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But though three bishops told her the transgression,

She show'd a great dislike to holy water: She also had no passion for confession:

Perhaps she had nothing to confess: no matter: Whate'er the cause, the church made little of itShe still held out that Mahomet was a prophet.

LVIL

In fact, the only Christian she could bear

Was Juan, whom she seem'd to have selected In place of what her home and friends once were. He naturally loved what he protected; And thus they form'd a rather curious pair:

A guardian green in years, a ward connected In neither clime, time, blood, with her defender; And yet this want of ties made theirs more tender.

LVIII.

They journey'd on through Poland and through Warsaw,

Famous for mines of salt and yokes of iron: Through Courland also, which that famous farce

saw

Which gave her dukes the graceless name of 'Biron."* [saw

'Tis the same landscape which the modern Mars Who march'd to Moscow, led by Fame, the siren ! To lose by one month's frost, some twenty years Of conquest, and his guard of grenadiers.

LIX.

Let this not coem an anti-climax: 'Oh!

My Guard my old Guard!' exclaim'd the god of clay.

Think of the thunderer's falling down below
Carotid artery-cutting Castlereagh!
Alas, that glory should be chill'd by snow!

But should we wish to warm us on our way Through Poland, there is Kosciusko's name Might scatter fire through ice, like Hecla's flame.

LX.

From Poland they came on through Prussia Proper,
And Königsberg, the capital, whose vaunt,
Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper,
Has lately been the great Professor Kant.
Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper

About philosophy, pursued his jaunt
To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions
Have princes who spur more than their postilions.

LXI.

And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the like,
Until he reach'd the castellated Rhine.
Ye glorious Gothic scenes! how much ye strike
All phantasies, not even excepting mine:

A grey wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,

Make my soul pass the equinoctial line Between the present and past worlds, and hover Upon their airy confines, half-seas over.

* In the Empress Ann's time, Biren, her favourite, assumed the name and arms of the Birons' of France, which families are yet extant with that of England. There are still the daughters of Courland of that name: one of them I remember seeing in England in the blessed year of the Allies-the Duchess of S-, to whom the English Duchess of S-t presented me as a namesake.

LXII.

But Juan posted on through Mannheim, Bonn, Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre Of the good feudal times for ever gone,

On which I have not time just now to lecture. From thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne, A city which presents to the inspector Eleven thousa 'd maidenheads of bone,* The greatest number flesh hath ever known.

LXIII.

From thence to Holland's Hague and Helvoetsluys, That water-land of Dutchmen and of ditches, Where juniper expresses its best juice,

The poor man's sparkling substitute for riches.
Senates and sages have condemn'd its use,
But to deny the mob a cordial, which is
Too often all the clothing, meat, or fuel
Good government has left them, seems but cruel.
LXIV.

Here he embark'd; and, with a flowing sail,
Went bounding for the island of the free,
Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale.
High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in the

sea,

And sea-sick passengers turn'd somewhat pale;
But Juan, season'd, as he well might be,
By former voyages, stood to watch the skiffs
Which pass'd, or catch the first glimpse of the cliffs.

LXV.

At length they rose, like a white wall, along
The blue-sea's border; and Don Juan felt
What even young strangers feel a little strong
At the first sight of Albion's chalky belt-
A kind of pride that he should be among
Those haughty shopkeepers, who sternly dealt
Their goods and edicts out from pole to pole,
And made the very billows pay them toll.

LXVI.

I've no great cause to love that spot of earth, Which holds what might have been the noblest nation;

But though I owe it little but my birth,

I feel a mix'd regret and veneration For its decaying fame and former worth,

Seven years (the usual term of transportation) Of absence lay one's old resentments level, When a man's country's going to the devil.

LXVII.

Alas! could she but fully, truly know

How her great name is now throughout abhorr'd; How eager all the earth is for the blow Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword; How all the nations deem her their worst foe,

That worse than worst of foes, the once adored False friend, who held out freedom to mankind, And now would chain them, to the very mind.

LXVIII.

Would she be proud, or boast herself the free, Who is but first of slaves? The nations are

*St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins were still extant in 1816, and may be so yet as much as

ever,

In prison; but the jailor, what is he? No less a victim to the bolt and bar.. Is the poor privilege to turn the key

Upon the captive, freedom? He's as far
From the enjoyment of the earth and air,
Who watches o'er the chain, as they who wear.
LXIX.

Don Juan now saw Albion's earliest beauties,
Thy cliffs, dear Dover, harbour, and hotel;
Thy custom-house, with all its delicate duties;
Thy waiters running mucks at every bell;
Thy packets, all whose passengers are booties
To those who upon land or water dwell;
And last, not least, to strangers not instructed,
Thy long, long bills, whence nothing is deducted.

LXX.

Juan, though careless, young, and magnifique, And rich in rubles, diamonds, cash, and credit, Who did not limit much his bills per week,

Yet stared at this a little, though he paid it (His Maggior Domo, a smart subtle Greek,

Before him summ'd the awful scroll, and read it); But doubtless as the air, though seldom sunny, Is free, the respiration's worth the money.

LXXI.

On with the horses! Off to Canterbury!

Tramp, tramp o'er pebble, and splash, splash through puddle:

Hurrah! how swiftly speeds the post so merry! Not like slow Germany, wherein they muddle Along the road, as if they went to bury

Their fare; and also pause, besides, to fuddle With 'schnapps'-sad dogs, whom Hundsfot' or 'Verflucter'

Affect no more than lightning a conductor.

LXXII.

Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits,
Leavening his blood as cayenne doth a curry,
As going at full speed: no matter where its
Direction be, so 'tis but in a hurry,
And merely for the sake of its own merits:

For the less cause there is for all this flurry,
The greater is the pleasure in arriving
At the great end of travel-which is driving.

LXXIII.

They saw at Canterbury the cathedral:
Black Edward's helm, and Becket's bloody stone,
Were pointed out as usual by the bedral,

In the same quaint, uninterested tone :-
There's glory again for you, gentle reader! All
Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone,
Half-solved into these sodas or magnesias,
Which form that bitter draught, the human species.
LXXIV.

The effect on Juan was, of course, sublime;

He breathed a thousand Cressys, as he saw That casque which never stoop'd except to Time. Even the bold Churchman's tomb excited awe, Who died in the then great attempt to climb

O'er kings, who now at least must talk of law Before they butcher. Little Leila gazed, And ask'd why such a structure had been raised.

LXXV.

And being told it was 'God's house,' she said
He was well lodged, but only wonder'd how
He suffer'd Infidels in His homestead,

The cruel Nazarenes, who had laid low
His holy temples in the lands which bred
The true Believers, and her infant brow
Was bent with grief that Mahomet should resign
A mosque so noble, flung like pearls to swine.
LXXVI.

On! on! through meadows, managed like a garden,
A paradise of hops and high production;
For, after years of travel, by a bard, in

Countries of greater heat, but lesser suction,
A green field is a sight which makes him pardon
The absence of that more sublime construction,
Which mixes up vines, olives, precipices,
Glaciers, volcanoes, oranges, and ices.

LXXVII.

And when I think upon a pot of beer--
But I won't weep !-and so drive on, postilions!
As the smart boys spurr'd fast in their career,
Juan admired these highways of free millions;
A country in all senses the most dear

To foreigner or native, save some silly ones, Who 'kick against the pricks' just at this juncture, And for their pains get only a fresh puncture.

LXXVIII.

What a delightful thing's a turnpike road!
So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving
The earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad
Air can accomplish, with his wide wings waving.
Had such been cut in Phaeton's time, the god
Had told his son to satisfy his craving
With the York mail. But, onward as we roll,
'Surgit amari aliquid-the toll!

LXXIX.

Alas, how deeply painful is all payment!

Take lives, take wives, take aught except men's purses.

As Machiavel shows those in purple raiment,
Such is the shortest way to general curses.
They hate a murderer much less than a claimant
On that sweet ore which everybody nurses.
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it;
But keep your hands out of his breeches pocket.
LXXX.

So said the Florentine; ye monarchs, hearken

To your instructor. Juan now was borne, Just as the day began to wane and darken,

O'er the high hill which looks, with pride or scorn, Towards the great city. Ye who have a spark in Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn, According as you take things well or ill:Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill!

LXXXI. The sun went down, the smoke rose up, as from A half-unquench'd volcano, o'er a space Which well beseem'd the 'Devil's drawing-room, As some have qualified that wondrous place; But Juan felt, though not approaching home, As one who, though he were not of the race,

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With a soft besom will I sweep your halls, And brush a web or two from off the walls. LXXXV.

Oh, Mrs. Fry! Why go to Newgate? Why
Preach to poor rogues? And wherefore not begin
With Carlton, or with other houses? Try
Your hand at harden'd and imperial sin
To mend the people's an absurdity,

A jargon, a mere philanthropic din,
Unless you make their betters better. Fie!
I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry.

LXXXVI.

Teach them the decencies of good threescore:
Cure them of tours, hussar and highland dresses;
Tell them that youth once gone returns no more;
That hired huzzas redeem no land's distresses.
Tell them Sir William Curtis is a bore,

Too dull even for the dullest of excesses,
The witless Falstaff of a hoary Hal,
A fool whose bells have ceased to ring at all.
LXXXVII.

Tell them, though it may be perhaps too late
On life's worn confine, jaded, bloated, sated,
To set up vain pretences of being great,
'Tis not so to be good; and be it stated,
The worthiest kings have ever loved least state.
And tell them But you won't, and I have
prated

Just now enough: but by-and-by I'll prattle,
Like Roland's horn in Roncesvalles' battle.

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VII.

To our theme: The man who has stood on the Acropolis,

And look'd down over Attica; or he

Who has sail'd where picturesque Constantinople is,
Or seen Timbuctoo, or hath taken tea
In small-eyed China's crockery-ware metropolis,
Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh,

May not think much of London's first appearance;
But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence.
VIII.

Don Juan had got out on Shooter's Hill:

Sunset the time, the place the same declivity Which looks along that vale of good and ill

Where London streets ferment in full activity; While everything around was calm and still, Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he

Heard; and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum
Of cities, that boil over with their scum.

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But what they please; and, if that things be dear 'Tis only that they love to throw away

Their cash, to show how much they have a year. Here laws are all inviolate; none lay

Traps for the traveller; every highway's clear: Here' he was interrupted by a knife, With

(life!' Damn your eyes! your money or your XI.

These freeborn sounds proceeded from four pads, In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads,

Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre, In which the heedless gentleman who gads Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter, May find himself, within that isle of riches, Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches. XII.

Juan, who did not understand a word

Of Engh, save their shibboleth God damn And even that he had so rarely heard,

He sometimes thought 'twas only their 'Salam,' Or 'God be with you !' and 'tis not absurd To think so; for, half English as I am (To my misfortune), never can I say

I heard them wish 'God with you,' save that way.
XIII.

Juan yet quickly understood their gesture;
And, being somewhat choleric and sudden,
Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,
And fired it into one assailant's pudding→→

Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture,

And roar'd out, as he writhed his native mud in, Unto his nearest follower or henchman,

'O Jack! I'm floor'd by that 'ere bloody French-
mán !'
XIV.

On which Jack and his train set off at speed;
And Juan's suite, late scatter'd at a distance,
Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,

And offering, as usual, late assistance.
Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed
As if his veins would pour out his existence,
Stood calling out for bandages and lint,
And wish'd he'd been less hasty with his fliut.
XV.

'Perhaps,' thought he, it is the country's wont
To welcome foreigners in this way: now
I recollect some innkeepers who don't
Differ, except in robbing with a bow
In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front.
But what is to be done? I can't allow
The fellow to lie groaning on the road:
So take him up; I'll help you with the load.
XVI.

But ere they could perform this pious duty,
The dying man cried, 'Hold! I've got my gruel
Oh for a glass of max! We've miss'd our booty;

Let me die where I am! And as the fuel
Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty
The drops fell from his death-wound, and he
drew ill

His breath, he from his swelling throat untied
A kerchief, crying, 'Give Sal that !'-and died.

XVII.

The cravat, stain'd with bloody drops, fell down
Before Don Juan's feet: he could not tell
Exactly why it was before him thrown,
Nor what the meaning of the man's farewell.
Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town,

A thorough varmint, and a real swell,
Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled,
His pockets first, and then his body, riddled.
XVIII.

Don Juan, having done the best he could
In all the circumstances of the case,
As soon as 'Crowner's quest' allow'd, pursued
His travels to the capital apace;

Esteeming it a little hard he should

In twelve hours' time, and very little space, Have been obliged to slay a free-born native In self-defence: this made him meditative.

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