The Works of Lord Byron

721

CANTO XVI.

VII.

I merely mean to say what Johnson said,

That in the course of some six thousand years, All nations have believed that from the dead

A visitant at intervals appears;

And what is strangest upon this strange head,

Is that whatever bar the reason rears

'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger still In its behalf, let those deny who will.

VIII.

THE antique Persians taught three useful things,-The dinner and the soirée too were done,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.
This was the mode of Cyrus-best of kings-
A inode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings;
Horses they ride without remorse or ruth;
At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,
But draw the long bow better now than ever
II.

The cause of this effect, or this defect,

"For this effect defective comes by cause,"Is what I have not leisure to inspect;

But this I must say in my own applause,
Of all the muses that I recollect,

Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws
In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.

III.

And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats
From any thing, this Epic will contain

A wilderness of the most rare conceits,
Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain.
"Tis true, there be some bitters with the sweets,

Yet mix'd so slightly that you can't complain,
But wonder they so few are, since my tale is
"De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis."

IV.

But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.

I said it was a story of a ghost

What then? I only know it so befell. Have you explored the limits of the coast

Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell? 'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as The skeptics who would not believe Columbus.

Some people would impose now with authority,
Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;
Men whose historical superiority

Is always greatest at a miracle.

But Saint Augustine has the great priority,

Who bids all men believe the impossible, Because 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he Quiets at once with "quia impossibile."

VI.

And therefore, mortals, cavil not all;
Believe:-if 'tis improbable you must;

And if it is impossible, you shall:

'Tis always best to take things upon trust. 1 do not speak profanely to recall

Those holier mysteries, which the wise and just Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, As all truths must, the more they are disputed.

The supper too discuss'd, the dames admired
The banqueters had dropp'd off one by one--
The song was silent, and the dance expired:
The last thin petticoats were vanish'd, gone,
Like fleecy clouds into the sky retired,
And nothing brighter gleam'd through the saloon
Than dying tapers-and the peeping moon.
IX.

The evaporation of a joyous day

Is like the last glass of champagne, without
The foam which made its virgin bumper gay;
Or like a system coupled with a doubt;
Or like a soda-bottle, when its spray

Has sparkled and let half its spiret out.
Or like a billow left by storms behind,
Without the animation of the wind;

Or like an opiate which brings troubled rest,
Or none; or like-like nothing that I know
Except itself;-such is the human breast;
A thing, of which similitudes can show
No real likeness,-like the old Tyrian vest
Dyed purple, none at present can tell how.
If from a shell-fish or from cochineal.'
So perish every tyrant's robe piecemeal

XI.

But next to dressing for a rout or ball,
Undressing is a wo; our robe-de-chambre
May sit like that of Nessus, and recall

Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than ambo
Titus exclaim'd, "I've lost a day!" Of all

The nights and days most people can remember,
(I have had of both some not to be disdain'd,)
I wish they'd state how many they have gain'd.
XII.

And Juan, on retiring for the night,

Felt restless and perplex'd, and compromised;
He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright
Than Adeline (such is advice) advised;
If he had known exactly his own plight,
He probably would have philosophized;
A great resource to all, and ne'er denied
Till wanted; therefore Juan only sigh'd.

XIII.

He sigh'd;-rhe next resource is the full moon.
Where all sighs are deposited; and now,
It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone
As clear as such a climate will allow;
And Juan's mind was in the proper tone

To hail her with the apostrophe-" Oh, thou!"
Of amatory egotism the tuism,

Which further to explain would be a truism.

XXVIII.

He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed,
Ponder'd upon his visitant or vision,
And whether it ought not to be disclosed,

At risk of being quizz'd for superstition.
The more he thought, the more his mind was posed;
In the mean time, his valet, whose precision
Was great, because his master brook'd no less,
Knock'd to inform him it was time to dress.

XXIX.

He dress'd; and, like young people he was wont
To take some trouble with his toilet, but
This morning rather spent less time upon't;
Aside his very mirror soon was put;
His curls fell negligently o'er his front,

His clothes were not curb'd to their usual cut; His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied Almost a hair's breadth too much on one side.

XXX.

And when he walk'd down into the saloon,
He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea,
Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon,
Had it not happen'd scalding hot to be,
Which made him have recourse unto his spoon;
So much distrait he was, that all could see
That something was the matter-Adeline
The first-but what she could not well divine.

XXXI.

She look'd and saw him pale, and turn'd as pale
Herself; then hastily look'd down and mutter'd
Something, but what's not stated in my tale.
Lord Henry said his muffin was ill butter'd;
The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke play'd with her veil,
And look'd at Juan hard, but nothing utter'd.
Aurora Raby, with her large dark eyes,
Survey'd him with a kind of calm surprise.

XXXII.

But seeing him all cold and silent still,
And every body wondering more or less,

Fair Adeline inquired if he were ill?

He started, and said, "Yes-no-rather-yes."

The family physician had great skill,

And, being present, now began to express

His readiness to feel his pulse, and tell

The cause, but Juan said "he was quite well."

XXXIII.

"Quite well; yes, no.”—These answers were mysterious,

And yet his looks appeared to sanction both, However they might savor of delirious;

Something like illness of a sudden growth Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no means serious: But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted, It was not the physician that he wanted.

XXXIV.

Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his chocalate,
Also the muffin, whereof he complain'd,
Baid, Juan had not got his usual look elate,

At which he marvell'd, since it had not rain'd;
l'hen ask'd her grace what news were of the duke of
Her grace replied, his grace was rather pain'd [late?
With some slight, light, hereditary twinges
Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.

After some fascinating hesitation,—

The charming of these charmers, who seem bourd

I can't tell why, to this dissimulation-
Fair Adeline, with eyes fix'd on the ground
At first, then kindling into animation,

Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound,
And sang with much simplicity,-a merit
Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it.
1.

Beware! beware! of the Black Friar,

Who sitteth by Norman stone,
For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air.
And his mass of the days that are gone.
When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville.
Made Norman Church his prey,
And expell'd the friars, one friar still
Would not be driven away.

Though. he came in his might, with King Henry's Now this (but we will whisper it aside)

To turn church lands to lay,

With sword in hand, and torch to light

Their walls, if they said nay,

A monk remain'd, unchased, unchain'd,

And he did not seem form'd of clay,

[right,

Was-pardon the pedantic illustrationTrampling on Plato's pride with greater pride, As did the Cynic on some like occasion; Deeming the sage would be much mortified Or thrown into a philosophic passion, For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the For a spoil'd carpet-but the "Attic Bee" Though he is not seen by day. Was much consoled by his own repartee.

And whether for good, or whether for ill,
It is not mine to say;

But still with the house of Amundeville,
He abideth night and day.

By the marriage-bed of their lords, 'tis said,
He flits on the bridal eve;

And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death
He comes-but not to grieve.

When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn,
And when aught is to befall

That ancient line, in the pale moonshine
He walks from hall to hall.

His form you may trace, but not his face,
'Tis shadow'd by his cowl;

[church,

But his eyes may be seen from the folds between,
And they seem of a parted soul.

But beware! beware! of the Black Friar.
He still retains his sway,

For he is yet the church's heir,
Whoever may be the lay.
Amundeville is lord by day,

But the monk is lord by night,

Nor wine nor wassil could raise a vassal
To question that friar's right.

Say nought to him as he walks the hall,
And he'll say nought to you :
He sweeps along in his dusky pall,
As o'er the grass the dew.

Then gramercy! for the Black Friar;
Heaven sain him! fair or foul,
And whatsoe'er may be his prayer,
Let ours be for his soul.

XLI.

The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wires
Died from the touch that kindled them to sound,
And the pause follow'd, which, when song expires,
Pervades a moment those who listen round;
And then, of course, the circle much admires,
Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound,
The tones, the feeling, and the execution,
To the performer's diffident confusion.

XLII.

Fair Adeline, though in a careless way,
As if she rated such accomplishment,
As the mere pastime of an idle day,

Pursued an instant for her own content,
Would now and then as 'twere without display,
Yet with display in fact, at times relent
To such performances with haughty smile,
fo show she could, if it were worth her while.

I have not heard she was at all poetic, [Guide," But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,-
Though once she was seen reading the "Bath
And "Hayley's Triumphs," which she deem'd pa-
thetic

Because, she said, her temper had been tried So much, the bard had really been prophetic

Of what she had gone through with-since a bride. But of all verse what most insured her praise Were sonnets to herself, or "bouts rimés."

LI.

'Twere difficult to say what was the object
Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay
To bear on what appear'd to her the subject
Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day.
Perhaps she merely had the simple project

To laugh him out of his supposed dismay; Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it, Though why I cannot say-at least this minute. LII.

But so far the immediate effect

Was to restore him to his self-propriety, A thing quite necessary to the elect,

Who wish to take the tone of their society; In which you cannot be too circumspect,

Whether the mode be persiflage or piety, But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy, On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy.

LIII.

And therefore Juan now began to rally

His spirits, and, without more explanation, To jest upon such themes in many a sally. Her grace, ton, also seized the same occasion, With various similar remarks to tally,

But wish'd for a still more detail'd narration Of this same mystic friar's curious doings, About the present family's deaths and wooings.

LIV.

Of these few could say more than has been said;
They pass'd, as such things do, for superstition
With some, while others, who had more in dread
The theme, half credited the strange tradition,
And much was talk'd on all sides on that head;
But Juan, when cross-question'd on the vision,
Which some supposed (though he had not avow'd it)
Had stirr'd him, answer'd in a way to cloud it.
LV.

And then, the midday having worn to one,
The company prepared to separate:
Some to their several pastimes, or to none;
Some wondering 'twas so early, some so late.
There was a goodly match, too, to be run

Between some grayhounds on my lord's estate,
And a young racehorse of old pedigree,
Match'd for the spring, whom several went to see.

LVI.

There was a picture-dealer, who had brought
A special Titian, warranted original,
Bo precious that it was not to be bought,

Though princes the possessor were besieging all.
The king himself had cheapen'd it, but thought
The civil list (he deigns to accept, obliging all
His subjects by his gracious acceptation)
Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.

The friend of artists, if not arts,-the owner, With motives the most classical and pure, So that he would have been the very donor Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer,

So much he deem'd his patronage an honor, Had brought the capo d'opéra, not for sale, But for his judgment,-never known to fail.

There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,
Ready for jail, their place of convalescence;
There was a country girl in a close cap
And scarlet cloak, (I hate the sight to see, since-
Since-since-in youth I had the sad mishap-
But luckily I've paid few parish fees since.)
That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigor,
Presents the problem of a double figure.
LXII.

A reel within a bottle is a mystery,

One can't tell how it e'er got in or out,
Therefore the present piece of natural history
I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt,
And merely state, though not for the consistory,
Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout
The constable, beneath a warrant's banner,
Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor.
LXIII.

Now justices of peace must judge all pieces
Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game
And morals of the country from caprices

Of those who've not a license for the same;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,
Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:
Preserving partridges and petty wenches
Are puzzles to the most precautious benchea

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