On the wrist of the noble
She sits like a crest,
And the air is in trouble

With birds from their nest.

Cas. Oh shadow of glory!

Dim image of war!

But the chase hath no story,
Her hero no star,
Since Nimrod, the founder

Of empire and chase,
Who made the woods wonder

And quake for their race.

When the lion was young,

In the pride of his might,
Then 'twas sport for the strong
To embrace him in fight;
To go forth, with a pine

For a spear, 'gainst the Mammoth,
Or strike through the ravine

At the foaming Behemoth;
While man was in stature
As towers in our time,
The first-born of Nature,
And, like her, sublime?

Chorus.

But the wars are over,

The spring is come;
The bride and her lover

Have sought their home;

They are happy, and we rejoice;

Let their hearts have an echo from every voice!

[Exeunt the Peasamry, singing

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, Dessaix, Moreau,

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

IV.

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,

'Tis with our hero quietly in:rn'd; Because the army's grown more popular, At which the naval people are concern'd: Besides, the prince is all for the land service, Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V

Brave men were living before Agamemnon, And since, exceeding valorous and sage,

1819.

A good deal like him too, though quite the same

VI.

Most epic poems plunge un 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 case,

Beside his mistress in some soft abode.
Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern,
Which serves the happy couple for a tavern.

VII.

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.

VIII

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

IX.

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
X.

His mother was a earned lady, famed

For every branch of every science known In every Christian language ever name d, 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 ings that she did.

XI.

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;

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.
XIV.

She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue,
And said there was analogy between 'em;
She proved it somehow out of sacred song.

But I must leave the proofs to those who've

In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine incomparable oil,' Macassar!* XVIII.

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 b iss,
(I wonder how they got through the twelve hours),
Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve,

Went plucking various fruit without her leave.
XIX.

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'erturned,
Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two
But for domestic quarrels one will do.

XX.

Now Donna ez 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.

XXI.

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 unprepar'd, 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. XXII.

'Tis 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?

XXIII.

Don Jose and his lady quarrell'd—why,
Not any of the many could divine,
Though several thousand people chose to try;
'Twas surely no concern of theirs nor mine.

I loathe that low vice curiosity;

But if there's anything in which I shine, 'Tis in arranging all my friends' affairs, Not having, of my own, domestic cares. XXIV.

And so I interfered, and with the best

Intentions; but their treatment was not kind

'Description des vertus incomparables de Thuile Macassar,Sec the Advertisement.

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.

XXV.

A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,

And mischief-making monkey from his birth; His parents ne'er agreed except in doting Upon the most unquiet imp on earth: Instead of quarrelling, had they been both in Their senses, they'd have sent young master forth

To school, or had him soundly whipped at home, To teach him manners for the time to come.

XXVI.

Don Jose and the Donna Inez led

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

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.

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 asked the doctors after his decease-
He died of the slow fever call'd the tertian,
And left his widow to her own aversion.
XXXV.

Yet Jose was an honourable man;

That I must say, who knew him very well:
Therefore his fraiities 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.
XXXVI.

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.

XXXVII.

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;