The Works of Lord Byron

XCIII

With Raucocanti lucklessly was chain'd
The tenor; these two hated with a hate
Found only on the stage, and each more pain'd
With this his tuneful neighbor than his fate;
Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grain'd,
Instead of bearing up without debate,

Of poets who come down to us through distance,
Of time and tongues, the foster-babes of Fame,
Life seems the smallest portion of existence;
Where twenty ages gather o'er a name,

'Tis as a snowball which derives assistance
From every flake, and yet rolls on the same,

That each pull'd different ways with many an oath, Even till an iceberg may chance to grow; 'Arcades ambo," id est-blackguards both.

XCIV.

Juan's companion was a Romagnole,

But bred within the march of old Ancona, With eyes that look'd into the very soul,

(And other chief points of a "bella donna,") Bright-and as black and burning as a coal;

And through her clear brunette complexion shone Great wish to please-a most attractive dower, Especially when added to the power.

XCV.

But all that power was wasted upon him,

For sorrow o'er each sense held stern command;
Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim;

And though thus chain'd, as natural her hand
Touch'd his, nor that-nor any handsome limb
(And she had some not easy to withstand)
Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel brittle,
Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little.

XCVI.

No matter; we should ne'er too much inquire,
But facts are facts: no knight could be more true,
And firmer faith no ladye-love desire;

We will omit the proofs, save one or two: 'Tis said no one in hand "can hold a fire

By thought of frosty Caucasus; " but few,
I really think; yet Juan's then ordeal
Was more triumphant, and not much less real.

XCVII.

Here I might enter on a chaste description,
Having withstood temptation in my youth,
But hear that several people take exception

At the first two books having too much truth;
Therefore I'll make Don Juan leave the ship socn,
Because the publisher declares, in sooth,
Through needles' eyes it easier for the camel is
To pass, than those two cantos into families.

XCVIII.

Tis all the same to me; I'm fond of yielding,
And therefore leave them to the purer page

Of Smollet, Prior, Ariosto, Fielding,

Who say strange things for so correct an age;

I once had great alacrity in wielding

My pen, and liked poetic war to wage,

And recollect the time when all this cant

But, after all, 'tis nothing but cold snow.

CI.

And so great names are nothing more than nominal
And love of glory's but an airy lust,

Too often in its fury overcoming all

Who would as 'twere identify their dust

From out the wide destruction, which, entombing ail
Leaves nothing till "the coming of the just

Save change: I've stood upon Achilles' tomb,
And heard Troy doubted; time will doubt of Rome

CII.

The very generations of the dead

Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb,
Until the memory of an age is fled,

And, buried, sinks beneath its offspring's doom:
Where are the epitaphs our father's read?

Save a few glean'd from the sepulchral gloom Which once-named myriads nameless lie beneath And lose their own in universal death

CIII.

I canter by the spot each afternoon

Where perish'd in his fame the hero-boy,
Who lived too long for men, but died too soon
For human vanity, the young De Foix !
A broken pillar, not uncouthly hewn,

But which neglect is hastening to destroy,
Records Ravenna's carnage on its face,
While weeds and ordure rankle round the base.5

CIV.

I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid;
A little cupola, more neat than solemn,
Protects his dust, but reverence here is paid
To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's column
The time must come when both alike decay'd,

The chieftain's trophy and the poet's volume,
Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth
Before Pelides' death or Homer's birth.

CV.

With human blood that column was cemented,
With human filth that column is defiled,
As if the peasant's coarse contempt were vented
To show his loathing of the spot he spoil'd;
Thus is the trophy used, and thus lamented

Should ever be those bloodhounds, from whose wild
Instinct of gore and glory earth has known

Would have provoked remarks which now it shan't. Those sufferings Dante saw in hell alone.

XCIX.

As boys love rows, my boyhood liked a squabble;
But at this hour I wish to part in peace,

Leaving such to the literary rabble,

Whether my verse's fame be doom'd to cease
While the right hand which wrote it still is able,
Or of some centuries to take a lease:
The grass upon my grave will grow as long,
And sigh to midnight winds, but not to song.

CVI.

Yet there will still be bards; though fame is smoke
Its fumes are frankincense to human thought,
And the unquiet feelings which first woke
Song in the world, will seek what then they sought
As on the beach the waves at last are broke,

Thus to their extreme verge the passions brought
Dash into poetry, which is but passion,
'Or at least was so ere it grew a fashion

But to the narrative.-The vessel bound
With slaves to sell off in the capital,
After the usual process, might be found
At anchor under the seraglio wall;

Her cargo, from the plague being safe and sound,
Were landed in the market, one and all,

[sians

CXIV.

Some went off dearly: fifteen hundred dollars
For one Circassian, a sweet girl, were given,
Warranted virgin; beauty's brightest colors

Had deck'd her out in all the hues of heaven;
Her sale sent home some disappointed bawlers.
Who bade on till the hundreds reach'd eleven:
But when the offer went beyond, they knew
'Twas for the sultan, and at once withdrew.

CXV.

Twelve negresses from Nubia brought a price
Which the West Indian market scarce would bring
Though Wilberforce, at last, has made it twice
What 'twas ere abolition; and the thing
Need not seem very wonderful, for vice

Is always much more splendid than a king;
The virtues, even the most exalted, charity,
Are saving-vice spares nothing for a rarity.
CXVI.

But for the destiny of this young troop,

How some were bought by pachas, some by Jews
How some to burdens were obliged to stoop,
And others rose to the command of crews
As renegadoes; while in hapless group,

Hoping no very old vizier might choose,
The females stood, as one by one they pick'd 'em,
To make a mistress, or fourth wife, or victim.

CXVII.

All this must be reserved for further song;
Also our hero's lot, howe'er unpleasant,
(Because this canto has become too long,)
Must be postponed directly for the present,
I'm sensible redundancy is wrong,

But could not for the muse of me put less in't:
And now delay the progress of Don Juan,
To what is called in Ossian, the fifth Duan

CANTO V

WHEN amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves.
They little think what mischief is in hand;
The greater their success the worse it proves,

As Ovid's verse may make you understand:
Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

II.

I therefore do denounce all amorous writing
Except in such a way as not to attract;
Plain-simple-short, and by no means inviting,
But with a moral to each error tack'd,
Form'd rather for instructing than delighting,
And with all passions in their turn attack'd,

And there, with Georgians, Russians, and Circas- Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill,
Bought up for different purposes and passions. This poem will become a moral model.

III.

The European with the Asian shcre

Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream,'
Here and there studded with a seventy-four
Sophia's cupola with golden gleam;
The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar;

The twelve isles, und the more than I could dream,
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu.

IV.

I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be;
All feelings change, but this was last to vary,

A spell from whieh even yet I am not quite free:
But I grow sad-and let a tale grow cold,
Which must not be pathetically told.

The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades,
'Tis a grand sight, from off "the Giants's Grave,"
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease;
There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in
Furns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

VI.

'Twas a raw day of Autumn's bleak beginning, When nights are equal, but not so the days; The Parcæ then cut short the further spinning Of seamen's fates, and the loud tempests raise The waters, and repentance for past sinning

In all who o'er the great deep take their ways: They vow to amend their lives, and yet they don't; Because if drown'd, they can't-if spared, they won't. VII.

A crowd of shivering slaves of every nation,

And age, and sex, were in the market ranged;
Each bevy with the merchant in his station:
Poor creatures! their good looks were sadly
changed.

All save the blacks seem'd jaded with vexation,
From friends, and home, and freedom far estranged;
The negroes more philosophy display'd,-
Used to it, no doubt, as eels are to be flay'd.
VIII.

Jian was juvenile, and thus was full,

As most at his age are, of hope, and health; Yet I must own he look'd a little dull,

And now and then a tear stole down by stealth; Perhaps his recent loss of blood might pull

His spirit down; and then the loss of wealth,
A mistress, and such comfortable quarters,
To be put up for auction among Tartars,

IX.

Were things to shake a stoic; ne'ertheless,
Upon the whole his carriage was serene;
His figure, and the splendor of his dress,

Of which some gilded remnants still were seen,
Drew all eyes on him, giving them to guess
He was above the vulgar by his mien ;

And then, though pale, he was so very handsome And then-they calculated on his ransom.

Like a backgammon-board the place was dotted With whites and blacks, in groups on show for sale Though rather more irregularly spotted:

Some bought the jet, while others chose the pale It chanced, among the other people lotted,

A man of thirty, rather stout and hale, With resolution in his dark gray eye,

Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy

XI.

He had an English look; that is, was square

In make, of a complexion white and ruddy, Good teeth, with curling rather dark brown hair, And, it might be from thought, or toil, or study, An open brow, a little marked with care:

One arm had on a bandage rather bloody: And there he stood with such sang froid, that greata Could scarce been shown even by a mere spectator XII.

But seeing at his elbow a mere lad,

Of high spirit evidently, though
At present weigh'd down by a doom which had
O'erthrown even men, he soon began to show
A kind of blunt compassion for the sad
Lot of so young a partner in the wo,
Which for himself he seem'd to deem no worse
Than any other scrape, a thing of course.

XIII.

"My boy!"-said he, "amid this motley crew Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and what not, All ragamuffins differing but in hue,

With whom it is our luck to cast our lot, The only gentlemen seem I and you,

So let us be acquainted, as we ought; If I could yield you any consolation, 'Twould give me pleasure.-Pray, what is your nation?"

XIV.

When Juan answer'd "Spanish!" he replied,

"I thought, in fact, you could not be a Greek; Those servile dogs are not so proudly eyed:

Fortune has play'd you here a pretty freak, But that's the way with all men till they're tried; But never mind,-she'll turn, perhaps, next week, She has served me also much the same as you, Except that I have found it nothing new."

XV.

"Pray, sir," said Juan, "if I may presume, [rare-
What brought you here?"-"Oh nothing very
Six Tartars and a drag-chain-"-"To this doom
But what conducted, if the question's fair,
Is that which I would learn."-"I served for some
Months with the Russian army here and there,
And taking lately, by Suwarrow's bidding,
A town, was ta'en myself instead of Widdin."

XVI.

"Have you no friends?"-"I had-but, by God's

blessing,

Have not been troubled with them lately. Now I have answer'd all your questions without pressing,

And you an equal courtesy should show." "Alas!" said Juan, 'twere a tale distressing, And long besides."-" Oh! if 'tis really so You're right on both accounts to hold your tongue A sad tale saddens doubly when 'tis long.

XVII. But droop not: Fortune, at your time cf life, Although a female moderately fickle, Will hardly leave you (as she's not your wife) For any length of days in such a pickle. To strive, too, with our fate were such a strife As if the corn-sheaf should oppose the sickle: Men are the sport of circumstances, when The circumstances seem the sport of men."

XVIII.

"'Tis not," said Juan, "for my present doom
I mourn, but for the past;-I loved a maid: "
He paused, and his dark eye grew full of gloom;
A single tear upon his eyelash stay'd
A moment, and then dropp'd; "but to resume,
'Tis not my present lot, as I have said,
Which I deplore so much; for I have borne
Hardships which have the hardiest overworn,

XIX.

"On the rough deep. But this last blow-" and here He stopp'd again, and turn'd away his face. 'Ay," quoth his friend, "I thought it would appear That there had been a lady in the case; And these are things which ask a tender tear, Such as I, too, would shed, if in your place: 1 cried upon my first wife's dying day, And also when my second ran away:

XX.

"My third-"-"Your third!" quoth Juan, turning round;

"You scarcely can be thirty; have you three?" No-only two at present above ground Surely 'tis nothing wonderful to see

XXIV

"Would we were masters now, if bat to try Their present lessons on our pagan friends here, Said Juan-swallowing a heart-burning sigh: "Heav'n help the scholar whom his fortune sends "Perhaps we shall be one day, by and by," [here!" Rejoin'd the other, "when our bad luck mends

here,

Meantime (yon old black eunuch seems to eye us I wish to G-d that somebody would buy us!

XXV.

"But after all, what is our present state?

'Tis bad, and may be better-all men's lot:
Most men are slaves, none more so than the great,
To their own whims and passions, and what not:
Society itself, which should create

Kindness, destroys what little we had got:
To feel for none is the true social art
Of the world's stoics-men without a heart."

XXVI.

Just now a black old neutral personage

Of the third sex stepp'd up, and peering over The captives, seem'd to mark their looks, and age. And capabilities, as to discover

If they were fitted for the purposed cage:
No lady e'er is ogled by a lover,
Horse by a blackleg, broadcloth by a tailor
Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailer,

XXVII.

As is a slave by his intended bidder.

'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures; And all are to be sold, if you consider

Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by features Are bought up, others by a warlike leader,

One person thrice in holy wedlock bound!" [she? "Well, then, your third," said Juan; "what did She did not run away, too,-did she, sir?" "No, faith."-"What then?"—"I ran away from From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.

Some by a place-as tend their years or natures; The most by ready cash-but all have prices,

her."

XXI.

'You take things coolly, sir," said Juan. "Why," Replied the other, "what can a man do? There still are many rainbows in your sky,

But mine have vanish'd. All, when life is new, Commence with feelings warm, and prospects high; But time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly, like the snake.

XXII.

"Tis true, it gets another bright and fresh, Or fresher, brighter; but, the year gone through, This skin must go the way, too, of all flesh,

Or sometimes only wear a week or two ;Love's the first net which spreads its deadly mesh; Ambition, avarice, vengeance, glory, glue The glittering lime-twigs of our latter days, Where still we flutter on for pence or praise." XXIII.

"All this is very fine, and may be true," Said Juan; "but I really don't see how It betters present times with me or you."

"No!" quoth the other; "yet you will allow, By setting things in their right point of view, Knowledge, at least, is gain'd; for instance, now, We know what slavery is, and our disasters May teach us better to behave when masters

XXVIII.

The eunuch, having eyed them o'er with care,
Turn'd to the merchant, and began to bid,
First, but for one, and after, for the pair;
They haggled, wrangled, swore, too-so they did!
As though they were in a mere Christian fair,
Cheapening an ox, an ass, a lamb, or kid;
So that their bargain sounded like a battle
For this superior yoke of human cattle.
XXIX.

At last they settled into simple grumbling,
And pulling out reluctant purses, and
Turning each piece of silver o'er, and tumbling
Some down, and weighing others in their hand,
And by mistake sequins with paras jumbling,
Until the sum was accurately scann'd,
And then the merchant, giving change and signing
Receipts in full, began to think of dining.
XXX.

I wonder if his appetite was good;
Or, if it were, if also his digestion.
Methinks at meals some odd thoughts might intrude.
And conscience ask a curious sort of question,
About the right divine, how far we should [one
Sell flesh and blood. When dinner has oppress'd
I think it is, perhaps, the gloomiest hour
Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four.

XXXI.
Voltaire says, "No:" he tells you that Candide
Found life most tolerable after meals;
He's wrong-unless man was a pig, indeed,
Repletion rather adds to what he feels;
Unless he's drunk, and then, no doubt, he's freed
From his own brain's oppression while it reels.
Of food I think with Philip's son, or rather
Ammon's, (ill pleased with one world and one father;)
XXXII.

I think with Alexander, that the act
Of eating, with another act or two,
Makes us feel our mortality in fact

Redoubled; when a roast and a ragout,
And fish and soup, by some side-dishes back'd,
Can give us either pain or pleasure, who
Would pique himself on intellects, whose use
Depends so much upon the gastric juice?

XXXIII.

The other evening, ('twas on Friday last)-
This is a fact, and no poetic fable-

Just as my great coat was about me cast,

My hat and gloves still lying on the table,

I heard a shot-'twas eight o'clock scarce pastAnd running out as fast as I was able,3

I found the military commandant

Stretch'd in the street, and able scarce to pant.

XXXIV.

Poor fellow! for some reason, surely bad,

[there They had slain him with five slugs; and left him To perish on the pavement: so I had

Him borne into the house and up the stair, And stripp'd, and look'd to-But why should I add More circumstances? vain was every care; The man was gone in some Italian quarrel Kill'd by five bullets from an old gun-barrel.4

XXXV.

I gazed upon him, for I knew him well;

And, though I have seen many corpses, never Saw one, whom such an accident befell, [and liver, So calm; though pierced through stomach, heart, He seem'd to sleep, for you could scarcely tell (As he bled inwardly, no hideous river Of gore divulged the cause) that he was dead:So as I gazed on him, I thought or said

XXXVI.

"Can this be death? then what is life or death?
Speak!" but he spoke not: "wake!" but still he
But yesterday, and who had mightier breath? [slept:
A thousand warriors by his word were kept
In awe: he said, as the centurion saith,

'Go,' and he goeth; 'come,' and forth he stepp'd. The trump and bugle till he spake were dumbAnd now nought left him but the muffled drum."

XXXVII.

And they who waited once and worshipp'd-they
With their rough faces throng'd about the bed,
To gaze once more on the commanding clay
Which for the last, though not the first, time bled;
And such an end! that he who many a day

Had faced Napoleon's foes until they fled,-
The foremost in the charge or in the sally,
Should now be butcher'd in a civic alley.

XXXVIII.

The scars of his old wounds were near his new, Those honor'd scars which brought him fame; And horrid was the contrast to the view

But let me quit the theme, as such things claim, Perhaps, even more attention than is due

From me: gazed (as oft I have gazed the same To try if I could wrench aught out of death, Which should confirm, or shake, or make a faith ; XXXIX.

But it was all a mystery. Here we are,

And there we go:-but where? five bits of lead, Or three, or two, or one, send very far! And is this blood, then, form'd but to be shed? Can every element our elements mar?

And air-earth-water-fire live-and we dead? We, whose minds comprehend all things? No more But let us to the story as before.

XL.

The purchaser of Juan and acquaintance

Bore off his bargains to a gilded boat, Embark'd himself and them, and off they went thence As fast as oars could pull and water float; They look'd like persons being led to sentence, Wondering what next, till the caique was brought Up in a little creek below a wall O'ertopp'd with cypresses dark-green and tall.

XLI.

Here there conductor tapping at the wicket
Of a small iron door, 'twas open'd, and
He led them onward, first through a low thicket,
Flank'd by large groves which tower'd on either

hand:

They almost lost their way, and had to pick it-
For night was closing ere they came to land.
The eunuch made a sign to those on board,
Who row'd off, leaving them without a word.

XLII.

As they were plodding on their winding way, Through orange bowers, and jasmine, and so forth, (Of which I might have a good deal to say,

There being no such profusion in the North Of oriental plants, "et cetera,"

But that of late your scribblers think it worth Their while to rear whole hotbeds in their works, Because one poet travell'd 'mongst the Turks:)

XLIII.

As they were threading on their way, there came
Into Don Juan's head a thought, which he
Whisper'd to his companion:-'twas the same
Which might have then occurr'd to you or me.
"Methinks," said he-"it would be no great shame
If we should strike a stroke to set us free;
Let's knock that old black fellow on the head,
And march away-'twere easier done than said."

XLIV.

"Yes," said the other, "and when done, what then i
How get out? how the devil got we in?
And when we once were fairly out, and when
From Saint Bartholomew we have saved our skiu
To-morrow 'd see us in some other den,

And worse off than we hitherto have been ; Besides, I'm hungry, and just now would take. 'Like Esau, for my birthright a beef-steak

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