The works of lord Byron

What is the end of fame? 'tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper:
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in
vapour;

For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,

CANTO II.

Он ye! who teach the ingenuous youth nations,

Holland, France, England, Germany, Spain,

And bards burn what they call their "mid-It mends their morals; never mind the pair I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,

night-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 unplea-
santly,
And if you had it o'er again-'twould pass-
So thank your stars that matters are no worse,
And read your Bible, sir, and mind your
purse."

But for the present, gentle reader! and Still gentler purchaser! the bard-that's IMust, with permission, shake you by the hand,

And so your humble servant, and good bye! We meet again, if we should understand Each other; and, if not, I shall not try Your patience further than by this short sample

Twere well if others 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 praiseThe four first rhymes are Southey's, every line:

For God's sake, reader! take them not for mine.

The best of mothers and of educations, In Juan's case, were but employed in vain Since in a way, that's rather of the oddest, h Became divested of his native modesty.

Their veil and petticoat-Alas! to dwell
Upon such things would very near absorb
A canto-then their feet and ancles!-well, And there he stood to take, and take again,
Thank heaven I've got no metaphor quite His first-perhaps his last-farewell of

Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-
tongh:

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 whipp'd or set upon a stool:
The great success of Juan's education
Sparr'd her to teach another generation.

Juan embark'd-the ship got under way, The wind was fair, the water passing rough;

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:
The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sail-

ors swore,
And the ship creak'd,the town became a speck,
From which away so fair and fast they bore.-
The best of remedies is a beef-steak
Against sea-sickness; try it, sir, before
You sneer, and I assure you this is true,
For I have found it answer-so may you.

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 unexpress'd concern,
A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar:
At leaving even the most unpleasant people
And places, one keeps looking at the steeple.

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 water, 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 ser-
vants tie on
Behind their carriages their new portman-
teau,

Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

A devil of a sea rolls in that bay,
As I, who've cross'd it oft, know well And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd, and

enough;

thought,

And. standing upon deck, the dashing spray While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea,

quote:

"Sweets to the sweet;" (I like so much to | 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 towel | And purgatives are dangerous to his reig Sea-sickness death: his love was perfec how else

You must excuse this extract, 'tis where she,
The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought
Flowers to the grave) and sobbing often, he
Reflected on his present situation,
And seriously resolved on reformation.

"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, whereGuadalquivir's waters glide! |
Farewell, my mother! and, since all is o'er,
Farewell, too, dearest Julia!"-(here he
drew

Could Juan's passion, while the billows roa
Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?

The ship, called the most holy "Trinidada,
Was steering duly for the port Leghorn
For there the Spanish family Moncada
Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born
They were relations, and for them he had
Letter of introduction, which the morn
Of his departure had been sent him by

Her letter out again, and read it through.) | His Spanish friends for those in Italy.

"And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear- His suite consisted of three servants and But that's impossible, and cannot be- A tutor, the licenciate Pedrillo, Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air, Who several languages did understand, Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea, But now lay sick and speechless on hi Than I resign thine image, oh! my fair! Or think of any thing, excepting thee; A mind diseased no remedy can physic"(Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick.)

"Sooner shall heaven kiss earth-(here he
fell sicker)

Oh, Julia! what is every other woe?-
(For God's sake, let me have a glass of
liquor-

Pedro! Battista! help me down below.)
Julia, my love! (you rascal, Pedro,
quicker)

Oh, Julia! (this cursed 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 doat 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.

Love's a capricious power; I've known it
hold

Out through a fever caused by its own heat,
But be much puzzled by a cough and cold,
And find a quinsy very hard to treat;
Against all noble maladies he's bold,
But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet,
Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh,
Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.

pillow,

And,rocking in his hammock,long'd for land
His headache being increased by ever
billow;

And the waves oozing through the port-hol
made
His birth a little damp, and him afraid.

The drownings are much talk'd of by the

divers

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

Perhaps more mischief had been done,but for
Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years,
Got to the spirit-room, and stood before
It with a pair of pistols; and their fears,
As if Death were more dreadful by his door
Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears,
Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk,
Thought it would be becoming to die drunk.

"Give us more grog," they cried, "for it will be

All one an hour hence." Juan answer'd, "No! 'Tis 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 swimmers who may chance to be sur-And made a loud and pious lamentation;

vivors.

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.

Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless ¦ And long had voyaged through many

grown, A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to baleThe stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a sail.

stormy sea, And if he wept at length, they were not fear That made his eyelids as a woman's be, But he, poor fellow, had a wife and childre Two things for dying people quite bewil dering.

The ship was evidently settling now
Fast by the head; and, all distinction gone
Some went to prayers again, and made a vov
Of candles to their saints-but there wer

none

To pay them with; and some look'd o' the bow;

Some hoisted out the boats; and there wɛ

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, son
put on
going to a fair;
on which they sa
the sun,

Their best clothes as if
Some cursed the day

And gnash'd their teeth, and, howlin
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 se
Unless with breakers close beneath her le

The worst of all was, that in their condition
Having been several days in great distres
Twas difficult to get out such provision
As now might render their long sufferin

less :

Men, even when dying, dislike inanition
Their stock was damaged by the weather

stress:

Two casks of biscuit and a keg of butte
Were all that could be thrown into the cutte

But in the long-boat they contrived to sto
Some pounds of bread, though injured
the wet;

Water, a twenty-gallon-cask or so;
Six flasks of wine; and they contrived to g
A portion of their beef up from below,
And with a piece of pork, moreover, m
But scarce enough to serve them for
luncheon-
eight gallons in
puncheon.

Then there was rum,

The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, h
Been stove in the beginning of the gale
And the long-boat's condition was but ba
As there were but two blankets for a sa
And one oar for a mast, which a young

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