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CANTO III, X

CCX.
But soon Philosophy came to iny aid,

And whisper’d, “Think of every sacred tie!"
I will, my dear Philosophy!” I said,

“But then her teeth, and then, oh heaven! her eye! I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid,

Or neither-out of curiosity."
"Stop!” cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian
Though she was mask'd then as a fair Venetian)
CCXI.

I. “Stop!” so I stopp'd.—But to return : that which Hail, Muse! et cetera.-We left Juan sleeping, Men call inconstancy is nothing more

Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast, Than admiration, due where nature's rich And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping Profusion with young beauty covers o'er

And loved by a young heart too deeply bless'd Some favor'd object; and as in the niche To feel the poison through her spirit creeping, A lovely statue we almost adore,

Or know who rested there; a foe to rest, This sort of admiration of the real

Had soil'd the current of her sinless years, Is but a heightening of the “beau ideal.” And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears. CCXII.

II. 'Tis the perception of the beautiful,

Oh, love! what is it in this world of ours A fine extension of the faculties,

Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah, why Platonic, universal, wonderful,

[skies, With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy Drawn from the stars, and filter'd through the And made thy best interpreter a sigh? [bowers, Without which life would be extremely dull; As those who dote on odors pluck the flowers, In short, it is the use of our own eyes,

And place them on their breast-but place to die With one or two small senses added, just

Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust.

Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
CCXIII.

III.
Yet 'tis a painful feeling, and unwilling, In her first passion woman loves her lover,
For surely if we always could perceive

In all the others all she loves is love,
In the same object graces quite as killing

Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over, As when she rose upon us like an Eve,

And fits her loosely-like an easy glove, 'Twould save us many a heartache, many a shilling, As you may find whene'er you like to prove her:

(For we must get them any how, or grieve,) One man alone at first her heart can move; Whereas, if one sole lady pleased for ever, She then prefers him in the plural number, How pleasant for the heart, as well as liver ! Not finding that the additions much encumber. CCXIV.

IV.
The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven, I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ;

But changes night and day too, like the sky; But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted, Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers,)

And darkness and destruction as on high ; [riven, After a decent time must be gallanted; But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs

Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye Is that to which her heart is wholly granted ; Pours forth at last the heart's blood turn'd to tears, Yet there are some, they say, who have had note, Which make the English climate of our years. But those who have ne'er end with only one.

CCXV. The liver is the lazaret of bile,

'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign But very rarely executes its function,

Of human frailty, folly, also crime, For the first passion stays there such a while, That love and marriage rarely can combine,

Niat all the rest creep in and form a junction, Although they both are born in the same clíme; Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil, Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine

Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction, A sad, sour, sober beverage-by time
Bo that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail, Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavor
Like earthquakes from the hidden fire call’d "cen- Down to a very homely household savor.
tral.”'
CCXVI.

VI.
In the mean time, without proceeding more There's something of antipathy, as 'twere,
In this anatomy, I've finish'd now

Between their present and their future state; Two hundred and odd stanzas as before,

A kind of flattery that's hardly fair That being about the number I'll allow

Is used, until the truth arrives too lateEach canto of the twelve, or twenty-four ; Yet what can people do, except despair ?

And, laying down my pen, I make my bow, The same things change their names at such a rate Leaving Don Juan and Haidee, to plead

For instance-passion in a lover's glorious, for them and theirs with all who deign to read. But in a husband is pronounced uxorious.

V.

VII.

XIV. Men grow ashamed of being so very fond : Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, They sometimes also get a little tired,

Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, (But that, of course, is rare,) and then despond : For into a prime minister but change

The same things cannot always be admired, His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation; Yet 'tis “so nominated in the bond,"

But he, more modest, took an humbler range
That both are tied till one shall have expired. Of life, and in an honester vocation
Sad thought! to lose the spouse that was adorning Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey,
Our days, and put one's servants into mourning. And merely practised as a sea-attorney.
VIII.

XV.
There's doubtless something in domestic doings The good old gentleman had been detain'd

Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis ; By winds and waves, and some important captures,
Romances paint at full length people's wooings, And, in the hope of more, at sea remain'd,
But only give a bust of marriages ;

Although a squall or two had damped his raptures For no one cares for matrimonial cooings. By swamping one of the prizes; he had chain'd

There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss; His prisoners, dividing them like chapters, Think you, if Laura had teen Petrarch's wife, In number'd lots; they all had cuffs and collars, He would have written sonnets all his life? And averaged each from ten to a hundred dollars.

IX.

XVI. All tragedies are finish'd by a death,

Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan, All comedies are ended by a marriage;

Among his friends the Mainots; some he sold The future states of both are left to faith, To his Tunis correspondents, save one man

For authors fear description might disparage Toss'd overboard unsaleable, (being old ;) The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath, [riage, The rest—save here and there some richer one,

And then both worlds would punish their miscar- Reserved for future ransom in the hold, -
So leaving each their priest and prayer-book ready, Were link'd alike; as for the common people, he
They say no more of Death or of the Lady. Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli.
X.

XVII.
The only two that in my recollection

The merchandise was served in the same way, Hare sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, are, Pieced out for different marts in the Levant, Dante and Milton, and of both the affection Except some certain portions of the prey,

Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar Light classic articles of female want, Of fault or temper ruin'd the connexion,

French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toothpicks, teapot, tray, (Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to mar ;) Guitars and castanets from Alicant, But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve

All which selected from the spoil he gathers, Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive. Robb’d for his daughter by the best of fathers. XI.

XVIII.
Some persons say that Dante meant theology A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw,
By Beatrice, and not a mistress-1,

Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens,
Although my opinion may require apology, He chose from several animals he saw-
Deem this a commentator's phantasy,

A terrier too, which once had been a Briton's, Unless indeed 'twas from his own knowledge he Who dying on the coast of Ithica,

Decided thus, and show'd good reason why; The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics These to secure in this strong blowing weather, Meant to personify the mathematics.

He caged in one huge hamper altogether.
XII.

XIX.
Haidee and Juan were not married, but

Then having settled his marine affairs,
The fault was theirs, not mine : it is not fair, Despatching single cruisers here and there,
Chaste reader, then, in any way to put

His vessel having need of some repairs,
The blame on me, unless you wish they were ; He shaped his course to where his daughter fair,
Then, if you'l have them wedded, please to shut Continued still her hospitable cares :

The book which treats of this erroneous pair, But that part of the coast being shoal and bare, Before the consequences grow too awful

And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile, 'Tis dangerous to read of loves unlawful.

His port lay on the other side o' the isle.
XIII.

XX.
Yet they were happy,-happy in the illicit And there he went ashore without delay,
Indulgence of their innocent desires ;

Having no custom-house or quarantine
But, more imprudent grown with every visit, To ask him awkward questions on the way,
Haidee forgot the island was her sire's;

About the time and place where he had been;
When we have what we like, 'tis hard to miss it, He left his ship to be hove down next day,
At least in the beginning, ere one tires ;

With orders to the people to careen ;
Thus she came often, not a moment losing, So that all hands were busy beyond mcasure,
Whilst her piratical papa was cruising.

\In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treasure.

XXI.

XXVIII. Arriving at the summit of a hill

And as the spot where they appear he nears Which overlook'd the white walls of his home, Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling, He stopp'd.—What singular emotions fill He hears-alas! no music of the spheres,

Their bosoms who have been induced to roam ! But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling! With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill- A melody which made him doubt his ears,

With love for many, and with fears for some; The cause being past his guessing or unriddling; All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost, A pipe too and a drum, and, shortly after, And bring our hearts back to their starting-post. A most unoriental roar of laughter. XXII.

XXIX. The approach of home to husbands and to sires, And still more nearly to the place advancing, After long travelling by land or water,

Descending rather quickly the declivity, Most naturally some small doubt inspires- Through the waved branches, o'er the greensward A female family's a serious matter;

'Midst other indications of festivity, [glancing, (None trusts the sex more, or so much admires, Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing

But they hate flattery, so I never flatter ;) Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler, Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial, And daughters sometimes run off with the butler. To which the Levantines are very partial.

XXIII.
.

XXX.
An honest gentleman at his return

And further on a group of Grecian girls, May not have the good fortune of Ulysses : The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn, Were strung together like a row of pearls;

Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses ; Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each too having The odds are that he finds a handsome urn Down her white neck long floating auburn curls

To his memory, and two or three young misses (The least of which would set ten poets raving,) Born to some friend, who holds his wife and riches, Their leader sang-and bounded to her song, And that his Argus bites him by-the breeches. With choral step and voice, the virgin throng. XXIV.

XXXI. If single, probably his plighted fair

And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays, Has in his absence wedded some rich miser ; Small social parties just begun to dine; But all the better, for the happy pair

Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze, May quarrel, and the lady growing wiser,

And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine, He may resume his amatory care

And sherbet cooling in the porous vase; As cavalier servente, or despise her ;

Above them their dessert grew on its vine, And, that his sorrow may not be a dumb one, The orange and the pomegranate, nodding o'er, Writes odes on the inconstancy of woman Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow

store. XXV.

XXXII. And oh! ye gentlemen who have already A band of children, round a snow-white ram, Some chaste liason of the kind- I mean

There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers; An honest friendship for a married lady- While peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb, The only thing of this sort ever seen

The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers To last-of all connexions the most steady, His sober head, majestically tame,

And the true Hymen (the first's but a screen)- Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers Yet for all that keep not too long away;

His brow is if in act to butt, and then, I've known the absent wrong'd four times a day. Yielding to their small hands, draws back again XXVI.

XXXIII. Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had

Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses, Much less experience of dry land than ocean, Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks, On seeing his own chimney smoke, felt glad ; Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses,

But not knowing metaphysics, had no notion The gesture which enchants, the eye that speaks, of the true reason of his not being sad,

The innocence which happy childhood blesses, Or that of any other strong emotion; [her, Made quite a picture of these little Greeks; He loved his child, and would have wept the loss of So that the philosophical beholder But knew the cause no more than a philosopher. Sigh'd for their sakes-that they should e'er gron

older.
XXVII.

XXXIV.
He saw his white walls shining in the sun, Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales
His garden trees all shadowy and green ;

To a sedate gray circle of old smokers,
He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run,

Of secret treasures found in hidden vales, The distant dog-bark; and perceived between Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, The umbrage of the wood, so cool and dun, Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails,

The moving figures and the sparkling sheen Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers, Of arms, (in the East, all arm,) and various dyes Of magic ladies, who, by one sole act, Of color'd garbs, as bright as butterflies.

Transform'd their lords to beasts, (but that's a fact'

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XXXV.

XLII.
Here was no lack of innocent diversion

Advancing to the nearest dinner-tray,
For the imagination or the senses,

Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest,
Song, dance, wiue, music, stories from the Persian, With a peculiar smile, which, by the way.

All pretty pastime in which no offence is; Boded no good, whatever it express’d,
But Lambro saw all these things with aversion, He ask'd the meaning of this holiday?
Perceiving in his absence such expenses,

The vinous Greek to whom he had address'd Dreading that climax of all human ills,

His question, much too merry to divine
The inflammation of his weekly bills.

The questioner, filld up a glass of wine,
XXXVI.

XLIII.
Ah! what is man? what perils still environ And, without turning his facetious head,
The happiest mortals even after dinner-

Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air,
A day of gold from out an age of iron

Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said, Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner;

“Talking's dry work, I have no time to spare." Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least's) a siren, A second hiccup'd, “Our old master's dead,

That lures to flay alive the young beginner; You'd better ask our mistress, who's his heir.” Lambro's reception at his people's banquet “Our mistress !"-quoth a third : “Our mistress Was such as fire accords to a wet blanket.

You mean our master-not the old, but new." (pooh!

XXXVII.

XLIV. He-being a man who seldom used a word These rascals, being new comers, knew not whom Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise They thus address'd-and Lambro's visage felt(In general he surprised men with the sword) And o'er his eye a momentary gloom

His daughter-had not sent before to advise Pass'd, but he strove quite courteously to quell Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd;

The expression, and, endeavoring to resume And long he paused to reassure his eyes,

His smile, requested one of them to tell In fact much more astonish'd than delighted, The name and quality of his new patron, To find so much good company invited.

Who seem'd to have turn'd Haidee into a matron. XXXVIII.

XLV. He did not know (alas ! how men will lie) “I know not," quoth the fellow, “who or what That a report (especially the Greeks)

He is, nor whence he came-and little care ; Avouch'd his death, (such people never die,) But this I know, that this roast capon's fat,

And put his house in mourning several weeks. And that good wine ne'er wash'd down better fare;'
But now their eyes and also lips were dry ; And if you are not satisfied with that,

The bloom, too, had return'd to Haidee's cheek; Direct your questions to my neighbor there;
Her tears, too, being return'd into their fount, He'll answer all for better or for worse,
She now kept house upon her own account. For none likes more to hear himself converse."
XXXIX.

XLVI.
Hence all this rice, meat, dancing, wine, and fiddling, I said that Lambro was a man of patience,

Which turn'd the isle into a place of pleasure ; And certainly he show'd the best of breeding,
The servants all were getting drunk or idling, Which scarce even France, the paragon of nations

A life which made them happy beyond measure. E'er saw her most polite of sons exceeding; Her father's hospitality seem'd middling,

He bore these sneers against his near relations,
Compared with what Haidee did with his treasure ; His own anxiety, his heart, too, bleeding,
'Twas wonderful how things went on improving, The insults, too, of every servile glutton,
While she had not one hour to spare from loving. Who all the time was eating up his mutton.
XL.

XLVII.
Perhaps you think in stumbling on this feast Now in a person used to much command-
He flew into a passion, and in fact

To bid men come, and go, and come again, There was no mighty reason to be pleased ; To see his orders done, too, out of handPerhaps you prophecy some sudden act,

Whether the word was death, or but the chain. The whip, the rack, or dungeon at the least, It may seem strange to find his manners bland; To teach his people to be more exact,

Yet, such things are, which I cannot explain, And that, proceeding at a very high rate,

Though doubtless he who can command himself
He show'd the royal penchants of a pirate. Is good to govern-almost as a Guelf.
XLI.

XLVIII.
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;

But never in his real and serious mood;
With such true breeding of a gentleman,

Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow, You never could divine his real thought;

He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood; No courtier could, and scarcely woman can With him it never was a word and blow. Gird more deceit within a petticoat;

His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood, Pity he loved adventurous life's variety

But in his silence there was much to rue, He was so great a loss to good society

And his one blow left little work for trco.

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XLIX.

LVI.
He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime
On to the house, but by a private way,

Shed its Ionian elegance, which show'd
So that the few who met him hardly heeded, Its power unconsciously full many a time,-
So little they expected hiin that day;

A taste seen in the choice of his abode,
If love paternal in his bosom pleaded

A love of music and of scenes sublime,
For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say, A pleasure in the gentle stream that flow'd
But certainly to one, deem'd dead, returning, Past him in crystals, and a joy in flowers,
This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning. Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours.
L.

LVII.
If all the dead could now return to life,

But whatsoe'er he had of love, reposed (Which God forbid !) or some, or a great many; On that beloved daughter; she had been For instance, if a husband or his wife,

The only thing which kept his heart unclosed (Nuptial examples are as good as any,)

Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen,
No doubt whate'er might be their former strife,

A lonely pure affection unopposed :
The present weather would be much more rainy- There wanted but the loss of this to wean
Tears shed into the grave of the connexion His feelings from all milk of human kindness,
Would share most probably its resurrection. And turn him, like the Cyclops, mad with blindness
LI.

LVIII.
He enter'd in the house, no more his home, The cubless tigress in her jungle raging

A thing to human feelings the most trying, Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock;
And harder for the heart to overcome

The ocean when its yeasty war is waging
Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying; Is awful to the vessel near the rock:
To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb, But violent things will sooner bear assuaging-

And round its once warm precincts palely lying Their fury being spent by its own shock-
The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief,

Than the stern, single, deep, and worldless ire
Beyond a single gentleman's belief.

Of a strong human heart, and in a sire.
LII.

LIX.
He enter'd in the house-his home no more, It is hard, although a common case,

For without hearts there is no home-and felt To find our children running restive-they
The solitude of passing his own door

In whom our brightest days we would retrace, Without a welcome; there he long had dwelt, Our little selves reformed in finer clay; There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er, Just as old age is creeping on apace,

There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, Over the innocence of that sweet child,

They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,
His only shrine of feelings undefiled.

But in good company—the gout or stone.
LIII.

LX.
He was a man of a strange temperament, Yet a fine family is a fine thing,

Of mild demeanor though of savage mood, (Provided they don't come in after dinner :)
Moderate in all his habits, and content

"Tis beautiful to see a matron bring With temperance in pleasure, as in food,

Her children up, (if nursing them don't thin her;) Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and meant Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling,

For something better, if not wholly good; To the fireside, (a sight to touch a sinner:)
His country's wrongs and his despair to save her A lady with her daughter or her nieces
Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver. Shine like a guinea and seven shilling pieces.
LIV.

LXI.
The love of power, and rapid gain of gold, Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate,
The hardness by long habitude produced,

And stood within his hall at eventide ;
The dangerous life in which he had grown old, Meantime the lady and her lover sate
The mercy he had granted oft abused,

At wassail in their beauty and their pride : The sights he was accustom'd to behold,

An ivory inlaid table spread with state
The wild seas and wild men with whom he cruised, Before them, and fair slaves on every
Had cost his enemies a long repentance,

Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly,
And made him a good friend, but bad acquaintance. Mother-of-pearl and coral the less costly.
LV.

LXII.
But something of the spirit of old Greece The dinner made about a hundred dishes;
Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays,

Lamb and pistachio-nuts-in short, all meats,
Such as lit onward to the golden fleece

And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fisked His predecessors in the Colchian days:

Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets, Tis true he had no ardent love for peace; Dress'd to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes;

Alas! his country show'd no path to praise: The beverage was various sherbets flate to the world and war with every nation of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice, [use. He waged, in rengeance of her degredation. 'Squeezed through the rind which makes it best for

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