And Catherine (we must say this much for Catherine),
Though bold and bloody, was the kind of thing
Whose temporary passion was quite flattering,
Because each lover look'd a sort of king,
Made up upon an amatory pattern,

A royal husband in all save the ring-
Which, being the damn'dest part of matrimony,
Seem'd taking out the sting to leave the honey.
And when you add to this her womanhood
In its meridian, her blue eyes or grey-
(The last, if they have soul, are quite as good,
Or better, as the best examples say
Napoleon's, Mary's (Queen of Scotland), should
Lend to that colour a transcendant ray;
And Pallas also sanctions the same hue,
Too wise to look through optics black or blue)—
Her sweet smile, and her then majestic figure,
Her plumpness, her imperial condescension,
Her preference of a boy to men much bigger,
(Fellows whom Messalina's self would pension),
Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigour,
With other extras, which we need not mention-
All these, or any one of these, explain
Enough to make a stripling very vain.

And that's enough, for love is vanity,
Selfish in its beginning as its end,
Except where 'tis a mere insanity,

A maddening spirit which would strive to blend
Itself with beauty's frail inanity,

On which the passion's self seems to depend:
And hence some heathenish philosophers
Make love the main-spring of the universe.

Besides Platonic love, besides the love

Of God, the love of sentiment, the loving Of faithful pairs-(I needs must rhyme with dove That good old steam-boat which keeps verses moving 'Gainst reason-reason ne'er was hand-and-glove With rhyme, but always leant less to improving The sound than sense)-besides all these pretences To love, there are those things which words name senses:

Those movements, those improvements in our bodies,
Which make all bodies anxious to get out
Of their own sand-pits, to mix with a goddess,
For such all women are at first, no doubt.
How beautiful that moment! and how odd is
That fever which precedes the languid rout
Of our sensations! What a curious way
The whole thing is, of clothing souls in clay !
The noblest kind of love is love Platonical,

To end or to begin with; the next grand
Is that which may be christen'd love canonical,
Because the clergy take the thing in hand;
The third sort, to be noted in our chronicle,
As flourishing in every Christian land,
Is when chaste matrons to their other ties
Add what may be call'd marriage in disguise.
Well, we won't analyse-our story must

Tell for itself: the sovereign was smitten,
Juan much flatter'd by her love, or lust :-
I cannot stop to alter words once written
And the two are so mix'd with human dust,

That he who names one, both perchance may hit on :
But in such matters Russia's mighty empress
Behaved no better than a common sempstress.
The whole court melted into one wide whisper;
And all lips were applied unto all ears!
The elder ladies' wrinkles curl'd much crisper,
As they beheld; the younger cast some leers
On one another, and each lovely lisper

Smiled as she talk'd the matter o'er : but tears
Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye
Of all the standing army that stood by.
All the ambassadors of all the powers,

Inquired who was this very new young man,
Who promised to be great in some few hours:
Which is full soon (though life is but a span).
Already they beheld the silver showers

Of rubles rain, as fast as specie can,
Upon his cabinet, besides the presents
Of several ribands, and some thousand peasants.

M

Catherine was generous,—all such ladies are:
Love, that great opener of the heart and all
The ways that lead there, be they near or far,
Above, below, by turnpikes great or small,-
Love (though she had a cursed taste for war,
And was not the best wife, unless we call
Such Clytemnestra, though perhaps 'tis better
That one should die, than two drag on the fetter)—
Love had made Catherine make each lover's fortune,
Unlike our own half-chaste Elizabeth,
Whose avarice all disbursements did importune,
If history, the grand liar, ever saith

The truth and though grief her old age might shorten,
Because she put a favourite to death,

Her vile, ambiguous method of flirtation,
And stinginess, disgrace her sex and station.
But when the levee rose, and all was bustle
In the dissolving circle, all the nations'
Ambassadors began as 'twere to hustle

Round the young man with their congratulations,
Also the softer silks were heard to rustle

Of gentle dames, among whose recreations
It is to speculate on handsome faces,
Especially when such lead to high places.
Juan, who found himself, he knew not how,
A general object of attention, made
His answers with a very graceful bow,
As if born for the ministerial trade.
Though modest, on his unembarrass'd brow
Nature had written "gentleman.' He said
Little, but to the purpose; and his manner
Flung hovering graces o'er him like a banner.
An order from her majesty consign'd

Our young lieutenant to the genial care
Of those in office: all the world look'd kind,
(As it will look sometimes with the first stare,
Which youth would not act ill to keep in mind),
As also did Miss Protosoff then there,
Named, from her mystic office, "l'Eprouveuse,"
A term inexplicable to the Muse.

With her then, as in humble duty bound,
Juan retired-and so will I, until
My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground.
We have just lit on a "heaven-kissing hill,"
So softly that I feel my brain turn round,
And all my fancies whirling like a mill;
Which is a signal to my nerves and brain,
To take a quiet ride in some green lane.

Canto the Tenth.

WHEN Newton saw an apple fall, he found,
In that slight startle from his contemplation-
'Tis said (for I'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation)—
A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round

In a most natural whirl, call'd "gravitation ;
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,
Since Adam, with a fall, or with an apple.
Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,

If this be true; for we must deem the mode
In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose

Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road, A thing to counterbalance human woes :

For, ever since, immortal man hath glow'd
With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon
Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.
And wherefore this exordium ?-Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper :
And though so much inferior, as I know,

To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye,
I wish to do as much by poesy.

In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim:
But at the least I've shunn'd the common shore,
And, leaving land far out of sight, would skim
The ocean of eternity: the roar

Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim, But still sea-worthy, skiff; and she may float Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.