CXXXV.

He wrote this polar melody, and set it,

Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans,
Which few will sing, I trust, but none forget it-
For I will teach, if possible, the stones
To rise against earth's tyrants. Never let it
Be said, that we still truckle unto thrones :-

But

ye-our children's children! think how we Show'd what things were before the world was free!

CXXXVI.

That hour is not for us, but 't is for you,

And as, in the great joy of your millennium, You hardly will believe such things were true

But

As now occur, I thought that I would pen you 'em; may their very memory perish too!Yet, if perchance remember'd, still disdain More than you scorn the savages of yore, Who painted their bare limbs, but not with gore.

CXXXVII.

you 'em,

And when you hear historians talk of thrones,
And those that sate upon them, let it be
As we now gaze upon the mammoth's bones,
And wonder what old world such things could see;
Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones,

The pleasant riddles of futurity-
Guessing at what shall happily be hid,
As the real purpose of a pyramid.

CXXXVIII.

Reader! I have kept my word,—at least so far
As the first canto promised. You have now
Had sketches of love, tempest, travel, war-
All very accurate, you must allow,
And epic, if plain truth should prove no bar;
For I have drawn much less with a long bow
Than my fore-runners. Carelessly I sing,
But Phoebus lends me now and then a string,

CXXXIX.

With which I still can harp, and carp, and fiddle.
What further hath befallen or may befal

The hero of this grand poetic riddle,

I by and by may tell you, if at all:

But now I choose to break off in the middle,
Worn out with battering Ismail's stubborn wall,

While Juan is sent off with the dispatch,

For which all Petersburgh is on the watch.

CXL.

This special honour was conferr'd, because
He had behav'd with courage and humanity ;-
Which last men like, when they have time to pause
From their ferocities produced by vanity.
His little captive gain'd him some applause,
For saving her amidst the wild insanity
Of carnage, and I think he was more glad in her
Safety, than his new order of Saint Vladimir.

CXLI.

The Moslem orphan went with her protector,
For she was homeless, houseless, helpless all
Her friends, like the sad family of Hector,
Had perish'd in the field or by the wall:
Her very place of birth was but a spectre

Of what it had been; there the Muezzin's call To prayer was heard no more!—and Juan wept, And made a vow to shield her, which he kept.

NOTES TO CANTO VIII.

Note 1. Stanza viii.

All sounds it pierceth, "Allah! Allah! Hu!"

"Allah! Hu!" is properly the war-cry of the Mussulmans, and they dwell long on the last syllable, which gives it a very wild and peculiar effect.

Note 2. Stanza ix.

"Carnage (so Wordsworth tells you) is God's daughter."

But thy most dreaded instrument

In working out a pure intent,

Is man array'd for mutual slaughter,

Yea, Carnage is thy daughter!

WORDSWORTH'S Thanksgiving Ode.

To wit, the Deity's. This is perhaps as pretty a pedigree for Murder as ever was found out by Garter King-at-arms.-What would have been said, had any freespoken people discovered such a lineage?

Note 3. Stanza xviii.

Was printed Grove, although his name was Grose. :

A fact; see the Waterloo Gazettes. I recollect remarking at the time to a friend: "There is fame! a man is killed, his name is Grose, and they print it Grove." I was at college with the deceased, who was a very amiable and clever man, and his society in great request for his wit, gaiety, and "chansons à boire."

*Note 4. Stanza xxiii. 40

As any other notion, and not national.

See Major Vallencey and Sir Lawrence Parsons.

Note 5. Stanza xxv.

'T is pity that such meanings should pave hell."

The Portuguese proverb says, that "Hell is paved with good intentions."

Note 6. Stanza xxxiii.

By thy humane discovery, Friar Bacon!

Gunpowder is said to have been discovered by this friar.

Note 7. Stanza xlvii.

Which scarcely rose much higher than grass blades.

They were but two feet high above the level.

Eternal! such names mingled!) "Ismail 's ours!"

In the original Russian

Slava bogu! slava vam!
Krepost Vzala, ïa tam.

A kind of couplet; for he was a poet.

CANTO IX.

1.

OH, Wellington! (or "Vilainton "—for fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase—
Beating or beaten she will laugh the same)—

You have obtain❜d great pensions and much praise;
Glory like yours should any dare gainsay,
Humanity would rise, and thunder "Nay!

II.

I don't think that you used K-n-rd quite well
In Marinet's affair-in fact 't was shabby,
And like some other things, won't do to tell
Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey.
Upon the rest 't is not worth while to dwell,

Such tales being for the tea hours of some tabby;
But though your years as man tend fast to zero,
In fact your Grace is still but a young hero.

III.

Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,
Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more:
You have repair'd legitimacy's crutch-

A

prop not quite so certain as before: The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch, Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore; And Waterloo has made the world your debtor(I wish your bards would sing it rather better.)

You are

IV.

"the best of cut-throats: "-do not start; The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied : War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art, Unless her cause by right be sanctified.

If

you have acted once a generous part,

The world, not the world's masters, will decide,

And I shall be delighted to learn who,

Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo?

V.

I am no flatterer-you 've supp'd full of flattery :
They say you like it too-'t is no great wonder;
He whose whole life has been assault and battery,
At last may get a little tired of thunder;
And, swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he
May like being praised for every lucky blunder,
Call'd Saviour of the Nations"—not yet saved,
And "Europe's Liberator "-still enslaved.

VI.

I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate
Presented by the Prince of the Brazils,
And send the sentinel before your gate

A slice or two from your luxurious meals : 2
He fought, but has not fed so well of late.

Some hunger too they say the people feels : There is no doubt that you deserve your ration, But pray give back a little to the nation.

VII.

I don't mean to reflect-a man so great as
You, my Lord Duke! is far above reflection.
The high Roman fashion too of Cincinnatus
With modern history has but small connexion :
Though as an Irishman you love potatoes,

You need not take them under your direction;
And half a million for your Sabine farm

Is rather dear!-I'm sure I mean no harm.

VIII.

Great men have always scorn'd great recompenses;
Epaminondas saved his Thebes, and died,

Not leaving even his funeral expenses:

George Washington had thanks and nought beside,
Except the all-cloudless glory (which few men's is)
To free his country: Pitt too had his pride,
And, as a high-soul'd minister of state, is
Renown'd for ruining Great Britain gratis.

IX.

Never had mortal man such opportunity,
Except Napoleon, or abused it more.

You might have freed fall'n Europe from the unity

Of tyrants, and been bless'd from shore to shore ;

And now-what is your fame? Shall the muse tune it ye? Now that the rabble's first vain shouts are o'er?

Go! hear it in your famish'd country's cries!

Behold the world! and curse your victories!