Title:   Don Juan

Subject:  

Author:   George Gordon, Lord Byron

Keywords:  

Creator:  

PDF Version:   1.2

Page No 1

Don Juan

George Gordon, Lord Byron

Top

Page No 2

Table of Contents

Don Juan..............................................................................................................................................................1

George Gordon, Lord Byron ....................................................................................................................1

Don Juan

i

Top

Page No 3

Don Juan

George Gordon, Lord Byron

DEDICATION 

CANTO I 

CANTO II 

CANTO III 

CANTO IV 

CANTO V 

CANTO VI 

CANTO VII 

CANTO VIII 

CANTO IX 

CANTO X 

CANTO XI 

CANTO XII 

CANTO XIII 

CANTO XIV 

CANTO XV 

CANTO XVI 

CANTO XVII  

DEDICATION.

    BOB SOUTHEY! You 're a poet Poetlaureate,

        And representative of all the race,

    Although 't is true that you turn'd out a Tory at

        Last, yours has lately been a common case;

    And now, my Epic Renegade! what are ye at?

        With all the Lakers, in and out of place?

    A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye

    Like 'four and twenty Blackbirds in a pye;'

    'Which pye being open'd 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 encumber'd with his hood,

    Explaining metaphysics to the nation

    I wish he would explain his Explanation.

    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;

Don Juan 1

Top

Page No 4

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 adry, Bob!

    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;

    'T is poetry at least by his assertion,

        And may appear so when the dogstar rages

    And he who understands it would be able

    To add a story to the Tower of Babel.

    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.

    I would not imitate the petty thought,

        Nor coin my selflove 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.

    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.

    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.

    He that reserves his laurels for posterity

Don Juan

Don Juan 2

Top

Page No 5

(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 appelants go

    To God knows where for no one else can know.

    If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues,

        Milton appeal'd to the Avenger, Time,

    If Time, the Avenger, execrates his wrongs,

        And makes the word Miltonic' mean 'sublime,'

    He deign'd 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 tyranthater he begun.

    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?

    Coldblooded, smoothfaced, placid miscreant!

        Dabbling its sleek young hands in Erin's gore,

    And thus for wider carnage taught to pant,

        Transferr'd 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 fix'd,

    And offer poison long already mix'd.

    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.

    A bungler even in its disgusting trade,

        And botching, patching, leaving still behind

    Something of which its masters are afraid,

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

    Conspiracy or Congress to be made

        Cobbling at manacles for all mankind

    A tinkering slavemaker, who mends old chains,

Don Juan

Don Juan 3

Top

Page No 6

With God and man's abhorrence for its gains.

    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.

    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 Statething 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.

    Meantime, Sir Laureate, I proceed to dedicate,

        In honest simple verse, this song to you.

    And, if in flattering strains I do not predicate,

        'T is 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, ultraJulian?

    VENICE, September 16, 1818.

        CANTO THE FIRST.

    I WANT a hero: an uncommon want,

        When every year and month sends forth a new one,

    Till, after cloying the gazettes with 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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 4

Top

Page No 7

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.

    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 landservice,

    Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 5

Top

Page No 8

Cadiz perhaps but that you soon may see;

    Don Juan's parents lived beside the river,

    A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir.

    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:

    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.

    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.

    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.

    She knew the Latin that is, 'the Lord's prayer,'

        And Greek the alphabet I 'm nearly sure;

    She read some French romances here and there,

        Although her mode of speaking was not pure;

    For native Spanish she had no great care,

        At least her conversation was obscure;

    Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem,

    As if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble 'em.

    She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue,

        And said there was analogy between 'em;

Don Juan

Don Juan 6

Top

Page No 9

She proved it somehow out of sacred song,

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

    But this I heard her say, and can't be wrong

        And all may think which way their judgments lean 'em,

    ''T is strange the Hebrew noun which means "I am,"

    Some women use their tongues she look'd a lecture,

        Each eye a sermon, and her brow a homily,

    An allinall sufficient selfdirector,

        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').

    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.

    Oh! she was perfect past all parallel

        Of any modern female saint's comparison;

    So far above the cunning powers of hell,

        Her guardian angel had given up his garrison;

    Even her minutest motions went as well

        As those of the best timepiece made by Harrison:

    In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her,

    Save thine 'incomparable oil,' Macassar!

    Perfect she was, but as perfection is

        Insipid in this naughty world of ours,

    Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss

        Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers,

    Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss

        (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours),

    Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve,

    Went plucking various fruit without her leave.

    He was a mortal of the careless kind,

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

    Who chose to go where'er he had a mind,

        And never dream'd his lady was concern'd;

    The world, as usual, wickedly inclined

        To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd,

    Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two

    But for domestic quarrels one will do.

Don Juan

Don Juan 7

Top

Page No 10

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.

    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.

    '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 henpeck'd you all?

    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.

    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.

    A little curlyheaded, goodfornothing,

        And mischiefmaking 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

Don Juan

Don Juan 8

Top

Page No 11

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

    To teach him manners for the time to come.

    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 wellbred,

        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.

    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.

    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.

    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!'

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 9

Top

Page No 12

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 10

Top

Page No 13

Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir

        To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands,

    Which, with a long minority and care,

        Promised to turn out well in proper hands:

    Inez became sole guardian, which was fair,

        And answer'd but to nature's just demands;

    An only son left with an only mother

    Is brought up much more wisely than another.

    Sagest of women, even of widows, she

        Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon,

    And worthy of the noblest pedigree

        (His sire was of Castile, his dam from 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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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:

Don Juan

Don Juan 11

Top

Page No 14

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

    Beginning with 'Formosum Pastor Corydon.'

    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?

    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;

    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.

    The Missal too (it was the family Missal)

        Was ornamented in a sort of way

    Which ancient massbooks 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.

    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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 12

Top

Page No 15

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.

    Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace;

        At six a charming child, and at eleven

    With all the promise of as fine a face

        As e'er to man's maturer growth was given:

    He studied steadily, and grew apace,

        And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven,

    For half his days were pass'd at church, the other

    Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.

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

        At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy;

    Although in infancy a little wild,

        They tamed him down amongst them: to 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.

    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 illsorted pair

    But scandal 's my aversion I protest

    Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

    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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 13

Top

Page No 16

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.

    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).

    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 greatgreatgrandmamma chose to remain.

    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.

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 14

Top

Page No 17

I shall have much to speak about), and she

    Was married, charming, chaste, and twentythree.

    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.

    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.

    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 fiveandtwenty,

    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.

    '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.

    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.

    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:

Don Juan

Don Juan 15

Top

Page No 18

They lived together, as most people do,

    Suffering each other's foibles by accord,

        And not exactly either one or two;

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

    For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

    Julia was yet I never could see why

        With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend;

    Between their tastes there was small sympathy,

        For not a line had Julia ever penn'd:

    Some people whisper but no doubt they lie,

        For malice still imputes some private end)

    That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage,

    Forgot with him her very prudent carriage;

    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.

    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.

    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 twentythree;

    These few short years make wondrous alterations,

    Particularly amongst sunburnt nations.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 16

Top

Page No 19

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 17

Top

Page No 20

'T is surely Juan now No! I 'm afraid

    That night the Virgin was no further pray'd.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    Fraught with this fine intention, and well fenced

        In mail of proof her purity of soul

    She, for the future of her strength convinced.

Don Juan

Don Juan 18

Top

Page No 21

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.

    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.

    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.)

    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.

    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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 19

Top

Page No 22

'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.

    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.

    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.

    He, Juan (and not Wordsworth), so pursued

        His selfcommunion 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.

    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 airballoons, and of the many bars

    To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies;

    And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.

    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;

Don Juan

Don Juan 20

Top

Page No 23

If you think 't was philosophy that this did,

    I can't help thinking puberty assisted.

    He pored upon the leaves, and on the flowers,

        And heard a voice in all the winds; and then

    He thought of woodnymphs 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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    A real husband always is suspicious,

        But still no less suspects in the wrong place,

    Jealous of some one who had no such wishes,

Don Juan

Don Juan 21

Top

Page No 24

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.

    Thus parents also are at times shortsighted;

        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.

    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.

    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.

    '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 posthouse, 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 postobits of theology.

    'T was on the sixth of June, about the hour

        Of halfpast 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!

Don Juan

Don Juan 22

Top

Page No 25

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.

    How beautiful she look'd! her conscious heart

        Glow'd in her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong.

    Oh Love! how perfect is thy mystic art,

        Strengthening the weak, and trampling on the strong,

    How selfdeceitful 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.

    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.

    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.

    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;

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 23

Top

Page No 26

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

    I 'm very certain mine would not have done so.

    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.

    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.

    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 twentyfirst 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.

    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 selfcontrol;

    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.

    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.

    Oh Plato! Plato! you have paved the way,

        With your confounded fantasies, to more

    Immoral conduct by the fancied sway

Don Juan

Don Juan 24

Top

Page No 27

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 gobetween.

    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.

    '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 moderateminded 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.

    Oh 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.

    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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 25

Top

Page No 28

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 nightwinds creep

    From leaf to leaf; 't is sweet to view on high

    The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.

    'T is sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark

        Bay deepmouth'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.

    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 firstborn's birth,

    Sweet is revenge especially to women,

    Pillage to soldiers, prizemoney to seamen.

    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 doubledamn'd postobits.

    '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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 26

Top

Page No 29

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven

    Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven.

    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.

    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.

    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 smallpox has gone out of late;

    Perhaps it may be follow'd by the great.

    '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 pseudosyphilis?

    This is the patentage 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.

    Man 's a phenomenon, one knows not what,

        And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure;

    'T is pity though, in this sublime world, that

Don Juan

Don Juan 27

Top

Page No 30

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

    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.

    '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.

    '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!

    '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!'

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 28

Top

Page No 31

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 illbred,

    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.

    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 bedclothes 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.

    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.'

    Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried,

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

    Has madness seized you? would that I had died

        Ere such a monster's victim I had been!

    What may this midnight violence betide,

        A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen?

    Dare you suspect me, whom the thought would kill?

    Search, then, the room!' Alfonso said, 'I will.'

    He search'd, they search'd, and rummaged everywhere,

        Closet and clothes' press, chest and windowseat,

    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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 29

Top

Page No 32

And seems to me almost a sort of blunder,

    Of looking in the bed as well as under.

    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.

    '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?

    '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!

    '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 bullfights, 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?

    '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.

    '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?

Don Juan

Don Juan 30

Top

Page No 33

I wonder in what quarter now the moon is:

    I praise your vast forbearance not to beat

        Me also, since the time so opportune is

    Oh, valiant man! with sword drawn and cock'd trigger,

    Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure?

    '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.

    '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.'

    'There is the closet, there the toilet, there

        The antechamber search them under, over;

    There is the sofa, there the great armchair,

        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.

    '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.

    '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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 31

Top

Page No 34

'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.

    '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 pockethandkerchief?'

    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.

    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.

    With prying snubnose, 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.

    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 selfrebukes,

        Added to those his lady with such vigour

Don Juan

Don Juan 32

Top

Page No 35

Had pour'd upon him for the last halfhour,

    Quick, thick, and heavy as a thundershower.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    No sooner was it bolted, than Oh shame!

        Oh sin! Oh sorrow! and oh womankind!

    How can you do such things and keep your fame,

        Unless this world, and t' other too, be blind?

    Nothing so dear as an unfilch'd good name!

        But to proceed for there is more behind:

    With much heartfelt reluctance be it said,

    Young Juan slipp'd halfsmother'd, from the bed.

    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.

    And, secondly, I pity not, because

        He had no business to commit a sin,

    Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws,

Don Juan

Don Juan 33

Top

Page No 36

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.

    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.

    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.

    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:

    '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 halfgirlish face.

    'Had it but been for a stout cavalier

        Of twentyfive 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).'

Don Juan

Don Juan 34

Top

Page No 37

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.

    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 illbreeding;

    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.'

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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:

Don Juan

Don Juan 35

Top

Page No 38

The charming creatures lie with such a grace,

    There 's nothing so becoming to the face.

    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.

    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.

    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! welladay!

        My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze

    Alfonso first examined well their fashion,

    And then flew out into another passion.

    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 gardenkey Fly fly Adieu!

    Haste haste! I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet

    Day has not broke there 's no one in the street:

    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 incometax laid on by fate:

    Juan had reach'd the roomdoor in a. trice,

        And might have done so by the gardengate,

    But met Alfonso in his dressinggown,

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

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 36

Top

Page No 39

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.

    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!

    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.

    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 halftorn 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.

    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.

    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 shorthand ta'en by Gurney,

    Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey.

Don Juan

Don Juan 37

Top

Page No 40

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.

    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:

    '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.

    '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.

    '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.

    '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

Don Juan

Don Juan 38

Top

Page No 41

And so farewell forgive me, love me No,

    That word is idle now but let it go.

    '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.

    '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!'

    This note was written upon giltedged paper

        With a neat little crowquill, slight and new:

    Her small white hand could hardly reach the taper,

        It trembled as magnetic needles do,

    And yet she did not let one tear escape her;

        The seal a sunflower; 'Elle vous suit partout,'

    The motto cut upon a white cornelian;

    The wax was superfine, its hue vermilion.

    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.

    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.

    All these things will be specified in time,

        With strict regard to Aristotle's rules,

    The Vade Mecum of the true sublime,

Don Juan

Don Juan 39

Top

Page No 42

Which makes so many poets, and some fools:

    Prose poets like blankverse, I 'm fond of rhyme,

        Good workmen never quarrel with their tools;

    I 've got new mythological machinery,

    And very handsome supernatural scenery.

    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.

    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.

    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.'

    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.

    Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby's Muse,

        His Pegasus, nor anything that 's his;

    Thou shalt not bear false witness like 'the Blues'

        (There 's one, at least, is very fond of this);

    Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose:

        This is true criticism, and you may kiss

    Exactly as you please, or not, the rod;

    If any person should presume to assert

Don Juan

Don Juan 40

Top

Page No 43

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    '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

Don Juan

Don Juan 41

Top

Page No 44

In my hot youth when George the Third was King.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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 oldgentlemanly vice,

    I think I must take up with avarice.

    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.

    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;

Don Juan

Don Juan 42

Top

Page No 45

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.

    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.

    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.'

    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 goodb'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.

    '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.

        CANTO THE SECOND.

    OH 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

Don Juan

Don Juan 43

Top

Page No 46

Became divested of his native modesty.

    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.

    I can't say that it puzzles me at all,

        If all things be consider'd: first, there was

    His ladymother, 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.

    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.

    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:

    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

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 44

Top

Page No 47

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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 weathertough:

    And there he stood to take, and take again,

    His first perhaps his last farewell of Spain.

    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.

    So Juan stood, bewilder'd on the deck:

Don Juan

Don Juan 45

Top

Page No 48

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 beefsteak

        Against seasickness: try it, sir, before

    You sneer, and I assure you this is true,

    For I have found it answer so may you.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    '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

Don Juan

Don Juan 46

Top

Page No 49

Her letter out again, and read it through.)

    '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 seasick).

    'Sooner shall heaven kiss earth (here he fell sicker),

        Oh, 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)

        Oh, Julia! (this curst vessel pitches so)

    Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!'

    (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)

    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

    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.

    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,

        Seasickness death: his love was perfect, how else

    Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar,

    Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?

    The ship, call'd the most holy 'Trinidada,'

        Was steering duly for the port Leghorn;

    For there the Spanish family Moncada

        Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born:

Don Juan

Don Juan 47

Top

Page No 50

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.

    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 porthole made

    His berth a little damp, and him afraid.

    '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.

    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 sternpost, also shatter'd the

    Whole of her sternframe, 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.

    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,

    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.

    As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate,

Don Juan

Don Juan 48

Top

Page No 51

And then the leak they reckon'd to reduce,

    And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet

        Kept two hand and one chainpump 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.

    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.

    Immediately the masts were cut away,

        Both main and mizen; first the mizen went,

    The mainmast 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.

    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.

    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 seasick maws:

    Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion,

    Clamour'd in chorus to the roaring ocean.

    Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for

        Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years,

    Got to the spiritroom, 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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 49

Top

Page No 52

Thought it would be becoming to die drunk.

    '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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 50

Top

Page No 53

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    But in the longboat they contrived to stow

Don Juan

Don Juan 51

Top

Page No 54

Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet;

    Water, a twentygallon 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.

    The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had

        Been stove in the beginning of the gale;

    And the longboat'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.

    '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.

    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.

    At halfpast 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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 52

Top

Page No 55

And strives to strangle him before he die.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    Juan got into the longboat, 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 aquavita.

    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 wineandwatery 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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 53

Top

Page No 56

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.

    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 reembark'd his tutor and his spaniel.

    '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.

    Nine souls more went in her: the longboat 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 biscuitcasks and butter.

    The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign

        Of the continuance of the gale: to run

    Before the sea until it should grow fine,

        Was all that for the present could be done:

    A few teaspoonfuls 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.

    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.

    'T is very certain the desire of life

Don Juan

Don Juan 54

Top

Page No 57

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.

    '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.

    '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.

    But man is a carnivorous production,

        And must have meals, at least one meal a day;

    He cannot live, like W.s, 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.

    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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 55

Top

Page No 58

It would have been more wise to save their victual.

    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.

    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 forepaws,

    Which he divided with Pedrillo, who

    Devour'd it, longing for the other too.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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;

Don Juan

Don Juan 56

Top

Page No 59

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.

    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.

    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 fastflowing 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.

    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.

    '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 mountainstream,

    Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing,

    And, with hyaenalaughter, died despairing.

    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.

    And next they thought upon the master's mate,

Don Juan

Don Juan 57

Top

Page No 60

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.

    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.

    And if Pedrillo's fate should shocking be,

        Remember Ugolino condescends

    To eat the head of his archenemy

        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.

    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'screw had your berth,

    Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,

    You 'd wish yourself where Truth is in a well.

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 58

Top

Page No 61

Some Christians have a comfortable creed.

    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.

    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.

    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'dfor 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.

    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.

    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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 59

Top

Page No 62

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).

    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.

    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.

    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, olivebranch and all.

    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 fogbanks gave them cause to doubt

    Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns,

    And all mistook about the latter once.

    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.

    And then of these some part burst into tears,

Don Juan

Don Juan 60

Top

Page No 63

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.

    The day before, fast sleeping on the water,

        They found a turtle of the hawk'sbill 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.

    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.

    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.

    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 selfslaughter,

    In washing down Pedrillo with salt water.

    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 foresttops, 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

Don Juan

Don Juan 61

Top

Page No 64

Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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, halfsenseless, from the sea:

    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 cliffworn cave,

    With just enough of life to feel its pain,

    And deem that it was saved, perhaps in vain.

    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;

Don Juan

Don Juan 62

Top

Page No 65

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    '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.

    Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung

        Around his scarceclad 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 deathlike 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.

    And lifting him with care into the cave,

Don Juan

Don Juan 63

Top

Page No 66

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.

    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.

    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.

    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).

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 64

Top

Page No 67

Seem at the same time mystical and gay.

    But with our damsel this was not the case:

        Her dress was manycolour'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.

    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.

    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.

    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 claptrap 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.

    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 illgotten million of piastres.

    A fisher, therefore, was he, though of men,

        Like Peter the Apostle, and he fish'd

    For wandering merchantvessels, now and then,

        And sometimes caught as many as he wish'd;

Don Juan

Don Juan 65

Top

Page No 68

The cargoes he confiscated, and gain

        He sought in the slavemarket too, and dish'd

    Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade,

    By which, no doubt, a good deal may be made.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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 turnpikegates to heaven

    (St. Paul says, 't is the toll which must be given).

    They made a fire, but such a fire as they

Don Juan

Don Juan 66

Top

Page No 69

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 67

Top

Page No 70

To those related in my granddad's 'Narrative.'

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 68

Top

Page No 71

(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 scarcedrawn breath.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek

        A purple hectic play'd like dying day

    On the snowtops 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.

    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.

    He woke and gazed, and would have slept again,

Don Juan

Don Juan 69

Top

Page No 72

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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 beefsteak.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 70

Top

Page No 73

This, though not large, was one of the most rich.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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 seashore 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.

    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 scatterd,

        And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk,

Don Juan

Don Juan 71

Top

Page No 74

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    '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:

    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.

    As for the ladies, I have nought to say,

Don Juan

Don Juan 72

Top

Page No 75

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 73

Top

Page No 76

Came always back to coffee and Haidee.

    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.

    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 oceantreasure, cast

    Like a rich wreck her first love, and her last.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    It was a wild and breakerbeaten 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

Don Juan

Don Juan 74

Top

Page No 77

A better welcome to the tempesttost;

        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.

    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 springdew 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 sodawater the day after.

    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.

    Ring for your valet bid him quickly bring

        Some hock and sodawater, 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 desertspring,

        Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow,

    After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter,

    Vie with that draught of hock and sodawater.

    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 seabird'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.

    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 castoff dresses.

    It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded

Don Juan

Don Juan 75

Top

Page No 78

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 mountaincrescent 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.

    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.

    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;

    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 heartquake, for a kiss's strength,

    I think, it must be reckon'd by its length.

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 76

Top

Page No 79

Save theirs, and that their life could never die.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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 hellfire all prepared for people giving

    Pleasure or pain to one another living.

    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.

    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;

Don Juan

Don Juan 77

Top

Page No 80

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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 waveworn 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.

    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.

    They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust,

Don Juan

Don Juan 78

Top

Page No 81

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.

    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.

    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 gazelleeyed 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.

    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.

    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.

    Oh, Love! of whom great Caesar was the suitor,

        Titus the master, Antony the slave,

    Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor,

        Sappho the sage bluestocking, in whose grave

    All those may leap who rather would be neuter

        (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave)

    Oh, Love! thou art the very god of evil,

Don Juan

Don Juan 79

Top

Page No 82

For, after all, we cannot call thee devil.

    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.

    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.

    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?

    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.

    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);

    '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

Don Juan

Don Juan 80

Top

Page No 83

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.'

    '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.

    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!

    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 waterdrops; the eye

    Pours forth at last the heart's blood turn'd to tears,

    Which make the English climate of our years.

    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,'

    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 twentyfour;

        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.

        CANTO THE THIRD.

Don Juan

Don Juan 81

Top

Page No 84

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!

    Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours

        Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why

    With cypress branches hast thou Wreathed thy bowers,

        And made thy best interpreter a sigh?

    As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,

        And place them on their breast but place to die

    Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish

    Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

    In her first passion woman loves her lover,

        In all the others all she loves is love,

    Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over,

        And fits her loosely like an easy glove,

    As you may find, whene'er you like to prove her:

        One man alone at first her heart can move;

    She then prefers him in the plural number,

    Not finding that the additions much encumber.

    I know not if the fault be men's or theirs;

        But one thing 's pretty sure; a woman planted

    (Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers)

        After a decent time must be gallanted;

    Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs

        Is that to which her heart is wholly granted;

    Yet there are some, they say, who have had none,

    But those who have ne'er end with only one.

    '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.

    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?

Don Juan

Don Juan 82

Top

Page No 85

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.

    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.

    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?

    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 prayerbook ready,

    They say no more of Death or of the Lady.

    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.

    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.

    Haidee and Juan were not married, but

        The fault was theirs, not mine; it is not fair,

Don Juan

Don Juan 83

Top

Page No 86

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.

    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.

    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 seaattorney.

    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.

    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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 84

Top

Page No 87

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.

    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.

    And there he went ashore without delay,

        Having no customhouse 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.

    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 startingpost.

    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.

    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

Don Juan

Don Juan 85

Top

Page No 88

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.

    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.

    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.

    Lambro, our seasolicitor, who had

        Much less experience of dry land than ocean,

    On seeing his own chimneysmoke, 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.

    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 dogbark; 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.

    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.

    And still more nearly to the place advancing,

        Descending rather quickly the declivity,

Don Juan

Don Juan 86

Top

Page No 89

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.

    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.

    And here, assembled crosslegg'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.

    A band of children, round a snowwhite 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.

    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.

    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).

Don Juan

Don Juan 87

Top

Page No 90

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.

    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.

    He being a man who seldom used a word

        Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise

    (In general he surprised men with the sword)

        His daughter had not sent before to advise

    Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd;

        And long he paused to reassure his eyes

    In fact much more astonish'd than delighted,

    To find so much good company invited.

    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.

    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.

    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,

Don Juan

Don Juan 88

Top

Page No 91

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.

    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.

    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,

    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.'

    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.

    'I know not,' quoth the fellow, 'who or what

        He is, nor whence he came and little care;

    But this I know, that this roast capon 's fat,

        And that good wine ne'er wash'd down better fare;

    And if you are not satisfied with that,

        Direct your questions to my neighbour there;

    He 'll answer all for better or for worse,

    For none likes more to hear himself converse.'

    I said that Lambro was a man of patience,

        And certainly he show'd the best of breeding,

Don Juan

Don Juan 89

Top

Page No 92

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 90

Top

Page No 93

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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:

Don Juan

Don Juan 91

Top

Page No 94

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.

    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.

    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 reform'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.

    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 altarpiece they cling

        To the fireside (a sight to touch a sinner).

    A lady with her daughters or her nieces

    Shines like a guinea and sevenshilling pieces.

    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.

    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.

    These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer,

        And fruits, and datebread loaves closed the repast,

Don Juan

Don Juan 92

Top

Page No 95

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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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,

    Meridianlike, were seen all light to issue.

    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.

Don Juan

Don Juan 93

Top

Page No 96

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 tortoiseshell 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.

    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.

    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.

    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.

    Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel

        Flow'd like an Alpine torrent which the sun

    Dyes with his morning light, and would conceal

        Her person if allow'd at large to run,

    And still they seem resentfully to feel

        The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun

    Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught began

    To offer his young pinion as her fan.

    Round her she made an atmosphere of life,

        The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes,

    They were so soft and beautiful, and rife

        With all we can imagine of the skies,

    And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife

Don Juan

Don Juan 94

Top

Page No 97

Too pure even for the purest human ties;

    Her overpowering presence made you feel

    It would not be idolatry to kneel.

    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.

    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'

    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.

    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.'

    He praised the present, and abused the past,

        Reversing the good custom of old days,

    An Eastern antijacobin 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.

    He was a man who had seen many changes,

        And always changed as true as any needle;

Don Juan

Don Juan 95

Top

Page No 98

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.

    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?

        Oh! the third canto and the pretty pair

    Their loves, and feasts, and house, and dress, and mode

    Of living in their insular abode.

    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.

    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.

    He had travell'd 'mongst the Arabs, Turks, and Franks,

        And knew the selfloves 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.

    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 horseraces, what should hinder

    Himself from being as pliable as Pindar?

Don Juan

Don Juan 96

Top

Page No 99

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:

        THE ISLES OF GREECE.

        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.

        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.'

        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.

        A king sate on the rocky brow

        Which looks o'er seaborn Salamis;

        And ships, by thousands, lay below,

        And men in nations; all were his!

        He counted them at break of day

        And when the sun set where were they?

        And where are they? and where art thou,

        My country? On thy voiceless shore

        The heroic lay is tuneless now

        The heroic bosom beats no more!

        And must thy lyre, so long divine,

        Degenerate into hands like mine?

        '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;

Don Juan

Don Juan 97

Top

Page No 100

For what is left the poet here?

        For Greeks a blush for Greece a tear.

        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!

        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.

        In vain in vain: strike other chords;

        Fill high the cup with Samian wine!

        Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

        And shed the blood of Scio's vine!

        Hark! rising to the ignoble call

        How answers each bold Bacchanal!

        You have the 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?

        Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!

        We will not think of themes like these!

        It made Anacreon's song divine:

        He served but served Polycrates

        A tyrant; but our masters then

        Were still, at least, our countrymen.

        The tyrant of the Chersonese

        Was freedom's best and bravest friend;

        That tyrant was Miltiades!

        Oh! that the present hour would lend

        Another despot of the kind!

        Such chains as his were sure to bind.

        Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!

        On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,

        Exists the remnant of a line

        Such as the Doric mothers bore;

        And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,

        The Heracleidan blood might own.

Don Juan

Don Juan 98

Top

Page No 101