LXVI.

[nation;

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

In prison, but the jailer, 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! harbor, 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 uninstructed,
Thy long, long bills, whence nothing is deducted.
LXX.

Juan, though careless, young, and magnifique,
And rich in roubles, 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 duomo, a smart subtle Greek,

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 Cressays, 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 asked 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, volcanos, oranges, and ices

LXXVII.

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 "Ferflucter"

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.

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

LXXX.
So said the Florentine: ye monarchs, hearken
To your instructor. Juan now was borne,
Just as the day began to wane and darken,

J'er the high hill which looks with pride or scorn Toward 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, Revered the soil, of those true sons the mother, Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied t' other.

LXXXII.

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amid the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping

On tiptoe, through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head-and there is London town!

LXXXIII.

But Juan saw not this: each wreath of smoke
Appear'd to him but as the magic vapor
Of some alchymic furuace, from whence broke
The wealth of worlds, (a wealth of tax and paper ;)
The gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke

Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper,
Were nothing but the natural atmosphere-
Extremely wholesome, though but rarely clear.

LXXXIV.

He paused and so will I-as doth a crew Before they give their broadside. By and by, My gentle countrymen, we will renew

Our old acquaintance, and at least I'll try To tell you truths you will not take as true, Because they are so, a male Mrs. Fry, 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 vair vretences 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 1 have pratex
Just now enough; but by and by I'll prattle
Like Roland's horn in Roncesvalles' battle.

CANTO XI.

I.

WHEN Bishop Berkley said "there was no matter,"
And proved it-'twas no matter what he sail
They say his system 'tis in vain to batter,
Too subtle for the airiest human head;
And yet who can believe it? I would shatter,
Gladly, all matters down to stone or lead.
Or adamant, to find the world a spirit,
And wear my head, denying that I wear it.

II.

What a sublime discovery 'twas, to make the
Universe universal egotism!

That all's ideal-all ourselves? I'll stake the

World (be it what you will) that that's no schism. Oh, doubt!-if thou be'st doubt, for which some take But which I doubt extremely-thou sole prism [thee, Of the truth's rays, spoil not my draught of spirit! Heaven's brandy-though our brain can hardly bear

it.

III.

For, ever and anon comes indigestion,

(Not the most "dainty Ariel,") and perplexes Our soarings with another sort of question:

And that which, after all, my spirit vexes
Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on,
Without confusion of the sorts and sexes,

Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder,
The world, which at the worst's a glorious blunder-
IV.

If it be chance; or if it be according

To the old text, still better! lest it should Turn out so, we'll say nothing 'gainst the wording As several people think such hazards rude: They're right; our days are too brief for affording Space to dispute what no one ever could Decide, and every body one day will Know very clearly-or at least lie still.

V.

And therefore will I leave off metaphysical Discussions, which is neither here and there. If I agree that what is, is-then this I call

Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair. The truth is, I've grown lately rather phthisical I don't know what the reason is-the air Perhaps; but as I suffer from the shocks Of illness, I grow much more orthodox.

XX. But Tom s no more-and so no more of Tom. Heroes must die; and by God's blessing, 'tis Not long before the most of them go home. Hail! Thamis, hail! Upon thy verge it is That Juan's chariot, rolling like a drum

In thunder, holds the way it can't well miss, Through Kennington and all the other "tons," Which make us wish ourselves in town at once;

XXI.

Through groves, so call'd as being void of trees, (Like lucus from no light;) through prospects named

Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to please, Nor much to climb; through little boxes framed Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease,

With "To be let," upon their doors proclaim'd; Through "rows" most modestly call'd "Paradise," Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice ;

XXII.

Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a
Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion; [whirl
Here taverns wooing to a pint of "purl,"

There mails fast flying off like a delusion;
There barbers' blocks with periwigs in curl
In windows; here the lamp-lighter's infusion
Slowly distill'd into the glimmering glass,-
(For in those days we had not got to gas:)

XXIII.

Through this, and much, and more, is the approach Of travellers to mighty Babylon:

Whether they come by horse, or chaise, or coach, With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one. 1 could say more, but do not choose to encroach Upon the guide-book's privilege. The sun Had set some time, and night was on the ridge Of twilight, as the party cross'd the bridge.

XXIV.

That's rather fine, the gentle sound of Thamis—
Who vindicates a moment too his stream- [mes"
Though hardly heard through multifarious "dam'-
The lamps of Westminster's more regular gleam
The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where
A spectral resident-whose pallid beam [Fame is
In shape of moonshine hovers o'er the pile-
Make this a sacred part of Albion's isle.

XXV.

The Druids' groves are gone-so much the better; Stone-Henge is not-but what the devil is it?But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter,

That madmen may not bite you on a visit; The Bench too seats or suits full many a debtor; The mansion-house, too, (though some people quiz| To me appears a stiff yet grand erection: [it,) But then the Abbey's worth the whole collection.

XXVI.

The line of lights, too, up to Charing-Cross,
Pall-Mall, and so forth, have a coruscation,
Like gold as in comparison to dross,

Match'd with the continent's illumination, Whose cities night by no means deigns to gloss: The French were not yet a lamp-lighting nation, And when they grew so-on their new-found lantern, Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn.

XXVII.

A row of gentleman along the streets
Suspended, may illuminate mankind,
As also bonfires made ot country-seats,
But the old way is best for the purblind:
The other looks like phosphorus on sheets,
A sort of ignis-fatuus to the mind,
Which, though 'tis certain to perplex and frighten,
Must burn more mildly ere it can enlighten.

XXVIII.

But London's so well lit, that if Diogenes
Could recommence to hunt his honest man,
And found him not amid the various progenies
Of this enormous city's spreading spawr,
Twere not for want of lamps to aid his dodging his
Yet undiscover'd treasure. What I can,
I've done to find the same throughout life's journey,
But see the world is only one attorney.

XXIX.

Over the stones still rattling, up Pall-Mall,

Through crowds and carriages-but waxing thinner As thunder'd knockers broke the long-seal'd spell Of doors 'gainst duns, and to an early dinne Admitted a small party as night fell,

Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner, Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels, St. James's Palace and St. James's "Hells."?

XXX.

They reach'd the hotel: forth stream'd from the front
A tide of well-clad waiters, and around [door
The mob stood, and as usual several score
Of those pedestrian Paphians who abound
In decent London when the daylight's o'er;
Commodious but immoral, they are found
Useful, like Malthus, in promoting marriage
But Juan now is stepping from his carriage,
XXXI.

Into one of the sweetest of hotels,

For those whom favor or whom fortune swells,
Especially for foreigners-and mostly
There many an envoy either dwelt or dwells,
And cannot find a bill's small items costly.

(The den of many a diplomatic lost lie,) Until to some conspicuous square they pass, And blazon o'er the door their names in brass.

XXXII.

Juan, whose was a delicate commission,
Private, though publicly important, bore
No title to point out with due precision

The exact affair on which he was sent o'er. 'Twas merely known that on a secret mission A foreigner of rank had graced our shore, Young, handsome, and accomplish'd, who was said (In whispers) to have turn'd his sovereign's head

XXXIII.

Some rumor also of some strange adventures
Had gone before him, and his wars and loves,
And as romantic heads are pretty painters,
And above all, an English woman's roves
Into the excursive, breaking the indentures
Of sober reason, wheresoe'er it moves,
Fe found himself extremely in the fashion,
Which serves our thinking people for a passion

XXXIV.

I don't mean that they are passionless, but quite
The contrary; but then 'tis in the head;
Yet, as the consequences are as bright

As if they acted with the heart instead,
What after all can signify the site

Of ladies' lucubrations? So they lead
In safety to the place for which you start,
What matters if the road be head or heart?
XXXV.

Juan presented in the proper place,

To proper placemen, every Russ credential; And was received with all the due grimace,

By those who govern in the mood potential, Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth face, Thought (what in state affairs is most essential) That they as easily might do the youngster, As hawks may pounce upon a woodland songster.

XXXVI.

They err'd, as aged men will do; but by

And by we'll talk of that; and if we don't, "Twill be because our notion is not high

Of politicians and their double front, Who live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie:

Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.

XXXVII.

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but

The truth in masquerade; and I defy Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to put A fact without some leaven of a lie. The very shadow of true truth would shut Up annals, revelations, poesy, And prophecy-except it should be dated Some years before the incidents related.

XXXVIII

Praised be all liars and all lies! Who now
Can tax my mild Muse with misanthropy?
She rings the world's "Te Deum," and her brow
Blushes for those who will not :-but to sigh

Is idle; let us, like most others, bow,

Kiss hands, feet-any part of Majesty,

After the good example of "Green Erin,"