But sweeter still, than this, than these, than all, The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd — all 's known And life yields nothing further to recall Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven. LAMBRO'S RETURN. (DON JUAN, Canto iii. Stanzas 27, 29-41.) He saw his white walls shining in the sun, The moving figures, and the sparkling sheen And still more nearly to the place advancing, Through the waved branches, o'er the greensward '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 cross-legg'd round their trays, Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze, Above them their dessert grew on its vine, A band of children, round a snow-white ram, Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers Their classic 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, Sigh'd, for their sakes — that they should e'er grow older. Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, Transform'd their lords to beasts (but that's a fact). Here was no lack of innocent diversion For the imagination or the senses, Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian, Ah! what is man? what perils still environ Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner; - · He — being a man who seldom used a word And long he paused to re-assure 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) And put his house in mourning several weeks, · The bloom, too, had return'd to Haidée'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, A life which made them happy beyond measure. Compared with what Haidée 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 The whip, the rack, or dungeon at the least, You 're wrong. He was the mildest manner'd man A STORMED CITY. (DON JUAN, Canto viii. Stanzas 123-127.) ALL that the mind would shrink from of excesses; All that we read, hear, dream, of man's distresses; If here and there some transient trait of pity Was shown, and some more noble heart broke through Its bloody bond, and saved, perhaps, some pretty Child, or an aged, helpless man or two— |