X. 1 As these new cantos touch on warlike feats, But which, 't is time to teach the hireling tribe Must be recited, and-without a bribe. You did great things; but, not being great in mind, Have left undone the greatest-and mankind. XI. Death laughs-Go ponder o'er the skeleton With which men image out the unknown thing | That hides the past world, like to a set sun Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter spring: Death laughs at all you weep for ;-look upon This hourly dread of all whose threaten'd sting Turns life to terror, even though in its sheath ! Mark! how its lipless mouth grins without breath! XII. Mark! how it laughs and scorns at all you are! So call'd; the antic long hath ceased to hear, He strips from man that mantle-(far more dear Than even the tailor's)-his incarnate skin, White, black, or copper-the dead bones will grin. XIII. And thus Death laughs :-it is sad merriment, Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample Than the eternal deluge, which devours Suns as rays-worlds like atoms-years like hours? XIV. "To be, or not to be! that is the question," Says Shakspeare, who just now is much in fashion. I am neither Alexander nor Hephaestion, Nor ever had for abstract fame much passion; But would much rather have a sound digestion, Than Bonaparte's cancer :-could I dash on Through fifty victories to shame or fame, Without a stomach-what were a good name? "Oh, dura ilia messorum ! Ye rigid guts of reapers! XV. -I translate For the great benefit of those who know Which makes all Styx through one small liver flow. XVI. "To be, or not to be!"-Ere I decide, I should be glad to know that which is being. 'T is true we speculate both far and wide, And deem, because we see, we are all-seeing: For my part, I'll enlist on neither side, Until I see both sides for once agreeing. For me, I sometimes think that life is death, Rather than life a mere affair of breath. 66 XVII. Que sais-je ?" was the motto of Montaigne, That all is dubious which man may attain, There's no such thing as certainty, that 's plain So little do we know what we 're about in XVIII. It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float, Like Pyrrho, on a sea of speculation; But what if carrying sail capsize the boat? Your wise men don't know much of navigation; And swimming long in the abyss of thought Is apt to tire: a calm and shallow station Well nigh the shore, where one stoops down and gathers Some pretty shell, is best for moderate bathers. XIX. "But heaven," as Cassio says, "is above all.- : XX. Oh, ye immortal gods! what is theogony? ? Oh, thou too mortal man! what is philanthropy? Oh, world, which was and is, what is cosmogony Some people have accused me of misanthropy ; And yet I know no more than the mahogany That forms this desk, of what they mean :- - lycanthropy I comprehend; for, without transformation, Men become wolves on any slight occasion. XXI. But I, the mildest, meekest of mankind, And (though I could not now and then forbear Have always had a tendency to spare,— XXII. 'Tis time we should proceed with our good poem, For I maintain that it is really good, Not only in the body, but the proem, However little both are understood Just now, but by and by the truth will show 'em And till she doth, I fain must be content XXIII. Our hero (and, I trust, kind reader! yours)— Of the immortal Peter's polish'd boors, Who still have shown themselves more brave than witty; I know its mighty empire now allures Much flattery-even Voltaire's, and that's a pity. For me, I deem an absolute autocrat Not a barbarian, but much worse than that. XXIV. And I will war, at least in words (and—should My chance so happen-deeds) with all who war I know not who may conquer: if I could XXV. It is not that I adulate the people : Without me there are demagogues enough, And infidels to pull down-every steeple, And set up in their stead some proper stuff. I do not know ;-I wish men to be free XXVI. The consequence is, being of no party, I shall offend all parties :-never mind! He who has nought to gain can have small art: he May still expatiate freely, as will I, Nor give my voice to slavery's jackal cry. XXVII. That's an appropriate simile, that jackal,— Power's base purveyors, who for pickings prowl, And scent the prey their masters would attack all. However, the poor jackals are less foul (As being the brave lions' keen providers) Than human insects, catering for spiders. XXVIII. Raise but an arm! 't will brush their web away, Increases, till you shall make common cause : XXIX. Don Juan, who had shone in the late slaughter, Where blood was talk'd of as we would of water; O'er silenced cities, merely served to flatter Fair Catherine's pastime-who look'd on the match Between these nations as a main of cocks, Wherein she liked her own to stand like rocks. XXX. And there in a kibitka he roll❜d on (A cursed sort of carriage without springs, Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole bone), Pondering on glory, chivalry, and kings, And orders, and on all that he had doneAnd wishing that post-horses had the wings Of Pegasus, or at the least post-chaises Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways XXXI. is. At every jolt—and there were many—still XXXII. At least he pays no rent, and has best right' Since lately there have been no rents at all, And farmers" can't raise Ceres from her fall: She fell with Bonaparte :-What strange thoughts Arise, when we see emperors fall with oats!, XXXIII. But Juan turn'd his eyes on the sweet child Whom he had saved from slaughter-what a trophy! Oh! ye who build up monuments, defiled With gore, like Nadir Shah, that costive Sophy, Who, after leaving Hindostan a wild, And scarce to the Mogul a cup of coffee To soothe his woes withal, was slain, the sinner! XXXIV. Oh ye! or we! or she! or he! reflect," Or pretty, is a thing to recollect young Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung From the manure of human clay, though deck'd With all the praises ever said or sung : Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within Your heart joins chorus, fame is but a din. 3 |