But being naked, she was shock'd, you know,
Yet deem'd herself in common pity bound,
As far as in her lay, « to take him in,
K A stranger» dying, with so white a skin.

CXXX.

But taking him into her father's house
Was not exactly the best way to save,
But like conveying to the cat the mouse,
Or people in a trance into their grave;
Because the good old man had so much « vove, »
Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave,
He would have hospitably cured the stranger,
And sold him instantly when out of danger.

CXXXI.

And therefore, with her maid, she thought it best. (A virgin always on her maid relies)

To place him in the cave for present rest:

And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes, Their charity increased about their guest;

And their compassion grew to such a size, It open'd half the turnpike-gates to heaven(St. Paul says 'tis the toll which must be given.)

CXXXII.

They made a fire, but such a fire as they
Upon the moment could contrive, with such
Materials as were cast up round the bay,
Some broken planks, and oars, that to the touch
Were nearly tinder, since so long they lay

A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch;

But, by God's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty, That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty.

CXXXIII.

He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse,

For Haidee stripp'd her sables off to make
His couch; and, that he might be more at ease,
And warm, in case by chance he should awake,
They also gave a petticoat apiece,

She and her maid, and promised by daybreak
To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish

For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish.
CXXXIV.

And thus they left him to his lone

repose : Juan slept like a top, or lik the dead,

Who sleep at last, perhaps, (God only knows)
Just for the present; and in his lull'd head
Not even a vision of his former woes

Throbb'd in accursed dreams, which sometimes spread Unwelcome visions of our former years,

Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears.

CXXXV.

Young Juan slept all dreamless :-but the maid,
Who smooth'd his pillow, as she left the den
Look'd back upon him, and a moment staid,
And turn'd, believing that he call'd again.
He slumber'd; yet she thought, at least she said,
(The heart will slip even as the tongue and pen)
He had pronounced her name-but she forgot
That at this moment Juan knew it not.

CXXXVI.

And pensive to her father's house she went,
Enjoining silence strict to Zoe, who

Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant,
She being wiser by a year or two:

A year or two's an age when rightly spent,
And Zoë spent hers, as most women do,
In gaining all that useful sort of knowledge
Which is acquired in nature's good old college.

CXXXVII.

The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering still
Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon
His rest; the rushing of the neighbouring rill,
And the young beams of the excluded sun,
Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill;
And need he had of slumber yet, for none
Had suffer'd more-his hardships were comparative
To those related in my grand-dad's Narrative.

CXXXVIII.

Not so Haidee; she sadly toss'd and tumbled,
And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er,
Dream'd of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she stumbled,
And handsome corpses strew'd upon the shore;
And woke her maid so early that she grumbled,

And call'd her father's old slaves up, who swore In several oaths-Armenian, Turk, and Greek,They knew not what to think of such a freak.

But up she got,

and up

CXXXIX.

she made them get, With some pretence about the sun, that makes Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set;

And 'tis, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are wet With mist, and every bird with him awakes, And night is flung off like a mourning suit Worn for a husband, or some other brute.

CXL.

I say, the sun is a most glorious sight,
I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of late
I have sat up on purpose all the night,

Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fate
And so all ye, who would be in the right

;

In health and purse, begin your day to date From day-break, and when coffin'd at fourscore, Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four.

CXLI.

And Haidee met the morning face to face;
Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush
Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race
From heart to cheek is curb'd into a blush,
Like to a torrent which a mountain's base,
That overpowers some alpine river's rush,
Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread;
Or the Red Sea-but the sea is not red.

CXLII.

And down the cliff the island virgin came,
And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew,
While the sun smiled on her with his first flame,
And young Aurora kiss'd her lips with dew,
Taking her for a sister; just the same

Mistake you would have made on seeing the two,
Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair,
Had all the advantage too of not being air.

CXLIII.

And when into the cavern Haidee stepp'd
All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
That like an infant Juan sweetly slept;

And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe,

(For sleep is awful) and on tiptoe crept

And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw,

Should reach his blood, then o'er him still as death Bent, with hush'd lips, that drank his scarce-drawn breath. CXLIV.

And thus like to an angel o'er the dying

Who die in righteousness, she lean'd; and there All tranquilly the shipwreck'd boy was lying, As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air: But Zoë the meantime some eggs was frying, Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair Must breakfast, and betimes-lest they should ask it, She drew out her provision from the basket.

CXLV.

She knew that the best feelings must have victual,
And that a shipwreck'd youth would hungry be;
Besides, being less in love, she yawn'd a little,
And felt her veins chill'd by the neighbouring sea;
And so, she cook'd their breakfast to a tittle;
I can't say that she gave them any tea,

But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey,
With Scio wine and all for love, not money.

CXLVI.

And Zoë, when the eggs were ready, and
The coffee made, would fain have waken'd Juan;
But Haidee stopp'd her with her quick small hand,
And without word, a sign her finger drew on
Her lip, which Zoë needs must understand;

And, the first breakfast spoilt, prepared a new one, Because her mistress would not let her break

That sleep which seem'd as it would ne'er awake.