"Stop!" so I stopp'd.-But to return: that which HAIL, Muse! et cetera.-We left Juan sleeping, Men call inconstancy is nothing more Than admiration, due where nature's rich Profusion with young beauty covers o'er Some favor'd object; and as in the niche A lovely statue we almost adore, This sort of admiration of the real
Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast, And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping And loved by a young heart too deeply bless'd
To feel the poison through her spirit creeping, Or know who rested there; a foe to rest, Had soil'd the current of her sinless years, And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears. II.
Oh, love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy And made thy best interpreter a sigh? [bowers, As those who dote on odors pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast-but place to die→ Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
In her first passion woman loves her lover, In all the others all she loves is love, Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over, And fits her loosely-like an easy glove, As you may find whene'er you like to prove her: One man alone at first her heart can move; She then prefers him in the plural number, Not finding that the additions much encumber. IV.
I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ;
But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted, Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers,) After a decent time must be gallanted; Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs
Is that to which her heart is wholly granted; Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, But those who have ne'er end with only one.
'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign
Of human frailty, folly, also crime, That love and marriage rarely can combine, Although they both are born in the same clime; Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine- A sad, sour, sober beverage-by time Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavor Down to a very homely household savor.
There's something of antipathy, as 'twere, Between their present and their future state;
A kind of flattery that's hardly fair
Is used, until the truth arrives too late
Yet what can people do, except despair?
The same things change their names at such a rate For instance-passion in a lover's glorious, But in a husband is pronounced uxorious.
Men grow ashamed of being so very fond: They sometimes also get a little tired, (But that, of course, is rare,) and then despond: The same things cannot always be admired, Yet 'tis "so nominated in the bond,"
That both are tied till one shall have expired. Sad thought! to lose the spouse that was adorning Our days, and put one's servants into mourning. VIII.
There's doubtless something in domestic doings Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis; Romances paint at full length people's wooings, But only give a bust of marriages; For no one cares for matrimonial cooings.
There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss; Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?
Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, For into a prime minister but change
His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation; But he, more modest, took an humbler range Of life, and in an honester vocation And merely practised as a sea-attorney. Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey,
The good old gentleman had been detain'd
By winds and waves, and some important captures, And, in the hope of more, at sea remain'd, Although a squall or two had damped his raptures By swamping one of the prizes; he had chain'd His prisoners, dividing them like chapters, In number'd lots; they all had cuffs and collars, And averaged each from ten to a hundred dollars.
Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan,
Among his friends the Mainots; some he sold To his Tunis correspondents, save one man Toss'd overboard unsaleable, (being old ;) Reserved for future ransom in the hold,— The rest-save here and there some richer one, Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli. Were link'd alike; as for the common people, he
The merchandise was served in the same way, Pieced out for different marts in the Levant, Except some certain portions of the prey, Light classic articles of female want, French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toothpicks, teapot, tray, Guitars and castanets from Alicant, All which selected from the spoil he gathers, Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers.
A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw,
Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens, He chose from several animals he saw-
A terrier too, which once had been a Briton's, Who dying on the coast of Ithica,
The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance These to secure in this strong blowing weather, He caged in one huge hamper altogether.
Arriving at the summit of a hill
Which overlook'd the white walls of his home, He stopp'd.-What singular emotions fill Their bosoms who have been induced to roam! With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill- With love for many, and with fears for some; All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost, And bring our hearts back to their starting-post. XXII.
The approach of home to husbands and to sires, After long travelling by land or water, Most naturally some small doubt inspires- A female family's a serious matter; (None trusts the sex more, or so much admires, But they hate flattery, so I never flatter ;) Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler, And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.
And as the spot where they appear he nears Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling, He hears-alas! no music of the spheres,
But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling! A melody which made him doubt his ears, The cause being past his guessing or unriddling; A pipe too and a drum, and, shortly after, A most unoriental roar of laughter.
And still more nearly to the place advancing, Descending rather quickly the declivity, Through the waved branches, o'er the greensward 'Midst other indications of festivity, [glancing,
Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial, To which the Levantines are very partial.
And further on a group of Grecian girls,
The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Were strung together like a row of pearls; Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each too having Down her white neck long floating auburn curls(The least of which would set ten poets raving,) Their leader sang-and bounded to her song, With choral step and voice, the virgin throng.
And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays, Small social parties just begun to dine; Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze,
And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine, And sherbet cooling in the porous vase;
Above them their dessert grew on its vine, The orange and the pomegranate, nodding o'er, Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow
A band of children, round a snow-white ram, There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers; While peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb, The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers His sober head, majestically tame,
Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers His brow is if in act to butt, and then, Yielding to their small hands, draws back again.
Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses, Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks, Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses, The gesture which enchants, the eye that speaks, The innocence which happy childhood blesses, Made quite a picture of these little Greeks; So that the philosophical beholder Sigh'd for their sakes-that they should e'er grow older.
Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales
To a sedate gray circle of old smokers, Of secret treasures found in hidden vales,
Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails, Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers, Of magic ladies, who, by one sole act, Transform'd their lords to beasts, (but that's a fact.
You're wrong;-He was the mildest manner'd man Not that he was not sometimes rash or so,
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat; With such true breeding of a gentleman, You never could divine his real thought; No courtier could, and scarcely woman can Gird more deceit within a petticoat; Pity he loved adventurous life's variety He was so great a loss to good society
But never in his real and serious mood; Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow, He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood; With him it never was a word and blow.
His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood, But in his silence there was much to rue,
And his one blow left little work for two.
ALIX. He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded On to the house, but by a private way, So that the few who met him hardly heeded, So little they expected him that day; If love paternal in his bosom pleaded
For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say, But certainly to one, deem'd dead, returning, This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning. L.
If all the dead could now return to life,
(Which God forbid !) or some, or a great many; For instance, if a husband or his wife,
(Nuptial examples are as good as any,) No doubt whate'er might be their former strife, The present weather would be much more rainyTears shed into the grave of the connexion Would share most probably its resurrection.
He enter'd in the house, no more his home, A thing to human feelings the most trying, And harder for the heart to overcome
Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying; To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb,
And round its once warm precincts palely lying The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief, Beyond a single gentleman's belief.
He enter'd in the house-his home no more, For without hearts there is no home-and felt The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome; there he long had dwelt, There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er, There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt Over the innocence of that sweet child, His only shrine of feelings undefiled.
He was a man of a strange temperament, Of mild demeanor though of savage mood, Moderate in all his habits, and content
With temperance in pleasure, as in food, Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and meant For something better, if not wholly good; His country's wrongs and his despair to save her Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver.
The love of power, and rapid gain of gold, The hardness by long habitude produced, The dangerous life in which he had grown old, The mercy he had granted oft abused, The sights he was accustom'd to behold,
The wild seas and wild men with whom he cruised, Had cost his enemies a long repentance,
And made him a good friend, but bad acquaintance.
But something of the spirit of old Greece Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays, Such as lit onward to the golden fleece
His predecessors in the Colchian days: Tis true he had no ardent love for peace; Alas! his country show'd no path to praise: Hate to the world and war with every nation He waged, in vengeance of her degredation.
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