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Meantime they'll doubtiess please to recollect

CCXVI. My epical pretensions to the laurel;

My days of love are over; me 110 more For fear soine prudish readers should grow The charms of maid, wife, and still less of skittish,

widow, I've bribed my grandmother's review-the British. Can make the fool of which they inade before :*

In short, I inust not lead the life I did do ;
CCX.
I sent it in a letter to the Editor,

The credulous hope of mutual minds is o er,
Who thank'd me duly by return of post-

The copious use of claret is forbid, too : I'm for a handsome article his creditor;

So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,

I think I must take up with avarice.
Yet, if my gentle Muse he please to roast,
And break a promise after having made it her,

CCXVII.
Denying the receipt of what it cost,

Ambition was my idol, which was broken And smear his page with gall instead of honey,

Before the shrines of Sorrow and of Pleasure, All I can say is—that he had the money.

And the two last have left me many a token,
CCXI. .

O'er whicli reflection may be made at leisure. I think that, with this holy new alliance,

Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, l've spoken,

• Time is, Time was, Time s past;-a chymic I may ensure the public, and defy All other magazines of art or science,

treasure Daily, or monthly, or three monthly; I

Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimesHave not essay'd to multiply their clients,

My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. Because they tell me 'twere in vain to try,

CCXVIII.
And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly What is the end of fame? 'tis but to fill
Treat a dissenting author very martyrly.

A certain portion of uncertain paper :
CCXII.

Some liken it to climbing up a bill,
Non ego hoc ferrem calidur juventa

Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour : Consule Planco,' Horace said, and so

For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kiil, Say I ; by which quotation there is meant a

And barda burn what they call their midnight Hint that, some six or seven good years ago

To have, when the origiaal is dust, (taper,' (Long ere I dreamt of dating from the Brenta), A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. I was most ready to return a blow,

CCXIX. And would not brook at all this sort of thing

What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's king In my hot youth-when George the Third was

Cheops erected the first pyramid, king

And largest, thinking it was just the thing
CCXIII.

To keep his memory whole, and muinny hid; But now, ac thirty years, my hair is grey

But somebody or other, rummaging, (I wonder what it will be like at forty!

Burglariously broke his coffin's lid : I thought of a peruke the other day)

Let not a monument give you or nie hopes, My heart is not much greener; and, in short, I

Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops. Have squander'd my whole suminer while 'twas May,

CCXX. And feel no more the spirit to retort : 1

But I, being fond of true philosophy, Have spent my life, both interest and principal, Say very often to myself, · Alas! And deem not, what I deemd, my soul invincible. All things that have been born were born to die,

And flesh (which Death nows down to liay) is CCXIV.

grass; No more--no more-Oh! never more on me

You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly, The freshness of the heart can fall like dew,

And if you had it o'er again-'twould passWhich out of all the lovely things we see

So thank your stars that matters are no worse, Extracts eirotions beautiful and new,

And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse.' Hived in our bosoms like the bag o'the bee : Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew ?

CCXXI. Alas! 'twas not in them, but in thy power

But for the present, gentle reader ! and To double even the sweetness of a flower.

Still gentler purchaser! the bard-that's I

Must, with permission, shake you by the hand, CCXV.

And so your humble servant, ordgui bye! No more-no more-Oh! never more, my heart,

We meet again if we should understas! Canst thou be my sole world, my universe;

Each other; and if not, I shall not try Once all in all, but now a thing apart,

Your patience further than by this short samp!e-
Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse : 'Twere well if others follow'd my example.
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,

. Me nec femina, nec puer

Jam, nec spes animi credula Though Heaven knows how it ever found a lodg.

Nec certare juvat mero? Mlient.

Nec vincire novis tempora floribus,

CCXXII. 'Go, little buck, from this my solitude!

I cast thee on the watcrs--yothy ways! And if, as I believe, thy vcin be good,

The world will find thee after many days.'

When Southey's read, and Wordswork under

stood,
I can't help putting in my claim to praise
The four first rhymes are Southey's, every line;
For God's sakc, rcader ! take them not for méne.

CANTO THE SECOND.

1873. 1.

VII. O YE! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations. Chaste Muse!well, if you inust, you masti-the Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,

veil I pray ye fog them upon all occasions,

Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand, It iends their morals; never inind the pair. Whuic the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale, The best of mothers and of educations,

Flashes into the heart :--All sunny land In Juan's case, were but employ'd in vain,

of love! when I forget you, may I fail Since, in a way that's rather of the od lesi, hic

To---say my prayers-but never was there Became divested of his native modesty

planna II.

A dress tlirough which the cyes give such a volley, Had he been but placed at a public school,

Excepting the Venetian lazzioli. In the third form, or even in the fourth,

VIHr. His daily task had kept his fancy cool,

But to our tale: the Donna Inez sent At least had hc been nurtured in the north.

Her son to Cadiz only to embark; Spain may prove an exception to this rulc,

To stay there had not answer'd her intent: But then exceptions always prove its worth

But why :-we leave the reader in the darkA lad of sixteen causing a divorce.

'Twas for a voyage the young man was meant, Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark,
III.

To wean liim from the wickedness of earth,
I can't say that it puzzles ine at all,

And send him like a dove of promise forth. If all things be consider'd. First there was

IX. His lady-mother, mathematical,

Don Juan bade his valet pack his things A-never mind; his tutor, an old ass;

According to direction, thea received A pretty woman-(that's quite natural,

A lecture and some money: for sour springs Or else the thing had hardly coine to pass);

He was to travel; and, though Inez griei ed A husband rather old, not much in unity

(As every kind of parting has its stings). With his young wife-a time and opportunity.

She hoped he would improve-perhaps believed: IV.

A letter, too, she gave (he never read it).
Well-well, the world must turn upon its axis, Of good advice, and two or three of credit.
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,

X.
And live, and die, make love, and pay our taxes, In the meantime, to pass her hours away,

And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails. Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us, For naughty children, who would rather play
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales;

(Like truant rogues) the clevil, or the fool; A little breatii, love, wine, ambition, fanc,

Infants of three years old were taught that day, Fighting, devotion, dust-perhaps a name.

Dunces were whipt, or set upon a stool:
The gt

success of Juan's eclucation I said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz--

Spurr'd her to teach another generation. A pretty town, I recollect it well

XI. 'Tis there the mart of the colonial trade is

Juan embark'd, the ship got under way, (Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel);

The wind was fair, the water passing rough ; And such sweet girls--I mean such graceful ladies, A devil of a sea rolls in that bay,

Their very walk would make your bosom swell : As I, who've cross'd it oft, know well enough I can't describe it, though so much it strike, And, standing upon deck, the dashing spray Nor liken it I never saw the like.

Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough: VI.

And there he stood to take, and take again, An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb

His first-perhaps his last-farewell of Spain
New broke, a camelopard, a gazelle,

XII.
No-none of these will do; and then their garb! I can't but say t is an awkward sight
Their veil and petticoat-alas! to dwell

To see one's native land receding through
Upon such things would very near absorb

The growing waters; it unmans one quite, A canto: then their feet and ankles-Well

Especially when lise is rather new. Thank Heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white, (And so, my sober Muse--come let's be steady

But alınost every other country's blue,

When, gazing on thci!, mystified by distance, Than i resign thine image, oh, my fair !
We enter on our nautical existence.

Or think of anything excepting thee;

A mind diseased no remedy can physic
XIII.
So Juan stood, bewilder'd, on the deck: (swore,

(Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew seasick.) The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors

XX. And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck, *Sooner shall heaven kiss earth (herche fell sicker;--From which a way so fair and fast they bore.

Oh, Julia ! what is every other woe? The best of remedies is a beefsteak

(For God's sake, let me have a glass of liquor; Against sea-sickness: try it, sir, before

Pedro, Battista, help me down below) You sneer, and i assure you this is true,

Julia, my love ! (you rascal, Pedro, quicker)For I have found it answer-so may you.

Oh, Julia !-this curst vessel pitches 50

Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!
XIV.

(Here lie grew inarticulate with retching )
Don Juan stood, and gazing from the stern,
Beheld his native Spain receding far;

XXI. Tirst partings form a lesson hard to learn,

He felt that chilling heaviness of iieart, Even nations feel this when they go to war;

Or rather stomachi, which, alas! attends, There is a sort of unexprest concern,

Beyond the best apothecary's art, A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar:

The loss of love, the treachery of friends, At leaving even the most unpleasant people

Or death of those we dote on, when a part And places, one keeps looking at the steeple.

Of us dies with them, as each fond hope ends:

No doubt he would have been much more pathetic, XV. But Juan had got many things to leave,

But the sea acted as a strong emetic. His mother, and a mistress, and no wife,

XXII. So that he had much better cause to grieve Love's a capricious power: I've known it look Than many persons more advanced in life;

Out through a sever caused by its own heat, And if we now and then a sigh must heave

But be much puzzled by a cough and cold, At quitting even those we quit in strife,

And find a quinsy very hard to treat :
No doubt we weep for those the heart endears- Against all noble maladies lie's bold,
That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears.

But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet,
XVI.

Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigli,

Nor infianimations redden his blind eye.
So Juan wept, as wept tiie captive Jews
By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion:

XXIII.
I'd weep, but mine is not a weeping Muse,

Dat worst of all is nausea, or a pain
And such light griefs are not a thing to die on: About the lower regions of the lowels;
Young inen should travel, if but to amuse

Love, who heroically breathes a vein,
Themselves; and the next time their seri ants Shrinks from the application of hot towels,

And purgatives are dangerous to his reign, Behind their carriages their new portmantenti, Sea-sickness, death: his love was perfect, low Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

else XVII.

Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar,

Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?
And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd, and tlouglit,
While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea,

XXIV.
*Sweets to the sweet;'(I like so much to quote; The ship, call'd the most holy Trinidada,'

You must excuse this extract-'tis where she, Was steering duly for the port Legiorn, The queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought For there the Spanish family Moncada

Flowers to the grave); and, sobbing often, he Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born: Reflected on his present situation,

They were relations, and for them he had a
And seriously resolved on reformation.

Letter of introduction, which the morn
XVIII.

Of his departure had been sent him by • Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell l'he cricd;

II's Spanish friends for those in Italy. • Perhaps I may revisit thee no more,

XXV. But die, as many an exiled heart hath died,

His suite consisted of three servants and Of its own thirst to see again thy shore :

A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo, Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide! Who several languages did understand, Farewell, my mother! and since all is o'er,

Dut now lay sick and speechless on his pillow Farewell, too, dearest Julia !' (here he drew

11.1, rocking in his hammock, long'd for land, iler letter out again, and read it through.)

llis headache being increased by every billow: XIX.

And the waves oozing through the port-hole made . And oh ! if c'er I should forget, I swear

Ilis berth a little damp, and him afraid. But that's impossible, and cannot be ;

XXVI. Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air,

'Twas not without some reason, for the wind Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,

Increased at night, until it blew a gale ;

tie on

And though twas not much to a naval nini,

XXXIII.
Some landsmen would have look'd a little pale, It may be easily supposed, while this
For sailors are, in fact, a different kind:

Was going on, some people were unquiet
At sunset they began to take in sail,

That passengers would find it much amiss For the sky show'd it would came on to blow,

To lose their lives as well as spoil their diet And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so.

That even the able seaman, deeming his
XXVII.

Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot, At one o'clock, the wind with sudden shift

As upon such occasions tars will ask Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea,

For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask. Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift,

XXXIV. Started the stern-post, also shatter'd the

There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms Whole of her stern frame, and, ere she could lift As rum and true religion: thus it was, (psalms; Herself from out her present jeopardy,

Some plundered, some drank spirits, some sung The rudder tore away: 'twas time to sound

The high wind made the treble, and as bass The pumps, and there were four feet water found. The hoarse harsh waves kept time; fright curedi XXVIII.

the qualms One gang of people instantly was put

Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws: Upon the pumps, and the remaining set

Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, To get up part of the cargo, and what not;

Clamourd in chorus to the roaring ocean. But they could not come at the leak as yet.

XXXV. At last they did get at it really, but

Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for Still their salvation was an even bet:

Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years,
The water rush'd througir in a way quite puzzling, Got to the spirit-room, and stood before
While they thrust shects, shirts, jackets, bales of It with a pair of pistols; and their fears,
muslin,

As if Death were more dreadful by his door
XXIX.

Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears, Into the opening; but all such ingredients

Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk, Would have been vain, and they must have gone Thought it would be becoming to die drunk, down,

XXXVI. Despite of all their efforts and expedients,

Give us inore grog,' they cried, 'for it will be But for the pumps: I'm glad to make them known

All one an hour hence.' Juan answer'd, No! To all the brother tars who may have need hence,

'Tis true that death awaits both you and me, For fifty tons of water were upthrown

But let us die like men, not sink below By them per hour, and they all had been undone,

Like brutes ;--and thus his dangerous post kept he, But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London.

And none liked to anticipate the blow;
XXX.

And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor,
As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate, Was for some rum a disappointed suitor.
And then the leak they reckond to reduce,

XXXVII. And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet

The good old gentleman was quite aghast, Kept two hand and one chain pump still in use. And made a loud and pious lamentation; The wind blew fresh again : as it grew late

Repented all his sins, and made a last A squall came on, and while some guns broke Irrevocable vow of reformation: loose,

Nothing should tempt him more (this peril past) A gust---which all descriptive power transcends- To quit his academic occupation, Laid with one blast the ship on her beam-ends. In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, XXXI.

To follow Juan's wake, like Sancho Panca. There she lay, inotionless, and seem'd upset ;

XXXVIII. The water left the hold, and wash'd the decks, But now there came a flash of hope once more ; And made a scene men do not soon forget;

Day broke, and the wind lull'd: the masts were For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks,

gone, Or any other thing that brings regret, (necks: The leak increas'd; shoals round her, but no shore,

Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or The vessel swam, yet still she held her own. Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the divers, They tried the pumps again, and though before And swimmers, who may chance to be survivors. Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless grown, XXXII.

A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to baleImmediately the masts were cut away,

The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrummd a sai. Both inain and mizen: first the mizen went,

XXXIX
The main-mast follow'd; but the ship still lay Under the vessel's keel the sail was past,
Like a mere log and bafiled our intent.

And for the moment it had some effect;
Foreinast and bowsprit were cut down, and they But with a leak, and not a stick of mast,
Eased her at last (although we never meant

Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect! To part with all till every hope was blighted), But still 'tis best to struggle to the last, And then with violence the old ship righted,

'Tis never too late to be wholly wrecka:

And though 'tis true that man can only die once,

XLVI. 'Tis not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons.

The worst of all was, that in their condition,

Having been several days in great distress, XL

'Twas difficult to get out such provision There winds and waves liad hurl'd them, and froin As now might render their long suffering less : thence,

Men, even when dying, dislike inanition, Without their will, they carried them away:

Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress : For they were forced with steering to dispense, Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter, And never had as yet a quiet day

Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. On which they might repose, or even commence

XLVII.
A jurymast or rudder, or could say

But in the long boat they contrived to stow
The ship would swiin an hour, which by good luck,
Still swam-though not exactly like a duck.

Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet;

Water, a twenty-gailon cask or so;
XLI.

Six flasks of wine; and they contrived to get The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less,

A portion of their beef up from below,

And with a piece of pork inoreover, met, But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could hope

But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheonTo weather out much longer; the distress

Then there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon. Was also great with which they had to cope For want of water, and their solid mess

XLVIII. Was scant enough ; in vain the telescope

The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had Was used-nor sail nor shore appeared in sight, Been stove, in the beginning of the gale ; Nought but the heavy sea and coming night.

And the long-boat's condition was but bad,

As there were but two blankets for a sail,
XLII.

And one oar for a mast, which a young lad
Again the weather threaten'd,-again blew

Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail ; A gale, and in the fore and after hold

And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, Water appear'd; yet, though the people knew To save one half the people ther. on board.

All this, the most were patient, and some bold, Until the chains and leathers were worn through

XLIX. Of all our pumps ;-a wreck complete she roila 'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are

Over the waste of waters; like a veil Like human beings during civil war.

Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown

Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail
XLIII.

Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown, Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears

And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale, In his rough eyes, and told the captain he

And the clim desolate deep : twelve days had Fear Could do no more: he was a man in years,

Been their familiar, and now Death was here. And long had voyaged through many a stormy

L. sea;

Some trial had been making at a raft, And if he wept at length, they were not fears

With little hope in such a rolling sea-That made his eyelids as a woman's be,

A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd, But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children,

If any laughter at such times could be, Two things for dying people quite bewild'ring.

Unless with people who too much have quafred, XLIV.

And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, The ship was evidently settling now

Half epileptical and half hysterical : Fast by the head; and, all distinction gone,

Their preservation would have been a miracle. Some went to prayers again, and made a vow

LI. Of candles to their saints-but there were none

At half.past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, To pay them with; and some look'd o'er the bow;

And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose. Some hoisted out the boats; and there was one

That still could keep afloat the struggling tars, That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution,

For yet they strove, although of no great use: Who told him to be damn'd-in his confusion.

There was no light in heaven but a few stars;
XLV.

The boats put off, o'ercrowded with their crews; Some lash'd them in their hammocks: some put on

She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, Their best clothes, as if going to a fair;

Aod, going down lead foremost-sunk, in short Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun,

LII. And gnash'd their teeth, and, howling, tore their Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewellhair;

Then shriek'd the timid and stood still the brave And others went on as they had begun,

Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, Getting the boats out, being well aware

As cager to anticipate their grave; That a tight boat will live in a rough sea,

And the sea yawnd around her like a hell, Unless with breakers close beneath her lee.

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,

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