The Works of Lord Byron

CLAI.

And then fair Haidee tried her tongue at speaking But not a word could Juan comprehend, Although he listen'd so that the young Greek in Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end· And, as he interrupted not, went eking

Her speech out to her protegé and friend, Till, pausing at the last her breath to take, She saw he did not understand Romaic.

CLXII.

And then she had recourse to nods, and signs,
And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye
And read (the only book she could) the lines
Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy,
The answer eloquent, where the soul shines
And darts in one quick glance a long reply;
And thus in every look she saw express'd

A world of words, and things at which she guess'e

CLXIII.

And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes,
And words repeated after her, he took
A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise,

No doubt, less of her language than her look: As he who studies fervently the skies

Turns oftener to the stars than to his book,
Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better
From Haidee's glance than any graven letter.

CLXIV.

"Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes-that is, I mean,
When both the teacher and the taught are young,
As was the case, at least where I have been;

They smile so when one's right, and when one's

wrong

They smile still more, and then there intervene Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss ;I learn'd the little that I know by this:

CLXV.

That is, some words of Spanish, Turk, or Greek,
Italian not at all, having no teachers,
Much English I cannot pretend to speak,
Learning that language chiefly from its preachers
Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week
I study, also Blair, the highest reachers
Of eloquence in piety and prose-

I hate your poets, so read none of those.
CLXVI.

As for the ladies, I have nought to say,

A wanderer from the British world of fashion, Where I, like other "dogs, have had my day," Like other men, too, may have had my passionBut that, like other things, has pass'd away:

And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on, Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me But dreams of what has been, no more to be.

CLXVII.

Return we to Don Juan. He begun

To hear new words, and to repeat them; but Some feelings, universal as the sun,

Were such as could not in his breast be shut More than within the bosom of a nun:

He was in love-as you would be, no doubt With a young benefactress,-so was she Just in the way we very often see.

CLXX.

While Venus fills the heart, (without heart really
Love, though good always, is not quite so good,)
Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli,

For love must be sustain'd like flesh and blood.

While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly:

Eggs, oysters too, are amatory food;

But who is their purveyors from above

It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast,

With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore,
Guarded by shoals and rocks as by a host,
With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore
A better welcome to the tempest-toss'd;

And rarely ceased the haughty billows' roar,
Save on the dead long summer days, which make

Heaven knows,-it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove. The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake.

CLXXI.

When Juan woke, he found some good things ready,

A bath, a breakfast, and the finest eyes That ever made a youthful heart less steady, Besides her maid's, as pretty for their size; But I have spoken of all this already

And repetition's tiresome and unwise.Well-Juan, after bathing in the sea, Came always back to coffee and Haidee.

CLXXII.

Both were so young, and one so innocent,
That bathing pass'd for nothing; Juan seem'd
To her, as 'twere the kind of being sent,

Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd,
A something to be loved, a creature meant

To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd To render happy; all who joy would win Must share it,-happiness was born a twin.

CLXXIII.

It was such pleasure to behold him, such
Enlargement of existence to partake
Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch,
To watch him slumbering, and to see him wake:
To live with him for ever were too much;

But then the thought of parting made her quake:
He was her own, her ocean treasure, cast
Like a rich wreck-her first love and her last.

CLXXIV.

And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidee
Paid daily visits to her boy, and took
Such plentiful precautions, that still he
Remain'd unknown within his craggy nook:
At last her father's prows put out to sea,

For certain merchantmen upon the look,
Not as of yore to carry off an Io,

But three Ragusan vessels, bound for Scio.

CLXXVIII.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk ;
The best of life is but intoxication:
Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk
The hopes of all men, and of every nation;
Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk
Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion!
But to return-get very drunk; and when
You wake with headache, you shall see what then
CLXXX.

Ring for your valet-bid him quickly bring
Some hock and soda-water, then you'll know
A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king;
For not the blest sherbet, sublimed with snow,
Nor the first sparkle of the desert-spring,

Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow,
After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter,
Vie with that draught of hock and soda-water

CLXXXI.

The coast-I think it was the coast that I
Was just describing-Yes, it was the coast-
Lay at this period quiet as the sky,

The sands untumbled, the blue waves untosɛ'd
And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry,

And dolphin's leap, and little billow cross'd By some low rock or shelve that made it fret Against the boundary it scarcely wet.

CLXXXII.

And forth they wander'd, her sire being gone,
As I have said, upon an expedition;
And mother, brother, guardian, she had none,
Save Zoe, who, although with due precision
She waited on her lady with the sun,

Thought daily service was her only mission,
Bringing warm water, wreathing her iong tresses,
And asking now and then for cast-off dresses.

CLXXXIII.

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded

Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded,
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent, half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky,
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.
CLXXXIV.

And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand,
Over the shining pebbles and the shells,
Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand,

And in the worn and wild receptacles
Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd,
In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells,
They turn'd to rest; and, each clasp'd by an arm,
Yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm.

CLXXXV.

They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow
Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;
They gazed upon the glittering sea below,

Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;
They heard the waves' splash, and the wind so low,
And saw each other's dark eyes darting light
Into each other-and, beholding this,
Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;

CLXXXVI.

A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,
And beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;

Such kisses as belong to early days,

Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,
And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake,—for a kiss's strength,
I think it must be reckon'd by its length.

CLXXXVII.

By length I mean duration; theirs endured
Heaven knows how long-no doubt they never

reckon'd,

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,

As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd,

CLXXXIX.

They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach,
They felt no terrors from the night, they were
All in all to each other: though their speech
Was broken words, they thought a language there
And all the burning tongues the passions teach
Found in one sigh the best interpreter

Of nature's oracle-first love,-that all
Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall.

CXC.

Haidee spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows,
Nor offer'd any; she had never heard
Of plight and promises to be a spouse,
Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd;
She was all which pure ignorance allows,
And flew to her young mate like a young bird;
And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she
Had not one word to say of constancy.

CXCI.

She loved, and was beloved-she adored,

And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion,
Their intense souls, into each other pour'd,
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;
And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidee's heart
Felt as if never more to beat apart.

CXCII.

Alas! they were so young, so beautiful,

So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour
Was that in which the heart is always full,

And, having o'er itself no further power,
Prompts deeds eternity cannot annul,

But pays off moments in an endless shower
Of hell-fire-all prepared for people giving
Pleasure or pain to one another living.

CXCIII.

Alas! for Juan and Haidee! they were
So loving and so lovely-till then never,
Excepting our first parents, such a pair
Had run the risk of being damn'd for ever;
And Haidee, being devout as well as fair,
Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian rivei
And hell and purgatory-but forgot
Just in the very crisis she should not.

CXCIV.

They look upon each other, and their cyes

Gleam in the moonlight; and her white arm claspr
Round Juan's head, and his around her lies
Half buried in the tresses which it grasps;
She sits upon his knee, and drinks his sighs,
He hers, until they end in broken gasps;

Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clung-And thus they form a group that's quite antique,
Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek.

spring.

CLXXXVIII.

They were alone, yet not alone as they

Who, shut in chambers, think it loneliness;
The silent ocean, and the starlight bay,

The twilight glow, which momently grew less,
he voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay
Around them, made them to each other press,
As if there were no life beneath the sky
Save theirs, and that their life could never die.

CXCV.

And when those deep and burning moments pass d
And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms,
She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast,
Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms;
And now and then her eye to heaven is cast,

And then on the pale cheek her breast now warm
Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants
With all it granted, and with all it grants.

CXCVI.

An infant when it gazes on a light,

A child the moment when it drains the breast,

A devotee when soars the host in sight,

An Arab with a stranger for a guest,

A sailor, when the prize has struck in fight,
A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.

CXCVII.

For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,
All that it hath of life with us is living;
So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,

And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving,
All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,
Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving;
There lies the thing we love with all its errors,
And all its charms, like death without its terrors.

CXCVIII.

The lady watch'd her lover-and that hour

Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude, O'erflow'd her soul with their united power;

Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude, She and her wave-worn love had made their bower, Where nought upon their passion could intrude, And all the stars that crowded the blue space, Saw nothing happier than her glowing face.

CXCIX.

Alas! the love of women! it is known
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
To them but mockeries of the past alone,

And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, Deadly, and quick, and crushing: yet as real Torture is theirs-what they inflict they feel.

CC.

fhey're right; for man, to man so oft unjust,
Is always so to women; one sole bond
Awaits them, treachery is all their trust;
Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond
Over their idol, till some wealthier lust

Buys them in marriage-and what rests beyond ?
A thankless husband, next a faithless lover,
Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over.

CCI.

Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers,
Some mind their household, others dissipation,
Some run away, and but exchange their cares,
Losing the advantage of a virtuous station;
Few changes e'er can better their affairs,
Theirs being an unnatural situation,
From the dull palace to the dirty hovel :
Some play the devil, and then write a novel.

ССІІ.

Haidee was nature's bride, and knew not this; Haidee was passion's child, born where the sun 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

Who was her chosen: what was said or done Elsewhere was nothing-She had nought to fear, Hone, care, nor love beyond, her heart beat here.

ССІІІ.

And oh! that quickening of the heart, that beat: How much it costs us, yet each rising throb

Is in its cause as its effect so sweet,

That wisdom, ever on the watch to rob Joy of its alchymy, and to repeat

Fine truths; even conscience, too, has a tough job! To make us understand each good old maxim, So good-I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em.

CCIV.

And now 'twas done on the lone shore were plighted Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, sted Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted:

Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, By their own feelings hallow'd and united,

Their priest was solitude, and they were wed: And they were happy, for to their young eyes Each was an angel, and earth paradise.

CCV.

Oh love! of whom great Cæsar was the suitor,
Titus the master, Antony the slave,
Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor,

Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave All those may leap who rather would be neuter(Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave)

Oh Love! thou art the very god of evil,
For, after all, we cannot call thee devil.

CCVI.

Thou makest the chaste connubial state precarious And jestest with the brows of mightiest men: Cæsar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius,

Have much employed the muse of history's pen Their lives and fortunes were extremely various,Such worthies time will never see again :Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds.

CCVII.

Thou makest philosophers: there's Epicurus
And Aristippus, a material crew!
Who to immoral courses would allure us
By theories, quite practicable too;

If only from the devil they would insure us,

How pleasant were the maxim, (not quite new,) Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us ?” So said the royal sage, Sardanapalus.

CCVIII.

But Juan! had he quite forgotten Julia?

And should he have forgotten her so soon?
I can't but say it seems to me most truly a
Perplexing question; but, no doubt, the moon
Does these things for us, and whenever newly a
Palpitation rises, 'tis her boon,

Else how the devil is it that fresh features
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures?
CCIX.

I hate inconstancy-I loathe, detest,
Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made
Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast,
No permanent foundation can be laid;
Love, constant love, has been my constant guest-
And yet last night, being at a masquerade,

I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan,
Which gave me some sensations like a villain

"Stop!

CCXI.

CANTO III.

so I stopp'd. But to return: that which HAIL, Muse! et cetera.-We left Juan sleeping, Men call inconstancy is nothing more Than admiration, due where nature's rich

Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast, And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping And loved by a young heart too deeply bless'd To feel the poison through her spirit creeping, Or know who rested there; a foe to rest, Had soil'd the current of her sinless years, And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears. II.

Oh, love! 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? [bowers. As those who dote on odors pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast-but place to dieThus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

III.

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.
IV.

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.

'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 wineA sad, sour, sober beverage-by time Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavor Down to a very homely household savor.

VI.

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 lateYet what can people do, except despair?

The same things change their names at such a rate For instance-passion in a lover's glorious, But in a husband is pronounced uxorious.

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The Works of Lord Byron: Embracing His Suppressed Poems, and a Sketch of His ...