both in
       Their senses, they 'd have sent young master forth
     To school, or had him soundly whipp'd at home,
     To teach him manners for the time to come.

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     Don Jose and the Donna Inez led
       For some time an unhappy sort of life,
     Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead;
       They lived respectably as man and wife,
     Their conduct was exceedingly well-bred,
       And gave no outward signs of inward strife,
     Until at length the smother'd fire broke out,
     And put the business past all kind of doubt.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     For Inez call'd some druggists and physicians,
       And tried to prove her loving lord was mad;
     But as he had some lucid intermissions,
       She next decided he was only bad;
     Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions,
       No sort of explanation could be had,
     Save that her duty both to man and God
     Required this conduct--which seem'd very odd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She kept a journal, where his faults were noted,
       And open'd certain trunks of books and letters,
     All which might, if occasion served, be quoted;
       And then 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And then this best and weakest woman bore
       With such serenity her husband's woes,
     Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore,
       Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chose
     Never to say a word about them more--
       Calmly she heard each calumny that rose,
     And saw his agonies with such sublimity,
     That all the world exclaim'd, 'What magnanimity!'

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     No doubt this patience, when the world is damning us,
       Is philosophic in our former friends;
     'T is also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous,
       The more so in obtaining our own ends;
     And what the lawyers call a 'malus animus'
       Conduct like this by no means comprehends;
     Revenge in person 's certainly no virtue,
     But then 't is not my fault, if others hurt you.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And if your 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 traditional;
     Besides, their resurrection aids our glories
       By contrast, which is what we just were wishing all:
     And science profits by this resurrection--
     Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Their friends had tried at reconciliation,
       Then their relations, who made matters worse.
     ('T were hard to tell upon a like occasion
       To whom it may be best to have recourse--
     I can't say much for friend or yet relation):
       The lawyers did their utmost for divorce,
     But scarce a fee was paid on either side
     Before, unluckily, Don Jose died.

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     He died: and most unluckily, because,
       According to all hints I could collect
     From counsel learned in those kinds of laws
       (Although their talk 's obscure and circumspect),
     His death contrived to spoil a charming cause;
       A thousand pities also with respect
     To public feeling, which on this occasion
     Was manifested in a great sensation.

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     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 disease--
     He died of the slow fever call'd the tertian,
     And left his widow to her own aversion.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Yet Jose was an honourable man,
       That I must say who knew him very well;
     Therefore his frailties I 'll no further scan
       Indeed there were not many more to tell;
     And if his passions now and then outran
       Discretion, and were not so peaceable
     As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius),
     He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Whate'er might be his worthlessness or worth,
       Poor fellow! he had many things to wound him.
     Let 's own--since it can do no good on earth--
       It was a trying moment that which found him
     Standing alone beside his desolate hearth,
       Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round him:
     No choice was left his feelings or his pride,
     Save death or Doctors' Commons--so he died.

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     Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir
       To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands,
     Which, with a long minority and care,
       Promised to turn out well in proper hands:
     Inez became sole guardian, which was fair,
       And answer'd but to nature's just demands;
     An only son left with an only mother
     Is brought up much more wisely than another.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Sagest of women, even of widows, she
       Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon,
     And worthy of the noblest pedigree
       (His sire was of Castile, his dam from Aragon):
     Then for accomplishments of chivalry,
       In case our lord the king should go to war again,
     He learn'd the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery,
     And how to scale a fortress--or a nunnery.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But that which Donna Inez most desired,
       And saw into herself each day before all
     The learned tutors whom for him she hired,
       Was, that his breeding should be strictly moral;
     Much into all his studies she inquired,
       And so they were submitted first to her, all,
     Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery
     To Juan's eyes, excepting natural history.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 suffer'd, lest he should grow vicious.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     His classic studies made a little puzzle,
       Because of filthy loves of gods and goddesses,
     Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle,
       But never put on pantaloons or bodices;
     His reverend tutors had at times a tussle,
       And for their AEneids, Iliads, and Odysseys,
     Were forced to make an odd sort! of apology,
     For Donna Inez dreaded the Mythology.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Ovid 's a rake, as half his verses show him,
       Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
     Catullus scarcely has a decent poem,
       I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example,
     Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn
       Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample:
     But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one
     Beginning with 'Formosum Pastor Corydon.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Lucretius' irreligion is too strong,
       For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food;
     I can't help thinking Juvenal was wrong,
       Although no doubt his real intent was good,
     For speaking out so plainly in his song,
       So much indeed as to be downright rude;
     And then what proper person can be partial
     To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Juan was taught from out the best edition,
       Expurgated by learned men, who place
     Judiciously, from out the schoolboy's vision,
       The grosser parts; but, fearful to deface
     Too much their modest bard by this omission,
       And pitying sore his mutilated case,
     They only add them all in an appendix,
     Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index;

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     For there we have them all 'at one fell swoop,'
       Instead of being scatter'd through the Pages;
     They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop,
       To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages,
     Till some less rigid editor shall stoop
       To call them back into their separate cages,
     Instead of standing staring all together,
     Like garden gods--and not so decent either.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 ensured,
       So well not one of the aforesaid paints
     As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions,
     Which make the reader envy his transgressions.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     This, too, was a seal'd book to little Juan--
       I can't but say that his mamma was right,
     If such an education was the true one.
       She scarcely trusted him from out her sight;
     Her maids were old, and if she took a new one,
       You might be sure she was a perfect fright;
     She did this during even her husband's life--
     I recommend as much to every wife.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     At six, I said, he was a charming child,
       At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy;
     Although in infancy a little wild,
       They tamed him down amongst them: to destroy
     His natural spirit not in 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still,
       But what I say is neither here nor there:
     I knew his father well, and have some skill
       In character--but it would not be fair
     From sire to son to augur good or ill:
       He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair--
     But scandal 's my aversion--I protest
     Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     For my part I say nothing--nothing--but
       This I will say--my reasons are my own--
     That if I had an only son to put
       To school (as God be praised that I have none),
     'T is not with Donna Inez I would shut
       Him up to learn his catechism alone,
     No--no--I 'd send him out betimes to college,
     For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     For there one learns--'t is not for me to boast,
       Though I acquired--but I pass over that,
     As well as all the Greek I since have lost:
       I say that there 's the place--but 'Verbum sat.'
     I think I pick'd up too, as well as most,
       Knowledge of matters--but no matter what--
     I never married--but, I think, I know
     That sons should not be educated so.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Young Juan now was sixteen years of age,
       Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit: he seem'd
     Active, though not so sprightly, as a page;
       And everybody but his mother deem'd
     Him almost man; but she flew in a rage
       And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd)
     If any said so, for to be precocious
     Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The darkness of her Oriental eye
       Accorded with her Moorish origin
     (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by;
       In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin);
     When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly,
       Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin
     Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain,
     Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     This heathenish cross restored the breed again,
       Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh;
     For from a root the ugliest in Old Spain
       Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh;
     The sons no more were short, the daughters plain:
       But there 's a rumour which I fain would hush,
     'T is said that Donna Julia's grandmamma
     Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
       Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth;
     Her eyebrow's shape was like th' aerial bow,
       Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
     Mounting at times to a transparent glow,
       As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth,
     Possess'd an air and grace by no means common:
     Her stature tall--I hate a dumpy woman.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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
       'T were better to have TWO of five-and-twenty,
     Especially in countries near the sun:
       And now I think on 't, 'mi vien in mente,'
     Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue
     Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Happy the nations of the moral North!
       Where all is virtue, and the winter season
     Sends sin, without a rag on, shivering forth
       ('T was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord,
       A man well looking for his years, and who
     Was neither much beloved nor yet abhorr'd:
       They lived together, as most people do,
     Suffering each other's foibles by accord,
       And not exactly either one or two;
     Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,
     For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Julia was--yet I never could see why--
       With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend;
     Between their tastes there was small sympathy,
       For not a line had Julia ever penn'd:
     Some people whisper but no doubt they lie,
       For malice still imputes some private end,
     That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage,
     Forgot with him her very prudent carriage;

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And that still keeping up the old connection,
       Which time had lately render'd much more chaste,
     She took his lady also in affection,
       And certainly this course was much the best:
     She flatter'd Julia with her sage protection,
       And complimented Don Alfonso's taste;
     And if she could not (who can?) silence scandal,
     At least she left it a more slender handle.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child,
       Caress'd him often--such a thing might be
     Quite innocently done, and harmless styled,
       When she had twenty years, and thirteen he;
     But I am not so sure I should have smiled
       When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three;
     These few short years make wondrous alterations,
     Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Whate'er the cause might be, they had become
       Changed; for the dame grew distant, the youth shy,
     Their looks cast down, their greetings almost dumb,
       And much embarrassment in either eye;
     There surely will be little doubt with some
       That Donna Julia knew the reason why,
     But as for Juan, he had no more notion
     Than he who never saw the sea of ocean.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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
       'T was but a doubt; but ne'er magician's wand
     Wrought change with all Armida's fairy art
     Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And if she met him, though she smiled no more,
       She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile,
     As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store
       She must not own, but cherish'd more the while
     For that compression in its burning core;
       Even innocence itself has many a wile,
     And will not dare to trust itself with truth,
     And love is taught hypocrisy from youth.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But passion most dissembles, yet betrays
       Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
     Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays
       Its workings through the vainly guarded eye,
     And in whatever aspect it arrays
       Itself, 't is still the same hypocrisy;
     Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,
     Are masks it often wears, and still too late.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,
       And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
     And burning blushes, though for no transgression,
       Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left;
     All these are little preludes to possession,
       Of which young passion cannot be bereft,
     And merely tend to show how greatly love is
     Embarrass'd at first starting with a novice.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state;
       She felt it going, and resolved to make
     The noblest efforts for herself and mate,
       For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake;
     Her resolutions were most truly great,
       And almost might have made a Tarquin quake:
     She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace,
     As being the best judge of a lady's case.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She vow'd she never would see Juan more,
       And next day paid a visit to his mother,
     And look'd extremely at the opening door,
       Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another;
     Grateful she was, and yet a little sore--
       Again it opens, it can be no other,
     'T is surely Juan now--No! I 'm afraid
     That night the Virgin was no further pray'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She now determined that a virtuous woman
       Should rather face and overcome temptation,
     That flight was base and dastardly, and no man
       Should ever give her heart the least sensation;
     That is to say, a thought beyond the common
       Preference, that we must feel upon occasion
     For people who are pleasanter than others,
     But then they only seem so many brothers.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And even if by chance--and who can tell?
       The devil 's so very sly--she should discover
     That all within was not so very well,
       And, if still free, that such or such a lover
     Might please perhaps, a virtuous wife can quell
       Such thoughts, and be the better when they 're over;
     And if the man should ask, 't is but denial:
     I recommend young ladies to make trial.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Such love is innocent, and may exist
       Between young persons without any danger.
     A hand may first, and then a lip be kist;
       For my part, to such doings I 'm a stranger,
     But hear these freedoms form the utmost list
       Of all o'er which such love may be a ranger:
     If people go beyond, 't is quite a crime,
     But not my fault--I tell them all in time.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Fraught with this fine intention, and well fenced
       In mail of proof--her purity of soul--
     She, for the future of her strength convinced.
       And that her honour was a rock, or mole,
     Exceeding sagely from that hour dispensed
       With any kind of troublesome control;
     But whether Julia to the task was equal
     Is that which must be mention'd in the sequel.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her plan she deem'd both innocent and feasible,
       And, surely, with a stripling of sixteen
     Not scandal's fangs could fix on much that 's seizable,
       Or if they did so, satisfied to mean
     Nothing but what was good, her breast was peaceable--
       A quiet conscience makes one so serene!
     Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded
     That all the Apostles would have done as they did.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 naught.)

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I only say suppose this supposition:
       Juan being then grown up to man's estate
     Would fully suit a widow of condition,
       Even seven years hence it would not be too late;
     And in the interim (to pursue this vision)
       The mischief, after all, could not be great,
     For he would learn the rudiments of love,
     I mean the seraph way of those above.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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
     Thing quite in course, and not at all alarming,
     Which, with a little patience, might grow charming.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Oh Love! in such a wilderness as this,
       Where transport and security entwine,
     Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss,
       And here thou art a god indeed divine.'
     The bard I quote from does not sing amiss,
       With the exception of the second line,
     For that same twining 'transport and security'
     Are twisted to a phrase of some obscurity.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals
       To the good sense and senses of mankind,
     The very thing which every body feels,
       As all have found on trial, or may find,
     That no one likes to be disturb'd at meals
       Or love.--I won't say more about 'entwined'
     Or 'transport,' as we knew all that before,
     But beg 'Security' will bolt the door.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks,
       Thinking unutterable things; he threw
     Himself at length within the leafy nooks
       Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew;
     There poets find materials for their books,
       And every now and then we read them through,
     So that their plan and prosody are eligible,
     Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern
       Longings sublime, and aspirations high,
     Which some are born with, but the most part learn
       To plague themselves withal, they know not why:
     'T was strange that one so young should thus concern
       His brain about the action of the sky;
     If you think 't was philosophy that this did,
     I can't help thinking puberty assisted.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Sometimes he turn'd to gaze upon his book,
       Boscan, or Garcilasso;--by the wind
     Even as the page is rustled while we look,
       So by the poesy of his own mind
     Over the mystic leaf his soul was shook,
       As if 't were one whereon magicians bind
     Their spells, and give them to the passing gale,
     According to some good old woman's tale.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thus would he while his lonely hours away
       Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted;
     Nor glowing reverie, nor poet's lay,
       Could yield his spirit that for which it panted,
     A bosom whereon he his head might lay,
       And hear the heart beat with the love it granted,
     With--several other things, which I forget,
     Or which, at least, I need not mention yet.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Those lonely walks, and lengthening reveries,
       Could not escape the gentle Julia's eyes;
     She saw that Juan was not at his ease;
       But that which chiefly may, and must surprise,
     Is, that the Donna Inez did not tease
       Her only son with question or surmise:
     Whether it was she did not see, or would not,
     Or, like all very clever people, could not.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     This may seem strange, but yet 't is very common;
       For instance--gentlemen, whose ladies take
     Leave to o'erstep the written rights of woman,
       And break the--Which commandment is 't they break?
     (I have forgot the number, and think no man
       Should rashly quote, for fear of a mistake.)
     I say, when these same gentlemen are jealous,
     They make some blunder, which their ladies tell us.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A real husband always is suspicious,
       But still no less suspects in the wrong place,
     Jealous of some one who had no such wishes,
       Or pandering blindly to his own disgrace,
     By harbouring some dear friend extremely vicious;
       The last indeed 's infallibly the case:
     And when the spouse and friend are gone off wholly,
     He wonders at their vice, and not his folly.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thus parents also are at times short-sighted;
       Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er discover,
     The while the wicked world beholds delighted,
       Young Hopeful's mistress, or Miss Fanny's lover,
     Till some confounded escapade has blighted
       The plan of twenty years, and all is over;
     And then the mother cries, the father swears,
     And wonders why the devil he got heirs.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But Inez was so anxious, and so clear
       Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion,
     She had some other motive much more near
       For leaving Juan to this new temptation;
     But what that motive was, I sha'n't say here;
       Perhaps to finish Juan's education,
     Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes,
     In case he thought his wife too great a prize.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It was upon a day, a summer's day;-
       Summer's indeed a very dangerous season,
     And so is spring about the end of May;
       The sun, no doubt, is the prevailing reason;
     But whatsoe'er the cause is, one may say,
       And 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T was 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!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She sate, but not alone; I know not well
       How this same interview had taken place,
     And even if I knew, I should not tell--
       People should hold their tongues in any case;
     No matter how or why the thing befell,
       But there were she and Juan, face to face--
     When two such faces are so, 't would be wise,
     But very difficult, to shut their eyes.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

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

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth,
       And of the folly of all prudish fears,
     Victorious virtue, and domestic truth,
       And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years:
     I wish these last had not occurr'd, in sooth,
       Because that number rarely much endears,
     And through all climes, the snowy and the sunny,
     Sounds ill in love, whate'er it may in money.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     When people say, 'I've told you fifty times,'
       They mean to scold, and very often do;
     When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes,'
       They make you dread that they 'll recite them too;
     In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes;
       At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true,
     But then, no doubt, it equally as true is,
     A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

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

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.
     'T was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I cannot know what Juan thought of this,
       But what he did, is much what you would do;
     His young lip thank'd it with a grateful kiss,
       And then, abash'd at its own joy, withdrew
     In deep despair, lest he had done amiss,--
       Love is so very timid when 't is new:
     She blush'd, and frown'd not, but she strove to speak,
     And held her tongue, her voice was grown so weak.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There is a dangerous silence in that hour,
       A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul
     To open all itself, without the power
       Of calling wholly back its self-control;
     The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower,
       Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole,
     Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws
     A loving languor, which is not repose.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced
       And half retiring from the glowing arm,
     Which trembled like the bosom where 't was placed;
       Yet still she must have thought there was no harm,
     Or else 't were easy to withdraw her waist;
       But then the situation had its charm,
     And then--God knows what next--I can't go on;
     I 'm almost sorry that I e'er begun.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O Plato! Plato! you have paved the way,
       With your confounded fantasies, to more
     Immoral conduct by the fancied sway
       Your system feigns o'er the controulless core
     Of human hearts, than all the long array
       Of poets and romancers:--You 're a bore,
     A charlatan, a coxcomb--and have been,
     At best, no better than a go-between.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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'--consented.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is said that Xerxes offer'd a reward
       To those who could invent him a new pleasure:
     Methinks the requisition 's rather hard,
       And must have cost his majesty a treasure:
     For my part, I 'm a moderate-minded bard,
       Fond of a little love (which I call leisure);
     I care not for new pleasures, as the old
     Are quite enough for me, so they but hold.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O Pleasure! you are 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, I trust it may be kept throughout:
     I 'm very sorry, very much ashamed,
     And mean, next winter, to be quite reclaim'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Here my chaste Muse a liberty must take--
       Start not! still chaster reader--she 'll be nice hence--
     Forward, and there is no great cause to quake;
       This liberty is a poetic licence,
     Which some irregularity may make
       In the design, and as I have a high sense
     Of Aristotle and the Rules, 't is fit
     To beg his pardon when I err a bit.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     This licence is to hope the reader will
       Suppose from June the sixth (the fatal day,
     Without whose epoch my poetic skill
       For want of facts would all be thrown away),
     But keeping Julia and Don Juan still
       In sight, that several months have pass'd; we 'll say
     'T was in November, but I 'm not so sure
     About the day--the era 's more obscure.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     We 'll talk of that anon.--'T is 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;
     'T is sweet to see the evening star appear;
       'T is sweet to listen as the night-winds creep
     From leaf to leaf; 't is sweet to view on high
     The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark
       Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home;
     'T is sweet to know there is an eye will mark
       Our coming, and look brighter when we come;
     'T is sweet to be awaken'd by the lark,
       Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum
     Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,
     The lisp of children, and their earliest words.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Sweet is a 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels,
       By blood or ink; 't is sweet to put an end
     To strife; 't is sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,
       Particularly with a tiresome friend:
     Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;
       Dear is the helpless creature we defend
     Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot
     We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 've lost your
     Labour, there 's a sure market for imposture.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

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

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes;
       And galvanism has set some corpses grinning,
     But has not answer'd like the apparatus
       Of the Humane Society's beginning
     By which men are unsuffocated gratis:
       What wondrous new machines have late been spinning!
     I said the small-pox has gone out of late;
     Perhaps it may be follow'd by the great.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is said the great came from America;
       Perhaps it may set out on its return,--
     The population there so spreads, they say
       'T is grown high time to thin it in its turn,
     With war, or plague, or famine, any way,
       So that civilisation they may learn;
     And which in ravage the more loathsome evil is--
     Their real lues, or our pseudo-syphilis?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     This is the patent-age of new inventions
       For killing bodies, and for saving souls,
     All propagated with the best intentions;
       Sir Humphry Davy's lantern, by which coals
     Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions,
       Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles,
     Are ways to benefit mankind, as true,
     Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Man 's a phenomenon, one knows not what,
       And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure;
     'T is pity though, in this sublime world, that
       Pleasure 's a sin, and sometimes sin 's a pleasure;
     Few mortals know what end they would be at,
       But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure,
     The path is through perplexing ways, and when
     The goal is gain'd, we die, you know--and then--

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

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

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T was, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night;
       No moon, no stars, the wind was low or loud
     By gusts, and many a sparkling hearth was bright
       With the piled wood, round which the family crowd;
     There 's something cheerful in that sort of light,
       Even as a summer sky 's without a cloud:
     I 'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that,
     A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T was 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!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'For God's sake, Madam--Madam--here 's my master,
       With more than half the city at his back--
     Was ever heard of such a curst disaster!
       'T is 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!'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     By this time Don Alfonso was arrived,
       With torches, friends, and servants in great number;
     The major part of them had long been wived,
       And therefore paused not to disturb the slumber
     Of any wicked woman, who contrived
       By stealth her husband's temples to encumber:
     Examples of this kind are so contagious,
     Were one not punish'd, all would be outrageous.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried,
       'In heaven's name, Don Alfonso, what d' ye mean?
     Has madness seized you? would that I had died
       Ere such a monster's victim I had been!
     What may this midnight violence betide,
       A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen?
     Dare you suspect me, whom the thought would kill?
     Search, then, the room!'--Alfonso said, 'I will.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He search'd, they search'd, and rummaged everywhere,
       Closet and clothes' press, chest and window-seat,
     And found much linen, lace, and several pair
       Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete,
     With other articles of ladies fair,
       To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat:
     Arras they prick'd and curtains with their swords,
     And wounded several shutters, and some boards.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 other's faces round:
       'T is odd, not one of all these seekers thought,
     And seems to me almost a sort of blunder,
     Of looking in the bed as well as under.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Yes, Don Alfonso! husband now no more,
       If ever you indeed deserved the name,
     Is 't worthy of your years?--you have threescore--
       Fifty, or sixty, it is all the same--
     Is 't wise 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?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Was it for this that no Cortejo e'er
       I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville?
     Is it for this I scarce went anywhere,
       Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel?
     Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were,
       I favor'd none--nay, was almost uncivil?
     Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly,
     Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Did not the Italian Musico Cazzani
       Sing at my heart six months at least in vain?
     Did not his countryman, Count Corniani,
       Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain?
     Were there not also Russians, English, many?
       The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain,
     And Lord Mount Coffeehouse, the Irish peer,
     Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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?
       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--
     O, valiant man! with sword drawn and cock'd trigger,
     Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Was it for this you took your sudden journey.
       Under pretence of business indispensable
     With that sublime of rascals your attorney,
       Whom I see standing there, and looking sensible
     Of having play'd the fool? though both I spurn, he
       Deserves the worst, his conduct 's less defensible,
     Because, no doubt, 't was for his dirty fee,
     And not from any love to you nor me.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'If he comes here to take a deposition,
       By all means let the gentleman proceed;
     You 've made the apartment in a fit condition:
       There 's pen and ink for you, sir, when you need--
     Let every thing be noted with precision,
       I would not you for nothing should be fee'd--
     But, as my maid 's undrest, pray turn your spies out.'
     'Oh!' sobb'd Antonia, 'I could tear their eyes out.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'There is the closet, there the toilet, there
       The antechamber--search them under, over;
     There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair,
       The chimney--which would really hold a lover.
     I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care
       And make no further noise, till you discover
     The secret cavern of this lurking treasure--
     And when 't is found, let me, too, have that pleasure.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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 cal
     Him? what 's his lineage? let him but be shown--
       I hope he 's young and handsome--is he tall?
     Tell me--and be assured, that since you stain
     My honour thus, it shall not be in vain.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years,
       At that age he would be too old for slaughter,
     Or for so young a husband's jealous fears
       (Antonia! let me 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Perhaps 't is of Antonia you are jealous,
       You saw that she was sleeping by my side
     When you broke in upon us with your fellows:
       Look where you please--we 've nothing, sir, to hide;
     Only another time, I trust, you 'll tell us,
       Or for the sake of decency abide
     A moment at the door, that we may be
     Drest to receive so much good company.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'And now, sir, I have done, and say no more;
       The little I have said may serve to show
     The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er
       The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow:
     I leave you to your conscience as before,
       'T will one day ask you why you used me so?
     God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief!-
     Antonia! where 's my pocket-handkerchief?'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale
       She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears,
     Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil,
       Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears
     Her streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail,
       To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears
     Its snow through all;--her soft lips lie apart,
     And louder than her breathing beats her heart.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused;
       Antonia bustled round the ransack'd room,
     And, turning up her nose, with looks abused
       Her master and his myrmidons, of whom
     Not one, except the attorney, was amused;
       He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb,
     So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause,
     Knowing they must be settled by the laws.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     At first he tried to hammer an excuse,
       To which the sole reply was tears and sobs,
     And indications of hysterics, whose
       Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs,
     Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose:
       Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's;
     He saw too, in perspective, her relations,
     And then he tried to muster all his patience.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
     Or madam dies.'--Alfonso mutter'd, 'D--n her,'
       But nothing else, the time of words was o'er;
     He cast a rueful look or two, and did,
     He knew not wherefore, that which he was bid.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 wore
     An awkward look; as he revolved the case,
     The door was fasten'd in his legal face.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     No sooner was it bolted, than--Oh shame!
       O 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 heartfelt reluctance be it said,
     Young Juan slipp'd half-smother'd, from the bed.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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;
     'T were better, sure, to die so, than be shut
     With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And, secondly, I pity not, because
       He had no business to commit a sin,
     Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws,
       At least 't was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Of his position I can give no notion:
       'T is written in the Hebrew Chronicle,
     How the physicians, leaving pill and potion,
       Prescribed, by way of blister, a young belle,
     When old King David's blood grew dull in motion,
       And that the medicine answer'd very well;
     Perhaps 't was in a different way applied,
     For David lived, but Juan nearly died.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     What 's to be done? Alfonso will be back
       The moment he has sent his fools away.
     Antonia's skill was put upon the rack,
       But no device could be brought into play--
     And how to parry the renew'd attack?
       Besides, it wanted but few hours of day:
     Antonia puzzled; Julia did not speak,
     But press'd her bloodless lip to Juan's cheek.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He turn'd his lip to hers, and with his hand
       Call'd back the tangles of her wandering hair;
     Even then their love they could not all command,
       And half forgot their danger and despair:
     Antonia's patience now was at a stand--
       'Come, come, 't is no time now for fooling there,'
     She whisper'd, in great wrath--'I must deposit
     This pretty gentleman within the closet:

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Pray, keep your nonsense for some luckier night--
       Who can have put my master in this mood?
     What will become on 't--I 'm in such a fright,
       The devil 's in the urchin, and no good--
     Is this a time for giggling? this a plight?
       Why, don't you know that it may end in blood?
     You 'll lose your life, and I shall lose my place,
     My mistress all, for that half-girlish face.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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).'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 stay'd:
     Regarding both with slow and sidelong view,
     She snuff'd the candle, curtsied, and withdrew.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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;
     'T is to retort with firmness, and when he
     Suspects with one, do you reproach with three.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Julia, in fact, had tolerable grounds,--
       Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known,
     But whether 't was that one's own guilt confounds--
       But that can't be, as has been often shown,
     A lady with apologies abounds;--
       It might be that her silence sprang alone
     From delicacy to Don Juan's ear,
     To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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; 't is 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A hint, in tender cases, is enough;
       Silence is best, besides there is a tact
     (That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff,
       But it will serve to keep my verse compact)-
     Which keeps, when push'd by questions rather rough,
       A lady always distant from the fact:
     The charming creatures lie with such a grace,
     There 's nothing so becoming to the face.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They blush, and we believe them; at least I
       Have always done so; 't is of no great use,
     In any case, attempting a reply,
       For then their eloquence grows quite profuse;
     And when at length they 're out of breath, they sigh,
       And cast their languid eyes down, and let loose
     A tear or two, and then we make it up;
     And then--and then--and then--sit down and sup.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Alfonso closed his speech, and begg'd her pardon,
       Which Julia half withheld, and then half granted,
     And laid conditions he thought very hard on,
       Denying several little things he wanted:
     He stood like Adam lingering near his garden,
       With useless penitence perplex'd and haunted,
     Beseeching she no further would refuse,
     When, lo! he stumbled o'er a pair of shoes.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A pair of shoes!--what then? not much, if they
       Are such as fit with ladies' feet, but these
     (No one can tell how much I grieve to say)
       Were masculine; to see them, and to seize,
     Was but a moment's act.--Ah! well-a-day!
       My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze--
     Alfonso first examined well their fashion,
     And then flew out into another passion.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He left the room for his relinquish'd sword,
       And Julia instant to the closet flew.
     'Fly, Juan, fly! for heaven's sake--not a word--
       The door is open--you may yet slip through
     The passage you so often have explored--
       Here is the garden-key--Fly--fly--Adieu!
     Haste--haste! I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet--
     Day has not broke--there 's no one in the street:

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     None can say that this was not good advice,
       The only mischief was, it came too late;
     Of all experience 't is the usual price,
       A sort of income-tax laid on by fate:
     Juan had reach'd the room-door in a. trice,
       And might have done so by the garden-gate,
     But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown,
     Who threaten'd death--so Juan knock'd him down.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 chanced to claw it,
       Alfonso's days had not been in the land
     Much longer.--Think of husbands', lovers' lives!
     And how ye may be doubly widows--wives!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Alfonso grappled to detain the foe,
       And Juan throttled him to get away,
     And blood ('t was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 drapery scatter'd on the ground,
       Some blood, and several footsteps, but no more:
     Juan the gate gain'd, turn'd the key about,
     And liking not the inside, lock'd the out.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Here ends this canto.--Need I sing, or say,
       How Juan naked, favour'd by the night,
     Who favours what she should not, found his way,
       And reach'd his home in an unseemly plight?
     The pleasant scandal which arose next day,
       The nine days' wonder which was brought to light,
     And how Alfonso sued for a divorce,
     Were in the English newspapers, of course.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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:--

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'They tell me 't is decided; you depart:
       'T is wise--'t is 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, 't is not what it appears;
     My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'I loved, I love you, for this love have lost
       State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esteem,
     And yet can not regret what it hath cost,
       So dear is still the memory of that dream;
     Yet, if I name my guilt, 't is not to boast,
       None can deem harshlier of me than I deem:
     I trace this scrawl because I cannot rest--
     I 've nothing to reproach, or to request.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,
       'T is woman's whole existence; man may range
     The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart;
       Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange
     Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart,
       And few there are whom these cannot estrange;
     Men have all these resources, we but one,
     To love again, and be again undone.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride,
       Beloved and loving many; all is o'er
     For me on earth, except some years to hide
       My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core;
     These I could bear, but cannot cast aside
       The passion which still rages as before--
     And so farewell--forgive me, love me--No,
     That word is idle now--but let it go.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'My breast has been all weakness, is so yet;
       But still I think I can collect my mind;
     My blood still rushes where my spirit 's set,
       As roll the waves before the settled wind;
     My heart is feminine, nor can forget--
       To all, except one image, madly blind;
     So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole,
     As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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 blow would meet,
     And I must even survive this last adieu,
     And bear with life, to love and pray for you!'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 sun-flower; 'Elle vous suit partout,'
     The motto cut upon a white cornelian;
     The wax was superfine, its hue vermilion.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     My poem 's epic, and is meant to be
       Divided in twelve books; each book containing,
     With love, and war, a heavy gale at sea,
       A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning,
     New characters; the episodes are three:
       A panoramic view of hell 's in training,
     After the style of Virgil and of Homer,
     So that my name of Epic 's no misnomer.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     All these things will be specified in time,
       With strict regard to Aristotle's rules,
     The Vade Mecum of the true sublime,
       Which makes so many poets, and some fools:
     Prose poets like blank-verse, I 'm fond of rhyme,
       Good workmen never quarrel with their tools;
     I 've got new mythological machinery,
     And very handsome supernatural scenery.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There 's only one slight difference between
       Me and my epic brethren 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);
       They so embellish, that 't is quite a bore
     Their labyrinth of fables to thread through,
     Whereas this story 's actually true.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope;
       Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey;
     Because the first is crazed beyond all hope,
       The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy:
     With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope,
       And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy:
     Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor
     Commit--flirtation with the muse of Moore.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     If any person should presume to assert
       This story is not moral, first, I pray,
     That they will not cry out before they 're hurt,
       Then that they 'll read it o'er again, and say
     (But, doubtless, nobody will be so pert)
       That this is not a moral tale, though gay;
     Besides, in Canto Twelfth, I mean to show
     The very place where wicked people go.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The public approbation I expect,
       And beg they 'll take my word about the moral,
     Which I with their amusement will connect
       (So children cutting teeth receive a coral);
     Meantime, they 'll doubtless please to recollect
       My epical pretensions to the laurel:
     For fear some prudish readers should grow skittish,
     I 've bribed my grandmother's review--the British.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I sent it 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I think that with this holy new alliance
       I may ensure the public, and defy
     All other magazines of art or science,
       Daily, or monthly, or three monthly; I
     Have not essay'd to multiply their clients,
       Because they tell me 't were in vain to try,
     And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly
     Treat a dissenting author very martyrly.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Non ego hoc ferrem calida 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 would not brook at all this sort of thing
     In my hot youth--when George the Third was King.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But now at thirty years my hair is grey
       (I 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 't was May,
       And feel no more the spirit to retort; I
     Have spent my life, both interest and principal,
     And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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! 't was not in them, but in thy power
     To double even the sweetness of a flower.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     No more--no more--Oh! never more, my heart,
       Canst thou be my sole world, my universe!
     Once all in all, but now a thing apart,
       Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse:
     The illusion 's gone for ever, and thou art
       Insensible, I trust, but none the worse,
     And in thy stead I 've got a deal of judgment,
     Though heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     My days of love are over; me no more
       The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,
     Can make the fool of which they made before,--
       In short, I must not lead the life I did do;
     The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er,
       The copious use of claret is forbid too,
     So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,
     I think I must take up with avarice.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Ambition was my idol, which was broken
       Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure;
     And the two last have left me many a token
       O'er which reflection may be made at leisure:
     Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I 've spoken,
       'Time is, Time was, Time 's past:'--a chymic treasure
     Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimes--
     My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     What is the end of Fame? 't is but to fill
       A certain portion of uncertain paper:
     Some liken it to climbing up a hill,
       Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour;
     For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,
       And bards burn what they call their 'midnight taper,'
     To have, when the original is dust,
     A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's King
       Cheops erected the first pyramid
     And largest, thinking it was just the thing
       To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid;
     But somebody or other rummaging,
       Burglariously broke his coffin's lid:
     Let not a monument give you or me hopes,
     Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But I being fond of true philosophy,
       Say very often to myself, 'Alas!
     All things that have been born were born to die,
       And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass;
     You 've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly,
       And if you had it o'er again--'t would pass--
     So thank your stars that matters are no worse,
     And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But for the present, gentle reader! and
       Still gentler purchaser! the bard--that 's I--
     Must, with permission, shake you by the hand,
       And so 'Your humble servant, and good-b'ye!'
     We meet again, if we should understand
       Each other; and if not, I shall not try
     Your patience further than by this short sample--
     'T were well if others follow'd my example.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Go, little book, from this my solitude!
       I cast thee on the waters--go thy ways!
     And if, as I believe, thy vein be good,
       The world will find thee after many days.'
     When Southey's read, and Wordsworth understood,
       I can't help putting in my claim to praise--
     The four first rhymes are Southey's every line:
     For God's sake, reader! take them not for mine.

TITLE Don Juan, II 

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O ye! 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, in a way that 's rather of the oddest, he
     Became divested of his native modesty.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Had he but been placed at a public school,
       In the third form, or even in the fourth,
     His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
       At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
     Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
       But then exceptions always prove its worth--
     A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
     Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
       If all things be consider'd: first, there was
     His lady--mother, mathematical,
       A--never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
     A pretty woman (that 's quite natural,
       Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
     A husband rather old, not much in unity
     With his young wife--a time, and opportunity.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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;
     The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
       The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
     A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
     Fighting, devotion, dust,--perhaps a name.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz--
       A pretty town, I recollect it well--
     'T is 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,
       Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
     I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
     Nor liken it--I never saw the like:

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb
       New broke, a cameleopard, a gazelle,
     No--none of these will do;--and then their garb!
       Their veil and petticoat--Alas! to dwell
     Upon such things would very near absorb
       A canto--then their feet and ankles,--well,
     Thank Heaven I 've got no metaphor quite ready
     (And so, my sober Muse--come, let 's be steady--

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Chaste Muse!--well, if you must, you must)--the veil
       Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand,
     While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale,
       Flashes into the heart:--All sunny land
     Of love! when I forget you, may I fail
       To--say my prayers--but never was there plann'd
     A dress through which the eyes give such a volley,
     Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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--
     'T was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Don Juan bade his valet pack his things
       According to direction, then received
     A lecture and some money: for four springs
       He was to travel; and though Inez grieved
     (As every kind of parting has its stings),
       She hoped he would improve--perhaps believed:
     A letter, too, she gave (he never read it)
     Of good advice--and two or three of credit.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Juan embark'd--the ship got under way,
       The wind was fair, the water passing rough:
     A devil of a sea rolls in that bay,
       As I, who 've cross'd it oft, know well enough;
     And, standing upon 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I can't but say it is an awkward sight
       To see one's native land receding through
     The growing waters; it unmans one quite,
       Especially when life is rather new:
     I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white,
       But almost every other country 's blue,
     When gazing on them, mystified by distance,
     We enter on our nautical existence.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern,
       Beheld his native Spain receding far:
     First partings form a lesson hard to learn,
       Even nations feel this when they go to war;
     There is a sort of unexprest concern,
       A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar:
     At leaving even the most unpleasant people
     And places, one keeps looking at the steeple.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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
       Than many persons more advanced in life;
     And if we now and then a sigh must heave
       At quitting even those we quit in strife,
     No doubt we weep for those the heart endears--
     That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews
       By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion:
     I 'd weep,--but mine is not a weeping Muse,
       And such light griefs are not a thing to die on;
     Young men should travel, if but to amuse
       Themselves; and the next time their servants tie on
     Behind their carriages their new portmanteau,
     Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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, 't is 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell!' he cried,
       'Perhaps I may revisit thee no more,
     But die, as many an exiled heart hath died,
       Of its own thirst to see again thy shore:
     Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide!
       Farewell, my mother! and, since all is o'er,
     Farewell, too, dearest Julia!--(Here he drew
     Her letter out again, and read it through.)

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'And, oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear--
       But that 's impossible, and cannot be--
     Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air,
       Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,
     Than I resign thine image, oh, 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).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Sooner shall heaven kiss earth (here he fell sicker),
       O, Julia! what is every other wo?
     (For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor;
       Pedro, Battista, help me down below.)
     Julia, my love! (you rascal, Pedro, quicker)--
       O, Julia! (this curst vessel pitches so)--
     Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!'
     (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He felt that chilling heaviness of heart,
       Or rather stomach, which, alas! attends,
     Beyond the best apothecary's art,
       The loss of love, the treachery of friends,
     Or death of those we dote on, when a part
       Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends:
     No doubt he would have been much more pathetic,
     But the sea acted as a strong emetic. I

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 quincy very hard to treat;
     Against all noble maladies he 's bold,
       But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet,
     Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh,
     Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The ship, call'd the most holy 'Trinidada,'
       Was steering duly for the port Leghorn;
     For there the Spanish family Moncada
       Were settled long ere Juan's sire was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     His suite consisted of three servants and
       A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo,
     Who several languages did understand,
       But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow,
     And rocking in his hammock, long'd for land,
       His headache being increased by every billow;
     And the waves oozing through the port-hole made
     His berth a little damp, and him afraid.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T was not without some reason, for the wind
       Increased at night, until it blew a gale;
     And though 't was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift
       Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea,
     Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift,
       Started the stern-post, also shatter'd the
     Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift
       Herself from out her present jeopardy,
     The rudder tore away: 't was time to sound
     The pumps, and there were four feet water found.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Into the opening; but all such ingredients
       Would have been vain, and they must have gone down,
     Despite of all their efforts and expedients,
       But for the pumps: I 'm glad to make them known
     To all the brother tars who may have need hence,
       For fifty tons of water were upthrown
     By them per hour, and they had all been undone,
     But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London.

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     As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate,
       And then the leak they reckon'd to reduce,
     And keep the ship afloat, 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,
     A gust--which all descriptive power transcends--
     Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends.

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     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:
     Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the divers,
     And swimmers, who may chance to be survivors.

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     Immediately the masts were cut away,
       Both main and mizen; first the mizen went,
     The main-mast follow'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.

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     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
     For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask.

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     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 bas
     The hoarse harsh waves kept time; fright cured the qualms
       Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws:
     Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion,
     Clamour'd in chorus to the roaring ocean.

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     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.

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     'Give us more grog,' they cried, 'for it will be
       All one an hour hence.' Juan answer'd, 'No!
     'T is 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.

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     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 Panca.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But now there came a flash of hope once more;
       Day broke, and the wind lull'd: the masts were gone,
     The leak increased; shoals round her, but no shore,
       The vessel swam, yet still she held her own.
     They tried the pumps again, and though before
       Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless grown,
     A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale--
     The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a sail.

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     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 canvas, what could they expect?
     But still 't is best to struggle to the last,
       'T is never too late to be wholly wreck'd:
     And though 't is true that man can only die once,
     'T is not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons.

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     There winds and waves had hurl'd them, and from thence,
       Without their will, they carried them away;
     For they were forced with steering to dispense,
       And never had as yet a quiet day
     On which they might repose, or even commence
       A jurymast or rudder, or could say
     The ship would swim an hour, which, by good luck,
     Still swam--though not exactly like a duck.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less,
       But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could hope
     To weather out much longer; the distress
       Was also great with which they had to cope
     For want of water, and their solid mess
       Was scant enough: in vain the telescope
     Was used--nor sail nor shore appear'd in sight,
     Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Again the weather threaten'd,--again blew
       A gale, and in the fore and after hold
     Water appear'd; yet, though the people knew
       All this, the most were patient, and some bold,
     Until the chains and leathers were worn through
       Of all our pumps:--a wreck complete she roll'd,
     At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are
     Like human beings during civil war.

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     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.

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     The ship was evidently settling now
       Fast by the head; and, all distinction gone,
     Some went to prayers again, and made a vow
       Of candles to their saints--but there were none
     To pay them with; and some look'd o'er the bow;
       Some hoisted out the boats; and there was one
     That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution,
     Who told him to be damn'd--in his confusion.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

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     The worst of all was, that in their condition,
       Having been several days in great distress,
     'T was difficult to get out such provision
       As now might render their long suffering less:
     Men, even when dying, dislike inanition;
       Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress:
     Two casks of biscuit and a keg of butter
     Were all that could be thrown into the cutter.

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     But in the long-boat they contrived to stow
       Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet;
     Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so;
       Six flasks of wine; and they contrived to get
     A portion of their beef up from below,
       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.

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     The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had
       Been stove in the beginning of the gale;
     And the long-boat's condition was but bad,
       As there were but two blankets for a sail,
     And one oar for a mast, which a young lad
       Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail;
     And two boats could not hold, far less be stored,
     To save one half the people then on board.

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     'T was twilight, and the sunless day went down
       Over the waste of waters; like a veil,
     Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown
       Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail,
     Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,
       And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale,
     And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear
     Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

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     Some trial had been making at a raft,
       With little hope in such a rolling sea,
     A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd,
       If any laughter at such times could be,
     Unless with people who too much have quaff'd,
       And have a kind of wild and horrid glee,
     Half epileptical and half hysterical:--
     Their preservation would have been a miracle.

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     At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars,
       And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose,
     That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,
       For yet they strove, although of no great use:
     There was no light in heaven but a few stars,
       The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews;
     She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port,
     And, going down head foremost--sunk, in short.

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     Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell--
       Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,
     Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,
       As eager to anticipate their grave;
     And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,
       And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
     Like one who grapples with his enemy,
     And strives to strangle him before he die.

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     And first one universal shriek there rush'd,
       Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
     Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,
       Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
     Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,
       Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
     A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
     Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

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     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     All the rest perish'd; near two hundred souls
       Had left their bodies; and what 's worse, alas!
     When over Catholics the ocean rolls,
       They must wait several weeks before a mass
     Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals,
       Because, till people know what 's come to pass,
     They won't lay out their money on the dead--
     It costs three francs for every mass that 's said.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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:
     Battista; though (a name call'd shortly Tita),
     Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

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     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

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     'T was a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet,
       That the sail was becalm'd between the seas,
     Though on the wave's high top too much to set,
       They dared not take it in for all the breeze:
     Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them wet,
       And made them bale without a moment's ease,
     So that themselves as well as hopes were damp'd,
     And the poor little cutter quickly swamp'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They counted thirty, crowded in a space
       Which left scarce room for motion or exertion;
     They did their best to modify their case,
       One half sate up, though numb'd with the immersion,
     While t'other half were laid down in their place
       At watch and watch; thus, shivering like the tertian
     Ague in its cold fit, they fill'd their boat,
     With nothing but the sky for a great coat.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is 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 miseries miseries of alarming brevity.

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     'T is said that persons living on annuities
       Are longer lived than others,--God knows why,
     Unless to plague the grantors,--yet so true it is,
       That some, I really think, do never die;
     Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is,
       And that 's their mode of furnishing supply:
     In my young days they lent me cash that way,
     Which I found very troublesome to pay.

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     'T is thus with people in an open boat,
       They live upon the love of life, and bear
     More than can be believed, or even thought,
       And stand like rocks the tempest's wear and tear;
     And hardship still has been the sailor's lot,
       Since Noah's ark went cruising here and there;
     She had a curious crew as well as cargo,
     Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo.

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     But man is a carnivorous production,
       And must have meals, at least one meal a day;
     He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction,
       But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey;
     Although his anatomical construction
       Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way,
     Your labouring people think beyond all question,
     Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion.

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     And thus it was with this our hapless crew;
       For on the third day there came on a calm,
     And though at first their strength it might renew,
       And lying on their weariness like balm,
     Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue
       Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm,
     And fell all ravenously on their provision,
     Instead of hoarding it with due precision.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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!
       And carry them to shore; these hopes were fine,
     But as they had but one oar, and that brittle,
     It would have been more wise to save their victual.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     On the sixth day they fed upon his hide,
       And Juan, who had still refused, because
     The creature was his father's dog that died,
       Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws,
     With some remorse received (though first denied)
       As a great favour one of the fore-paws,
     Which he divided with Pedrillo, who
     Devour'd it, longing for the other too.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The seventh day, and no wind--the burning sun
       Blister'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the sea,
     They lay like carcasses; and hope was none,
       Save in the breeze that came not; savagely
     They glared upon each other--all was done,
       Water, and wine, and food,--and you might see
     The longings of the cannibal arise
     (Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     At length one whisper'd his companion, who
       Whisper'd another, and thus it went round,
     And then into a hoarser murmur grew,
       An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound;
     And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew,
       'T was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But ere they came to this, they that day shared
       Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of shoes;
     And then they look'd around them and despair'd,
       And none to be the sacrifice would choose;
     At length the lots were torn up, and prepared,
       But of materials that much shock the Muse--
     Having no paper, for the want of better,
     They took by force from Juan Julia's letter.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The lots were made, and mark'd, and mix'd, and handed,
       In silent horror, and their distribution
     Lull'd even the savage hunger which demanded,
       Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution;
     None in particular had sought or plann'd it,
       'T was nature gnaw'd them to this resolution,
     By which none were permitted to be neuter--
     And the lot fell on Juan's luckless tutor.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The surgeon, as there was no other fee,
       Had his first choice of morsels for his pains;
     But being thirstiest at the moment, he
       Preferr'd a draught from the fast-flowing veins:
     Part was divided, part thrown in the sea,
       And such things as the entrails and the brains
     Regaled two sharks, who follow'd o'er the billow--
     The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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;
       'T was not to be expected that he should,
     Even in extremity of their disaster,
     Dine with them on his pastor and his master.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T was better that he did not; for, in fact,
       The consequence was awful in the extreme;
     For they, who were most ravenous in the act,
       Went raging mad--Lord! how they did blaspheme!
     And foam and roll, with strange convulsions rack'd,
       Drinking salt water like a mountain-stream,
     Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing,
     And, with hyaena-laughter, died despairing.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Their numbers were much thinn'd by this infliction,
       And all the rest were thin enough, Heaven knows;
     And some of them had lost their recollection,
       Happier than they who still perceived their woes;
     But others ponder'd on a new dissection,
       As if not warn'd sufficiently by those
     Who had already perish'd, suffering madly,
     For having used their appetites so sadly.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And if Pedrillo's fate should shocking be,
       Remember Ugolino condescends
     To eat the head of his arch-enemy
       The moment after he politely ends
     His tale: if foes be food in hell, at sea
       'T is surely fair to dine upon our friends,
     When shipwreck's short allowance grows too scanty,
     Without being much more horrible than Dante.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And the same night there fell a shower of rain,
       For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of earth
     When dried to summer dust; till taught by pain
       Men really know not what good water 's worth;
     If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,
       Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your berth,
     Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,
     You 'd wish yourself where Truth is--in a well.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer
       Until they found a ragged piece of sheet,
     Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher,
       And when they deem'd its moisture was complete
     They wrung it out, and though a thirsty ditcher
       Might not have thought the scanty draught so sweet
     As a full pot of porter, to their thinking
     They ne'er till now had known the joys of drinking.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack,
       Suck'd in the moisture, which like nectar stream'd;
     Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues were black,
       As the rich man's in hell, who vainly scream'd
     To beg the beggar, who could not rain back
       A drop of dew, when every drop had seem'd
     To taste of heaven--If this be true, indeed
     Some Christians have a comfortable creed.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There were two fathers in this ghastly crew,
       And with them their two sons, of whom the one
     Was more robust and hardy to the view,
       But he died early; and when he was gone,
     His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw
       One glance at him, and said, 'Heaven's will be done!
     I can do nothing,' and he saw him thrown
     Into the deep without a tear or groan.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The other father had a weaklier child,
       Of a soft cheek and aspect delicate;
     But the boy bore up long, and with a mild
       And patient spirit held aloof his fate;
     Little he said, and now and then he smiled,
       As if to win a part from off the weight
     He saw increasing on his father's heart,
     With the deep deadly thought that they must part.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
     And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,
       Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam,
     He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain
     Into his dying child's mouth--but in vain.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The 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
       'T was borne by the rude wave wherein 't was cast;
     Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering,
     And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Now 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 appear'd to be
     Clearer than that without, and its wide hue
       Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free,
     Then changed like to a bow that 's bent, and then
     Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It changed, of course; a heavenly chameleon,
       The airy child of vapour and the sun,
     Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion,
       Baptized in molten 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).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Our shipwreck'd seamen thought it a good omen--
       It is as well to think so, now and then;
     'T was an old custom of the Greek and Roman,
       And may become of great advantage when
     Folks are discouraged; and most surely no men
       Had greater need to nerve themselves again
     Than these, and so this rainbow look'd like hope--
     Quite a celestial kaleidoscope.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     About this time a beautiful white bird,
       Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size
     And plumage (probably it might have err'd
       Upon its course), pass'd oft before their eyes,
     And tried to perch, although it saw and heard
       The men within the boat, and in this guise
     It came and went, and flutter'd round them till
     Night fell: this seem'd a better omen still.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But in this case I also must remark,
       'T was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     With twilight it again came on to blow,
       But not with violence; the stars shone out,
     The boat made way; yet now they were so low,
       They knew not where nor what they were about;
     Some fancied they saw land, and some said 'No!'
       The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubt--
     Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns,
     And all mistook about the latter once.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     As morning broke, the light wind died away,
       When he who had the watch sung out and swore,
     If 't was 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And then of these some part burst into tears,
       And others, looking with a stupid stare,
     Could not yet separate their hopes from fears,
       And seem'd as if they had no further care;
     While a few pray'd (the first time for some years)--
       And at the bottom of the boat three were
     Asleep: they shook them by the hand and head,
     And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The day before, fast sleeping on the water,
       They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind,
     And by good fortune, gliding softly, caught her,
       Which yielded a day's life, and to their 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The land appear'd a high and rocky coast,
       And higher grew the mountains as they drew,
     Set by a current, toward it: they were lost
       In various conjectures, for none knew
     To what part of the earth they had been tost,
       So changeable had been the winds that blew;
     Some thought it was Mount AEtna, some the highlands,
     Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
     And three dead, whom their strength could not avail
       To heave into the deep with those before,
     Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd
     The spray into their faces as they splash'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done
       Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to
     Such things a mother had not known her 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,
     But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter,
     In washing down Pedrillo with salt water.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen
       Unequal in its aspect here and there,
     They felt the freshness of its growing green,
       That waved in forest-tops, and smooth'd the air,
     And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen
       From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare--
     Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep
     Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir,
       Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont;
     And having learnt to swim in that sweet river,
       Had often turn'd the art to some account:
     A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,
       He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont,
     As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)
     Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark,
       He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply
     With the quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark,
       The beach which lay before him, high and dry:
     The greatest danger here was from a shark,
       That carried off his neighbour by the thigh;
     As for the other two, they could not swim,
     So nobody arrived on shore but him.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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'erwhelm'd him as 't was dash'd
     Within his grasp; he clung to it, and sore
       The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd;
     At last, with swimming, wading, scrambling, he
     Roll'd on the beach, half-senseless, from the sea:

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung
       Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave,
     From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung,
       Should suck him back to her insatiate grave:
     And there he lay, full length, where he was flung,
       Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave,
     With just enough of life to feel its pain,
     And deem that it was saved, perhaps in vain.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
     Who died two days before, and now had found
     An unknown barren beach for burial ground.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 jurymast),
       And, like a wither'd lily, on the land
     His slender frame and pallid aspect lay,
     As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
     For Death, though vanquish'd, still retired with strife.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed,
       For all was doubt and dizziness; he thought
     He still was in the boat and had but dozed,
       And felt again with his despair o'erwrought,
     And wish'd it death in which he had reposed;
       And then once more his feelings back were brought,
     And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen
     A lovely female face of seventeen.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T was bending dose o'er his, and the small mouth
       Seem'd almost prying into his for breath;
     And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
       Recall'd his answering spirits back from death;
     And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe
       Each pulse to animation, till beneath
     Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh
     To these kind efforts made a low reply.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung
       Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm
     Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung;
       And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm,
     Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung
       His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm;
     And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew
     A sigh from his heaved bosom--and hers, too.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And lifting him with care into the cave,
       The gentle girl and her attendant,--one
     Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave,
       And more robust of figure,--then begun
     To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave
       Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which the sun
     Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoe'er
     She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her brow was overhung with coins of gold,
       That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair--
     Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd
       In braids behind; and though her stature were
     Even of the highest for a female mould,
       They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air
     There was a something which bespoke command,
     As one who was a lady in the land.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes
       Were black as death, their lashes the same hue,
     Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies
       Deepest attraction; for when to the view
     Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,
       Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew;
     'T is as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length,
     And hurls at once his venom and his strength.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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; for 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).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I 'll tell you why I say so, for 't is just
       One should not rail without a decent cause:
     There was an Irish lady, to whose bust
       I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was
     A frequent model; and if e'er she must
       Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws,
     They will destroy a face which mortal thought
     Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrought.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 richest lace
       Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone
     Flash'd on her little hand; but, what was shocking,
     Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And these two tended him, and cheer'd him both
       With food and raiment, and those soft attentions,
     Which are (as I must own) of female growth,
       And have ten thousand delicate inventions:
     They made a most superior mess of broth,
       A thing which poesy but seldom mentions,
     But the best dish that e'er was cook'd since Homer's
     Achilles ordered dinner for new comers.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A fisherman he had been in his youth,
       And still a sort of fisherman was he;
     But other speculations were, in sooth,
       Added to his connection with the sea,
     Perhaps not so respectable, in truth:
       A little smuggling, and some piracy,
     Left him, at last, the sole of many masters
     Of an ill-gotten million of piastres.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A fisher, therefore, was he,--though of men,
       Like Peter the Apostle,--and he fish'd
     For wandering merchant-vessels, now and then,
       And sometimes caught as many as he wish'd;
     The cargoes he confiscated, and gain
       He sought in the slave-market too, and dish'd
     Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade,
     By which, no doubt, a good deal may be made.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And walking out upon the beach, below
       The cliff, towards sunset, on that day she found,
     Insensible,--not dead, but nearly so,--
       Don Juan, almost famish'd, and half drown'd;
     But being naked, she was shock'd, you know,
       Yet deem'd herself in common pity bound,
     As far as in her lay, 'to take him in,
     A stranger' dying, with so white a skin.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But taking him into her father's house
       Was not exactly the best way to save,
     But like conveying to the cat the mouse,
       Or people in a trance into their grave;
     Because the good old man had so much 'nous,'
       Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave,
     He would have hospitably cured the stranger,
     And sold him instantly when out of danger.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And therefore, with her maid, she thought it best
       (A virgin always on her maid relies)
     To place him in the cave for present rest:
       And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes,
     Their charity increased about their guest;
       And their compassion grew to such a size,
     It open'd half the turnpike-gates to heaven
     (St. Paul says, 't is the toll which must be given).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They made a fire,--but such a fire as they
       Upon the moment could contrive with such
     Materials as were cast up round the bay,--
       Some broken planks, and oars, that to the touch
     Were nearly tinder, since so long they lay
       A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch;
     But, by God's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty,
     That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse,
       For Haidee stripped her sables off to make
     His couch; and, that he might be more at ease,
       And warm, in case by chance he should awake,
     They also gave a petticoat apiece,
       She and her maid--and promised by daybreak
     To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish
     For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And thus they left him to his lone repose:
       Juan slept like a top, or like the dead,
     Who sleep at last, perhaps (God only knows),
       Just for the present; and in his lull'd head
     Not even a vision of his former woes
       Throbb'd in accursed dreams, which sometimes spread
     Unwelcome visions of our former years,
     Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 stay'd,
       And turn'd, believing that he call'd again.
     He slumber'd; yet she thought, at least she said
       (The heart will slip, even as the tongue and pen),
     He had pronounced her name--but she forgot
     That at this moment Juan knew it not.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering still
       Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon
     His rest; the rushing of the neighbouring rill,
       And the young beams of the excluded sun,
     Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill;
       And need he had of slumber yet, for none
     Had suffer'd more--his hardships were comparative
     To those related in my grand-dad's 'Narrative.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 't is, 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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's fate;
     And so all ye, who would be in the right
       In health and purse, begin your day to date
     From daybreak, and when coffin'd at fourscore,
     Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And when into the cavern Haidee stepp'd
       All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
     That like an infant Juan sweetly slept;
       And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe
     (For sleep is awful), and on tiptoe crept
       And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw,
     Should reach his blood, then o'er him still as death
     Bent with hush'd lips, that drank his scarce-drawn breath.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 the calm and stirless air:
     But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying,
       Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair
     Must breakfast--and betimes, lest they should ask it,
     She drew out her provision from the basket.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She knew that the best feelings must have victual,
       And that a shipwreck'd youth would hungry be;
     Besides, being less in love, she yawn'd a little,
       And felt her veins chill'd by the neighbouring sea;
     And so, she cook'd their breakfast to a tittle;
       I can't say that she gave them any tea,
     But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey,
     With Scio wine,--and all for love, not money.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and
       The coffee made, would fain have waken'd Juan;
     But Haidee stopp'd her with her quick small hand,
       And without word, a sign her finger drew on
     Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand;
       And, the first breakfast spoilt, prepared a new one,
     Because her mistress would not let her break
     That sleep which seem'd as it would ne'er awake.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek
       A purple hectic play'd like dying day
     On the snow-tops of distant hills; the streak
       Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay,
     Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, and weak;
       And his black curls were dewy with the spray,
     Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt,
     Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath,
       Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast,
     Droop'd as the willow when no winds can breathe,
       Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at rest,
     Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath,
       Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest;
     In short, he was a very pretty fellow,
     Although his woes had turn'd him rather yellow.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He woke and gazed, and would have slept again,
       But the 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 grisly saints, and martyrs hairy,
     To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
       Although she told him, in good modern Greek,
     With an Ionian accent, low and sweet,
     That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Now Juan could not understand a word,
       Being no Grecian; but he had an ear,
     And her voice was the warble of a bird,
       So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear,
     That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard;
       The sort of sound we echo with a tear,
     Without knowing why--an overpowering tone,
     Whence Melody descends as from a throne.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And Juan gazed as one who is awoke
       By a 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,
     Who like a morning slumber--for the night
     Shows stars and women in a better light.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream,
       Or sleep, or whatso'er it was, by feeling
     A most prodigious appetite: the steam
       Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing
     Upon his senses, and the kindling beam
       Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, kneeling
     To stir her viands, made him quite awake
     And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But beef is rare within these oxless isles;
       Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton;
     And, when a holiday upon them smiles,
       A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on:
     But this occurs but seldom, between whiles,
       For some of these are rocks with scarce a hut on;
     Others are fair and fertile, among which
     This, though not large, was one of the most rich.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking
       That the old fable of the Minotaur--
     From which our modern morals rightly shrinking
       Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore
     A cow's shape for a mask--was only (sinking
       The allegory) a mere type, no more,
     That Pasiphae promoted breeding cattle,
     To make the Cretans bloodier in battle.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     For we all know that English people are
       Fed upon beef--I won't say much of beer,
     Because 't is liquor only, and being far
       From this my subject, has no business here;
     We know, too, they 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But to resume. The languid Juan raised
       His head upon his elbow, and he saw
     A sight on which he had not lately gazed,
       As all his latter meals had been quite raw,
     Three or four things, for which the Lord he praised,
       And, feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw,
     He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like
     A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He ate, and he was well supplied: and she,
       Who watch'd him like a mother, would have fed
     Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see
       Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead;
     But Zoe, being older than Haidee,
       Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read)
     That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
     And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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, like a Turk,
     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And then she had recourse to nods, and signs,
       And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye,
     And read (the only book she could) the lines
       Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy,
     The answer eloquent, where soul shines
       And darts in one quick glance a long reply;
     And thus in every look she saw exprest
     A world of words, and things at which she guess'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is 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,
       As was the case, at least, where I have been;
     They smile so when one 's right, and when one 's wrong
       They smile still more, and then there intervene
     Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss;--
     I learn'd the little that I know by this:

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     As for the ladies, I have nought to say,
       A wanderer from the British world of fashion,
     Where I, like other 'dogs, have had my day,'
       Like other men, too, may have had my passion--
     But that, like other things, has pass'd away,
       And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on:
     Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me
     But dreams of what has been, no more to be.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Return we to Don Juan. He begun
       To hear new words, and to repeat them; but
     Some feelings, universal as the sun,
       Were such as could not in his breast be shut
     More than within the bosom of a nun:
       He was in love,--as you would be, no doubt,
     With a young benefactress,--so was she,
     Just in the way we very often see.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And every day by daybreak--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 slumbering guest,
     Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth,
     As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And every morn his colour freshlier came,
       And every day help'd on his convalescence;
     'T was well, because health in the human frame
       Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence,
     For health and idleness to passion's flame
       Are oil and gunpowder; and some good lessons
     Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus,
     Without whom Venus will not long attack us.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     While Venus fills the heart (without heart really
       Love, though good always, is not quite so good),
     Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli,--
       For love must be sustain'd like flesh and blood,--
     While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly:
       Eggs, oysters, too, are amatory food;
     But who is their purveyor from above
     Heaven knows,--it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 coffee and Haidee.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 forever 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 Io,
     But three Ragusan vessels, bound for Scio.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Then came her freedom, for she had no mother,
       So that, her father being at sea, she was
     Free as a married woman, or such other
       Female, as where she likes may freely pass,
     Without even the incumbrance of a brother,
       The freest she that ever gazed on glass;
     I speak of Christian lands in this comparison,
     Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk
       (For they must talk), and he had learnt to say
     So much as to propose to take a walk,--
       For little had he wander'd since the day
     On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stalk,
       Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,--
     And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon,
     And saw the sun set opposite the moon.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast,
       With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore,
     Guarded by shoals and rocks as by an host,
       With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore
     A better welcome to the tempest-tost;
       And rarely ceased the haughty billow's roar,
     Save on the dead long summer days, which make
     The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And the small ripple spilt upon the beach
       Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne,
     When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach,
       That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain!
     Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach
       Who please,--the more because they preach in vain,--
     Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,
     Sermons and soda-water the day after.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;
       The best of life is but intoxication:
     Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk
       The hopes of all men, and of every nation;
     Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk
       Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion:
     But to return,--Get very drunk; and when
     You wake with headache, you shall see what then.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The coast--I think it was the coast that
       Was just describing--Yes, it was the coast--
     Lay at this period quiet as the sky,
       The sands untumbled, the blue waves untost,
     And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry,
       And dolphin's leap, and little billow crost
     By some low rock or shelve, that made it fret
     Against the boundary it scarcely wet.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And forth they wander'd, her sire being gone,
       As I have said, upon an expedition;
     And mother, brother, guardian, she had none,
       Save Zoe, who, although with due precision
     She waited on her lady with the sun,
       Thought daily service was her only mission,
     Bringing warm water, wreathing her long tresses,
     And asking now and then for cast-off dresses.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
       Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
     Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded,
       Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
     With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
       On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
     Upon the other, and the rosy sky,
     With one star sparkling through it like an eye.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand,
       Over the shining pebbles and the shells,
     Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand,
       And in the worn and wild receptacles
     Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd,
       In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells,
     They turn'd to rest; and, each clasp'd by an arm,
     Yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow
       Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;
     They gazed upon the glittering sea below,
       Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;
     They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low,
       And saw each other's dark eyes darting light
     Into each other--and, beholding this,
     Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     By length I mean duration; theirs endured
       Heaven knows how long--no doubt they never reckon'd;
     And if they had, they could not have secured
       The sum of their sensations to a second:
     They had not spoken; but they felt allured,
       As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd,
     Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clung--
     Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They were alone, but not alone as they
       Who shut in chambers think it loneliness;
     The silent ocean, and the starlight bay,
       The twilight glow which momently grew less,
     The voiceless sands and dropping caves, that lay
       Around them, made them to each other press,
     As if there were no life beneath the sky
     Save theirs, and that their life could never die.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Haidde spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows,
       Nor offer'd any; she had never heard
     Of plight and promises to be a spouse,
       Or perils 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 dreamt of falsehood, she
     Had not one word to say of constancy.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She loved, and was beloved--she adored,
       And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion,
     Their intense souls, into each other pour'd,
       If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion,--
     But by degrees their senses were restored,
       Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on;
     And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidee's heart
     Felt as if never more to beat apart.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Alas! they were so young, so beautiful,
       So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour
     Was that in which the heart is always full,
       And, having o'er itself no further power,
     Prompts deeds eternity can not annul,
       But pays off moments in an endless shower
     Of hell-fire--all prepared for people giving
     Pleasure or pain to one another living.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They look upon each other, and their eyes
       Gleam in the moonlight; and her white arm clasps
     Round Juan's head, and his around her lies
       Half buried in the tresses which it grasps;
     She sits upon his knee, and drinks his sighs,
       He hers, until they end in broken gasps;
     And thus they form a group that 's quite antique,
     Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And when those deep and burning moments pass'd,
       And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms,
     She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast,
       Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms;
     And now and then her eye to heaven is cast,
       And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms,
     Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants
     With all it granted, and with all it grants.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     An infant when it gazes on a light,
       A child the moment when it drains the breast,
     A devotee when soars the Host in sight,
       An Arab with a stranger for a guest,
     A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,
       A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
     Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping
     As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 't is 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 errors
     And all its charms, like death without its terrors.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 united power;
       Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude
     She and her wave-worn love had made their bower,
       Where nought upon their passion could intrude,
     And all the stars that crowded the blue space
     Saw nothing happier than her glowing face.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 't is 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust,
       Is always so to women; one sole bond
     Awaits them, treachery is all their trust;
       Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond
     Over their idol, till some wealthier lust
       Buys them in marriage--and what rests beyond?
     A thankless husband, next a faithless lover,
     Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all 's over.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers,
       Some mind their household, others dissipation,
     Some run away, and but exchange their cares,
       Losing the advantage of a virtuous station;
     Few changes e'er can better their affairs,
       Theirs being an unnatural situation,
     From the dull palace to the dirty hovel:
     Some play the devil, and then write a novel.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Haidee was Nature's bride, and knew 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 naught to fear,
     Hope, care, nor love, beyond, her heart beat here.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And oh! that quickening of the heart, that beat!
       How much it costs us! yet each rising throb
     Is in its cause as its effect so sweet,
       That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob
     Joy of its alchymy, 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And now 't was done--on the lone shore were plighted
       Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed
     Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted:
       Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed,
     By their own feelings hallow'd and united,
       Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed:
     And they were happy, for to their young eyes
     Each was an angel, and earth paradise.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O, Love! of whom great Caesar was the suitor,
       Titus the master, Antony the slave,
     Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor,
       Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave
     All those may leap who rather would be neuter
       (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave)--
     O, Love! thou art the very god of evil,
     For, after all, we cannot call thee devil.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state precarious,
       And jestest with the brows of mightiest men:
     Caesar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius,
       Have much employ'd the muse of history's pen;
     Their lives and fortunes were extremely various,
       Such worthies Time will never see again;
     Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds,
     They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thou mak'st philosophers; there 's Epicurus
       And Aristippus, a material crew!
     Who to immoral courses would allure us
       By theories quite practicable too;
     If only from the devil they would insure us,
       How pleasant were the maxim (not quite new),
     'Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us?'
     So said the royal sage Sardanapalus.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But Juan! had he quite forgotten Julia?
       And should he have forgotten her so soon?
     I can't but say it seems to me most truly
       Perplexing question; but, no doubt, the moon
     Does these things for us, and whenever newly
       Strong palpitation rises, 't is her boon,
     Else how the devil is it that fresh features
     Have such a charm for us poor human creatures?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I hate inconstancy--I loathe, detest,
       Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made
     Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast
       No permanent foundation can be laid;
     Love, constant love, has been my constant guest,
       And yet last night, being at a masquerade,
     I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan,
     Which gave me some sensations like a villain.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But soon Philosophy came to my aid,
       And whisper'd, 'Think of every sacred tie!'
     'I will, my dear Philosophy!' I said,
       'But then her teeth, and then, oh, Heaven! her eye!
     I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid,
       Or neither--out of curiosity.'
     'Stop!' cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian
     (Though she was masqued then as a fair Venetian);

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Stop!' so I stopp'd.--But to return: that which
       Men call inconstancy is nothing more
     Than admiration due where nature's rich
       Profusion with young beauty covers o'er
     Some favour'd object; and as in the niche
       A lovely statue we almost adore,
     This sort of adoration of the real
     Is but a heightening of the 'beau ideal.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is 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,
     With one or two small senses added, just
     To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Yet 't is a painful feeling, and unwilling,
       For surely if we always could perceive
     In the same object graces quite as killing
       As when she rose upon us like an Eve,
     'T would save us many a heartache, many a shilling
       (For we must get them any how or grieve),
     Whereas if one sole lady pleased for ever,
     How pleasant for the heart as well as liver!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven,
       But changes night and day, too, like the sky;
     Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven,
       And darkness and destruction as on high:
     But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and riven,
       Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye
     Pours forth at last the heart's blood turn'd to tears,
     Which make the English climate of our years.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
     Life knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil,--
       Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction,--
     So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail,
     Like earthquakes from the hidden fire call'd 'central,'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 my bow,
     Leaving Don Juan and Haidee to plead
     For them and theirs with all who deign to read.

TITLE Don Juan, III 

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Hail, Muse! et cetera.--We left Juan sleeping,
       Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast,
     And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping,
       And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest
     To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,
       Or know who rested there, a foe to rest,
     Had soil'd the current of her sinless years,
     And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O, Love! what is it in this world of ours
       Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why
     With cypress branches hast thou Wreathed thy bowers,
       And made thy best interpreter a sigh?
     As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,
       And place them on their breast--but place to die--
     Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish
     Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I know not if the fault be men's or theirs;
       But one thing 's pretty sure; a woman planted
     (Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers)
       After a decent time must be gallanted;
     Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs
       Is that to which her heart is wholly granted;
     Yet there are some, they say, who have had none,
     But those who have ne'er end with only one.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There 's something of antipathy, as 't were,
       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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Men grow ashamed of being so very fond;
       They sometimes also get a little tired
     (But that, of course, is rare), and then despond:
       The same things cannot always be admired,
     Yet 't is 'so nominated in the bond,'
       That both are tied till one shall have expired.
     Sad thought! to lose the spouse that was adorning
     Our days, and put one's servants into mourning.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There 's doubtless something in domestic doings
       Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis;
     Romances paint at full length people's wooings,
       But only give a bust of marriages;
     For no one cares for matrimonial cooings,
       There 's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss:
     Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,
     He would have written sonnets all his life?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The only two that in my recollection
       Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, are
     Dante and Milton, and of both the affection
       Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar
     Of fault or temper ruin'd the connection
       (Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to mar):
     But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve
     Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 fantasy,
     Unless indeed it was from his own knowledge he
       Decided thus, and show'd good reason why;
     I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics
     Meant to personify the mathematics.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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;
     'T is dangerous to read of loves unlawful.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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, 't is hard to miss it,
       At least in the beginning, ere one tires;
     Thus she came often, not a moment losing,
     Whilst her piratical papa was cruising.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 't is 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The good old gentleman had been detain'd
       By winds and waves, and some important captures;
     And, in the hope of more, at sea remain'd,
       Although a squall or two had damp'd his raptures,
     By swamping one of the prizes; he had chain'd
       His prisoners, dividing them like chapters
     In number'd lots; they all had cuffs and collars,
     And averaged each from ten to a hundred dollars.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan,
       Among his friends the Mainots; some he sold
     To his Tunis correspondents, save one man
       Toss'd overboard unsaleable (being old);
     The rest--save here and 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 Dey of Tripoli.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The merchandise was served in the same way,
       Pieced out for different marts in the Levant;
     Except some certain portions of the prey,
       Light classic articles of female want,
     French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toothpicks, teapot, tray,
       Guitars and castanets from Alicant,
     All which selected from the spoil he gathers,
     Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw,
       Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens,
     He chose from several animals he saw--
       A terrier, too, which once had been a Briton's,
     Who dying on the coast of Ithaca,
       The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance;
     These to secure in this strong blowing weather,
     He caged in one huge hamper altogether.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Then having settled his marine affairs,
       Despatching single cruisers here and there,
     His vessel having need of some repairs,
       He shaped his course to where his daughter fair
     Continued still her hospitable cares;
       But that part of the coast being shoal and bare,
     And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile,
     His port lay on the other side o' the isle.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 his ship to be hove down next day,
       With orders to the people to careen;
     So that all hands were busy beyond measure,
     In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treasure.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The approach of home to husbands and to sires,
       After long travelling by land or water,
     Most naturally some small doubt inspires--
       A female family 's a serious matter
     (None trusts the sex more, or so much admires--
       But they hate flattery, so I never flatter);
     Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,
     And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     An honest gentleman at his return
       May not have the good fortune of Ulysses;
     Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn,
       Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses;
     The odds are that he finds a handsome urn
       To his memory--and two or three young misses
     Born to some friend, who holds his wife and riches,--
     And that his Argus--bites him by the breeches.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     If single, probably his plighted fair
       Has in his absence wedded some rich miser;
     But all the better, for the happy pair
       May quarrel, and the lady growing wiser,
     He may resume his amatory care
       As cavalier servente, or despise her;
     And that his sorrow may not be a dumb one,
     Write odes on the Inconstancy of Woman.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And oh! ye gentlemen who have already
       Some chaste liaison of the kind--I mean
     An honest friendship with a married lady--
       The only thing of this sort ever seen
     To last--of all connections the most steady,
       And the true Hymen (the first 's but a screen)--
     Yet for all that keep not too long away,
     I 've known the absent wrong'd four times a day.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had
       Much less experience of dry land than ocean,
     On seeing his own chimney-smoke, felt glad;
       But not knowing metaphysics, had no notion
     Of the true reason of his not being sad,
       Or that of any other strong emotion;
     He loved his child, and would have wept the loss of her,
     But knew the cause no more than a philosopher.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He saw his white walls shining in the sun,
       His garden trees all shadowy and green;
     He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run,
       The distant dog-bark; and perceived between
     The umbrage of the wood so cool and dun
       The moving figures, and the sparkling sheen
     Of arms (in the East all arm)--and various dyes
     Of colour'd garbs, as bright as butterflies.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And as the spot where they appear he nears,
       Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling,
     He hears--alas! no music of the spheres,
       But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling!
     A melody which made him doubt his ears,
       The cause being past his guessing or unriddling;
     A pipe, too, and a drum, and shortly after,
     A most unoriental roar of laughter.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And still more nearly to the place advancing,
       Descending rather quickly the declivity,
     Through the waved branches o'er the greensward glancing,
       'Midst other indications of festivity,
     Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing
       Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he
     Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial,
     To which the Levantines are very partial.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And further on a group of Grecian girls,
       The first and tallest her white kerchief waving,
     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
       (The least of which would set ten poets raving);
     Their leader sang--and bounded to her song,
     With choral step and voice, the virgin throng.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And here, 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses,
       Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks,
     Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses,
       The gesture which enchants, the 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 they should e'er grow older.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales
       To a sedate grey circle of old smokers,
     Of secret treasures found in hidden vales,
       Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers,
     Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails,
       Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers,
     Of magic ladies who, by one sole act,
     Transform'd their lords to beasts (but that 's a fact).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Here was no lack of innocent diversion
       For the imagination or 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Ah! what is man? what perils still environ
       The happiest mortals even after dinner--
     A day of gold from out an age of iron
       Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner;
     Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least) 's a siren,
       That lures, to flay alive, the young beginner;
     Lambro's reception at his people's banquet
     Was such as fire accords to a wet blanket.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He--being a man who seldom used a word
       Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise
     (In general he surprised men with the sword)
       His daughter--had not sent before to advise
     Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd;
       And long he paused to re-assure his eyes
     In fact much more astonish'd than delighted,
     To find so much good company invited.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He did not know (alas! how men will lie)
       That a report (especially the Greeks)
     Avouch'd his death (such people never die),
       And put his house in mourning several weeks,--
     But now their eyes and also lips were dry;
       The bloom, too, had return'd to Haidee's cheeks,
     Her tears, too, being return'd into their fount,
     She now kept house upon her own account.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Hence all this rice, meat, dancing, wine, and fiddling,
       Which 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;
     'T was wonderful how things went on improving,
     While she had not one hour to spare from loving.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Advancing to the nearest dinner tray,
       Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest,
     With a peculiar smile, which, by the way,
       Boded no good, whatever it express'd,
     He ask'd the meaning of this holiday;
       The vinous Greek to whom he had address'd
     His question, much too merry to divine
     The questioner, fill'd up a glass of wine,

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And without turning his facetious head,
       Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air,
     Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said,
       'Talking 's dry work, I have no time to spare.'
     A second hiccup'd, 'Our old master 's dead,
       You 'd better ask our mistress who 's his heir.'
     'Our mistress!' quoth a third: 'Our mistress!--pooh!-
     You mean our master--not the old, but new.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     These rascals, being new comers, knew not whom
       They thus address'd--and Lambro's visage fell--
     And o'er his eye a momentary gloom
       Pass'd, but he strove quite courteously to quell
     The expression, and endeavouring to resume
       His smile, requested one of them to tell
     The name and quality of his new patron,
     Who seem'd to have turn'd Haidee into a matron.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'I know not,' quoth the fellow, 'who or what
       He is, nor whence he came--and little care;
     But this I know, that this roast capon 's fat,
       And that good wine ne'er wash'd down better fare;
     And if you are not satisfied with that,
       Direct your questions to my neighbour there;
     He 'll answer all for better or for worse,
     For none likes more to hear himself converse.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I said that Lambro was a man of patience,
       And certainly he show'd the best of breeding,
     Which scarce even France, the paragon of nations,
       E'er saw her most polite of sons exceeding;
     He bore these sneers against his near relations,
       His own anxiety, his heart, too, bleeding,
     The insults, too, of every servile glutton,
     Who all the time was eating up his mutton.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Now in a person used to much command--
       To bid men come, and go, and come again--
     To see his orders done, too, out of hand--
       Whether the word was death, or but the chain--
     It may seem strange to find his manners bland;
       Yet such things are, which I can not explain,
     Though doubtless he who can command himself
     Is good to govern--almost as a Guelf.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Not that he was not sometimes rash or so,
       But never in his real and serious mood;
     Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow,
       He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood;
     With him it never was a word and blow,
       His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood,
     But in his silence there was much to rue,
     And his one blow left little work for two.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded
       On to the house, but by a private way,
     So that the few who met him hardly heeded,
       So little they expected him that day;
     If love paternal in his bosom pleaded
       For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say,
     But certainly to one deem'd dead, returning,
     This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     If all the dead could now return to life
       (Which God forbid!) or some, or a great many,
     For instance, if a husband or his wife
       (Nuptial examples are as good as any),
     No doubt whate'er might be their former strife,
       The present weather would be much more rainy--
     Tears shed into the grave of the connection
     Would share most probably its resurrection.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He enter'd in the house no more his home,
       A thing to human feelings the most trying,
     And harder for the heart to overcome,
       Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying;
     To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb,
       And round its once warm precincts palely lying
     The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief,
     Beyond a single gentleman's belief.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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,
       There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt
     Over the innocence of that sweet child,
     His only shrine of feelings undefiled.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The love of power, and rapid gain of gold,
       The hardness by long habitude produced,
     The dangerous life in which he had grown old,
       The mercy he had granted oft abused,
     The sights he was accustom'd to behold,
       The wild seas, and wild men with whom he cruised,
     Had cost his enemies a long repentance,
     And made him a good friend, but bad acquaintance.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But something of the spirit of old Greece
       Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays,
     Such as lit onward to the Golden Fleece
       His predecessors in the Colchian days;
     T is true he had no ardent love for peace--
       Alas! his country show'd no path to praise:
     Hate to the world and war with every nation
     He waged, in vengeance of her degradation.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But whatsoe'er he had of love reposed
       On that beloved daughter; she had been
     The only thing which kept his heart unclosed
       Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen;
     A lonely pure affection unopposed:
       There wanted but the loss of this to wean
     His feelings from all milk of human kindness,
     And turn him like the Cyclops mad with blindness.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
       Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock;
     The ocean when its yeasty war is waging
       Is awful to the vessel near the rock;
     But violent things will sooner bear assuaging,
       Their fury being spent by its own shock,
     Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire
     Of a strong human heart, and in a sire.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It is a hard although a common case
       To find our children running restive--they
     In whom our brightest days we would retrace,
       Our little selves re-form'd in finer clay,
     Just as old age is creeping on apace,
       And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day,
     They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,
     But in good company--the gout or stone.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Yet a fine family is a fine thing
       (Provided they don't come in after dinner);
     'T is beautiful to see a matron bring
       Her children up (if nursing them don't thin her);
     Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling
       To the fire-side (a sight to touch a sinner).
     A lady with her daughters or her nieces
     Shines like a guinea and seven-shilling pieces.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate,
       And stood within his hall at eventide;
     Meantime the lady and her lover sate
       At wassail in their beauty and their pride:
     An ivory inlaid table spread with state
       Before them, and fair slaves on every side;
     Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly,
     Mother of pearl and coral the less costly.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The dinner made about a hundred dishes;
       Lamb and pistachio nuts--in short, all meats,
     And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fishes
       Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets,
     Drest to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes;
       The beverage was various sherbets
     Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice,
     Squeezed through the rind, which makes it best for use.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer,
       And fruits, and date-bread loaves closed the repast,
     And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure,
       In small fine China cups, came in at last;
     Gold cups of filigree made to secure
       The hand from burning underneath them placed,
     Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd
     Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spoil'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The hangings of the room were tapestry, made
       Of velvet panels, each of different hue,
     And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid;
       And round them ran a yellow border too;
     The upper border, richly wrought, display'd,
       Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue,
     Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters,
     From poets, or the moralists their betters.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     These Oriental writings on the wall,
       Quite common in those countries, are a kind
     Of monitors adapted to recall,
       Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the mind
     The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall,
       And took his kingdom from him: You will find,
     Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure,
     There is no sterner moralist than Pleasure.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 beneath)--
     But most, an alderman struck apoplectic,
       Are things that really take away the breath,--
     And show that late hours, wine, and love are able
     To do not much less damage than the table.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet
       On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue;
     Their sofa occupied three parts complete
       Of the apartment--and appear'd quite new;
     The velvet cushions (for a throne more meet)
       Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew
     A sun emboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue,
     Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain,
       Had done their work of splendour; Indian mats
     And Persian carpets, which the heart bled to stain,
       Over the floors were spread; gazelles and cats,
     And dwarfs and blacks, and such like things, that gain
       Their bread as ministers and favourites (that 's
     To say, by degradation) mingled there
     As plentiful as in a court, or fair.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There was no want of lofty mirrors, and
       The tables, most of ebony inlaid
     With mother of pearl or ivory, stood at hand,
       Or were of tortoise-shell or rare woods made,
     Fretted with gold or silver:--by command,
       The greater part of these were ready spread
     With viands and sherbets in ice--and wine--
     Kept for all comers at all hours to dine.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Of all the dresses I select Haidee's:
       She wore two jelicks--one was of pale yellow;
     Of azure, pink, and white was her chemise--
       'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow;
     With buttons form'd of pearls as large as peas,
       All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fellow,
     And the striped white gauze baracan that bound her,
     Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow'd round her.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 which it adorn'd its only mould;
     So beautiful--its very shape would charm;
       And, clinging as if loath to lose its hold,
     The purest ore enclosed the whitest skin
     That e'er by precious metal was held in.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Around, as princess of her father's land,
       A like gold bar above her instep roll'd
     Announced her rank; twelve rings were on her hand;
       Her hair was starr'd with gems; her veil's fine fold
     Below her breast was fasten'd with a band
       Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told;
     Her orange silk full Turkish trousers furl'd
     About the prettiest ankle in the world.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel
       Flow'd like an Alpine torrent which the sun
     Dyes with his morning light,--and would conceal
       Her person if allow'd at large to run,
     And still they seem resentfully to feel
       The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun
     Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught began
     To offer his young pinion as her fan.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Round her she made an atmosphere of life,
       The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes,
     They were so soft and beautiful, and rife
       With all we can imagine of the skies,
     And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife--
       Too pure even for the purest human ties;
     Her overpowering presence made you feel
     It would not be idolatry to kneel.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The henna should be deeply dyed to make
       The skin relieved appear more fairly fair;
     She had no need of this, day ne'er will break
       On mountain tops more heavenly white than her:
     The eye might doubt if it were well awake,
       She was so like a vision; I might err,
     But Shakspeare also says, 't is very silly
     'To gild refined gold, or paint the lily'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Juan had on a shawl of black and gold,
       But a white baracan, and so transparent
     The sparkling gems beneath you might behold,
       Like small stars through the milky way apparent;
     His turban, furl'd in many a graceful fold,
       An emerald aigrette with Haidee's hair in 't
     Surmounted as its clasp--a glowing crescent,
     Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And now they were diverted by their suite,
       Dwarfs, dancing girls, black eunuchs, and a poet,
     Which made their new establishment complete;
       The last was of great fame, and liked to show it:
     His verses rarely wanted their due feet;
       And for his theme--he seldom sung below it,
     He being paid to satirize or flatter,
     As the psalm says, 'inditing a good matter.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He praised the present, and abused the past,
       Reversing the good custom of old days,
     An Eastern anti-jacobin at last
       He turn'd, preferring pudding to no praise--
     For some few years his lot had been o'ercast
       By his seeming independent in his lays,
     But now he sung the Sultan and the Pacha
     With truth like Southey, and with verse like Crashaw.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He was a man who had seen many changes,
       And always changed as true as any needle;
     His polar star being one which rather ranges,
       And not the fix'd--he knew the way to wheedle:
     So vile he 'scaped the doom which oft avenges;
       And being fluent (save indeed when fee'd ill),
     He lied with such a fervour of intention--
     There was no doubt he earn'd his laureate pension.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But he had genius,--when a turncoat has it,
       The 'Vates irritabilis' takes care
     That without notice few full moons shall pass it;
       Even good men like to make the public stare:--
     But to my subject--let me see--what was it?-
       O!--the third canto--and the pretty pair--
     Their loves, and feasts, and house, and dress, and mode
     Of living in their insular abode.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Their poet, a sad trimmer, but no less
       In company a very pleasant fellow,
     Had been the favourite of full many a mess
       Of men, and made them speeches when half mellow;
     And though his meaning they could rarely guess,
       Yet still they deign'd to hiccup or to bellow
     The glorious meed of popular applause,
     Of which the first ne'er knows the second cause.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But now being lifted into high society,
       And having pick'd up several odds and ends
     Of free thoughts in his travels for variety,
       He deem'd, being in a lone isle, among friends,
     That, without any danger of a riot, he
       Might for long lying make himself amends;
     And, singing as he sung in his warm youth,
     Agree to a short armistice with truth.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He had travell'd 'mongst the Arabs, Turks, and Franks,
       And knew the self-loves of the different nations;
     And having lived with people of all ranks,
       Had something ready upon most occasions--
     Which got him a few presents and some thanks.
       He varied with some skill his adulations;
     To 'do at Rome as Romans do,' a piece
     Of conduct was which he observed in Greece.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thus, usually, when he was ask'd to sing,
       He gave the different nations something national;
     'T was all the same to him--'God save the king,'
       Or 'Ca ira,' according to the fashion all:
     His muse made increment of any thing,
       From the high lyric down to the low rational:
     If Pindar sang horse-races, what should hinder
     Himself from being as pliable as Pindar?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     In France, for instance, he would write a chanson;
       In England a six canto quarto tale;
     In Spain, he'd make a ballad or romance on
       The last war--much the same in Portugal;
     In Germany, the Pegasus he 'd prance on
       Would be old Goethe's (see what says De Stael);
     In Italy he 'd ape the 'Trecentisti;'
     In Greece, he sing some sort of hymn like this t' ye:

RHYME a b a b c c 

           The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
             Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
           Where grew the arts of war and peace,
             Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
           Eternal summer gilds them yet,
           But all, except their sun, is set.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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 Blest.'

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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?

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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?

RHYME a b a b c c 

           'T is 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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
             Must we but blush?--Our fathers bled.
           Earth! render back from out thy breast
             A remnant of our Spartan dead!
           Of the three hundred grant but three,
           To make a new Thermopylae!

RHYME a b a b c c 

           What, silent still? and silent all?
             Ah! no;--the voices of the dead
           Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
             And answer, 'Let one living head,
           But one arise,--we come, we come!'
           'T is but the living who are dumb.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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!

RHYME a b a b c c 

           You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
             Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
           Of two such lessons, why forget
             The nobler and the manlier one?
           You have the letters Cadmus gave--
           Think ye he meant them for a slave?

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           The tyrant of the Chersonese
             Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
           That tyrant was Miltiades!
             O! that the present hour would lend
           Another despot of the kind!
           Such chains as his were sure to bind.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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.

RHYME a b a b c c 

           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

RHYME a b a b c c 

           Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
             Where nothing, save the waves and I,
           May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
             There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
           A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
           Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thus sung, or would, or could, or should have sung,
       The modern Greek, in tolerable verse;
     If not like Orpheus quite, when Greece was young,
       Yet in these times he might have done much worse:
     His strain display'd some feeling--right or wrong;
       And feeling, in a poet, is the source
     Of others' feeling; but they are such liars,
     And take all colours--like the hands of dyers.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
       Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
     That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;
       'T is strange, the shortest letter which man uses
     Instead of speech, may form a lasting link
       Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces
     Frail man, when paper--even a rag like this,
     Survives himself, his tomb, and all that 's his.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And when his bones are dust, his grave a blank,
       His station, generation, even his nation,
     Become a thing, or nothing, save to rank
       In chronological commemoration,
     Some dull MS. oblivion long has sank,
       Or graven stone found in a barrack's station
     In digging the foundation of a closet,
     May turn his name up, as a rare deposit.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And glory long has made the sages smile;
       'T is something, nothing, words, illusion, wind--
     Depending more upon the historian's style
       Than on the name a person leaves behind:
     Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle:
       The present century was growing blind
     To the great Marlborough's skill in giving knocks,
     Until his late life by Archdeacon Coxe.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Milton 's the prince of poets--so we say;
       A little heavy, but no less divine:
     An independent being in his day--
       Learn'd, pious, temperate in love and wine;
     But, his life falling into Johnson's way,
       We 're told this great high priest of all the Nine
     Was whipt at college--a harsh sire--odd spouse,
     For the first Mrs. Milton left his house.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     All these are, certes, entertaining facts,
       Like Shakspeare's stealing deer, Lord Bacon's bribes;
     Like Titus' youth, and Caesar's earliest acts;
       Like Burns (whom Doctor Currie well describes);
     Like Cromwell's pranks;--but although truth exacts
       These amiable descriptions from the scribes,
     As most essential to their hero's story,
     They do not much contribute to his glory.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     All are not moralists, like Southey, when
       He prated to the world of 'Pantisocracy;'
     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).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Such names at present cut a convict figure,
       The very Botany Bay in moral geography;
     Their loyal treason, renegado rigour,
       Are good manure for their more bare biography.
     Wordsworth's last quarto, by the way, is bigger
       Than any since the birthday of typography;
     A drowsy frowzy poem, call'd the 'Excursion.'
     Writ in a manner which is my aversion.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 virginities
     Have proved but dropsies, taken for divinities.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I know that what our neighbours call 'longueurs'
       (We 've not so good a word, but have the thing
     In that complete perfection which ensures
       An epic from Bob Southey every spring),
     Form not the true temptation which allures
       The reader; but 't would not be hard to bring
     Some fine examples of the epopee,
     To prove its grand ingredient is ennui.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     We learn from Horace, 'Homer sometimes sleeps;'
       We feel without him, Wordsworth sometimes wakes,--
     To show with what complacency he creeps,
       With his dear 'Waggoners,' around his lakes.
     He wishes for 'a boat' to sail the deeps--
       Of ocean?--No, of air; and then he makes
     Another outcry for 'a little boat,'
     And drivels seas to set it well afloat.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain,
       And Pegasus runs restive in his 'Waggon,'
     Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain?
       Or pray Medea for a single dragon?
     Or if, too classic for his vulgar brain,
       He fear'd his neck to venture such a nag on,
     And he must needs mount nearer to the moon,
     Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon?

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Pedlars,' and 'Boats,' and 'Waggons!' Oh! ye shades
       Of Pope and Dryden, are we come to this?
     That trash of such sort not alone evades
       Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss
     Floats scumlike uppermost, and these Jack Cades
       Of sense and song above your graves may hiss--
     The 'little boatman' and his 'Peter Bell'
     Can sneer at him who drew 'Achitophel'!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     T' our tale.--The feast was over, the slaves gone,
       The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired;
     The Arab lore and poet's song were done,
       And every sound of revelry expired;
     The lady and her lover, left alone,
       The rosy flood of twilight's sky admired;--
     Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea,
     That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Ave Maria! 't is the hour of prayer!
       Ave Maria! 't is 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 Almighty dove--
     What though 't is but a pictured image?--strike--
     That painting is no idol,--'t is too like.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Some kinder casuists are pleased to say,
       In nameless print--that I have no devotion;
     But set those persons down with me to pray,
       And you shall see who has the properest notion
     Of getting into heaven the shortest way;
       My altars are the mountains and the ocean,
     Earth, air, stars,--all that springs from the great Whole,
     Who hath produced, and will receive the soul.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Sweet hour of twilight!--in the solitude
       Of the pine forest, and the silent shore
     Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,
       Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er,
     To where the last Caesarean fortress stood,
       Evergreen forest! which Boccaccio's lore
     And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me,
     How have I loved the twilight hour and thee!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The shrill cicadas, people of the pine,
       Making their summer lives one ceaseless song,
     Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine,
       And vesper bell's that rose the boughs along;
     The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line,
       His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng
     Which learn'd from this example not to fly
     From a true lover,--shadow'd my mind's eye.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O, Hesperus! thou bringest all good things--
       Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,
     To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,
       The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer;
     Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings,
       Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,
     Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest;
     Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart
       Of those who sail the seas, on the first day
     When they from their sweet friends are torn apart;
       Or fills with 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 mourns!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     When Nero perish'd by the justest doom
       Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd,
     Amidst the roar of liberated Rome,
       Of nations freed, and the world overjoy'd,
     Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb:
       Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void
     Of feeling for some kindness done, when power
     Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But I 'm digressing; what on earth has Nero,
       Or any such like sovereign buffoons,
     To do with the transactions of my hero,
       More than such madmen's fellow man--the moon's?
     Sure my invention must be down at zero,
       And I grown one of many 'wooden spoons'
     Of verse (the name with which we Cantabs please
     To dub the last of honours in degrees).

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I feel this tediousness will never do--
       'T is being too epic, and I must cut down
     (In copying) this long canto into two;
       They 'll never find it out, unless I own
     The fact, excepting some experienced few;
       And then as an improvement 't will be shown:
     I 'll prove that such the opinion of the critic is
     From Aristotle passim.--See poietikes.

TITLE Don Juan, IV

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

Nothing so difficult as a beginning
       In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
     For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
       The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
     Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning;
       Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
     Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
     Till our own weakness shows us what we are.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But Time, which brings all beings to their level,
       And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
     Man,Ñand, as we would hope,Ñperhaps the devil,
       That neither of their intellects are vast:
     While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
       We know not thisÑthe blood flows on too fast;
     But as the torrent widens towards the ocean,
     We ponder deeply on each past emotion.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow,
       And wish'd that others held the same opinion;
     They took it up when my days grew more mellow,
       And other minds acknowledged my dominion:
     Now my sere fancy 'falls into the yellow
       Leaf,' and Imagination droops her pinion,
     And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk
     Turns what was once romantic to burlesque.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
       'T is that I may not weep; and if I weep,
     'T is that our nature cannot always bring
       Itself to apathy, for we must steep
     Our hearts first in the depths of Lethe's spring,
       Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep:
     Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx;
     A mortal mother would on Lethe fix.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 were to be a moment merry,
     A novel word in my vocabulary.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Young Juan and his lady-love were left
       To their own hearts' most sweet society;
     Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft
       With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms; he
     Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft,
       Though foe to love; and yet they could not be
     Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring,
     Before one charm or hope had taken wing.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their
       Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail;
     The blank grey was not made to blast their hair,
       But like the climes that know nor snow nor hail
     They were all summer: lightning might assail
       And shiver them to ashes, but to trail
     A long and snake-like life of dull decay
     Was not for themÑthey had too little day.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 yearsÑthe river
     Damm'd from its fountainÑthe child from the knee
       And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever,Ñ
     Would wither less than these two torn apart;
     Alas! there is no instinct like the heartÑ

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The heartÑwhich may be broken: happy they!
       Thrice fortunate! who of that fragile mould,
     The precious porcelain of human clay,
       Break with the first fall: they can ne'er behold
     The long year link'd with heavy day on day,
       And all which must be borne, and never told;
     While life's strange principle will often lie
     Deepest in those who long the most to die.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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 even moreÑ
       The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is,
     Except mere breath; and since the silent shore
       Awaits at last even those who longest miss
     The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave
     Which men weep over may be meant to save.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Haidee and Juan thought not of the deadÑ
       The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made for them:
     They found no fault with Time, save that he fled;
       They saw not in themselves aught to condemn:
     Each was the other's mirror, and but read
       Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem,
     And knew such brightness was but the reflection
     Of their exchanging glances of affection.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,
       The least glance better understood than words,
     Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much;
       A language, too, but like to that of birds,
     Known but to them, at least appearing such
       As but to lovers a true sense affords;
     Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd
     To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard,Ñ

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     All these were theirs, for they were children still,
       And children still they should have ever been;
     They were not made in the real world to fill
       A busy character in the dull scene,
     But like two beings born from 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Moons changing had roll'd on, and changeless found
       Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys
     As rarely they beheld throughout their round;
       And these were not of the vain kind which cloys,
     For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound
       By the mere senses; and that which destroys
     Most love, possession, unto them appear'd
     A thing which each endearment more endear'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O beautiful! and rare as beautiful
       But theirs was love in which the mind delights
     To lose itself when the old world grows dull,
       And we are sick of its 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 whÑre.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Hard words; harsh truth; a truth which many know.
       Enough.ÑThe 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
     InherentÑwhat we mortals call romantic,
     And always envy, though we deem it frantic.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     This is in others a factitious state,
       An opium dream of too much youth and reading,
     But was in them their nature or their fate:
       No novels e'er had set their young hearts bleeding,
     For Haidee's knowledge was by no means great,
       And Juan was a boy of saintly breeding;
     So that there was no reason for their loves
     More than for those of nightingales or doves.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They gazed upon the sunset; 't is an hour
       Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
     For it had made them what they were: the power
       Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies,
     When happiness had been their only dower,
       And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties;
     Charm'd with each other, all things charm'd that brought
     The past still welcome as the present thought.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I know not why, but in that hour to-night,
       Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came,
     And swept, as 't were, across their hearts' delight,
       Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame,
     When one is shook in sound, and one in sight;
       And thus some boding flash'd through either frame,
     And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh,
     While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate
       And follow far the disappearing sun,
     As if their last day! of a happy date
       With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone;
     Juan gazed on her as to ask his fateÑ
       He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none,
     His glance inquired of hers for some excuse
     For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort
       Which makes not others smile; then turn'd aside:
     Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,
       And master'd by her wisdom or her pride;
     When Juan spoke, tooÑit might be in sportÑ
       Of this their mutual feeling, she repliedÑ
     'If it should be so,ÑbutÑit cannot beÑ
     Or I at least shall not survive to see.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Juan would question further, but she press'd
       His lip to hers, and silenced him with this,
     And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast,
       Defying augury with that fond kiss;
     And no doubt of all methods 't is the best:
       Some people prefer wineÑ't is not amiss;
     I have tried both; so those who would a part take
     May choose between the headache and the heartache.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     One of the two, according to your choice,
       Woman or wine, you 'll have to undergo;
     Both maladies are taxes on our joys:
       But which to choose, I really hardly know;
     And if I had to give a casting voice,
       For both sides I could many reasons show,
     And then decide, without great wrong to either,
     It were much better to have both than neither.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other
       With swimming looks of speechless tenderness,
     Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother,
       All that the best can mingle and express
     When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another,
       And love too much, and yet can not love less;
     But almost sanctify the sweet excess
     By the immortal wish and power to bless.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart,
       Why did they not then die?Ñthey had lived too long
     Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart;
       Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong;
     The world was not for them, nor the world's art
       For beings passionate as Sappho's song;
     Love was born with them, in them, so intense,
     It was their very spiritÑnot a sense.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They should have lived together deep in woods,
       Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were
     Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes
       Call'd social, haunts of Hate, and Vice, and Care:
     How lonely every freeborn creature broods!
       The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair;
     The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow
     Flock o'er their carrion, just like men below.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Now pillow'd cheek to cheek, in loving sleep,
       Haidee and Juan their siesta took,
     A gentle slumber, but it was not deep,
       For ever and anon a something shook
     Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep;
       And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd like a brook
     A wordless music, and her face so fair
     Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Or as the stirring of a deep dear stream
       Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind
     Walks o'er it, was she shaken by the dream,
       The mystical usurper of the mindÑ
     O'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem
       Good to the soul which we no more can bind;
     Strange state of being! (for 't is still to be)
     Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore,
       Chain'd to a rock; she knew not how, but stir
     She could not from the spot, and the loud roar
       Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her;
     And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour,
       Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were
     Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and highÑ
     Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     AnonÑshe was released, and then she stray'd
       O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet,
     And stumbled almost every step she made;
       And something roll'd before her in a sheet,
     Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid:
       'T was white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet
     Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed, and grasp'd,
     And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The dream changed:Ñin a cave she stood, its walls
       Were hung with marble icicles, the work
     Of ages on its water-fretted halls,
       Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk;
     Her hair was dripping, and the very balls
       Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and mirk
     The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught,
     Which froze to marble as it fell,Ñshe thought.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And gazing on the dead, she thought his face
       Faded, or alter'd into something newÑ
     Like to her father's features, till each traceÑ
       More like and like to Lambro's aspect grewÑ
     With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace;
       And starting, she awoke, and what to view?
     O! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there?
     'T isÑ't is her father'sÑfix'd upon the pair!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell,
       With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see
     Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell
       The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be
     Perchance the death of one she loved too well:
       Dear as her father had been to Haidee,
     It was a moment of that awful kindÑ
     I have seen suchÑbut must not call to mind.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek,
       And caught her falling, and from off the wall
     Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak
       Vengeance on him who was the cause of all:
     Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak,
       Smiled scornfully, and said, 'Within my call,
     A thousand scimitars await the word;
     Put up, young man, put up your silly sword.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And Haidee clung around him; 'Juan, 't isÑ
       'T is LambroÑ't is my father! Kneel with meÑ
     He will forgive usÑyesÑit must beÑyes.
       O! dearest father, in this agony
     Of pleasure and of painÑeven while I kiss
       Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be
     That doubt should mingle with my filial joy?
     Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     High and inscrutable the old man stood,
       Calm in his voice, and calm within his eyeÑ
     Not always signs with him of calmest mood:
       He look'd upon her, but gave no reply;
     Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood
       Oft came and went, as there resolved to die;
     In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring
     On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Young man, your sword;' so Lambro once more said:
       Juan replied, 'Not while this arm is free.'
     The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with dread,
       And drawing from his belt a pistol, he
     Replied, 'Your blood be then on your own head.'
       Then look'd dose at the flint, as if to see
     'T was freshÑfor he had lately used the lockÑ
     And next proceeded quietly to cock.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It has a strange quick jar upon the ear,
       That cocking of a pistol, when you know
     A moment more will bring the sight to bear
       Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so;
     A gentlemanly distance, not too near,
       If you have got a former friend for foe;
     But after being fired at once or twice,
     The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Lambro presented, and one instant more
       Had stopp'd this Canto, and Don Juan's breath,
     When Haidee threw herself her boy before;
       Stern as her sire: 'On me,' she cried, 'let death
     DescendÑthe fault is mine; this fatal shore
       He foundÑbut sought not. I have pledged my faith;
     I love himÑI will die with him: I knew
     Your nature's firmnessÑknow your daughter's too.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A minute past, and she had been all tears,
       And tenderness, and infancy; but now
     She stood as one who champion'd human fearsÑ
       Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the blow;
     And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers,
       She drew up to her height, as if to show
     A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd
     Her father's faceÑbut never stopp'd his hand.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He gazed on her, and she on him; 't was 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 beÑa lioness, though tame.
     Her father's blood before her father's face
     Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I said they were alike, their features and
       Their stature, differing but in sex and years;
     Even to the delicacy of their hand
       There was resemblance, such as true blood wears;
     And now to see them, thus divided, stand
       In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears
     And sweet sensations should have welcomed both,
     Show what the passions are in their full growth.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 stranger's ill;
     Not I have made this desolation: few
       Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill;
     But I must do my dutyÑhow thou hast
     Done thine, the present vouches for the past.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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,Ñ'Arrest or slay the Frank.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew
       His daughter; while compress'd within his clasp,
     'Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew;
       In vain she struggled in her father's graspÑ
     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The second had his cheek laid open; but
       The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took
     The blows upon his cutlass, and then put
       His own well in; so well, ere you could look,
     His man was floor'd, and helpless at his foot,
       With the blood running like a little brook
     From two smart sabre gashes, deep and redÑ
     One on the arm, the other on the head.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And then they bound him where he fell, and bore
       Juan from the apartment: with a sign
     Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore,
       Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine.
     They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar
       Until they reach'd some galliots, placed in line;
     On board of one of these, and under hatches,
     They stow'd him, with strict orders to the watches.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The world is full of strange vicissitudes,
       And here was one exceedingly unpleasant:
     A gentleman so rich in the world's goods,
       Handsome and young, enjoying all the present,
     Just at the very time when he least broods
       On such a thing is suddenly to sea sent,
     Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot move,
     And all because a lady fell in love.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic,
       Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea!
     Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic;
       For if my pure libations exceed three,
     I feel my heart become so sympathetic,
       That I must have recourse to black Bohea:
     'T is pity wine should be so deleterious,
     For tea and coffee leave us much more serious,

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Unless when qualified with thee, Cogniac!
       Sweet Naiad of the Phlegethontic 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I leave Don Juan for the present, safeÑ
       Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded;
     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 surrounded;
     Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez,
     Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There the large olive rains its amber store
       In marble fonts; 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth
       Her human day is kindled; full of power
     For good or evil, burning from its birth,
       The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour,
     And like the soil beneath it will bring forth:
       Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower;
     But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force,
     Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,
       Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair,
     Till slowly charged with thunder they display
       Terror to earth, and tempest to the air,
     Had held till now her soft and milky way;
       But overwrought with passion and despair,
     The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
     Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
       And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
     His blood was running on the very floor
       Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;
     Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,Ñ
       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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes
       Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er;
     And her head droop'd as when the lily lies
       O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids 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 destroy.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chillÑ
       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 soulÑ
     She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,
       Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
     A strange sensation which she must partake
       Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
     Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache
       Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true
     Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
     For, for a while, the furies made a pause.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     She look'd on many a face with vacant eye,
       On many a token without knowing what;
     She saw them watch her without asking why,
       And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
     Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh
       Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
     Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave
     No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;
       Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away;
     She recognized no being, and no spot,
       However dear or cherish'd in their day;
     They changed from room to roomÑbut all forgotÑ
       Gentle, but without memory she lay;
     At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning
     Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And then a slave bethought her of a harp;
       The harper came, and tuned his instrument;
     At the first notes, irregular and sharp,
       On him her flashing eyes a moment bent,
     Then to the wall she turn'd as if to warp
       Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent;
     And he begun a long low island song
     Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
       In time to his old tune; he changed the theme,
     And sung of love; the fierce name struck through all
       Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream
     Of what she was, and is, if ye could call
       To be so being; in a gushing stream
     The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain,
     Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Short solace, vain relief!Ñthought came too quick,
       And whirl'd her brain to madness; she arose
     As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
       And flew at all she met, as on her foes;
     But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,
       Although her paroxysm drew towards its dose;Ñ
     Hers was a phrensy which disdain'd to rave,
     Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense;
       Nothing could make her meet her father's face,
     Though on all other things with looks intense
       She gazed, but none she ever could retrace;
     Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
       Avail'd for either; neither change of place,
     Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her
     Senses to sleepÑthe power seem'd gone for ever.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last,
       Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show
     A parting pang, the spirit from her past:
       And they who watch'd her nearest could not know
     The very instant, till the change that cast
       Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow,
     Glazed o'er her eyesÑthe beautiful, the blackÑ
     O! to possess such lustreÑand then lack!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Thus livedÑthus 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 delightfulÑsuch as had not staid
     Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
     By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     That isle is now all desolate and bare,
       Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away;
     None but her own and father's grave is there,
       And nothing outward tells of human clay;
     Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair,
       No stone is there to show, no tongue to say
     What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's,
     Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 wrongÑ
       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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 myselfÑ
     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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 leeÑ
     Another time he might have liked to see 'em,
     But now was not much pleased with Cape Sigaeum.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is
       (Flank'd by the Hellespont and by the sea)
     Entomb'd the bravest of the brave, Achilles;
       They say so (Bryant says the contrary):
     And further downward, tall and towering still, is
       The tumulusÑof whom? Heaven knows! 't may be
     Patroclus, Ajax, or ProtesilausÑ
     All heroes, who if living still would slay us.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     High barrows, without marble or a name,
       A vast, untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain,
     And Ida in the distance, still the same,
       And old Scamander (if 't is he) remain;
     The situation seems still form'd for fameÑ
       A hundred thousand men might fight again
     With case; but where I sought for Ilion's walls,
     The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls;

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Troops of untended horses; here and there
       Some little hamlets, with new names uncouth;
     Some shepherds (unlike Paris) led to stare
       A moment at the European youth
     Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings bear;
       A turk, with beads in hand and pipe in mouth,
     Extremely taken with his own religion,
     Are what I found thereÑbut the devil a Phrygian.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Don Juan, here permitted to emerge
       From his dull cabin, found himself a slave;
     Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge,
       O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's grave;
     Weak still with loss of blood, he scarce could urge
       A few brief questions; and the answers gave
     No very satisfactory information
     About his past or present situation.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     He saw some fellow captives, who appear'd
       To be Italians, as they were in fact;
     From them, at least, their destiny he heard,
       Which was an odd one; a troop going to act
     In Sicily (all singers, duly rear'd
       In their vocation) had not been attack'd
     In sailing from Livorno by the pirate,
     But sold by the impresario at no high rate.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     By one of these, the buffo of the party,
       Juan was told about their curious case;
     For although destined to the Turkish mart, he
       Still kept his spirits upÑat least his face;
     The little fellow really look'd quite hearty,
       And bore him with some gaiety and grace,
     Showing a much more reconciled demeanour,
     Than did the prima donna and the tenor.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     In a few words he told their hapless story,
       Saying, 'Our Machiavellian impresario,
     Making a signal off some promontory,
       Hail'd a strange brigÑCorpo 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'And then there are the dancers; there 's the Nini,
       With more than one profession, gains by all;
     Then there 's that laughing slut the Pelegrini,
       She, too, was fortunate last carnival,
     And made at least five hundred good zecchini,
       But spends so fast, she has not now a paul;
     And then there 's the GrotescaÑsuch a dancer!
     Where men have souls or bodies she must answer.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     '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 't would perplex
     To find three perfect pipes of the third sex.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,
       And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;
     In fact, he had no singing education,
       An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow;
     But being the prima donna's near relation,
       Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow,
     They hired him, though to hear him you 'd believe
     An ass was practising recitative.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     ''T would not become myself to dwell upon
       My own merits, and though youngÑI see, SirÑyou
     Have got a travell'd air, which speaks you one
       To whom the opera is by no means new:
     You 've heard of Raucocanti?ÑI '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 thereÑdo go.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'Our 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.'

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Here Raucocanti's eloquent recital
       Was interrupted by the pirate crew,
     Who came at stated moments to invite all
       The captives back to their sad berths; each threw
     A rueful glance upon the waves (which bright all
       From the blue skies derived a double blue,
     Dancing all free and happy in the sun),
     And then went down the hatchway one by one.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     They heard next dayÑthat 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 out per couple,
     For the slave market of Constantinople.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     It seems when this allotment was made out,
       There chanced to be an odd male, and odd female,
     Who (after some discussion and some doubt,
       If the soprano might be deem'd to be male,
     They placed him o'er the women as a scout)
       Were link'd together, and it happen'd the male
     Was Juan,Ñwho, an awkward thing at his age,
     Pair'd off with a Bacchante blooming visage.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     With Raucocanti lucklessly was chain'd
       The tenor; these two hated with a hate
     Found only on the stage, and each more pain'd
       With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate;
     Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grain'd,
       Instead of bearing up without debate,
     That each pull'd different ways with many an oath,
     'Arcades ambo,' id estÑblackguards both.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Juan's companion was a Romagnole,
       But bred within the March of old Ancona,
     With eyes that look'd into the very soul
       (And other chief points of a 'bella donna'),
     BrightÑand as black and burning as a coal;
       And through her dear brunette complexion shone
     Great wish to pleaseÑa most attractive dower,
     Especially when added to the power.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But all that power was wasted upon him,
       For sorrow o'er each sense held stern command;
     Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim;
       And though thus chain'd, as natural her hand
     Touch'd his, nor thatÑnor 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     No matter; we should ne'er too much enquire,
       But facts are facts: no knight could be more true,
     And firmer faith no ladyeÑlove desire;
       We will omit the proofs, save one or two:
     'T is said no one in hand 'can hold a fire
       By thought of frosty Caucasus;' but few,
     I really think; yet Juan's then ordeal
     Was more triumphant, and not much less real.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Here I might enter on a chaste description,
       Having withstood temptation in my youth,
     But hear that several people take exception
       At the first two books having too much truth;
     Therefore I 'll make Don Juan leave the ship soon,
       Because the publisher declares, in sooth,
     Through needles' eyes it easier for the camel is
     To pass, than those two cantos into families.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     'T is all the same to me; I 'm fond of yielding,
       And therefore leave them to the purer page
     Of Smollett, Prior, Ariosto, Fielding,
       Who say strange things for so correct an age;
     I once had great alacrity in wielding
       My pen, and liked poetic war to wage,
     And recollect the time when all this cant
     Would have provoked remarks which now it shan't.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     As boys love rows, my boyhood liked a squabble;
       But at this hour I wish to part in peace,
     Leaving such to the literary rabble:
       Whether my verse's fame be doom'd to cease
     While the right hand which wrote it still is able,
       Or of some centuries to take a lease,
     The grass upon my grave will grow as long,
     And sigh to midnight winds, but not to song.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Of poets who come down to us through distance
       Of time and tongues, the foster-babes of Fame,
     Life seems the smallest portion of existence;
       Where twenty ages gather o'er a name,
     'T is as a snowball which derives assistance
       From every flake, and yet rolls on the same,
     Even till an iceberg it may chance to grow;
     But, after all, 't is nothing but cold snow.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     And so great names are nothing more than nominal,
       And love of glory 's but an airy lust,
     Too often in its fury overcoming all
       Who would as 't were identify their dust
     From out the wide destruction, which, entombing all,
       Leaves nothing till 'the coming of the just'-
     Save change: I 've stood upon Achilles' tomb,
     And heard Troy doubted; time will doubt of Rome.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     The very generations of the dead
       Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb,
     Until the memory of an age is fled,
       And, buried, sinks beneath its offspring's doom:
     Where are the epitaphs our fathers read?
       Save a few glean'd from the sepulchral gloom
     Which once-named myriads nameless lie beneath,
     And lose their own in universal death.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I canter by the spot each afternoon
       Where perish'd in his fame the hero-boy,
     Who lived too long for men, but died too soon
       For human vanity, the young De Foix!
     A broken pillar, not uncouthly hewn,
       But which neglect is hastening to destroy,
     Records Ravenna's carnage on its face,
     While weeds and ordure rankle round the base.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid:
       A little cupola, more neat than solemn,
     Protects his dust, but reverence here is paid
       To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's column.
     The time must come, when both alike decay'd,
       The 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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     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.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     If in the course of such a life as was
       At once adventurous and contemplative,
     Men, who partake all passions as they pass,
       Acquire the deep and bitter power to give
     Their images again as in a glass,
       And in such colours that they seem to live;
     You may do right forbidding them to show 'em,
     But spoil (I think) a very pretty poem.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O! ye, who make the fortunes of all books!
       Benign Ceruleans of the second sex!
     Who advertise new poems by your looks,
       Your 'imprimatur' will ye not annex?
     What! must I go to the oblivious cooks,
       Those Cornish plunderers of Parnassian wrecks?
     Ah! must I then the only minstrel be,
     Proscribed from tasting your Castalian tea!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     What! can I prove 'a lion' then no more?
       A ball-room bard, a foolscap, hot-press darling?
     To bear the compliments of many a bore,
       And sigh, 'I can't get out,' like Yorick's starling;
     Why then I 'll swear, as poet Wordy swore
       (Because the world won't read him, always snarling),
     That taste is gone, that fame is but a lottery,
     Drawn by the blue-coat misses of a coterie.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     O! 'darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,'
       As some one somewhere sings about the sky,
     And I, ye learned ladies, say of you;
       They say your stockings are so (Heaven knows why,
     I have examined few pair of that hue);
       Blue as the garters which serenely lie
     Round the Patrician left-legs, which adorn
     The festal midnight, and the levee morn.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Yet some of you are most seraphic creaturesÑ
       But times are alter'd since, a rhyming lover,
     You read my stanzas, and I read your features:
       AndÑbut no matter, all those things are over;
     Still I have no dislike to learned natures,
       For sometimes such a world of virtues cover;
     I knew one woman of that purple school,
     The loveliest, chastest, best, butÑquite a fool.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Humboldt, 'the first of travellers,' but not
       The last, if late accounts be accurate,
     Invented, by some name I have forgot,
       As well as the sublime discovery's date,
     An airy instrument, with which he sought
       To ascertain the atmospheric state,
     By measuring 'the intensity of blue:'
     O, Lady Daphne! let me measure you!

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But to the narrative:ÑThe vessel bound
       With slaves to sell off in the capital,
     After the usual process, might be found
       At anchor under the seraglio wall;
     Her cargo, from the plague being safe and sound,
       Were landed in the market, one and all,
     And there with Georgians, Russians, and Circassians,
     Bought up for different purposes and passions.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Some went off dearly; fifteen hundred dollars
       For one Circassian, a sweet girl, were given,
     Warranted virgin; beauty's brightest colours
       Had deck'd her out in all the hues of heaven:
     Her sale sent home some disappointed bawlers,
       Who bade on till the hundreds reach'd eleven;
     But when the offer went beyond, they knew
     'T was for the Sultan, and at once withdrew.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     Twelve negresses from Nubia brought a price
       Which the West Indian market scarce would bring;
     Though Wilberforce, at last, has made it twice
       What 't was ere Abolition; and the thing
     Need not seem very wonderful, for vice
       Is always much more splendid than a king:
     The virtues, even the most exalted, Charity,
     Are savingÑvice spares nothing for a rarity.

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     But for the destiny of this young troop,
       How some were bought by pachas, some by Jews,
     How some to burdens were obliged to stoop,
       And others rose to the command of crews
     As renegadoes; while in hapless group,
       Hoping no very old vizier might choose,
     The females stood, as one by one they pick'd 'em,
     To make a mistress, or fourth wife, or victim:

RHYME a b a b a b c c 

     All this must be reserved for further song;
       Also our hero's lot, howe'er unpleasant
     (Because this Canto has become too long),
       Must be postponed discreetly for the present;
     I 'm sensible redundancy is wrong,
       But could not for the muse of me put less in 't:
     And now delay the progress of Don Juan,
     Till what is call'd in Ossian the fifth Juan.

TITLE She Walks in Beauty

RHYME a b a b a b

SHE walks in beauty, like the night	
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,	
And all thatÕs best of dark and bright	
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;	
Thus mellowÕd to that tender light	        
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.	
 
RHYME a b a b a b

One shade the more, one ray the less,	
Had half impairÕd the nameless grace	
Which waves in every raven tress	
Or softly lightens oÕer her face,	        
Where thoughts serenely sweet express	
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.	
 
RHYME a b a b a b

And on that cheek and oÕer that brow	
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,	
The smiles that win, the tints that glow	        
But tell of days in goodness spent,Ñ	
A mind at peace with all below,	
A heart whose love is innocent.

TITLE Elegy

RHYME a a b b a

O SNATCHÕD away in beautyÕs bloom!	
  On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;	
  But on thy turf shall roses rear	
  Their leaves, the earliest of the year,	
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:	        
 
RHYME a b a b b

  And oft by yon blue gushing stream	
  Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,	
  And feed deep thought with many a dream,	
  And lingering pause and lightly tread;	
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbÕd the dead.	        

RHYME a b a b c c

  Away! we know that tears are vain,	
  That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:	
  Will this unteach us to complain?	
  Or make one mourner weep the less?	
  And thou, who tellÕst me to forget,	        
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

TITLE To Augusta

RHYME a b a b c d c d
 
THOUGH the day of my destinyÕs over,	
  And the star of my fate hath declined,	
Thy soft heart refused to discover	
  The faults which so many could find.	
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,	        
  It shrunk not to share it with me,	
And the love which my spirit hath painted	
  It never hath found but in thee.	
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d
 
Then when nature around me is smiling,	
  The last smile which answers to mine,	        
I do not believe it beguiling,	
  Because it reminds me of thine;	
And when winds are at war with the ocean,	
  As the breasts I believed in with me,	
If their billows excite an emotion,	        
  It is that they bear me from thee.	
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d
 
Though the rock of my last hope is shivered,	
  And its fragments are sunk in the wave,	
Though I feel that my soul is delivered	
  To painÑit shall not be its slave.	        
There is many a pang to pursue me:	
  They may crush, but they shall not contemn;	
They may torture, but shall not subdue me;	
  ÕTis of thee that I thinkÑnot of them.	
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d
 
Though human, thou didst not deceive me,	        
  Though woman, thou didst not forsake,	
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,	
  Though slanderÕd, thou never couldst shake;	
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,	
  Though parted, it was not to fly,	        
Though watchful, Õtwas not to defame me,	
  Nor, mute, that the world might belie.	
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d
 
Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,	
  Nor the war of the many with one;	
If my soul was not fitted to prize it,	        
  ÕTwas folly not sooner to shun:	
And if dearly that error hath cost me,	
  And more than I once could foresee,	
I have found that, whatever it lost me,	
  It could not deprive me of thee.	        
 
RHYME a b a b c d c d
 
From the wreck of the past, which hath perishÕd,	
  Thus much I at least may recall,	
It hath taught me that what I most cherishÕd	
  Deserved to be dearest of all:	
In the desert a fountain is springing,	        
  In the wide waste there still is a tree,	
And a bird in the solitude singing,	
  Which speaks to my spirit of thee.

TITLE Maid of Athens

RHYME a a b b c
RHYME-POEM a a b b c

MAID of Athens, ere we part,	
Give, oh, give me back my heart!	
Or, since that has left my breast,	
Keep it now, and take the rest!	
Hear my vow, before I go,	        
 
RHYME a a b b c
RHYME-POEM d d e e c

By those tresses unconfined,	
WooÕd by each ®gean wind;	
By those lids whose jetty fringe	
Kiss thy soft cheeksÕ blooming tinge;	        
By those wild eyes like the roe,	
 
RHYME a a b b c
RHYME-POEM f f g g c

By that lip I long to taste;	
By that zone-encircled waist;	
By all the token-flowers that tell	        
What words can never speak so well;	
By loveÕs alternate joy and woe,	
 
RHYME a a b b c
RHYME-POEM h h i i c

Maid of Athens! I am gone:	
Think of me, sweet! when alone.	        
Though I fly to Istambol,	
Athens holds my heart and soul;	
Can I cease to love thee? No!

TITLE Longing

RHYME a b a b c b c b d d

THE CASTLED crag of Drachenfels	
Frowns oÕer the wide and winding Rhine,	
Whose breast of waters broadly swells	
Between the banks which bear the vine.	
And hills all rich with blossomÕd trees,	        
And fields which promise corn and wine,	
And scatterÕd cities crowning these,	
Whose far white walls along them shine,	
Have strewÕd a scene, which I should see	
With double joy wert thou with me.	        
 
RHYME a b a b c b c b d d

And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,	
And hands which offer early flowers,	
Walk smiling oÕer this paradise:	
Above, the frequent feudal towers	
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray;	        
And many a rock which steeply lowers,	
And noble arch in proud decay,	
Look oÕer this vale of vintage-bowers;	
But one thing want these banks of Rhine,Ñ	
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!	        
 
RHYME a b a b c b c b d d

I send the lilies given to me;	
Though long before thy hand they touch,	
I know that they must witherÕd be,	
But yet reject them not as such;	
For I have cherishÕd them as dear,	        
Because they yet may meet thine eye,	
And guide thy soul to mine even here,	
When thou beholdÕst them, drooping nigh,	
And knowÕst them gatherÕd by the Rhine,	
And offerÕd from my heart to thine!	        
 
RHYME a b a b c b c b d d

The river nobly foams and flows,	
The charm of this enchanted ground,	
And all its thousand turns disclose	
Some fresher beauty varying round:	
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound	        
Through life to dwell delighted here;	
Nor could on earth a spot be found	
To nature and to me so dear,	
Could thy dear eyes in following mine	
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!

TITLE Fare Thee Well

RHYME a b a b

FARE thee well! and if for ever,	
  Still for ever, fare thee well:	
Even though unforgiving, never	
  ÕGainst thee shall my heart rebel.	
 
RHYME a b a b

Would that breast were bared before thee	        
  Where thy head so oft hath lain,	
While that placid sleep came oÕer thee	
  Which thou neÕer canst know again:	
 
RHYME a b a b

Would that breast, by thee glanced over,	
  Every inmost thought could show!	        
Then thou wouldst at last discover	
  ÕTwas not well to spurn it so.	
 
RHYME a b a b

Though the world for this commend theeÑ	
  Though it smile upon the blow,	
Even its praises must offend thee,	        
  Founded on anotherÕs woe:	
 
RHYME a b a b

Though my many faults defaced me,	
  Could no other arm be found,	
Than the one which once embraced me,	
  To inflict a cureless wound?	        
 
RHYME a b a b

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;	
  Love may sink by slow decay,	
But by sudden wrench, believe not	
  Hearts can thus be torn away:	
 
RHYME a b a b

Still thine own its life retaineth,	        
  Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;	
And the undying thought which paineth	
  IsÑthat we no more may meet.	
 
RHYME a b a b

These are words of deeper sorrow	
  Than the wail above the dead;	        
Both shall live, but every morrow	
  Wake us from a widowÕd bed.	
 
RHYME a b a b

And when thou wouldst solace gather,	
  When our childÕs first accents flow,	
Wilt thou teach her to say ÔFather!Õ	        
  Though his care she must forego?	
 
RHYME a b a b

When her little hands shall press thee,	
  When her lip to thine is pressÕd,	
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,	
  Think of him thy love had blessÕd!	        
 
RHYME a b a b

Should her lineaments resemble	
  Those thou never more mayÕst see,	
Then thy heart will softly tremble	
  With a pulse yet true to me.	
 
RHYME a b a b

All my faults perchance thou knowest,	        
  All my madness none can know;	
All my hopes, whereÕer thou goest,	
  Wither, yet with thee they go.	
 
RHYME a b a b

Every feeling hath been shaken;	
  Pride, which not a world could bow,	        
Bows to theeÑby thee forsaken,	
  Even my soul forsakes me now:	
 
RHYME a b a b

But Õtis doneÑall words are idleÑ	
  Words from me are vainer still;	
But the thoughts we cannot bridle	        
  Force their way without the will.	
 
RHYME a b a b

Fare thee well! thus disunited,	
  Torn from every nearer tie,	
SearÕd in heart, and lone, and blighted,	
  More than this I scarce can die.

TITLE On the Castle of Chillon

RHYME a b b a

ETERNAL SPIRIT of the chainless Mind!	
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art,Ñ	
For there thy habitation is the heartÑ	
The heart which love of Thee alone can bind;	
 
RHYME a b b a

And when thy sons to fetters are consignÕd,	        
To fetters, and the damp vaultÕs dayless gloom,	
Their country conquers with their martyrdom,	
And FreedomÕs fame finds wings on every wind.	
 
RHYME a b a b a b

Chillon! thy prison is a holy place	
And thy sad floor an altar, for Õtwas trod,	        
Until his very steps have left a trace	
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod,	
By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface!	
For they appeal from tyranny to God.

TITLE Song of Saul

RHYME a a b b

WARRIORS and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword	
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,	
Heed not the corse, though a kingÕs in your path:	
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!	
 
RHYME a a b b

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,	        
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,	
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!	
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.	
 
RHYME a a b b

Farewell to others, but never we part,	
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!	        
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,	
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

TITLE On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year

RHYME a b a b

ÕTIS time this heart should be unmoved,	
  Since others it hath ceased to move:	
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,	
      Still let me love!	
 
RHYME a b a b

My days are in the yellow leaf;	        
  The flowers and fruits of love are gone;	
The worm, the canker, and the grief	
      Are mine alone!	
 
RHYME a b a b

The fire that on my bosom preys	
  Is lone as some volcanic isle;	        
No torch is kindled at its blazeÑ	
      A funeral pile.	
 
RHYME a b a b

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,	
  The exalted portion of the pain	
And power of love, I cannot share,	        
      But wear the chain.	
 
RHYME a b a b

But Õtis not thusÑand Õtis not hereÑ	
  Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now,	
Where glory decks the heroÕs bier,	
      Or binds his brow.	        
 
RHYME a b a b

The sword, the banner, and the field,	
  Glory and Greece, around me see!	
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,	
      Was not more free.	
 
RHYME a b a b

Awake! (not GreeceÑshe is awake!)	        
  Awake, my spirit! Think through whom	
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,	
      And then strike home!	
 
RHYME a b a b

Tread those reviving passions down,	
  Unworthy manhood!Ñunto thee	        
Indifferent should the smile or frown	
      Of beauty be.	
 
RHYME a b a b

If thou regretÕst thy youth, why live?	
  The land of honourable death	
Is here:Ñup to the field, and give	        
      Away thy breath!	
 
RHYME a b a b

Seek outÑless often sought than foundÑ	
  A soldierÕs grave, for thee the best;	
Then look around, and choose thy ground,	
      And take thy rest.

TITLE Elegy on Thyrza

RHYME a b a b c c b d d

AND thou art dead, as young and fair	
  As aught of mortal birth;	
And forms so soft and charms so rare	
  Too soon returnÕd to Earth!	
Though Earth received them in her bed,	        
And oÕer the spot the crowd may tread	
  In carelessness or mirth,	
There is an eye which could not brook	
A moment on that grave to look.	
 
RHYME a b a b c c b d d

I will not ask where thou liest low	        
  Nor gaze upon the spot;	
There flowers or weeds at will may grow	
  So I behold them not:	
It is enough for me to prove	
That what I loved, and long must love	        
  Like common earth can rot;	
To me there needs no stone to tell	
ÕTis Nothing that I loved so well.	
 
RHYME a b a b c c b d d

Yet did I love thee to the last,	
  As fervently as thou	        
Who didst not change through all the past	
  And canst not alter now.	
The love where Death has set his seal	
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,	
  Nor falsehood disavow:	        
And, what were worse, thou canst not see	
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.	
 
RHYME a b a b c c b d d

The better days of life were ours;	
  The worst can be but mine:	
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours,	        
  Shall never more be thine.	
The silence of that dreamless sleep	
I envy now too much to weep;	
  Nor need I to repine	
That all those charms have passÕd away	        
I might have watchÕd through long decay.	
 
RHYME a b a b c c b d d

The flower in ripenÕd bloom unmatchÕd	
  Must fall the earliest prey;	
Though by no hand untimely snatchÕd,	
  The leaves must drop away.	        
And yet it were a greater grief	
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,	
  Than see it pluckÕd today;	
Since earthly eye but ill can bear	
To trace the change to foul from fair.	        
 
RHYME a b a b c c b d d

I know not if I could have borne	
  To see thy beauties fade;	
The night that followÕd such a morn	
  Had worn a deeper shade:	
Thy day without a cloud hath past,	        
And thou wert lovely to the last,	
  ExtinguishÕd, not decayÕd;	
As stars that shoot along the sky	
Shine brightest as they fall from high.	
 
RHYME a b a b c c b d d

As once I wept, if I could weep,	        
  My tears might well be shed	
To think I was not near, to keep	
  One vigil oÕer thy bed:	
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,	
To fold thee in a faint embrace,	        
  Uphold thy drooping head;	
And show that love, however vain,	
Nor thou nor I can feel again.	
 
RHYME a b a b c c b d d

Yet how much less it were to gain,	
  Though thou hast left me free,	        
The loveliest things that still remain	
  Than thus remember thee!	
The all of thine that cannot die	
Through dark and dread Eternity	
  Returns again to me,	        
And more thy buried love endears	
Than aught except its living years.

TITLE Youth and Age

RHYME a a b b

THEREÕS not a joy the world can give like that it takes away	
When the glow of early thought declines in feelingÕs dull decay;	
ÕTis not on youthÕs smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,	
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.	
 
RHYME a a b b

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness	        
Are driven oÕer 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 shiverÕd sail shall never stretch again.	
 
RHYME a a b b

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down;	
It cannot feel for othersÕ woes, it dare not dream its own;	        
That heavy chill has frozen oÕer the fountain of our tears,	
And though the eye may sparkle still, Õtis where the ice appears.	
 
RHYME a a b b

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,	
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;	
ÕTis but as ivy-leaves around the ruinÕd turret wreathe,	        
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.	
 
RHYME a a b b

O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been,	
Or weep as I could once have wept oÕer many a vanishÕd scene,Ñ	
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,	
So midst the witherÕd waste of life, those tears would flow to me!

