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And Haidée, being devout as well as fair, By length I mean duration : theirs endured

Had doubtless heard about the Stygian river, Heaven knows how long-no doubt they never And hell, and purgatory—but forgot, reckond;

Just in the very crisis she should not.
And if they had, they could not have secured

The sum of their sensations to a second :
They had not spoken ; but they felt allured,

They look upon each other, and their eyes
As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd,

Gleam in the moonlight; and her white arm Which, being joined, like swarning bees they

clasps clung

Round Juan's head, and his around hers lies

Half buried in the tresses which it grasps : Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey

She sits upon his knee and drinks his sighs, sprung CLXXXVIII.

He hers, until they end in broken gasps; They were alone, but not alox.e as they

And thus they form a group that's quite antique. Who shut in chambers think it loneliness,

Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek.
The silent ocean, and the starlight bay,

The twilight glow, which momently grew less,
The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay

And when those deep and burning moments passid, Around them, made them to each other press,

And Juan sank to sleep within her arins, As if there were no life beneath the sky

She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast,

Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms; Save theirs, and that their life could never dic.

And now and then her eye to heaven is cast, CLXXXIX.

And then on the pale chcek her breast now They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach,

warnis, They felt no terrors from the night; they were Pillow'd on her oʻerflowing heart, which pants All in all to each other: though their speech With all it granted, and with all it grants. Was broken words, they thought a language there;

CXCVI. And all the burning tongues the passions teach

An infant when it gazes on the light, Found in one sigh the best interpreter

A child the moinent when it drains the breast, Of nature's oracle-first love,-that all

A devotee when soars the Host in sight, Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall.

An Arab with a stranger for a guest,

A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,
Haidée spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows,

A miscr filling his most hoarded chest,
Nor offer'd any; she had never heard

Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping, Of plight and promises to be a spouse,

As they who watch o'er what they love while

sleeping Or perils by a loving maid incurrid;

She was all which pure ignorance allows,
And flew to her young mate like a young bird ;

For there it lies, so tranquil, so beloved :

All that it hath of life with us is living;
And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she
Had not one word to say of constancy.

So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,

And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving;

All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,
She loved, and was beloved-she adored,

Hushi'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving: And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion,

There lies the thing we love, with all its errors Their intense souls, into cach other pour'd,

And all its charms, like death without its terrors. If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion,

But by degrees their senses were restored,
Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on;

The lady watch'd her lover-and that hour
And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidée's heart Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude,
Felt as if never more to beat apart.

O'erflow'd her soul with their united power;

Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude, CXCII. Alas! they were so young, so beautiful,

She and her wave-worn love had made their hower So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour

Where nought upon their passion could intrude;

And all the stars that crowded the blue space, Was that in which the heart is always full, And, having o'er itself no further power,

Saw nothing happier than her glowing face.
Prompts deeds eternity cannot annul,

But pays off moments in an endless shower
Of hell-fire-all prepared for people giving

Alas, the love of women! it is known
Pleasure or pain to one another living.

To be a lovely and a fearful thing;

For all of theirs upon that die is thrown,

And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring
Alas for Juan and Haidée ! they were

To them but mockeries of the past alone, So loving and so lovely-till then never,

And their revenge is as the tiger's spring. Excepting our first parents, such a pair

Deadly, and quick, and crushing ; yet, as real Had run the risk of being damnd for ever; Torture is theirs-what they inflict they feel


Yet to these four in three things the same luck They are right; for man to man so oft unjust,

holds, Is always so to women: one sole bond

They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds. Awaits them, treachery is all their trust :

Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond

Thou mak'st philosophers; there's Epicurus
Over their idol, till some wealthier lust
Buys them in marriage-and what rests beyond ?

And Aristippus, a material crew!

Who to immoral courses would allure us A thankless husband, next a faithless lover,

By theories quite practicable too;
Then dressing, nursing, praying, and ali's over.

If only from the devil they would ensure us,

How pleasant were the maxim (not quite new), Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers, Eat, drink, and love; what can the rest avail us?

Some mind their household, others dissipation; So said the royal sage Sardanapalus. Some run away, and but exchange their cares,

CCVIII. Losing the advantage of a virtuous station;

But Juan ! liad he quite forgotten Julia? Few changes e'er can better their affairs,

And should he have forgotten her so soon? Theirs being an unnatural situation,

I can't but say it seems to me most truly a From the dull palace to the dirty hovel ;

Perplexing question; but, no doubt, the moon Some play the devil, and then write a novel.

Does these things for us, and whenever newly a CCII. .

Strong palpitation rises, 'tis her boon. Haidee was Nature's bride, and knew not this;

Else how the devil is it that fresh features Haidee was passion's child, born where the sun

Have such a charm for us poor human creatures: Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss

Of his gazelle-eyed daughters; she was one
Made but to love, to feel that she was his

I hate inconstancy-I loathe, detest,
Who was her chosen : what was said or done

Abhor, condemn, abjure, the mortal made Elsewhere was nothing. She had nought to fear,

Of such quicksilver-clay, that in his breast Hope, care, nor love beyond-her heart beat here.

No permanent foundation can be jaid:

Love, constant love, has been my constant guest; CCIII.

And yet last night, being at a masquerade, And oh! that quickening of the heart, that beat!

I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan, How much it costs us ! yet each rising throb

Which gave me some sensations like a villain. Is in its cause as its effect so sweet,

Ссх. .
That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob
Joy of its alchemy, and to repeat

But soon Philosophy came to my aid,
Fine truths; even Conscience, too, has a tough

And whisper'd, 'Think of every sacred tie!' job

'I will, my dear Philosophy! I said, To make us understand each good old maxim,

But then her teeth, and then, O Heaven, her So good-I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em,

I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid, [eye!

Or neither-out of curiosity.'

*Stop!' cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian And now 'twas done on the lone shore were

(Though she was masqued then as a fair Venetian). plighted


Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches,
Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted :

Stop! So I stopp’d. But to return: that which Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed,

Men call inconstancy is nothing more By their own feelings hallow'd and united,

Than adiniration, due where Nature's rich Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed:

Profusion with young beauty covers o'er And they were happy, for to their young eyes

Some favour'd object; and as in the niche Each was an angel, and earth paradise.

A lovely statue we alınost adore,

This sort of admiration of the real
Oh, Lovel of whom great Cæsar was the suitor,

Is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
Titus the master, Antony the slave;

CCXII. Horace, Catullus, scholars; Ovid tutor,

'Tis the perception of the beautiful, Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave

A fine extension of the faculties, All those may leap who rather would be neuter

Platonic, universal, wonderful,

(skies, (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave)-

Drawn from the stars, and filter'd through the Oh, Love! thou art the very god of evil;

Without which life would be extremely dull; tor, after all, we cannot call thee devil.

In short, it is the use of our own eyes,

With one or two small senses added, just
Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state precarious,

To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust.
And jestest with the brows of mightiest men;

CCXIII. Cæsar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius,

Yet 'tis a painful feeling, and unwilling, Have mach employ'd the muse of history's pen: For surely if we always could perceive Their lives and fortunes were extremely various, In the same object graces quite as killing Such worthies Time will never see again;

As when she rose upon us like an Eve,


'Twould save us many a heartache, many a shil- For the first passion stays there such a while,

(For we must get them anyhow, or grieve); [ling That all the rest creep in and form a junction, Whereas, if one sole lady pleased for ever,

Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil, How picasant for the heart as well as liver !

Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, coinpunc. CCXIV.

tion, The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven,

So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail, But changes night and day, too, like the sky:

Like earthquakes from the hidden fire callid

central.' Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, And darkness and destruction as on high.

CCXVI. But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and In the meantime, without proceeding more riven,

In this anatomy, I've finish'd now Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye

Two liundred and odd stanzas as before, Pours forth at last the heart's blood turn'd to tears,

That being about the number I'll allow Which make the English climate of our years. Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four; CCXV.

And laying down my pen, I make my bow, The liver is the lazaret of bile.

Leaving Don Juan and Haidéc to plead But very rarely executes its function;

For them and theirs with all who deign to rcad.



HAIL, Muse ! et cetera.--We left Juan sleeping,

Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast,
And watch'd by cyes that never yet knew weeping:

And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest
To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,

Or know who rested there: a foc to rest
Had soild the current of her sinless ycars,
And turn d her pure heart's purest blood to tears.

Oh, Lovc! what is it, in this world of ours,

Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah! why
With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy

And made thy best interpreter a sigh?
As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,

And place them on their breast--but place to die-
Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish,
Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

In her first passion, woman loves her lover;

In all the others all she loves is love,
Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over,

And fits her loosely-like an easy glove,
As you may find, whene'er you like to prove her.

One man alone at first her heart can move;
She then prefers him in the plural number,
Not finding that the additions much encumber.

I know not if the fault be men's or theirs;

But one thing's pretty sure: a woman planted (Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers)

After a decent time must be gallanted : Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs

Is that to which her heart is wholly granted; Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, But those who have ne'er end with only one.

V. 'Tis melancholy and a fearful sign

Of human frailty, folly, also crime,

That love and marriage rarely can combine,

Although they both are born in the same clime.
Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine-

A sad, sour, sober beverage-by time
Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour,
Down to a very homely household savour.

There's something of antipathy, as 'twere,

Between their present and their future state;
A kind of flattery that's hardly fair

Is used until the truth arrives too late-
Yet what can people do, cxcept despair?
The same things change their names at such a

For instance-passion in a lover's glorious,
But in a husband is pronounced uxorious.

Men grow ashamed of being so very fond;

They sometimes also get a little tired
(But that, of course, is rare), and then despond:

The same things cannot always be admired, Yet 'tis .so nominated in the bond,

That both are tied till one shall have expired.
Sad thought ! to lose the spouse that was adorning
Our days, and put one's servants into mourning.

There's doubtless something in domestic doings,

Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis;
Romances paint at full length people's wooings,

But only give a bust of marriages :
For no one cares for matrimonial cooings,

There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss,
Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,
He would have written sonnets all his life?

All tragedies are finish'd by a death ;

All comedies are ended by a marriage:
The future states of both are left to faith,

For authors fear description might disparage

The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath,

XVI. And then both worlds would punish their mis- Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan, carriage;

Among his friends the Mainots : some he sold So leaving each their priest and prayer-book ready, To his Tunis correspondents, save one man They say no more of Death or of the Lady.

Toss'd overboard, unsaleable (being old);

The rest--save here and there some richer onc,

Reserved for future ransom-in the hold,
The only two that in my recollection
Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, are

Were link'd alike; as for the common people, he
Dante* and Milton, and of both the affection Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli.
Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar

XVII. Of fault or temper ruind the connexion

The merchandise was served in the same way, (Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to mar); Pieced out for different marts in the Levant, But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve

Except some certain portions of the prey,
Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive. Light classic articles of female want,

French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toothpicks, teapot,

Guitars and castanets from Alicant, Some persons say that Dante meant theology

(tray, By Beatrice, and not a mistress-1,

All which selected from the spoil he gathers, Although my opinion may require apology,

Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers. Deem this a commentator's phantasy ;

Unless, indeed, it was from his own knowledge he A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw,

Decided thus, and show'd good reason why: Two purrots, with a Persian cat and kittens, I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics

Hc chose from several animals he sawMeant to personify the mathematics.

A terrier, too, which once had been a Briton's, XII.

Who dying on the coast of Ithaca, Haidee and Juan were not married ; but

The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittances The fault was theirs, not mine: it is not fair,

These to secure in this strong blowing weather, Chaste reader, then, in any way to put

He caged in one huge hamper all together.
The blame on me, unless you wish they were.

Then if you'd have them wedded, please to shut Then having settled his marine affairs,

The book which treats of this erroneous pair, Despatching single cruisers here and there, Before the consequences grow too awful;

His vessel having need of soine repairs, 'Tis dangerous to read of loves unlawful,

He shaped his course to where his daughter fair

Continued still her hospitable cares;
Yet they were happy-happy in the illicit

But that part of the coast being shoal and bare, Indulgence of their innocent desires;

And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile, But more imprudent grown with every visit,

His port lay on the other side o' the isle.
Haidée forgot the island was her sire's.

When we have what we like, 'tis hard to miss it, And there he went ashore without delay,
At least in the beginning, ere one tires :

Having no custom-house nor quarantinc
Thus she came often, not a moment losing,

To ask him awkward questions on the way, Whilst her piratical papa was cruising.

About the time and place wliere he had been.

He left his ship to be hove down next day,

With orders to the people to careen;
Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange,
Although he fleeced the flags of every nation;

So that all hands were busy beyond measure,
For into a prime minister but change

In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treasure. His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation.

XXI. But he, more modest, took a humbler range

Arriving at the suminit of a hiil of life, and in an honester vocation

Which overlook'd the white walls of his home, Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey, He stepp'd-What singular emotions fill And merely practised as a sea-attorney.

Their bosoms who have been induced to roam ! XV.

With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill-The good old gentleman had been detain'd

With love for many, and with fears for some; By winds and waves, and some important captures,

All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost, And, in the liope of more, at sea remain'd,

And bring our hearts back to their starting-post. Although a squall or two had damp'd his raptures,

XXII. By swamping one of the prizes. He had chain'd The approach of home to husbands and to sires, His prisoners, dividing them like chapters,

After long travelling by land or water, In number'd lots: they all had cuffs and collars; Most naturally some small doubt inspires And averaged cach from ten to a hundred dollars. A female family's a serious inatter;

(None trusts the sex more, or so much adınires

But they hate Nattery, so I never flatter:) • Dante calls his wife, in the Inferno, 'La fiera moglie.'

Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler, A Milton's firs: wise ran away from hiin.

And daughters seinetimes run off with the butler:


XXX. An honest gentleman, at his return,

And, further on, a troop of Grecian girls, May not have the good fortune of Ulysses;

The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn,

Were strung together like a row of pearls, Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses.

Link'd hand in hand, and dancing : each too The odds are that he finds a handsome urn

having To his memory-and two or three young misses Down her white neck long floating auburn curls Born to some friend, who holds his wife and riches

(The least of which would set ten poets raving): And that his Argus bites him by-the breeches. Their leader sang; and bounded to her song, XXIV.

With choral step and voice, the virgin throng. If single, probably his plighted fair

Has in his absence wedded some rich miser;
But all the better, for the happy pair

And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays, May quarrel; and, the lady growing wiser,

Small social parties just began to dine; He may resume his amatory care

Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze, As cavalier servente, or despise her ;

And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine, And that his sorrow may not be a dumb one,

And sherbet cooling in the porous vase : Write odes on the Inconstancy of Woman.

Above them their dessert grew on its vine:

The orange and pomegranate, nodding o'er,
And oh! ye gentlemen who have already

Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow

store. Some chaste liaison of the kind-I mean

XXXII. An honest friendship with a married lady

A band of children, round a snow-white ram, The only thing of this sort ever seen

There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers: To last-of all connections the most steady, And the true Hymen (the first's but a screen)

While, peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb, Yet, for all that, keep not too long away :

The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers

His sober head, inajestically tame, I've known the absent wrong'd four times a day.

Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers XXVI.

His brow, as if in act to butt, and then, Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had

Yielding to their small hands, draws back again. Much less experience of dry land than ocean, On seeing his own chimney-smoke, felt glad ;

XXXIII. But not knowing metaphysics, had no notion Their classical profiles and glittering åresses. of the true reason of his not being sad,

Their large black eyes and soft seraphic cheeks, Or that of any other strong emotion. [her, Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses, He loved his child, and would have wept the loss of The gesture whichenchants, the eye that speaks, But knew the cause no more than a philosopher.

The innocence which happy childhood blesses,

Made quite a picture of these little Greeks:
He saw his white walls shining in the sun,

So that the philosophical beholder
His garden trees all shadowy and green;

Sigh'd for their sakes, that they should e'er grow

older. He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run,

XXXIV. The distant dog-bark; and perceived, between

Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales The umbrage of the wood, so cool and dun,

Toa sedate grey circle of old smokers, The moving figures, and the sparkling sheen

of secret treasures found in hidden vales, Of arms (in the East, all arm)—and various dyes

Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, Of colour'd garbs, as bright as butterflies.

Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails, XXVIII.

Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers; And as the spot where they appear he nears, Of magic ladies who, by one sole act,

Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling, Transform'd their lords to beasts (but that's a fact)
He hears-alas! no music of the spheres,

But an unhallow'd earthly sound of fiddling!
A melody which made him doubt his ears,

Here was no lack of innocent diversion
The cause being past his guessing or unriddling;

For the imagination or the senses ; A pipe, too, and a drum, and shortly after,

Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian, A most unoriental roar of laughter.

All pretty pastimes in which no offence is :

But Lambro saw all these things with aversion, XXIX.

Perceiving in his absence such expenses, And still more nearly to the place advancing,

Dreading that climax of all human ills, Descending rather quickly the declivity,

The inflammation of his weekly bills. Through the waved branches, o'er the green sward 'Midst other indications of festivity, (glancing,

XXXVI. Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing

Ah! what is man? what perils still environ
Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, le

The happiest mortals, even after dinner!
Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial, A day of gold, from out an age of iron,
To which the Levantines are very partial.

Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner:

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