LXXV.

She cannot step as does an Arab barb,
Or Andalusian girl from mass returning,
Nor wear as gracefully as Gauls her garb,

Nor in her eye Ausonia's glance is burning;
Her voice, though sweet, is not so fit to warb.
le those bravuras (which I still am learning
To like, though I have been seven years in Italy,
And have, or had, an ear that serv'd me prettily);-

LXXVI.

She cannot do these things, nor one or two
Others, in that off-hand and dashing style
Which takes so much-to give the devil his due;
Nor is she quite so ready with her smile,

Nor settles all things in one interview,

(A thing approv'd, as saving time and toil:)— But though the soil may give you time and trouble, Well cultivated, it will render double.

LXXVII.

And if, in fact, she takes to a "grande passion,"
It is a very serious thing indeed:

Nine times in ten 'tis but caprice, or fashion,
Coquetry, or a wish to take the lead,

The pride of a mere child with a new sash on,
Or wish to make a rival's bosom bleed:
But the tenth instance will be a tornado;

For there's no saying what they will or may do.

LXXVIII.

The reason's obvious: if there's an éclat,

They lose their caste, at once, as do the Parias;

And, when the delicacies of the law

Have fill'd their papers with their comments various, Society, that china without flaw,

(The hypocrite!) will banish them, like Marius,

To sit amidst the ruins of their guilt:

For Fame's a Carthage not so soon rebuilt.

LXXIX.

Perhaps this is as it should be:-it is

A comment on the Gospel's "Sin no more,
And be thy sins forgiven :"-but, upon this,

I leave the saints to settle their own score.
Abroad, though doubtless they do much amiss,
An erring woman finds an open door
For her return to Virtue-as they call
That lady, who should be at home to all.

75

76

77

78

79

80

LXXX.

For me, I leave the matter where I find it ;
Knowing that such uneasy virtue leads
People some ten times less, in fact, to mind it,
Anp care but for discoveries and not deeds:
And, as for chastity, you'll never bind it,

By all the laws the strictest lawyer pleads;

But aggravate the crime you have not prevented,

By rendering desperate those who had else repented.

LXXXI.

But Juan was no casuist, nor had ponder'd
Upon the moral lessons of mankind:
Besides, he had not seen, of several hundred,
A lady altogether to his mind.

A littleblase"-'tis not to be wonder'd

At, that his heart had got a tougher rind: And, though not vainer from his past success, No doubt his sensibilities were less.

LXXXII.

He also had been busy, seeing sights

The Parliament and all the other houses;

Had sat beneath the gallery, at nights,

To hear debates whose thunder rous'd (not rouses)

The world to gaze upon those northern lights,

Which flash'd as far as where the musk-bull browses;

He had also stood, at times, behind the throne-
But Grey was not arriv'd, and Chatham gone.

LXXXIII.

He saw, however, at the closing session,

That noble sight, when really free the nation,
A king in constitutional possession

Of such a throne as is the proudest station,
Though despots know it not-till the progression
Of freedom shall complete their education.
'Tis not mere splendour makes the show august
To eye or heart-it is the people's trust.

LXXXIV.

There, too, he saw (whate'er he may be now)
A Prince, the prince of princes, at the time,
With fascination in his very bow,

And full of promise, as the spring of prime.

Though royalty was written on his brow,

He had then the grace, too, rare in every clime,
Of being, without alloy of fop or beau,
A finish'd gentleman from top to toe.

81

82

88

84

LXXXV.

And Juan was receiv'd, as hath been said,
Into the best society; and there
Occurr'd what often happens, I'm afraid,

However disciplin'd and debonnaire :-
The talent and good humour he display'd,

Besides the mark'd distinction of his air, Expos'd him, as was natural, to temptation, Even though himself avoided the occasion.

LXXXVI.

85

But what, and where, with whom, and when, and why, 86 Is not to be put hastily together;

And, as my object is morality,

(Whatever people say), I don't know whether

I'll leave a single reader's eyelid dry,

But harrow up his feelings, till they wither;
And hew out a huge monument of pathos,
As Philip's son propos'd to do with Athos.

LXXXVII.

Here the twelfth canto of our introduction
Ends. When the body of the book's begun,
You'll find it of a different construction

From what some people say 'twill be, when done:
The plan at present's simply in concoction.
I can't oblige you, reader, to read on:

That's your affair, not mine: a real spirit
Should neither court neglect, nor dread to bear it.

LXXXVIII.

And, if my thunderbolt not always rattles,
Remember, reader! you have had, before,
The worst of tempests and the best of battles,
That e'er were brew'd from elements or gore,

Besides the most sublime of-Heaven knows what else:
An usurer could scarce expect much more-
But my best canto, save one on astronomy,

Will turn upon "political economy."

LXXXIX,

That is your present theme for popularity:
Now that the public hedge hath scarce a stake,

It grows an act of patriotic charity,

To show the people the best way to break. My plan (but I, if but for singularity,

Reserve it) will be very sure to take.

Meantime, read all the national-debt sinkers,
And tell me what you think of our great thinkers.

87

88

89

Don Juan.

CANTO THE THIRTEENTH.

I.

I NOW mean to be serious-it is time;

Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.

A jest at Vice, by Virtue's call'd a crime,
And critically held as deleterious :

Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime;
Although, when long, a little apt to weary us:
And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn,
As an old temple dwindled to a column.

II.

The Lady Adeline Amundeville

('Tis an old Norman name, and to be found

In pedigrees, by those who wander still

Along the last fields of that Gothic ground)

Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will,"

And beauteous, even where beauties most abound,
In Britain-which, of course, true patriots find
The goodliest soil of body and of mind.

III.

I'll not gainsay them: it is not my cue:

I'll leave them to their taste, no doubt the best :

An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue
Is no great matter, so 'tis in request :

"Tis nonsense to dispute about a hue-
The kindest may be taken as a test.

The fair sex should be always fair; and no man,
Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman.

IV.

And, after that serene and somewhat dull

Epoch, that awkward corner turn'd, for days More quiet, when our moon's no more at full, We may presume to criticise or praise; Because indifference begins to lull

Our passions, and we walk in wisdom's ways; Also because the figure and the face

Hint that 'tis time to give the younger place.

1

2

3

V.

I know that some would fain postpone this era,
Reluctant, as all placemen, to resign
Their post; but theirs is merely a chimera,
For they have pass'd life's equinoctial line:
But then they have their claret and Madeira,
To irrigate the dryness of decline;

And county meetings, and the parliament,
And debt, and what not, for their solace sent.

VI.

5

And is there not religion, and reform,

в

Peace, war, the taxes, and what's call'd the "Nation ?"

The struggle to be pilots in a storm?

The landed and the monied speculation P

The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm,
Instead of love, that mere hallucination ?
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure:
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

VII.

Rough Johnson, the great moralist, profess'd,
Right honestly, "he liked an honest hater!"-
The only truth that yet has been confest

Within these latest thousand years or later.
Perhaps the fine old fellow spoke in jest :-
For my part, I am but a mere spectator;
And gaze where'er the palace or the hovel is,
Much in the mode of Goethe's Mephistopheles ;

VIII.

But neither love nor hate in much excess;

Though 'twas not once so. If I sneer sometimes,

It is because I cannot well do less,

And now and then it also suits my rhymes.

I should be very willing to redress

Men's wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, Had not Cervantes, in that too true tale

Of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.

IX.

Of all tales 'tis the saddest-and more sad,
Because it makes us smile: his hero's right,
And still pursues the right;-to curb the bad
His only object; and gainst odds to fight,
His guerdon: 'tis his virtue makes him mad!
But his adventures form a sorry sight :-
A sorrier still is the great moral taught,
By that real epic, unto all who have thought.