CIX.

Who would not sigh Α' αἴ τὴν Κυθέρειαν 1
That hath a memory, or that had a heart?
Alas! her star must fade like that of Dian:

Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart.
Anacreon only had the soul to tie an

Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart Of Eros but though thou hast played us many tricks, Still we respect thee, " Alma Venus Genetrix 1" 2

CX.

And full of sentiments, sublime as billows

Heaving between this World and Worlds beyond, Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows Arrived, retired to his; but to despond Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond

Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep, And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.

CXI.

The night was as before: he was undrest,

Saving his night-gown, which is an undress; Completely sans culotte, and without vest;

In short, he hardly could be clothed with less : But apprehensive of his spectral guest,

He sate with feelings awkward to express (By those who have not had such visitations), Expectant of the Ghost's fresh operations.

CXII.

And not in vain he listened ;--Hush! what's that?
I see I see-Ah, no !—'t is not—yet 't is—
Ye powers! it is the-the-the-Pooh! the cat !
The Devil may take that stealthy pace of his !

So like a spiritual pit-a-pat,

Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss,

1. [Bion, Epitaphium Adonidis, line 28.]

2.

["... genetrix hominum, divômque voluptas,
Alma Venus!"

Lucret., De Rerum Nat., lib. i. lines 1, 2.1

Gliding the first time to a rendezvous,

And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.

CXIII.

Again-what is 't? The wind? No, no,-this time
It is the sable Friar as before,

With awful footsteps regular as rhyme,

Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more. Again through shadows of the night sublime,

When deep sleep fell on men,1 and the World wore

The starry darkness round her like a girdle
Spangled with gems-the Monk made his blood curdle.

CXIV.

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass,2

Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter,
Like showers which on the midnight gusts will pass,
Sounding like very supernatural water,

Came over Juan's ear, which throbbed, alas!
For Immaterialism 's a serious matter;
So that even those whose faith is the most great
In Souls immortal, shun them tête-à-tête.

CXV.

Were his eyes open ?-Yes! and his mouth too.
Surprise has this effect-to make one dumb,
Yet leave the gate which Eloquence slips through
As wide as if a long speech were to come.
Nigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew,
Tremendous to a mortal tympanum :
His eyes were open, and (as was before

Stated) his mouth. What opened next?-the door.

CXVI.

It opened with a most infernal creak,

Like that of Hell. "Lasciate ogni speranza,

1. [Job iv. 13.]

2. See the account of the ghost of the uncle of Prince Charles of Saxony, raised by Schroepfer-" Karl-Karl-was willst du mit mir?' [For Johann Georg Schrepfer (1730 (?)-1774), see J. S. B. Schlegel's Tagebuch, etc., 1806, and Schwärmer und Schwindler, von Dr. Eugen Sierke, 1874, pp. 298-332.]

Voi, ch' entrate !" The hinge seemed to speak,
Dreadful as Dante's rima, or this stanza;
Or-but all words upon such themes are weak:

A single shade 's sufficient to entrance a
Hero for what is Substance to a Spirit?
Or how is 't Matter trembles to come near it? ¿

CXVII.

The door flew wide, not swiftly,-but, as fly
The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight-
And then swung back; nor close-but stood awry,
Half letting in long shadows on the light,
Which still in Juan's candlesticks burned high,
For he had two, both tolerably bright,
And in the doorway, darkening darkness, stood
The sable Friar in his solemn hood.

CXVIII.

Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken
The night before; but being sick of shaking,
He first inclined to think he had been mistaken;
And then to be ashamed of such mistaking;
His own internal ghost began to awaken

Within him, and to quell his corporal quakingHinting that Soul and Body on the whole

Were odds against a disembodied Soul.

CXIX.

And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce, And he arose, advanced-the Shade retreated; But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,

Followed, his veins no longer cold, but heated, Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce, At whatsoever risk of being defeated:

The Ghost stopped, menaced, then retired, until He reached the ancient wall, then stood stone still.

CXX.

Juan put forth one arm-Eternal powers!

It touched no soul, nor body, but the wall,

i. When once discovered it don't like to come near it.-[MS.] 1. [Inferno, Canto III. line 9.]

On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers,
Chequered with all the tracery of the Hall;
He shuddered, as no doubt the bravest cowers
When he can't tell what 't is that doth appal.
How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity

Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity!

CXXI.

But still the Shade remained: the blue eyes glared,
And rather variably for stony death;

Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared,
The Ghost had a remarkably sweet breath :
A straggling curl showed he had been fair-haired;
A red lip, with two rows of pearls beneath,
Gleamed forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud
The Moon peeped, just escaped from a grey cloud.

CXXII.

And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust

His other arm forth-Wonder upon wonder! It pressed upon a hard but glowing bust,

Which beat as if there was a warm heart under. He found, as people on most trials must, That he had made at first a silly blunder, And that in his confusion he had caught Only the wall, instead of what he sought.

CXXIII.

The Ghost, if Ghost it were, seemed a sweet soul
As ever lurked beneath a holy hood:

A dimpled chin," a neck of ivory, stole

Forth into something much like flesh and blood; Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl,

And they revealed-alas! that e'er they should! In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk, The phantom of her frolic Grace-Fitz-Fulke!!

1. [End of Canto 16. B. My. 6, 1823.—MS.]

CANTO THE SEVENTEENTH.1

I.

THE world is full of orphans: firstly, those
Who are so in the strict sense of the phrase;
But many a lonely tree the loftier grows

Than others crowded in the Forest's maze-
The next are such as are not doomed to lose
Their tender parents, in their budding days,
But, merely, their parental tenderness,

Which leaves them orphans of the heart no less.

II.

The next are "only Children," as they are styled,
Who grow up Children only, since th' old saw
Pronounces that an "only's" a spoilt child-
But not to go too far, I hold it law,

That where their education, harsh or mild,

Transgresses the great bounds of love or awe,

1. [May 8, 1823.-MS. More than one "Seventeenth Canto," or so-called continuation of Don Juan, has been published. Some of these "Sequels" pretend to be genuine, while others are undisguisedly imitations or parodies. For an account of these spurious and altogether worthless continuations, see "Bibliography," vol. vii. There was, however, a foundation for the myth. Before Byron left Italy he had begun (May 8, 1823) a seventeenth canto, and when he sailed for Greece he took the new stanzas with him. Trelawny found "fifteen stanzas of the seventeenth canto of Don Juan" in Byron's room at Missolonghi (Recollections, etc., 1858, p. 237). The MS., together with other papers, was handed over to John Cam Hobhouse, and is now in the possession of his daughter, the Lady Dorchester. The copyright was purchased by the late John Murray. The fourteen (not fifteen) stanzas are now printed and published for the first time.]