UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES s V \ DON JUAN. '* Difficile est proprie communia dicere." Hon. Epist. ad Pison. AN EXACT COPY FROM THE QUARTO EDITION. k\ v%Wv\«hh%«%v\«\%\«\ LONDON PUBLISHED BY J. ONWHYN, NO. 4, CATHERINE-STREET, STRAND. Price Four Shillings. 1S19. 93 3 3 13 to 03 *t%U*M»\v\Vki*< DON JUAN. »>\SiWv»- CANTO I. *»W«V»»*V*«V»»»«»v\v»WV»M»»VtV»V»>»V\*%»»«»V\»*»tWM»1 CO CO OS C3 a as «*: 3: .'iOlUGH DON JUAN. CANTO 1. I. I want a hero : an uncommon want, When every year and month sends forth a new one, Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The age discovers he is not the true one ; Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan, We all have seen him in the Pantomime Sent to the devil, somewhat ere his time. II. Vernon,, the hutcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke, Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgnyne, Keppel, Howe, Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk, And fill'd their sign-posts then, like Wellesley now ; Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk, Followers of fame, " nine farrow" of that sow : France, too, had Buonaparte and Dumourier, Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier. III. Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau, Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette, Were French, and famous people, as we know ; And there were others, scarce forgotten yet, Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Dessaix, Moreau, With many of the military set, Exceedingly remarkable at times, But not at all adapted to my rhymes. B 6 DON JUAN. can. J. N IV. Nelson was ouce Britannia's god of war. And still should be so, but the tide is lurn'd ; There's no more to be said of Trafalgar, 'Tis with our hero quietly inurn'd ; Because the army's grown more popular, At which the naval people are concern'd : Besides, the Prince is all for the land-service, Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis. V. Brave men were living before Agamemnon (1) And since, exceeding valorous and sage, A good deal like him too, though quite the same none ; But then (hey shone not on the poet's page, And so have been forgotten : — I condemn none, But can't find any in the present age Fit for my poem, (that is for my new one) ; So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan. VI. Most epic poets plunge in " medias res," (Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road) And then your hero tells, whene'er you please, What went before — by way of episode, While seated after dinner at his ease, Beside his mistress in some soft abode, Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern, Which serves the happy couple for a tavern. VII. That is the usual method, but not mine — My way is to begin with the beginning; The regularity of my design Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinniug, And therefore I shall open with a line (Although it cost me half an hour in spinning) Nat^ating somewhat of Don Juan's father, And also of his mother, if you'd rather. can. t. DON JUAN. VIH. Jn Seville was he bom, a pleasant city, Famous for oranges and women — he Who has not seen it will be much to pity, So says the proverb — awl I quite agree; Of all the Spanish towns there is none more pretty, Cadiz perhap3 — but that you soon may set : Don Juan's parent's lived beside the river, A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir. IX. His father's name was J6se — Don, of course, A true Hidalgo, free from every stain Of Moor or IJjilirtiW-hlDiixU_]ie.txaxejd_his sourse, Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain ! A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse, Or, being mounted, e'er got down again, Than Jose, who begot our hero, who liegot — but that's to come Well, to renew : X. His mother was a learned lady, famed For every branch of every science known — In every christian language ever named, With virtues equall'd by her wit alone, She made the cleverest people quite ashamed, And even the good with inward envy groan, Finding themselves ao very much exceeded In their own way by all the things that she did. XI. Her memory was a mine : she knew by heart AH Cahleron and greater part of Lop£, So that if any actor miss'd his part She could have served hi in lor a prompter's copy ; For her l - 'eiiia:;le's were an useless art, And he himself obliged to shut up shop — he Could never make a memory so fine as That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inez. 8 DON JUAN'. can. I. XII. Her favourite science was the mathematical, Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity, Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all, Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity ; In short, in all things she was fairly what I call A prodigy — her morning dress was dimity, Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin, And other stuff's, with which 1 won't stay puzzling. XIII. She knew the Latin— that is, " the Lord's prayer," And Greek — the alphabet — I'm nearly sure ; She read some French Romances here and there, Although her mode of speaking was not pure ; For native Spanish she had no great care, At least her conversation was obscure ; Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem, As if she deem'd that mystery would enuoble 'em. XIV. She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue, And said there was analogy between 'em ; She proved it somehow out of sacred song, But I must leave the proofs to those who've seen 'em ; But this 1 heard her say, and can't be wrong. And all may think which way their judgments lean 'em, " 'Tis strange — the Hebrew noun which means ' I am,' " The English always use to govern d— • n." XV. ****** ****** can. I. DON JUAN. XVI. In short, she was a walking calculation, Miss Edffeworth's novels stepping 1 from their covers, Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education, Or " Ccelebs' Wife" set out in quest of lovers, Morality's prim personification, In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers, To others' share let " female errors fall," For she had not even one — the worst of all. XV 11. Oh ! she was perfect past all parallel — Of any modern Telnafe saint's comparison ; So far above the cunning' powers of hell, Her guardian angel had given up his garrison ; Even her minutest motions went as well As those of the best time-piece made by Harrison : In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine " incomparable oil," Macassar! (2) XVIII. Perfect she was, but as perfection is Insipid in this naughty world of our=:, Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers, Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss, (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours) Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve, Went plucking various fruit without her leave. XIX. He was a mortal of the careless kind, With no great love for learning, orThe learn'd, Who chose to go where'er he had a mind, And never dream'd his lady was concern'd : The world, as usual, wickedly inclined To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd, Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two, But for domestice quarrels one will do. 10 DON JUAN. can. i XX. Now Donna Fnez had, with all her merit, A great opinion of her own g^ood qualities : Neglect, indeed, requires a saint in bear it, And such, indeed, she was in her moralities ; But then she had a devil of a spirit. And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities. And let few opportunities escape Of getting her liege lord into a scrape. XXI. This was an easy matter with a man Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard ; And even the wisest, do the best they can, Have moments, hours, and days, so unprepared, That you might " brain them with their lady's fan;'' And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard, And fans turn into falchions in fair hands, And why and wherefore no one understands. xxir. 'Tis pity learned virgins ever wed With persons of no sort of education, Or gentlemen, who, though well-born and bred, Grow tired of scientific conversation : 1 don't choose to say much upon this head, I'm a plain man, and in a single station, But — Oh ! ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform as truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all ? XXIII. Don J6se and his lady quarrell'd — ichy, Not any of the many could divine, Though several thousand people chose to try, 'Twas surely no concern of theirs nor mine ; I loathe that low vice curiosity, But if there's any thing in which 1 shine 'Tis in arranging all my friends' affairs, Not having, of my own, domestic cares. cah. i. DON JUAN. 11 XXIV. And so I interfered, and with the hest Intentions, but their treatment was not kind ; I think the foolish people were possess'd, For neither of them could I ever find, Although their porter afterwards confess'd— But that's no matter, and the worst's behind, For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs, A pail of housemaid's water unawares. XXV. A lit tle curly-headed, g ood for-nothing. A nd mischief-making monkey from his birt h ; His parents ne'er agreed except in doting Upon the most unquiet imp_on earth, Instead of quarrelling, had they been but both in Their senses, they'd have sent young master forth To school, or had him soundly whipp'd at home, To teach him manners for the time to come. XXVI. Don Jose and the Donna Inez led For some time an unhappy sort of life, Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead ; They lived respectably as man and wife, Their conduct was exceedingly wel l-bred, And gave no outward signs of inward strife, Until at length the smother'd fire broke out, And put the business past all kind of doubt. XXVII. For Inez call'd some druggists and physicians, And tried to prove her loving lord was mud, But as he had some lucid intermissions, She next decided he was only bad ; Vet when they ask'd her for her depositions, No sort of explanation could be had, Save that her duty both to man and God Required this conduct — which seem'd very odd. 12 DON JUAN. can. i. XXVIII, She kept a journal, where his faults were noted, And open'd certain trunks of books and letters, All which might, if occasion served, be quoted ; And then she had all Seville for abettors, Besides her good old grandmother (who doted) ; The hearers of her case bacame repeaters, Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges, Some for amusement, others for old grudges, XXIX. And then this best and meekest woman bore With such serenity her husband's woes, Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore, Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chosfe Never to say a word about them more — Calmly she hear each calumny that rose, And saw his agonies with such sublimity, That all the world exclaim'd, " What magnanimity ! XXX. No doubt, this patience, when the world is damning us, Is philosophic in our former friends ; 'Tis also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous, The more so in obtaining our own ends ; And what the lawyers call a malus animus," Conduct like this by no means comprehends: Revenge in person's certainly no virtue, But then 'tis not my fault, if others hurt you. XXXI. And if our quarrels should rip up old stories, And help them with a lie or two additional ; I'm not to blame, as you well know, no more is Any one else — they were become traditional; Besides, their resurrection aids our glories By contrast which is what we just were wishing all: And science profits by this resurrection — Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection. can. i DON JUAN. 13 XXXII. Their friends had tried at reconciliation, Then their relations, who made matters worse ! ('Twere hard to tell upon a like occasion To whom it may be best to have recourse — I can't say much for friend or yet relation) : The lawyers did their lit moot for divorce, But scarce a fee was paid on either side Before, unluckily Don Juse died. XXXIII. He died : and most unluckily, because, According to all hints 1 could collect From counsel learned in those kinds of laws, (Although their talk's obscure and circumspect) His death contrived to spoil a charming cause ; A thousand pities also with respect To public feeling, which on this occasion Was manifested in a great sensation. XXXIV. But ah ! he died ; and buried with him lay The public feeling and the lawyers' fees : His house was sold, his servants sent away, A Jew took one of his two mistresses, A priest the other — at least so they say ; I ask'd the doctors after his disease, He died of the slow fever, call'd the tertian, And left his widow to her own aversion. XXXV. Yet Jose was an honourable man, That I must say, who knew him very well : Therefore his frailties I'll no further scan, Indeed (here were not many more to tell ; Arid if his passions now and then outran Discretion, and were not so peaceable As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius), He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious. ( 14 DON JUAN, can. i. XXXVI. Wbate'er might be his worthlessness or worth, Poor fellow ! he had many things to wound him, Let's own, since it can do no good on earth ; It was a trying moment that which found him Standing alone beside Jus dtisolate earth ; Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round him ; No choice was left his feelings or his pride Save death or Doctors' Commons — so he died. XXXVII. Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands, Which, with a long minority and care, Promised to turn out well in proper hands : Inez became sole guardian, which was fair, And answer'd but to nature's just demands ; An only son left with an only mother IsTbrouglit up much more wisely than another. XXXVIII. Sagest of women, even of widows, she Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon, And wortliy of thejjoldestj2£digrje£-i (His sire was of Castile, his dam from Arragon). Then for accomplishments of chivalry, In case our lord the king should go to war again, He learn'd the arts_of_riding, fencings jyinnery, And how to scale a fortress — or a.Jiunnsry. XXXIX. But that which Donna Inez most desired, And saw into herself each day before all The learned tutors whom for him she hired, Was, that hi£lM^d[n^shou|dbe stri ctly mora jj_ Much into all his studies she inquired. And so they were submitted first to her, all, Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery To Juan's eyes, excepting natural history can. i. DON JUAN. 15 XL. The languages, especially the dead, ""The sciences, and most of all llie abstruse, T he ar ts, .at least all such as~could be said To be the most remote from common use, In all these he was much and deeply read ; But not a page of any thing that's loose, Or hints continuation of the species, Was ever suffer'd, lest he should grow vicious. XLI. His classic studies made a little puzzle, Because of filthy loves of gods and goddesses, Who in the earlier ages raised a hustle, But never put on pantaloons or boddices; His reverend tutors had at times a tussle, And for their iEneids, Iliads, and Odysseys, Were forced to make an odd sort of apology, For Donna Inez dreaded the mythology. XLII. Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him, Anacrcon's morals are a still worse sample, Catullus scarcely~has a decent poem, 1 don't think Sappho's Ode a good example, Although (3) Longinus tells us there is no hymn Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample ; But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one Beginning with " Formosum Pastor t'orydon." XLII!. Lucretius' irreligion is too strong For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food ; I can't help thinking Juvenal was wrong, Although no doubt his real intent was good, For speaking out so plainly in his song, So much indeed as to be downright rude; And then what proper person can be partial To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial i 16 DON JUAN. can. i. XL1V. Juan was taught from out the best edition, Expurgated by learned men, who place, Judiciously from out the schoolboy's vision, The grosser parts ; but fearful to deface Too much their modest bard by this omission, And pitying sore his mutilated case, They only add them all in an appendix, (4) Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index ; XLV. For there we have them all at one fell swoop, Instead of being scatter'd through the pages ; They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop, To meet ibe ingenuous youth of future ages, Till some less rigid editor shall toop To call them back into their separate cages, Instead of standing staring altogether, Like garden gods — and not so decent either. XLVI. The Missal too (it was the family Missal) Was ornamented in a sort of way Which ancient mass-books often are, and this all Kinds of grotesques illumined ; a»d how they, Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all, Could turn their optics to the text and pray Is more than 1 know — but Don Juan's mother Kept this herself, and gave her son another. XLVII. Sermons he read, and lectures he endured, And homilies, and lives of all the saints; To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured, He did not take such studies for restraints ; But how faith is acquired, and then insured So well not one of the aforesaid paints As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions, Which make the reader envy his transgressions, can. i. DON JUAN. 17 XLVIII. This, too, was a seal'd book to little Juan — I can't but say that his mamma was right, If such an education was the true one. She scarcely trusted him from out her sight; Her maids were old, and if she took a new one You might be sure she was a perfect fright, She did this during even her husband's life — 1 recommend as much to every wife. xux. Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace ; At six a charming child, and at eleven - With all the promise of as fine a face As e'er to man's maturer growth was given; He studied steadily, and grew apace, And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven, For half his d;iys were pass'd at church, the other Between his tutors, confessor, and mother. L. At six, I said, he was a charnrisg child, At twelve he was^Tfine, iJnt quiet-boy-; Although in infancy a little wild, They tamed him down amongst them ; . to destroy His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd, At least it seem'd so ; and his mother's joy Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady, Her young philosopher was grown already. LI. I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still, But what I say is neither here nor there: I knew his father well, and have some skill In character — but it would not be fair From sire to son to augur good or ill: He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair — But scandal's my aversion — I protest Against all evil speaking, even in jest. 18 DON JUAN. can. i. LI I. For my part I say nothing — nothing — but This I will say — my reasons are my own — t That if 1 had an only son to put To school (as God be praised that I have none) *Tis not with Donna Inez 1 would shut Him up to learn his cetechisra alone, No — no — I'd send him out betimes to college, For there it was 1 pick'd up my own knowledge. LIU. For there one learns — 'tis not for me to boast, Though I acquired — but I pass over that, As well as all the Greek I since have lost : I say that there's the place — but " Verbum sat" I think, I pick'd up too, as well as most, Knowledge of matters — but no matter uhat— I never married — but 1 think, I know That sons should not be educated so. II V. Young Juan now was sixteen years of age, Tall, handsome, slender,_but well knit ! he seem'd Active, though not so sprightly as a page ; And every body but his mother deem'd Him almost man ; but she flew in a rage, And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd), If any said so, for to be precocious Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious. LV. Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all Selected for discretion and devotion, There was the Donna Julia, whom to call Pretty were but to give a feeble notion Of many charms in her as natural As sweetness to the flower, or salt to ocean, Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid, (But this last simile is trite and stupid. cah. i. DON JUAN. 19 LVI. The darkness of her oriental eye Accorded with her Moorish origin ! (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by ; In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin.) When proud Grenada fell, and, forced to fly, Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin Some went to Africa, some staid iu Spain, Her great great grandmamma chose to remain. LVI I. She married (I forget the pedigree) With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down His blood less noble than such blood should be ; At such alliances his sires would frown, In that point so precise in each degree That th^y bred in and in, as might be shown, Marrying their cousins — nay, their aunts and nieces, Which always spoils the breed, if it increases. LVI 1 1. This heathenish cross restored the breed again, Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh ; For, from a root, the ugliest in Old Spain Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh ; The sons no more were short, the daughters plain : But there's a rumour which 1 fain would hush, 'Tis said that Donna Julia's grandmamma Produced her Don more heirs at love than law. L1X. However this might be, the race went on Improving still through every generation, Until it center'd in an only son, Who left an only daughter ; my narration May have suggested that this single one Could l^ebrrt Julia _— — - — , Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth ; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning ; she, in sooth, Possess'd an air and grace by no means common : Her stature tall — I hate a dumpy woman. LX1I. Wedded she was some years, and to a man Of fifty, ancTsuch husbands are in plenty ; And yet, 1 think, instead of such a •ne 'Twere better to have two of five and twenty, Especially in countries near the sun : And now 1 think on't, " mi vien in mente," Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty. LXIII. 'Tis a sad thing, 1 cannot choose but say, And all the fault of that indecent sun, Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay, But will keep baking, broiling, burning on, That howsoever people fast and pray The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone : What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, Is roach mo*e common where the climate's sultry. can. i. DON JUAN. '21 1.XIV. Happy the nations of the moral north ! Where all is virtue, and the winter season Sends sin, without a rag on, shivering forth ; (' Twas snow that brought St. Anthony to reason) ; Where juries cast up what a wife is worth 1W laying 1 whate'er sum, in mulct, they please on The lover, who must pay a handsome price, Because it is a marketable vice. I -XV. Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord, A man well looking for his years, and who Was neither much beloved, nor yet abhorrM ; They lived together as most people do, Su fieri n 2: each other's foibles by accord, And not exactly either one or two ; Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it. l.XVI. Julia was — yet I never could see why — With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend ; Between their tastes there was small sympathy, For not a line had Julia ever penn'd : Some people whisper (hut, no doubt (hey lie, For malice slill imputes some private end) That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage, Forgot wilii him her very [undent carriage ; 1 XVII. And that slill keeping up the old connexion, Which time bad lately r< nd< r'd much more chaste, SI t t ok bis lady also in affection, And c< ; lainly this course was much the best : Sh ■ (lit!, r'd Julia w iib her sage protection, And complimented Don Alfonso's taste; And if she could not (who cm :) sih nee scandal, At least sin: Lft it a more slender buuule. I) 22 DON JUAlX. can. i. LXVIII. I can't tell whether Julia saw the affair Wilh other people's eyes, or if her own Discoveries made, bat none rould be aware Of this at least no symptom e'er was shown ; Perhaps she did not know, or did not care, Indifferent from the first, or callous grown : I'm really puzzled what to think or say. She kept her counsel in so close a way. LXIX. Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child, Caress'd him often, such a thing might be Quite innocently done, and harmless styled, When she had twenty years, and thirteen he ; But I am not so sure I should have smiled When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three, These few short years make wondrous alterations, Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations. LXX. Whate'er the cause might be, they had become Changed"? for the dame grew distant, the youth shy, Theirjooks^cast down, their greetings almost dumb, And much embarrassment in either eye ; There~~suTety-will be little doubt with some TharDonna Julia knew the reason why. But-as-for-Juan, he had no more notion Than he who never saw the sea of ocean. LXXI. Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind, And tremulously gentle her small hand Withdrew itself from his, but left behind A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland And slight, so very light, that to the mind 'Twas but a doubt ; but ne'er magician's wand Wrought change with all Armada's fairy art Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart. can. i. DON JUAN. 23 LXXII. And if she met him, though she smiled no more, She look'd a sadness sweeter tbau her smile, As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store She must not own, but cherish'd more the while, For that compression in its burning core ; Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself wilh truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth. LXXII I. But passion most dissembles yet betrays Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays Its workings through the vainly guarded eye, And in whatever aspect it arrays Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy ; Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate, Are masks it often wears, and still too late. LXXIV. Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression, And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft, And burning blushes, though for no transgression, Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left; All these are little preludes to possession, Of which young Passion cannot be bereft, And merely tend to show how greatly Love is Embarrass'd at first starting with a novice. LXXV. Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state; She felt it g>ing, and resnhed to make The noblest efforts for herself and mate, For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake ; Her resolutions were most truly great, And almost might have made a Tarquin quake ; She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace, As being the best judge of a lady's case. 24 DON JUAN. can. i, LXXVI. She vow'd she never would see Juan more, And next day paid a visit to his mother, And look'd extremely at the opening door, Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another; Grate I'd she was, and yet a little sore — Again it opens, it can be no other, 'lis surely Juan now — No! I'm afraid That night the Virgin was no further pray'd. 1 XXV II. She now determined that a virtuous woman Should rather fact and overcome temptation, That flight was base aud dastardly, and nu man Should ever give her heart the least sensation; That is to say, a thought beyond the. common Preference, that we must feel upon occasion, For people who are pleasanter than others, But then they only seem so many brothers. LXXVI II. And even if by chance — and who can t.ll ? The devil's so very sly — she should discover That all within was not so very well, And, if still free, that such or such a lover Might please perhaps, a virtuous wife can (juell Such thoughts, and be the better when they're over; And if the man should ask; 'ti » but denial : I recommend young ladies to make tri; i. I XXIX. And there are such th'iigs as love divine, Bright and hnin :n!ate, unmix' d and pure, Such as the an ,els think s t rerv fine, And matrons, who w> u! 1 be :io ! ss secure, Platonic, perfect, ''j^t sue:: inve as mine :" Hi us Julia said — and th. it so, to he sure. And so I'd Lave bur thin!: 1 the man On whom tier reveries c\i>ol...i rau. can. r. DON JUAN. 25 1XXX. Such love is innocent, and may exiat Between young persons without any danger, A hand may first, and then a lip be kist ; I ; or my part, to such doings I'm a stranger, But hear those freedoms form the utmost list Of all o'er wh'u li such love may he a ranger ; If people go beyond, 'lis quite a crime,' But not ni)' fault — 1 tell them all in time. LXXXI. Love, then, but love within its proper limits, Was Jul a's innocent determination In you:,«; Don Juan's favour, and to him its Exertion might be useful on occasion ; And, lighted at too nim: a shrine to dim its Etherial lustre, with what sweet persuasion He might be taught, by love and her together — I really don't know what, nor Julia either. LXXXII. Fraught wilh Ibis fine intention, and well fenced In in nl of proof — her purity of soul, She, for the future of her strength convinced, And that her honour was a rock, or mole, Exceeding sagely from that hour dispensed With any kind of troublesome control; But whether Julia to the task was equal !•- that which must be m< ntion'd in the sequel. I XXX III. Her plan she deent'd both innocent and feasible, And, surely, with 1 stripling of sixteen Not scandal's lanes rouhl fix en much that's seizable, <*r if they did s'i, satisfied to mean Nothing but what was good, her breast was peaceable— A quiet conscience makes one so si rcne ! Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did. 26 DON JUAN, can. i. LXXX1V. And if in the mean time her husband died, But heaven forbid that such a thought should cross Her brain, though in a drea.n ! (and then she sigh'd) Never could she survive that common loss ; But just suppose that moment should betide, I only say suppose it — inter nos, (This should be enlre nous, for Julia thought In French, but then the rhyme would go for nought.) LXXXV. I only say suppose this supposition : Juan being then grown up to man's estate Would fully suit a widow of condition, Even seven years hence it would not be too late I And in the interim (to pursue this vision) The mischief, after all, could not be great, For he would learu the rudiments of love, I mean the seraph way of those above. LXXXVI. So much for Julia, Now we'll turn to Juan* Poor little fellow ! he had no idea Of his own case, and never hit the true one ; In feelings quick as Ovid's Miss Medea, He puzzled over what he found a new one, But not as yet imagined it could be a Thing quite in course, and not at all alarming, Which, with a little patience, might grow charming. LXXXVI1. Silent and pensive, idle, restless, slow, --HisJiame deserted for the lonely wood, ■^-JCoxniented with a wound he could not know, His, like all deep grief, plung'd in solitude : ^"fhft-fond myself of solitude or so, But then, I beg it may be understood, By solitude I mean a sultan's, not A hermit's, with a haram. for a grot. can. I. DON JUAN. 27 LXXXVIII. '* Oh Love ! in snch a wilderness as this, '• Where transport and security entwine, " Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, " And here thou art a god indeed divine." The bard I quote from does not sing amiss, (5) With the exception of the second line, For that same twining " transport and security" Are twisted to a phrase of some obscurity. LXXX1X. The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals To tlte good sense and stiises of mankind, The very thing which every body feels, As all have found on trial, or may find, That no one likes to be disturb'd at meals Or love. — I won't say more about " entwined" Or " transport," as we knew all that before, But beg " Security" wili bolt the door. XC. Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks Thinking unutterable things ; he threw Himself at length within the leafy nooks Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew ; There poets find materials for their books, And every now and then we read them through, So that their plan and prosody are eligible, Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible. XCI. He, Juan_[and not Wordsworth] so pursued His self-communion with his own high soul, Until his mighty heart, in its great mood, Had mitigated part, though not the whole Of hs disease ; he did the best he could With things not very subject to control, And turn'd, without perceiving his condition, Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician. 28 DON JUAN. can. i. t XCI1. He thought ahout himself, and the whole earth, Of man the wonderful, and of the stars, And how the deuce they ever could have birth ; And then he thought of earthquakes, and of war?, How many miles the moon might have in girth, Of air-balloons, and of the many bars To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies ; And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes. XC11I. In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern Longings sublime, and aspirations high, Which some are born with, but the most part learn To plague themselves withal, they know not why : 'Twas strange that one s<-> young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky ; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, 1 can't help thinking puberty assisted. XCIV. He pored upon the leaves, and on the flowers, And heard a voice in all the winds ; and then He thought of wood nymphs and immortal bowers, And how the goddesses came down to men: He miss'd the pathway, he forgot the hours, And when he look'd upon his watch again, He found how much old Time had been a winner — He also found that he had lost his dinner. xc\ r . Sometimes he turn'd to gaze upon his book, Boscan, or Garcilusso ; — by the wind Even as the page is rustled while we look, So by the poesy of his own mind Ovor the- mystic leaf his soul was shook, As if 'twere one whereon magicians bind Their spells, and give to the passing gale, ■ According to some good old woman's tale. caw. i. DON JUAN. 29 XCVI. Thus would he while his lonely hours away Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted ; Nor glowing reverie, nor poets lay, Could yield his spirit that for which it panted, A bosom whereon he his head might lay, And hear the heart beat, with the love it granted, With several other things which I forget, Or which, at least, I need not mention yet. XCV1I. Those lonely walks, and lengthening reveries, Could not escape the gentle Julia's eyes ; She saw that Juan was not at his ease ; But that which chiefly may, and must surprise, Is, that the Donna Inez did not tease Her only son with question or surmise : Whether it was she did not see, or would not, Or, like all very clever people, could not. XCVIII. This may seem strange, but yet 'tis very common ; For instance — gentlemen, whose ladies take Leave to o'erslep the written rights of woman, And break the Which commandment is't they break ? (I have forgot the number, and think no man Should rashly quote, for fear of a mistake.) I say, when these same gentlemen are jealous, They make some blunder, which their ladies tell us. XCIX. A real husband always is suspicious, But still no less suspects in the wrong place, Jealous of some one who had no such wishes, Or pandering blindly to his own disgrace By harbouring some dear friend extremely vicious ; The last indeed's infallibly the case : And when the spouse and friend are gone off wholly, He wonders at their vice, and not his folly. E 30 DON JUAN. can. I. C. Thus parents also are at times short-sighted ; Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er discover, The while the wicked world beholds delighted, Youug Hopeful's mistress, or Miss Fanny's lover, Till some confounded escapade has blighted The plan of twenty years and all is over ; And then the mothor cries, the father swears, And wonders why the devil he got heirs. CI. But Inez was so anxious, and so clear Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion, She had some other motive much more near For leaving Juan to this new temptation ; But what that motive was, I sha'n't say here ; Perhaps to finish Juan's education, Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes, In case he thought his wife too great a prize. CII. It was upon a day, a summer's day ; — Summer's indeed a very dangerous season, And so is spring about the end of May ; The sun, no doubt, is the prevailing reason ; But whatsoe'er the cause is, one may say, And stand convicted of more truth than treason, That there are months which nature grows more merry in, March has has its hares, and May must have its heroine. cm. 'Twas on a Summer's day — the sixth of June : — Hike to be particular in dates, Not only of the age, and year, but moon ; They are a sort of post-house, where the Fates Change horses, making history change its tune, Then spur away o'er empires and o'er states, Leaving at last not much besides chronology, Excepting the post-obits of theology, can. r. DON JUAN. 31 CIV. 'Twas on the sixth of June, about the hour Of half-past six — perhaps still nearer seven, When Julia sate within as pretty a bower As e'er held houri in that heathenish heaven Described by Mahomet, and Anacreon Moore, To whom the lyre and laurels have been given, With all the trophies of triumphant song — He won them well, and may he wear them long I CV. She sate, but not alone ; I know not well IIow this same interview had taken place, And even if I knew, 1 should not tell — People should hold their tongues in any case ; No matter how or why the thing befel, But there were she and Juan, face to face — When two such faces are so, 'twould be wise, But very difficult, to shut their eyes. CVI. How beautiful she look'd ! her conscious heart Glow'd in her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong. Oh Love ! how perfect is thy mystic art, Strengthening the weak, and trampling on the strong, How self-deceitful is the sagest part Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along — The precipict she stood on was immense, Sa was her creed in her own innocence. CVIl. She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth, And of the folly of all prudish fears, Victorious virtue, and domestic truth, And then of Con Alfonso's fifty years : I wish these last had not occurr'd, in sooth, Because that number rarely much endears, And through all climes, the snowy and the sunny. Sounds ill in love, whate'er it may in money. 32 DON JUAN. can. i. CVII1. When people say, " I've told you fifty times," They mean to scold, and very often do ; When poets say, " I've written fifty rhymes," They make you dread that they'll recite them too ; In gangs of fifty thieves commit their crimes ; At fifty love for love is rare, 'tis true, But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis. C1X. Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love, ~~~^fL$i DonATfonso; and she inly swore, By all the vows below to powers above, She never would disgrace the ring she wore,, Nor leave a wish which wisdom might reprove \ And while she ponder'd this, besides much more, One hand on Juan's carelessly was thrown, Quite by mistake — she thought it was her own ; CX. Unconsciously she lean'd upon the other, Which play'd within the tangles of her hair ; And to contend with thoughts she could not smother, She seem'd by the distraction of her air, 'Twas surely very wrong in Juan's mother To leave together this imprudent pair, She who for many years had watch'd her son so— I'm very certain mine would not have done so. CXI. The hand which still held Juan's, by degrees Gently, but palpably confirm'd its grasp, As if it said " detain me, if you please ;" Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp Hisjfingers wUh^ a ^urj&JELatojuc srjue.ejze.^. - She would have shrunk as from a toad, or asp, Had she imagined such a thing could rouse A feeling dangerous to a prudent spouse. «xk. }. DON JUAN. 33 CXII. I cannot know what Juan thought of this, But what he did, is much what you would do ; His young lip lhank'd it with a grateful kiss, And then abash'd at its own joy, withdrew In deep despair, lest he had done amiss, Love is so very timid when 'tis new : She blush'd, and frown'd not, but she strove to speak, And held her tongue, her voice was grown so weak. CXII). The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon : The devil's in the moon for mischief; tbey Who c ill'd her chaste, methinks began too soon Their nomenclature ; there is not a day, The longest, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way On which three single hours of moonshine smile— And then she looks so modest all the while. CX1V. There is a dangerous silence in that hour, A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul To open all itself, without the power Of calling wholly back its self-control ; The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower, Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws A loving languor, which is not re pose. cxv. And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced And half retiring from the glowing arm, Which trembled like the bosom, where 'twas placed ; Yet still she must have thought there was no harm, Or else 'twere easy to withdraw her waist: But then the situation had its charm, And then God knows what next — I can't go on ; I'm almost 6orry that 1 e'er begun. 34 DON JUAN. can. i. CXVI. Oil Plato ! Plato ! you have paved the way, With your confounded fantasies, to more Immoral conduct by the fancied sway, Your system feigns o'er the controlless core Of human hearts, than all the long 1 array Of poets and romancers : — You're a bore, A charlatan, a coxcomb — and have been, At best, no better than a go-between. CXVI1. And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs, Until too late for useful conversation ; The tears were gushing from her gentle eyes, 1 wish, indeed, they had not had occasion, But who, alas ! can love, and then be wise ? Not that remorse did not oppose temptation, A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering " 1 will ne'er consent" — consented. CXVI 1 1. *Tis said that Xerxes offer T d a reward To those who could invent him a new pleasure ; Methink's the requisition's rather hard, And must have cost his Majesty a treasure: For my part, I'm a moderate-minded bard, Fond of a little love (which I call leisure) ; I care not for new pleasures, as the old Are quite enough for me, so they but hold. CXIX. Oh Pleasure ! you're indeed a pleasant thing, Although one must be damn'd for you no doubt ; I make a resolution every spring Of reformation, ere the year run out, But, somehow, this my vestal vow takes wing, Yet still, I trust, it may be kept throughout : I'm very sorry, very much ashamed, And mean next winter, to be quite reclaim'd. can. i. DON JUAN. 35 CXX. Here my chase Muse a liberty must take-* Start not ! still chaster reader — she'll be nice henee— Forward, and there is no great cause to quake ; This liberty is a poetic licence, Which some irregularity may make In the design, and as 1 have a high sense Of Aristotle and the Rules, 'tis fit To beg his pardon when 1 err a bit. CXX1. This licence is to hope the reader will Suppase from June the sixth (the fatal day, Without whose epoch my poetic skill For want of facts would all be thrown away), But keeping Julia and Don Juan still In sight, that several months have pass'd ; we'll Kay 'Twas in November, but I'm not so sure About the day — the era's more obscure. CXXII. We'll talk of that anon. — 'Tis swtet to hear At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep ; 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear ; 'Tis sweet to listen as the nightwinds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. CXXII I. 'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home : 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming', and look brighter when we come : 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; swtet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earlist words. 36 DON JUAN. CAN. I. CXXIV. Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth Purple and gushing : sweet are our escapes From civic revelrj to rural mirth ; Sweet to the miser are his glittering heap*, Sweet to the father is his first bom's birth, Sweet is revenge — especially to women, Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. cxxv. Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet The unexpected death of some old lady Or gentleman of seventy years complete, Who've made "us youth" wait too — too long already For an estate, or cash, or country-seat, Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, That all the Israelites are fit to mob its Next owner for their double-damn'd post-obits. CXXVI. 'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels By blood or ink : 'tis swtet to put an end To strife ; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels, Particularly with a tiresome friend ; Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels : Dear is the helpless creature we defend Against the world ; and dear the schoolboy spot "We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. CXXVII. But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, Is first and passionate love — it stands alone, Like Adam's recollection of his fall ; The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd — all's known— And life yields nothing further to recall Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven. can. i. DON JUAN. 37 CXXV1II. MarTs a strange a nimal, and makes strange use Of his own nature, and the various arts, And likes particularly to produce Some new experiment to show his parts ; This is the age of oddities let loose. Where different talents find their different marts ; You'd best begin with truth, and when you've lost your Labour, there's a sure market for imposture. CXX1X. What opposite discoveries we have seen ! (Signs of true genius, and of empty pockets.) One mak^s new noses, one a guillotine, One breaks your bones, one sets them in their sockets ; But vaccination certainly has been A kind of antithesis to Congreve's rockets, ******* ******* cxxx. Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes ; And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis : What wonderous new machines have late been spinning ! ******* ******* CXXX I. ******* ******* : $01 208 3S DON JUAN. can. i. CXXXU. This is the patent age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions ; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo. CXXXI1I. Man's a phenomenon, one knows not what, And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure ; 'Tis pity though, in this sublime world that Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure ; Few mortals know, what end they would be at, But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure, The path is through perplexing ways, and when The goal is gain'd, we die, you know — aud then— — CXXX1V. What then ;— 1 do not know, no more do you — And so good night. — Return we to our story; 'Twas in November, when fine days are few And the far mountains wax a little hoary, And clap a white cap on their mantles blue ; And the sea dashes round the promontory, And the loud breaker boils against the rock, And sober suns must set at five o'clock. cxxxv. 'Twas, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night ; No moon no stars, the wind was low or loud By gusts, and many a sparkling hearth was bright With the piled wood, round which the family crowd ; There's something cheerful in that sort of light, Even as a summer's sky's without a cloud: I'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that, A lobster salad, and champaigne, and chat. cam. i. DON JUAN. 39 CXXXVI. 'Twas midnight — Donna Julia was in bed, Sleeping, most probably, — when at her door Arose a clatter might awake the dead, If they had never been awoke before, And that they have been so we all have read, And are to be so, at the least once more — The door was fasten'd, but with voice and fist First knocks were heard, then ** Madam — Madam — hist ! CXXXVI I. " For Cod's sake, Madam — Madam — here's my master. " With more than half the city at his back— " Was ever heard of such a curst disaster ! " 'Tis not my fault — I kept good watch— Alack ! " Do, pray undo the bolt a little faster — " They're on the stair just now, and in a crack " Will all be here ; perhaps he yet may fly— " Surely the window's not so very high !" CXXXVIII. By this time Don Alfonso was arrived, With torches, friends, and servants in great number ; The major part of them had long been wived, And therefore paused not to disturb the slumber Of any wicked woman, who contrived By stealth her husband's temples to encumber : Examples of this kind are so contagious, Were one not punish'd, all would be outrageous, CXXXIX. I can't tell how, or why, or what suspicion Could enter into Don Alfonso's head ; But for a cavalier of his condition It surely was exceedingly ill-bred, Without a word of previous admonition, To hold a levee round his lady's bed, And summon lackeys, armed with fire and sword, To prove himself the thing he most abhorr'd. 40 DON JUAN. can. i CXL. Poor Donna Julia ; starting as from sleep, Mind — that I do not say — she had not slept) Began at once to scream, and yawn, and weep ; Her maid Antonia, who was an adept, Contrived to fling the bed-clothes in a heap, As if she had just now from out them crept : I can't tell why she should take all this trouble To prove her mistress had been sleeping double. CXLI. But Julia Mistress, and Antonia maid, Appear'd like two poor harmless women, who Of goblin's, but still more of men afraid, Had thought one man might be deterr'd by two. And therefore side by side were gently laid, Until the hours of absence should run through, And truant husband should return and say, " My dear, I was the first who rame away." CXLI I. Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried, " In heaven's name, Don Alfonso what d'ye mean ? " Has madness seized you ? would that 1 had died " Ere such a monster's victim I had been ! '* What may this midnight violence betide, " A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen ? " Dare you suspect me, whom the thought would kill ! " Search, then, the room ?" — Alfonso said, " I will." CXL11I. He search'd, they searched, and rummaged every where, Closet and clothes'-press, chest and window-seat, And found much linen, lace, and several pair Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete, With other articles of ladies fair, To keep them beautiful or leave them neat : Arras they prick'd and curtains with their swords, And wounded several shutters, and some boards. c un. i. DON JUAN. 41 CXL1V. Uuder the bed they searched, and there they found- No matter what — it was not that they sought ; They open'd windows, gazing tf the ground Had signs or footmarks, but the earth said nonght, And then they stared each others' faces round: 'Tis odd, not one of all these seekers thought, And seems to me almost a sort of blunder, Of looking in the bed as well as under, CXLV. During this inquisition Julia's tongue Was not asleep — " Yes, search and search," she cried, " Insult on insult heap, and wrong on wrong; ** It \j;.s for this that I became a bride j " For this in silence I have suffer'd long " A husband like Alfonso at my side ; " But now I'll bear no more, nor here remain, " If there be law, or lawyers, in all Spain. CXI VI. " Yes, Don Alfonso ! husband now no more, " If ever you indeed deserved the name, " Is't worthy of your years 2 — you have threescore, '* Fifty, or sixty — it is al! the same — " Is't wise or fitting causeless to explore " For facts npainst a virtuous woman's fame ? " Ungrateful, perjured, barbarous Don Alfonso, " How date you think your lady would go on so ? CXLV 1 1. '• Is it for this I have disdain'd to hold " The common privileges of mv sex ? " That I have chosen a confessor so old " And deaf, that any other it would vex, " And never once he has had cause to scold, " But found my vri;y innocence perplex " So much, he always doubted I was marred — " How sorry you will be whin I've miscarried. v 42 DON JUAN. can. i. CXLVIII " Was it for this that no Cortejo ere *' I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville ? *' Is it for this I scarce went any where, " Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel ? " Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were, *' I favour'd none— nay, was almost uncivil ? " Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly, " Who took Algiers, declares 1 used him viley ?(6) CXLIX. " Did not the Italian Musico Cazzani " Sing at my heart six months at least in vaiu ? * f Did not his countryman, Count Corniani, " Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain ? " Were there not also Russians, Euglish, many ? " The Count StrongstroganofF I put in pain, " And Lord Mount Coffee-house, the Irish Peer, '* Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year. CL. " Have I not had two bishops at my feet ? " The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fenian Nunez, *' And is it thus a faithful wife you treat ? " I wonder in what quarter now the moon is : " I praise your vast forbearance not to beat *' Me also, since the time so opportune is — *' Oh, valiant man ! with sword drawn and cock'd trigger, " Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure ? CLI. *' Was it for this you took your sudden journey, " Under pretence of business indispensible * { With that sublime of rascals your attorney, " Whom 1 see standing there, and looking sensible " Of having play'd the fool ? though both I spurn, he " Deserves the worst, his conduct's less defensible, " Because, no doubt, 'twas for his dirty fee, '* And not from any love to you uor me. «av. i. DON JUAN. « CLIi. " If lie comes here to take a deposition, " By all means let the gentleman proceed; " You've made the apartment in a fit condition:— *' There's pen and ink for you, sir, when you need— " Let every thing be noted with precision, " 1 would not you for nothing should be feed— " But as my maid's uiulrest, pray turn your spies out.** " Oh !" sobb'd Antouia, " I could tear their eyes out.'* CLI11. " There is the closet, there the toilet, there " The anti-chamber — search them under, over: " There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair, " The chimney — which would really hold a lover. " I wish to sleep, and beg you wiH take care " And make no further noise, till you discover ** The secred cavern of this lurking treasure — " And when 'tis found, let me, too, have that pleasure. CLIV. '• And now, Hidalgo! now that you have thrown *' Doubt upon me, confusion over all, " Pray have the courtesy to make it known— " Who is the man you search for? how d'ye call " Him ? what's his lineage? let him but be shown— " I hope he's young and handsome — is he tall ? " Tell me — and be assured, that since you stain *' My honour thus, it shall not be in vain. CLV. " At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years. " At that age he would be too old for slaughter, " Or for so young a husbands jealous fears — ■ " (Antonia ! let me have a glass of water.) " 1 am ashamed of hiving shed these tears, " They are unworthy of my father's daughter; " My mother dream d not in my natal hour *' That 1 should fall into a monster's power. 44 DON JUAN. can. i. CLVI. " Ferhaps *tis of Antou'fn you are jealous, " You saw that, she wal^ sleeping by my side •' When you broke in upon us with your fellows : " Look where you please — we've nothing, sir, to hide; " Only another time, I trust you'll tell us, " Or for the sake of decency abide " A moment at the door, that we may be " Drest to receive so much good company. CLVI I. " And now, si r, 1 h ave done, and say no more; " The little 1 have said may serve to show " The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er " The wrongs to whose exposure it is slo w ; — > " I leave you to your conscience as before, " 'Twill one day ask you why you us^d me so ? *' God grant you feci not then the bitterest grief! " Antonia, where's my pocket-handkerchief ?" CLV1IL She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow : pale She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears, Like skies that rain and lighten ; as a veil, Waved and o'er shading her wan cheek, appears Her streaming hair ; the black curls strive, but fail, To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears Its snow through all ; — her soft lips lie apart, And louder than her breathing beats her heart. CL1X. The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused ; Antonia bustled round the raq$ack'd room, And, turning up her nose, with looks abused Her master, and his myrmidons, of whom Not one, except the attorn y, was amused ; He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb, So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause, Knowing they must be settled by the laws. ca*. I. DON JUAN. 45 CLX. With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood, Following Antonia's motions here and there, With much suspicion in his attitude ; For reputatit n she had little care ; So that a suit or action were made good, Small pity had he for the young and fair, And ne'er believed in negatives, till these Were proved by com pt tent false witnesses. CLXI. But Don Alfonso stcod v\ilh downcast looks, And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure : When, after searchiug iu five hundred nooks, And treating a young wife with so much rigour, He gain'd no point, except some self-rebukes, Added to those his lady with such vigour Had pour'd upon him for the last half-hour, Quick, thick, and heavy — as a thunder-shower. CLX1J. At first he tried to hammer an excuse, To which the sole reply were tears, and sobs, And indications of hysterics, whose* Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs, Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose : Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's ; He saw too, in perspective, her relations, And then he tried to muster all his patience. CLxni. He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer, But sage Antonia cut him sfiort before The anvil of his speech received the hammer, With " Pray, sir, leave the room, and say no mor«, '* Or madam dies." — Alfonso mutter'd " D — n her," But nothing else, the time of words was o'er; He cast a rueful look or two, and did, He knew not wherefore, that which he was bid. Q 46 DON JUAN. can. i. CLXIV. With him retired his " posse comitalus" The attorney last, who linger* d neav the door, Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as Antonia let him — not a little sore At this most strange and unexplain'd " hiatus." In Don Alfonso's facts, which just now wore An awkward look ; as he revolved the case The door was fasten'd in his legal face. CLXV. No sooner was it bolted, than — Oh shame ! Oh sin ! Oh sorrow ! and Oh womankind ! How can you do such things and keep your fame, Unless this world, and t'other too, be blind ? Nothing so dear as an unfilch'd good name ! But to proceed — for there is more behind: With much heart-felt reluctance be it said, Young Juan slipp'd, half-smother'd, from the bed. • — " — — €fcX¥l_ _.. He had been hid — 1 don't pretend to say How, nor can I indeed describe the where- Young, slender, and pack'd easily, he lay, No doubt, in little compass, round or square ; But pity him 1 neither must nor may His suffocation by that pretty pair ; 'Twere better, sure, to die so, than be shut With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt. CLXVII. And, secondly, I pity not because He had no business to commit a sin, Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws, At least 'twas rather early to begin ; But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil. can. r. DON JUAN. 47 CLXVIII. Of his position I can give no nofion : 'Tis written in the Hebrew Chronicle, How the physicians, leaving pill and potion, Presrribed, by way of blistpr, a young belle, When old King David's blood grew dull in motion, And that the medicine answer' d very well : Perhaps 'twas in a different way applied, For David lived, but Juan nearly died. CLX1X. What's to be done ? Alfonso will be back The moment he has sent his fools away. Antonia's skill was put upon the rack, But no device could be brought into play — And how to parry the reuew'd attack ? Besides, il wanted but few hours of day : Antonia puzzled ; Julia did not speak, But press'd her bloodless lip to Juan's cheek. CLXX. He turn'd his lip to hers, and with his hand Call'd back the tangles of her wandering hair ; Even then their love they could not all command, And half tor^ot their danger and despair : Antonia's patience now was at a stand — " Come, rome, 'tis no time now for fooling ther«," She whisper'd, in great wralh — " I must deposit " This pretty gentleman within the closet : CI.XXI. " Pray, keep your nonsense for some luckier night — " Who ran have put my master in this mood ? " What will become ou't ? — I'm in such a fright, " The devil's in the urchin, and no good — " Is this a time for giggling ? this a plight? " Why don't you know that it may end in blood ? " You'll lose your life, and I shall lose my place, " My mistress all, for that half-girlish face. 48 DON JUAN. • can. i. CLXXII. '• Had it but been for a stout cavalier " Of twenty-five or thirty — (Come, make haste) " But for a child, what piece of work is here ! " 1 really, madam, wondt r at your taste — " (Come, sir, get in) — my master must be near. " There, for the present, at the least he's fast, " And, if we can but till the morning keep " Our counsel — (Juan, mind, you must not sleep.)" CLXX11I. Now, Don Alfonso enteiing, but alone, Closed the oration of the trusty maid : She loiter'd, and he told her to be gone, An order somewhat sullenly obey'd ; However, present remedy was none, And no great good se'em'd answer' d if she staid : Regarding both with slow and sidelong view, She snuff'd the candle, curtsied, and withdrew. CLXX1V. Alfonso paused a minute — then begun Some strange excuses for his late proceeding ; He would not justify what he had done, To say the best, it was extreme ill-breeding; But there were ample reasons for it, none Of which he specified in this his pleading; His speech was a fine sample, on the whole, Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call " rigmarole." CLXXV. Julia said nought; though all the while there rose A ready answer, which at once enables A matron, who her husband's foible knows, By a few timely words to turn the tables, Which if it does not silence, still must pose, Even if it should comprise a pack of fables ; 'Tis to retort with fin. mess, and when he Suspects with one, do you reproach with three x caw. i. DON JUAN. 4t> CLXXVI. Jnlia, in fact, had tolerable grounds, Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known ; But whether 'twas that one's own guilt confounds, But that can't be, as has been often shown, A lady with apologies abounds; It might be that her silence sprang alone From delicacy to Don Juan's ear, To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear. CI XXVI I. There might be one more motive, which makes two, Alfonso ne'er to Juan had aht:d.'d, Mention' d his jealousy, but never who Had been the happy lover, he concluded Conceal'd amongst his premises; 'tis true. His mind the more o'er this its mystery brooded ; To speak of Inez now were, one may say, Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way. CLXXVI II. A hint, in tender cases, is enough ; Silence is best, besides there is a tact (That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff, But it will serve to keep my verse compact) Which keeps, when push'd hy questions rather rough, A lady always distant from the fact — The charming creatures lie with such a grace, There's nothing so becoming to the face. Cl.XXIX. They blush, and we believe them ; at least I Have always done so ; 'tis of no great use, In any case attempting a reply, For then their eloquence grows quite profuse ; And when at length they're out of breath, they sigh, And cast their languid eyes down, and let loose A tear or two, and then we make it up ; And then— and then— and then — sit down and sup. (H> DON JUAN. can. I. CLXXX. Alfonso closed his speech, and begg'd her pardon, Which Julia half withheld and then half granted. And laid conditions, he thought, very hard on, Denying several little things he wanted : He stood like Adam lingering near his garden, With useless penitence perplex'd and haunted, Beseeching she no further would refuse, When lo ! he stumbled o'er a pair of shoes. CLXXX1. A pair of shoes ! — what then ? nut much, if they Are such as fit with lady's feet, but these , (No one can tell how much 1 grieve to say) Were masculine : to see them, and to seize, Was but a moment's act. — Ah ! Well-a-day ! My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze — Alfonso first examined well their fashion, Aud then flew out into another passion. CLXXX11. He left the. room for his relinquisii'd sword, And Julia instant to the closet flew. " Fly, Juan, fly ! — for heaven's sake — not a word — " The door is open — you may yet slip through *'• The passage you so often have explored — '* Here is the garden-key — Fly — fly — Adieu ! " Haste — haste ! 1 hear Alfonso's hurrying feet — " Day has not broke — there's no one in the street." CLXXXI1I. None can say that this was not good advice, The only mischief was, it came too late ; Of all experience 'tis the usual price, A sort of income-tax laid on by fate : Juan had reach' d the room-door in a trice, And might have done so by the garden-gate, But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown, Who threaten'd death — so Juan knock'd him down. can. I. DON JUAN. 41 CLXXXIV. Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light, Antonia cried out " Rape !" and Julia ** Fire !" But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight. Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire, Swore lustily he'd he revenged this night ; . And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher, His blood was up ; though young, he was a Tartar, And not at all disposed to prove a martyr. CLXXXV. Alfonso's sworcl had ilropp'd ere he could draw it, And they continued battling hand to hand, For Juan very luckily ne'er saw it; His temper not being under great command, If at that moment lie had chance to claw it, Alfonso's days had not been in the land Much longer. — Think of husbands*, lovers' lives! And how ye may be doubly widows — wives ! CLXXXVI. Alfonso grappled to detain the foe, , And Juan throttled him to get away And blood ('twas from the nose) b'.'gan to flow ; At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay, Juan contrived to give an awkward blow, And then his only garment quite gave way; He fled, like Joseph, having it ; but there, 1 doubt, all likeness ends between the pair. CLXXXV1I. Fights came at length, and n.en, and maids, who found An awkward spectacle their eyes before; Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd, Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door, Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground, Some blood, and several footsteps, but no more : Juan the gate gain'd, lurn'd the key abuut, And liking not the inside, lock'd the out. 52 DON JUAN. can. i. CLXXXV11I. Here ends this canto. — Need I sing, or say, How Juan, naked, favour' d by the night, Who favours what she should not, found his way, And reach'd his home in an unseemly plight ! .3 he pleasant scandal which arose next day, The nine days' wonder which was brought to light, And how Alfonso sued for a divorce, "Were in the English newspapers of course, CLXXXIX. If you would like to see the whole proceedings, The depositions, and the cause at full, The names of all the witnesses, the pleadings Of counsel to nonsuit, or to annul, There's more than one edition, and the readings Are various, but they none of thtm are dull, The best is that in short hand ta'en by Gurney, Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey. cxc. But Donna Inez, to divert the train Of one of the most circulating scandals That had for centuries been known in Spain, At least since the retirement of the Vandals, First vow'd (and never had she vow'd in vain) To Virgin Mary several pounds of candles ; And then, by the advice of some old ladies, She sent her son to be shipp'd off from Cadiz. CXC I. She had resolved that he should travel through All European climes, by land or sea, To mend his former morals, and get new, Especially in France and Italy, (At least this is the thing most people do.) Julia was sent into a convent : she Grieved, but, perhaps, her feelings may be better Shown in the following copy of her letter. can. i. DON JUAN. 53 CXCII. " They tell me 'tis decided ; you depart : " 'Tis wise — 'tis well, but not the less a pail ; •' 1 have no further claim on your young heart, *• Mine is the victim, and would be again ; " To love loo much has been the only art " I used ; — I write in haste, and if a stain " Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears, " My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears. CXCII I. " I loved, I love you, for this love have lost " State, station, heaven, mankind's my own esteem, " And yet can not regret what it hath cost, " So dear is still the memory of that dream ; " Yet, if I name my guilt, 'tis not to boast, " None can deem harshlier of me than I deem : " 1 trace this scrawl because 1 cannot rest— " I've nothing to reproach, or to request. CXCIV. " Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, " 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range " The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart, " Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange " Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, *' And few there are whom these can not estrange ; " Men have all these resources, we but one, " To love again, and be again undone. cxcv. " You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride, " Beloved and loving many ; all is o'er " For me on earth, except some year* to hide " My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core ; " These I could hear, but cannot cast aside " The passion which still rages as before, " And so farewell — forgive me, love me — No, " That word is idle now— but let it go. ■ &4 DON JUAN. can. i. CXCVII. *' My breast has been all weakness, is so yet ; " But still I think I can collect my mind ; " My blood still rushes where my spirit's set, " As roll the waves before the settled wind ; *' My heart is feminine, nor can forget — " To all, except one image, madly blind; *' So shakes the needle, aud so stands the pole, " As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul. CXCVII. " I have no more to say but linger still, ** And dare not set my seal upon this sheet, " And yet I may as well the task fulfil, " My misery can scarce be more complete : " I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill : " Death shnns the wretch who fain the blow would meet, " And I must even survive this last adieu, " And bear with life, to love and pray for you !" CXCV1II. This note was written upon gilt-edged paper With a neat little crow quill, slight and new; Her small white hand could hardly reach the taper, It trembled as magnetic needles do, And yet she did not let one tear escape her ; The seal a sunflower ; Ette vous suit partout," The motto, cut upon a white cornelian ; The wax was superfine, its hue vermillion. CXCIX. This was Don Juan's earliest scrape ; but whether 1 shall proceed with his adventeures is Dependant on the public altogether ; We'll see however, what they say to this, Their favour in an author's cap's a feather, And no great mischief's done by their caprice; And if their approbation we experience, Perhaps they'll have soaw more about a year hence. can. L DON JUAN. 5ft CC. My poem's epic, and is meant_to be Divided in twelve books; eacb book containingy- WUb-Jore andjwari a. heavy gale at sea, A list of ships, and captaius, and kings reigning, New characters; the episodes are three : A panorama view of hell's in training, After the style of Virgil and of Homer, So that my name of epic's no misnomer. CCI. All these things will be specifiedjn time, With strict regard to Aristotle's rules, The vade mecum of the true sublime, Which makes so many poets, and some fools ; Prose poets like blank verse, I'm fond of rhyme, Good workmen never quarrel with their tools; I've got new mythological machinery, And very handsome supernatural scenery. ecu. There's only one slight di-fference between Me and my epic brethren gone before, And here the advantage is my own, I ween ; (Not that I have not several merits more, But this will more peculiarly be seen) They so embellish, that 'tis quite a bore Their labyrinth of fables to thread through, Whereas this story's actually true. cein. If any person doubt it, I appeal To history, tradition, and to facts, To newspapers, whose truth all know and feel, To plays in five, and operas in three acts ; All these confirm my statement a good deal, But that which more completely faith exacts Is, that myself, and several now in Seville, Saw Juan's last elopement with the devil. 50 DON JUAN. can. I. CCIV. If ever I should condescend to prose, I'll write poetical commandments, which Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those That went before; in these I shall enrich My text with many things that no one knows, And carry precept to the highest pitch : I'll call the work " Longinus o'er a Bottle, Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle." ccv. Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope ; Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey ; Because the first is crazed beyond all hope, The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthey : "With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope, And Campbell s Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy : Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor Commit — flirtation with the Muse of Moore. CCVI. Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby's Muse, His Pegasus, nor any thing that's his ; Thou shalf not bear false witness like " the Blues,' (There's one at least, is very fond of this) ; Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose : This is true criticism, and you may kiss — Exactly as you please, or not, the rod, But if you don't, I'll lay it on, by G— -d ! CCVI1. If any person should presume to assert This story is not moral, first, 1 pray, That they will not cry out before they're hurt, Then that they'll read it o'er again, and say, (But, doubtless, nobt >dy will be so pert) That this is not a moral tale, though gay ; Besides in canto twelfth, I mean to show The very place where wicked people go. can. i. DON JUAN. G7 CCV11I. If, after all, there should he some so blind To their own goodi^lhis warning to despise, Led by some tortuosity of mind, Not to believe my verse and their own «yes, And cry that they " the moral cannot find," I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies ; Should captains the remark or critics make, They also lie too — under a mistake. CC1X. The public approbation I expect, And beg they'll take my word about the mora), Which I with their amusement will connect, (So children cutting teeth receive a coral) ; Meantime, they'll doubtless please to recollect My epical pretensions to the laurel : ' For fear some prudish readers should grow skittish, I've bribed my grandmother's review— the British, ccx. I sent it in a letter to the editor, Who thank'd me duly by return of post— I'm for a handsome article his creditor ; Yet if my gentle Muse he please to roast, And break a promise after having made it her, Denying the receipt of what it cost, And smear his page with gall instead of honey, All 1 can say is— that he had the money. CCX I. I think that with this holy new alliance I may ensure the public, and defy All other magazines of art or science, Daily, or monthly, or three monthly ; I Have not essay'd to multiply their clients, Because they tell me 'twere in vain to try, And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly Treat a dissenting author very martyrly. &S DON JUAN. can. i. CCXII. " Aon ego hoc ferrem calida juventd ** Consule Planco," Horace said, and so Say 1 ; by which quotation there is meant a Hint that some six or seven good years ago (Long ere 1 dreamt of dating from the Brenta) I was most r^ady to return a blow, And would not brook at all this sort of tiring In my hot youth — when George the Third was King. CCXIII. But now at thirty years my hair is gray — (I wonder what i! will be like at forty ? 1 thought of a peruke the other day) My heart is not much greener ; and, in short, I Have squander'd my whole summer while 'twas May, And feel no more the spirit to retort ; I Have spent my life, both interest and principal, And deem not, what 1 deem'd, my soul invincible. • CCXIV. No more — no more — Oh ! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new, Hived in our bosoms like the bag o'the bee : Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew ? Alas ! 'twas not in them, but in thy power To double even the sweetness of a flower. ccxv. No more — no more — Oh ! never more, my heart, Canst thou be my sole world, my universe ! Once all in all, but now a thing apart, Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse : The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art Insensible, I trust, but none the worse, And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, Though heaven knows how it ever found a lodgement. caw. I. DON JUAN. 69 CCXVI. My days of love are over : me no more (7) The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow, Can make the fool of which they made before, In short, 1 must not lead the life I did do ; The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, ' The copious use of claret is forbid too, So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, 1 think I must take up with avarice. CCXVI!. Ambition was my idol, which was broken Before the shrines of Sorrow and of Pleasure ; And the two last have left me many a token O'er which reflection may be made at leisure : Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken, " Time is, Time was, Time's past," a chymic treasure Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimes — fly heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. CCXV11I. What is the end of fame ? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper : Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour ; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their " midnight tap«r," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. CCXIX. What are the hopes of man ? old Egypt's King Cheops erected the first pyramid And largest, thinking it was just the thing To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid ; But somebody or other rummaging, Burglariously broke his coffin's lid : Let not a monument give you or me hopes. Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops. 60 DON JUAN. can f. ccxx. But I, being fond of true philosophy, Say very often to myself, " Alas ! " All things that have been born were born to die, " And flesh (which death mows down to hay) is grass " You've pass'dyour youth not so unpleasantly, *' And if you had it o'er again — 'twould pass — " So thank your stars that matters are no worse, " And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse." CCXXI. But for the present, gentle reader ! and Still gentler purchaser ! the bard — that's I— Must, with permission shake you by the hand, And so your humble servant, and good bye ! "We meet again, if we should understand Each other; and if not, I shall not try Your patience further than by this short sample — 'Twere well if others follow'd my example. CCXXII. u Go, little book, from this my solitude ! " I cast thee on the waters, go thy ways ! " And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, ** The world will find thee after many days." When Southey's read, and Wordsworth understood, I can't help putting in my claim to praise — The four first rhymes are Southey's every line : For God's sake reader ! take them not for miue. END OF CANTO FIRST. NOTES TO CANTO I. Note!, page C, stanza v. Brave men ivcrt living before Agamemnon. *' Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona," kc. — Horace. Note 2, page 9, stanza xvii. Save thine " incomparable oil," Macassar ! " Description des vertus inromparables de l'huile de " Macassar." — See the advertisement. Note 3, page 15, stanza xlii. Although T.onginus, fells us there is no hymn W'uere the sublime soars forth on uing* more ample. See Longinns, Section 10, " J'»a pri h t* «rs§* ctvrr,* 7r«9of (pimriTai w«6«c oi avvoloi;. Note 4, page 10, stanza xliv. They only add them all in an appendix. Fact. There is, or was, such an edition, with all the obnoxious epigrams of Martial placed by themselves at the end. Note 5, page 27, stanza lxxxviii. The bard I quote from does not sing amiss. Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming. (I think) the opening of Canto 11.; but quote from memory. Note G, page 42, stanza cxlviii. Ts it for this that General Count (Y Rcilly, Who look Algiers, declares I used him vilely ? Donna Julia here made a mislak. Count O'Reilly did not tike Algiers — but Algiers very nearly took him : he and his army and fleet retreated with great loss, and not much credit, from before that city in the year 17 — . Note 7, page 50, stanza cexvi. My day* of love are over, me no more. Me nee femiua, nee puer Jam, nee spes anuni credula mutui, Nee certare juvat mero ; Nee vincire novis tempora fioribus. J DON JUAN. CANTO II. 1. Oh ye ! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, 1 pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals ; never mind the pain : The best of mothers and of educations In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain, Since in a way, that's rather of the oddest, he Became divested of his native modesty. II. Had he but been placed at a public school, In the third form, or even in the fourth, His daily task had kept his fancy cool, At least had he been nurtured in the north; Spain may prove an exception to the rule, But then exceptions always prove its worth — A lad of sixteen causing a divorce Puzzled his tutors very much, of course. HI. I can't say that it puzzles me at all, If all things be consider'd : first there Va» His lady-mother, mathematical, A never mind ; bis tutor an old ass; A pretty woman — (that's qnite natural, Or eke the thing had hardly come to pass) ; A husband rather old, not much in unity With his young wife — a time, and opportunity. 64 DON JUAN. can. n. IV. Well — well, the world must turn upon its axis, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails ; The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us, The priest instructs, and so our life exhales, A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame, Fighting, devotion, dust, — perhaps a name. V. I said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz — A pretty town, I recollect it well — 'Tis there the mart of the colonial trade is, (Or was, before Peru learn' d to rebel) And such sweet girls — I mean, such graceful ladies, Their very walk would make your bosom swell; I can't describe it, though so much it strike, Nor liken it — 1 never saw the like : VI. An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb New broke, a camelopard, a gazelle, fv T o— none of these will do ? and then their garb ! Their veil and petticoat — Alas ! to dwell Upon such things, would very near absorb A canto — then their feet and ancles— well, Thank heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready, (And so, my sober Muse — come let's be steady — VII. Chaste Muse ! — well if you must, you must) — the veil Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand, While the o'ei powering eye, that turns you pale, Flashes into the heart ; all sunny land Of love ! when I forget you, may I fail To — say my prayers — but never was there plann'd A dress through which the eyes give such a volley, Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli. can. if. DON JUAN. 65 VIII. But to our tale : the Donna Inez sent Her son to Cadiz only to embark ; To stay there had not answered her intent; But why ? — we leave the reader in the dark — 'Twas for a voyage that the young man was meant, As if a Spanish Ship were Noah's ark, To wean him from the wickedness of earth, And send him like a dove of promise forth. IX. Don Juan bade his valet pack his things According to direction, then received A lecture and some money : for four springs He was to travel ; and though Inez giievtd, (As every kind of partings has its stings) She hoped he would improve — perhaps believed: A letter, too, she gave (he never read it) Of good advice — and two or three of credit. X. In the mean time, to pass her hours away, Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school For naughty children who would rather play (Like truant rogues) the devil, or the fool; Infants of three years old were taught that day, Dunces were whipt, or set upon a stool : The great success of Juan's education, Spurr'd her to teach another generation. XI. Juan embark'd — the ship got under way, The wind was fair, the water passing rough ; A devil of a sea rolls in that Bay, As I, who've cross'd it of! know well enough ; And, standing upon deck, thedashing spray Flies in one's face, and makes it weather tough. And there he stood Ij take, and take again, His Gist, perhaps his last— farewell of Spaiu. 66 DON JUAN. can. ii. XII. I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters ; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new : I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white, But almost every other country's blue, When gazing on iheni, mystified by distance, We enter on our nautical existence. XIII. So Juan stood, bewilder'd on the deck : The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors swore, And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck, From which away, so fair and fast they bore, The best of remedies is a beef-steak Against sea-sickness : try it, sir, before You sneer, and I assure you this is true, For I have found it answer — so may you. XIV. Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern, Beheld his native Spain receding far : First partings form a lesson hard to learn, Even nations feel this when they go to war ; There is a sort of unexprest concern, A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar : At leaving even the most unpleasant people And places, one keeps looking at the steeple. XV. But Juan had got many things to leave, His mother, and a mistress, and no wife, So that he had much better cause to grieve Than many persons more advanced in life ; And if we now and then a sigh must heave At quitting even those we quit in strife, No doubt we weep for those the heart endears— That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears, can. ii. DON JUAN. 67 XVI. So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion : I'd weep, but mine is not a weeping Muse, And -such light griefs are not a thing to die on ; ^" Young men should travel, if but to amuse Themselves ; and the next time their servants tie on Behind their carriages their new portmanteau, Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto, XVII. And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd and thought, While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea, " Sweets to the sweet ;" (I like so much to puote ; You must excuse this extract, 'tis where she, The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought Flowers to the grave) ; and, sobbing often, he Reflected on his present situation, And seriously resolved on reformation. XVIII. " Farewell, my Spain ! a long farewell !" he cried, " Perhaps I may revisit thee no more, " But die, as many an exiled heart hath died, " Of its own thirst to see again thy shore : " Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide ! " Farewell, my mother ! and since all is o'er, " Farewell, too dearest Julia ! — (here he drew Her letter out again, and read it through.) XIX. " And oh ! if e'er I should forget, I swear — " But that's impossible, and cannot be — " Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air, " Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea, " Than I resign thine image, Oh ! my fair ! " Or think of any thing excepting thee ; ' A mind diseased no remedy can physic — (Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew tea-sick,) CS DON JUAN. can. ii. XX. " Sooner shall heaven kiss eart,h — (here he fell sicker) *' Oh, Julia ! what is every other woe ? — " (For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor — " Pedro ! Battista ! help me clown below,) " Julia, my love ! — (you rascal, Pedro, quicker)— r " Oh Julia ! — (lliis curst vessel pitches so)— - " Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching !" (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.) XXI. lie felt that chilling heaviness of heart, Or rather stomach, which, a'as ! attends, Beyond the best apothecary's art, The loss of love, the treachery of friends, Or death of those we dote on, when a part Of «s dies with them as each fond hope ends : No doubt he would have been much more pathetic, But the sea acted as a strong emetic. XXII. Love's a capricious power; I've known it hold Out through a fever caused by its own heat, But be much puzzled by a cough and cold, And find a quinsy very hard to treat ; Against all noble maladies he's bold, But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, Nor inflammations redden his blind eye. XXIII. But worst of all is nausea, or a pain About the lower region of the bowels ; Love, who heroically breathes a vein, Shrinks from the application of hot tov/els, And purgatives aredangerous to his reign, Sea-sickness death : his love was perfect, how else Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar, Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before ? tAX. ir. DON JUAN. «• XXIV. The ship, call'd the most hoty " Trinidada," Was steering duly for the port Leghorn : For there the Spanish family Moncada Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born : They were relations, and for them he had a Letter of introduction, which the morn Of his departure had been sent him by His Spanish friends lor those in Italy. XXV. His suite consisted of three servants and A tutor, the licentiate Pedril'.o, Who several language* did understand, But now lay sick anil speechless on his pillow, And, rocking in his hammock, luug'd for land, His headache being increased by every billow ; And the waves oozing through the port-hole made His birth a little damp, and him afraid. XXVI. 'Twas not without some reason, for the wind Increased at night, until it blew a gale ; And though 'twas not much to a naval mind, Some landsmen would have look'd a little pale, For sailors are, in fact, a different kind : At sunset they began to take in sail, For the sky show'd it would come on to blow, And carry away, perhaps a mast or so. XXVII. At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea, Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift, Started the stern-post, also shatter'd the Whole of her stern-frame, and ere she could lift Herself from out her present jeopardy The rudder tore away : 'twas time to sound The pumps, and there were four feet water found. K. 70 DON JUAN. can. 11. XXVIII. One gang of people instantly vvas put Upon the pumps, and the remainder set To get up part of the cargo, and what not, But they could not come at the leak as yet; At last they did get at it really, but Still their salvation was an even bet : The water rush'd through in a way quite puzzling, While they thurst sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin, XXIX. Into the opening ! but all such ingredients Would have been vain, and they must have gone down, Despite of all their efforts and expedients, But for the pumps : I'm glad to make them known To all the brother tars who may have need hence, For fifty tons of water were upthrown By them per hour, and they had all been undone But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London. XXX. As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate, And then the leak they reckon'd to reduce, And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet Kept two hand and one chain-pump still in use. The wind blew fresh again : as it grew late A squall came on, and while some guns broke loose, A gust — which all descriptive power transcends — Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends. XXXI. There she lay, motionless, nad seem'd upset ; The water left the hold, and wash'd the decks, And made a scene men do not soon forget : For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks Or any other thing that brings regret, Or breaks their hop^s, or hearts, or heads or necks : Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the divers And swimmers who may chance to be survivors. can. if. DON JUAN. 71 XXX11. Immediately the masts were cut away, Both main and mizen ; first the mizen went The mainmast follow'd : but the ship still lay Like a mere log, and baffled our intent. Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they Eased her at last (although we never meant To part with all till every hope was blighted), And then with violence the old ship righted. XXXIII. It may be easily supposed, while this Was going on, some people were unquiet, That passengers would fiud it much amiss To lose their lives as well as spoil their diet, That even the able seamen, deeming his Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot, As upon such occasions tars will ask For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask. XXXIV. There's nougth, no doubt, so much the spirit calms As rum and true religion ; thus it was, Some plunder' tl, some drank spirits, some sung psalms, The high wind made the treble, and as bass The hoarse harsh waves kept time ; fright cured the qualms Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws : Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, Clamour'd in chorus to the roaring ocean. XXXV. Perhaps more mischief had been dt.ie, but for Our J nan, who, with sense beyond his years, Got to the spirit-room, and stood before It with a pair of pistols : and their fears, As if Death were more dreadful by his door Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears, Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk, Thought it would be becoming to die drunk. 72 DON JUAN. can. ii. XXXVI. " Give us more grog," they cried, " for it will be " All one an hour hence." Juan answer'd, " No ! " 'Tis true that death awaits both you and me, " But let us die like men, not sink below " Like brutes :" — and thus his dangerous post kept he, And none liked to anticipate the blow; And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor, Was for some rum a disappointed suitor. XXXVII. The good old gentleman was quite aghast, And made a loud and pious lamentation ; Repented all his sins, and made a last Irrevocable vow of reformation ; Nothing should tempt him more (this peril past) To quit his academic occupation, In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, To follow Juan's wake like Sancho Panca, XXXVIII. But now there came a flash of hope once more ; Day broke, and the wind lulPd : the masts were gone, The leak increased ; shoals round her, but no shore, The vessel swam, yet still she held her own. They tried the pumps again, and though before Their desperate efforts seein'd all useless grown,, A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale — The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a sail, XXXIX. Under the ve?? l's keel the sail was past, And for the moment it had some effect ; But with a leak, and not a stick of mast. Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect ? But still 'tis best to struggle to the last, 'Tis never too late to be wholly wreck'd : And though 'tis true that man can only die once^ 'Tis not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons, can. ii. DON JUAN. 73 XL. There winds and waves had hurl'd them, and from thence, Without their will they carried them away ; For tin y were forced with steering to dispense, And never had as yet a quiet day On which they might repose, or even commence A jury mast or rudder, or could say The ship would swim an hour, which by good luck, Still swam — though not exactly like a duck. XL1. The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less, But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could hope To weather out much longer; the distress Was also great with which they had to cope For want of water, and their solid mess Was scant enough : in vain the telescope Was used — nor sail nor shore appear'd in sight, Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night. XL1I. Again the weather threaten'd, — again blew A gale, and in the fore and after hold Water appear'd ; yet though the people knew All this, the most were patient, and some bold, Until the, chains and leathers were worn through Of all our pumps : — a wreck complete she roll'd, At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are Like human btings during civil war. XLIII. Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears In his rough eyes, and told the captain, he Could do no mine : he was a man in years, And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea, And if he wept at length, they were not fears That made his eyelids as a woman's he. But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children, Two things for dying people quite bewildering. 74 DCN JUAN. can. ii. XLIV. The ship w&s evidently settling now Fast by the head ; and, all distinction gone, Some went to prayers again, and made a vow Of candles to their saints — but ;i ere were none To pay them with ; and some '■ ..'.« o'er the bow; Some hoisted out the boats ; and there was one That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution, Who told him to be damn'd — in his confusion. XLV. Some lash'd them in their hammocks, some put on Their best clothes, as if going to a fair ; Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun, And gnash'd their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair ; And others went on as they had begun, Getting the boats out, being we!! aware That a tight boat will live in a rough sea, Unless with breakers close beneath her lee. XI.V1. The worst of all was, that in their condition, Haviug been several days in great distress, 'Twas difficult to get out such provision As now might render their Ion? suffering less : Men, eveu when dying, dislike inanition ; Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress : Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter, Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. XLVII. But in the loug-bor.t they contrived to stow Some pounds of bread, though injured by :he wet ; Water, a twenty gallon cask or so ; Six flasks of wine ; and they contrived to get A portion of their beef up from below, And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, But scarce enough to serve them for a 1 aicheon — Then thers was rum, eight gallocs i.i a puncheon. can. ii. DON JUAN. XLVIII. The other boats, the yawl a nd pinnace, had Been stove in the beginning of the gale ; And the long boat's coodi tion was but bad, As there were but two blankets for a sail, And one oar for a mast, which a young lad, Threw in by good luck over t tie ship's rail : And two boat?, could not hold, far less be stored, To save o;ie half the people then on board, XL1X. 'Twas twilight, for the sun!< ss lay went down Over the waste of water: ; i.keavtil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one who hates us, so the night was shown, And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale, And hopeless eyes, which o'er the deep alone Gazed dim and desolate ; twelve days hud Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was here. L. Some trial had been making at a raft, With little hope in such a rolli.i^' *ea, A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd, If any laughter at such times could be, Unless with people who too much have quaff'd, And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, Half epileptica!, and half hysterical : Their preservation would i.ave been a tairapl*. LI. At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, That still cou'.d keep :\ fkat the struggling tars. For y^t they strove although of no great use : There was no light i: 1 heaven but a few stars, The boats put oil o'er crowded with their crews ; She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And going down head foremost— sunk, in short. 76 DON JUAN. can. it LII. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave ; And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, And down she suck'd wiih her the whirling wave^ Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die. LIU. And first one universal shriek there rush'd, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder: and then all was husli'd, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows ; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony. L1V. The boats, as stated, had got off before, And in them crowded several of the crew ; And yet their present hope was hardly more Than what it had been, for so strong it blew There was slight chance of reaching any shore ! And then they were too many, though so few — Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat, Were counted in them when they got afloat. LV. All the rest perish'd ; near two hundred souls Had left their bodies ; and, what's worse, alas ! When over Catholics the ocean roils, They must wait several weeks before a mass Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals, Because, till people know what's come to pass, They won't lay out their money on the dead — It costs three frances for every mass that's said. can. n. DON JUAN. 77 LVI. Juan got into the long-boat, and there Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place ; It seera'd as if they h id exchanged their care, For Juan wore the magisterial face Which courage gives, while poor PedrilloVpair Of eyes were crying for their owner's case : Battista, though, (a l.ame eall'd shortly Tita) Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita. Pedro, his valet, too, he tried to save, But f h< j same cause, coi jcive to his loss, Left him so drunk, he jump'd ii.to the wave As o'er the cutter's edge he tred to cross, And so he found a wine-and-wutery grave ; They coulJ not rescue him a though so close, Because the sea ran higher ev >ry mine' , And fwr the boat — the crew kept crowding in it. Lvin. A small old spaniel, — which hud L?en Don Jose's, His father's whom he loved, a" ye may think, For on such things the memory reposes With tenderness, — stood howling on the brink, Knowing (dogs have such intellectual noses !) No doubt, the vessel was about to sink ; Ai.d Jean caught him up, and ere he stepp'd Off, threw him in, then after him he leap'd. < L1X. He also stuff' d his money whe r e he could About hi3 person, and Tedrillo's too, Who let him do, in fuel, whuie'er he would Not knowing what himself to say, or do, As every ri-i;iii n-ave his dread renew' ti ! But Juan 1 1 .: - :i 4 they might still get through, And deeming tin re were remedies for any ill, Thus re-embark'd his tutor and his spaniel. I 78 DON JPAN. can. n. LX. 'Twas a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet, That the sail was becalm'd between the seas, Though ou the wave's high top too much to set, They dared not take it in for all the breeze ; Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them wet, And made them bale without a moment's ease, So that themselves as well as hopes were damp'd, And the poor little cutler quickly swamp'd. LXI. Nine souls more went in her ; the long-boat still Kept above water, with an oar for mast, Two blankets stitch'd together, answering ill Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast : Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill, And present peril all before surpass'd, They grieved for those who perish'd with the cutter, And also for the biscuit casks, and butter. LXII. The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign Of the continuance of the gale : to run Before the sea, until it should grow fine, Was all that for the present could be done : A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine Were served out to the people, who begun To faint, and damaged bread wet through the bags, »And most of them had little clothes but rags. LXlll. They counted thirty, crowded in a space Which left scarce room for motion or exertion ; They did their best to modify their case, One half sate up, though numb'd with the immersion, While t'other half were laid down in their place, At watch, and watch ; thus, shivering like the tertiae Ague in its cold fit, they fiU'd their boat, With nothing but the sky for a great coat. can. ii. DON JUAN. 79 LXIV. 'Tis very certain the desire of life Prolongs it ; this is obvious to physicians, When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife, Survive through very desperate conditions, Because they stiil can hope, nor shines the knife Nor shears of Atropos before their visions; /Despair of all recovery spoils longevity. And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity. LXV. 'Tis said that persons living on annuities Are longer lived than others, — God knows why, Unless to plague the grantors, — yet so true it is, That some, I really think, do never die; Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is, And that's their mode of furnishing supply : In my young days they lent me cash that way, Which I found very troublesome to pay, LXVI. 'Tis thus with people in an open boat, They lived upon the love of life, and bear. More than can be belived, or even thought, And stand like rocks the tempest's wear and tear ! And hardships still has been the sailor's lot, Since Noah's ark went cruising here and there; She had a curious crew as well as cavgo, Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo. LXVII. But man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day ! lie cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey : Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables in a grumbling way ; Your labouring people think beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton ; better for digestion. 80 DON JUAN. «an. ii. LXVI1I. And thus it was with this our hapless crew : For on the third day there came on a calm, And though at first their strength it might renew, And, lying on their weariness like balm, Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm, And fell all ravenously on their provision, Instead of hoarding it with due precision. LX1X. The consequence was easily foreseen— They ate up all they had, and drank their wine, In spite of all remonstrances, and then On what, in fact, next day .were they to dine ? They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish men ! And carry them to shore ; these hopes were fine, But as they had hut one oar, and that brittle, It would have been more wise to save their victual. LXX. The fourth day came, but not a breath of air, And Ocean slumber'd like an unvvean'd child : The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there, The sea and sky were blue, and clear, and mild — With their one oar (1 wish they had had a pair) What could they do ? and hunger's rage grew wild ; So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, Was kiil'd, and portion'' d out for present eating. I XXI. On the sixth day they fed uj><\ his hide, And Juan, who had sHIl refused, because The creature was his father .log- that died, Now fueling all the vuii 're in his jaws, With some remorse reoeiv; ; (though first denied) As a great favour ct.e ot the fore paws, Which he divided with Pedrillo, who Devour'd it, longing for the other too, can. ii. DON JUAN. »1 LXXU. The seventh day, and no wind — the burning: sun Rhster'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the «ea, They lay like carcases ! and hope was none, Save in the breeze that came not ; — savagely They glared upon each other — all was done, Water, and wine, and food, — and you might tee The longings of the cannibal arise (Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes. I.XXIII. At length one wlrsper'd his companion, who Whisper'd another, and thus it went round, And then i to a hoarser murmur grew, An ominous, and wil 1, and desperate sound, And when hi* comrade's thought each sufferer knew, ''I was ! nt his own, suppress'd til! now, h* found : And out they spoke of Jots for flesh and blood, And who should r.ie to be Ins fellow's food. LXXIV. But are {}.■ y came to this, they that day shared Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of shoe*;; And then thev Ijok'd around t'lem, and despair'd, Aud none to ' e the sacrifice nould choose; At length the lots vere turn up, and prepared, Uut of materials thai much shock the Muse— Having ko paper, for the want of better, They took 1 y force from Juan Julia's letter. I. XXV. The lot's were made, and murk'd, and mix'd, ar.d handed, In silent horror, and tiuir distribution I.ull'd even tin savage hunger which demanded, lake the Promethean vulture, this pollution : None in particular had sought or plann'd it, 'Twas nature gnaw'd them to this resolution, lly which none were permitted to be neuter — And the lot fell on ,!'.;ati"s luckless tutor. 82 DON JUAN. can. n. LXXVI. He but requested to be bled to death : The surgeon had his instruments, and bled Pedrillo, and so gently ebb'd his breath, You hardly could perceive when he was dead, He died as born, a Catholic in faith, Like mast in the belief in which they're bred, And first a little crucifix he kiss'd. And then held out his jugular and wrist, LXXVII. The surgeon, as there was no other fee, Had his first choice of morsels for his pains ; But being thirstiest at the moment, he Preferr'd a draught from the fast-flowing veins : Part was divided, part thrown in the sea, And such things as the entrails and the brains Regaled two sharks, who follow'd o'er the billow— The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo. LXXV1II. The sailors ate him, all save three or four, Who were not quite so fond of animal food; To these was added Juan, who, before Refusing bis own spaniel, hardly could Feel now his appetite increased much more ; 'Twas not to be expected that he should, Even in extremity of their disaster, Dine with them oa his pastor and his master. LXXIX. 'Twas better that he did not : for, in fact, The consequence was awful ia the extreme : For they, who were most ravenous in the act, Went raging mad—Lord ! how they did blaspheme ! And foam and roll, with strange convulsions rack'd, Drinking salt-water L,:e a mountain-stream, Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing, And, with hy&na. laughter, died despairing. can. ii. DON JUAN. i3 LXXX. Their numbers were much thinii'd by this infliction, And all the rest werejhin enough, heaven knows ; Aud some of them had lost their recollection, Happier then they who still perceived their woes; But others ponder'd on a new dissection, As if not warn'd sufficiently by those Who had already peiish'd, suffering madly, For having used their appetites so sadly. LXXX1. And next they thought upon the master's mate, As fattest; but he saved himself, because, Besides being much averse from such a fate, There were some other reasons ; the first was, He had been rather indisposed oi late, And that which chiefly proved his saving clause, Was a small present made to him at Cadiz, By general subscription of the ladies. LXXXII. Of poor Pedrillo something still remain'd, But was used sparingly, — some were afraid, And others still th< appetites constraint, Or but at times t $6 DON JUAN, can. u. xca. It changed of course ; a heavenly cameleon, The airy child of vapour and the sun, Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermillion, Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun, Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, And blending every colour iuto one, Just like a black eye iu a recent scuffle, (For sometimes we must box without the muffle.) XC1U. Oar shipwreck 'd seamen thought it a good omen — It is as well to think so, now and then ; 'Twas an old custom of the Greek and Roman, And may become of great advantage when Folks are discouraged ; and most surely no men Had greater need to nerve themselves agaio Then these, and so this rainbow look'd like hope — Quite a celestial kaleidoscope. XCIV. About this time a beautiful white bird, Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size And plumage, probably it might have err'd Upon its course) pass'd oft before their eyes, And tried to perch, although it saw and heard 'I he men within the boat, and in this guise It came and went, and flutter'd round them till Night fell : — this seem'd a better omen still. xcv. But in this case 1 also must remark, 'Twas well this bird of promise did not perch, Because the tackle of our shatter M bark Was not so safe for roosting as a church ; And had it been the dove from Noah's ark, Returuing there from her successful search, Which in their way that moment chanced to fall, They would have eat her, olive-branch and all. «aw. ii. DON JUAN. »7 XCVI. Wilh twilight it again nme on to blow, But not with violence; the stars shone out, The boat made way ! yet now they were so low, They knew not where nor what they were about; S<»me fanned they saw land, and some said " No !" The frequent fog-banks gave ibetn cause to doubt — Some swore that thev heard breakers, others guns, And all mistook about the latter once. XCV1I. As morning broke the light wind died away, When he who had the watch sung out, and swore If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray, He wish'd that land he never might see mare ; And the rest rubb'd their eyes, and saw a bay, Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore ; For shore it was, and gradually grew Distinct, and high, and palpable to view, xcvur. And then of these some part burst into tears, And others, looking with a stupid stare, Could not yet separate their hopes from fears. And seem'd as if they had no further care '. While a few pray'd — (the first time for some years) — And at the botiom of the boat three were Asleep; they shook them by the hand and head And tried to awaken them, but found them dead. XCIX. The day before, fast sleeping on the water, They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind, And by good fortune gliding softly, caught her, Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind Proved even still a more nutritious matter. Because it left encouragement behind : They thought that in such perils, more than chance Had sent them this for their deliverance. 88 DON JUAN. can. ii C. The land appear'd a high and rocky coast, And higher grew the mountains as they drew, Stt by a current toward it : they were lost In various conjectures, for none knew To what part of the earth they had been tost, So changeable had been the winds that blew ; Some thought it was Mount /Etna, some the highlands Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other Islands. CI. Meantime the current, with a rising gale, Still set them onwards to the welcome shore, Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale : Their living frtightwas now reduced to four, And three dead, whom their strength could not avail To heave into the deep with those before, Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd The spray into their faces as they splash'd. CII. Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to Such things a mother had not known her son Amidst the skeletons of that gaum crew ; By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one They perish'd, until wither'd to these few, But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter, In washing down Pedrillo with salt-water, CI II. As they drew nigh the land which now was seen, Unequal in its aspect here and there, They felt the freshness of its growing green, That waved in forest tops and smooth'd the air, And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare — » Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep. €av. II. DON JUAN. 89 CIV. The shore look'd wild, without a trace of man, And girt by formidable waves; but they Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran, Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay : A reef between them also now be^an To show its boiling surf and bounding spray, But finding no place for their landing better, They ran the boat for shore, and overset her. CV. But in his native stieam, the Guadalquivir, Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wout : And having learnt to swim in that sweet river, Had often turn'd the art to some account A better swimmer you could scarce see ever, He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont, As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided) Leander, Mr. Ekeuhead, and I did. CVI. So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark, He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply With the quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark. The beach which lay before him, high and dry : Tlif greatest danger here was from a shark, That carried oiF his neighbour by t lie thigh ; As for the other two they could not swim, So nobotly arrived on shore but him. cvn. Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar, Which, providentially for him, was wash'd Just as his feeble anus could strike no more, And the hard wave o'erwhelm'd him as 'twas dash'd Within his ;," 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 relics) 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 'lis the toll which must be given.) 96 DON JUAN. can. ii. 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; fcut by God's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty, That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty. cxxxni. He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse, For Hardee 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 day-break 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 like the dead, Who sleeps 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. exxxv. 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. cam. ii. DON JUAN. 97 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 Zoe spent hers, as most women do f 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. CXXXVI1I. Not so Haidee : she sadly toss'd and tumbled, And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er, Drcam'd of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she stumbled, And handsome corpses strew'd upon the shore ; And woke hermaid so earl y 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. CXXXIX. But up she got, and up 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 arc wet With mist, and every bird with him awakes, And night is (lung off like a mourning suit Worn for a husband, or some other brute. 98 DON JUAN. can. 11. CXL. I say, the sun is a most glorious sight, I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of late 1 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. CXL1II. And when into the cavern Haidee stepp'd All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw That like an infant Juau 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 can. it. DON JUAN. 99 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 Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying, Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair Must breakfast, and betimes — lest they should ask if, 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 Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and The coffee made, would fain have waken'd Juan ; But Haidce stopp'd her with her quick small hand, And without word, a sign her finger drew on Her lip, which Zoe 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. CXLVII. For still he lay, and on his thin worn check A purple hectic play'd like dying day On the snow-tops of distant hills ; the streak Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay, Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, and weak ; And his black curls were dewy with the spray. Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt, Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault. 100 DON JUAN. can. ii. CXLVIII. And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath, Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast, Droop'd as the willow when no winds can breathe, Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at rest, Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath, Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest ; In short, he was a very pretty fellow, Although his woes had turn'd him rather yellow. CXLIX. He woke and gazed, and wouhl have slept again, But the fair face •fthich met his eyes forbade Those eyes to close, though weariness and pain Had further sleep a further pleasure made ; For woman's face was never form'd in vain For Juan, so that even when he pray'd He turn'd from grisly saints, and martyr's hairy, To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary. CL. And thus upon his elbow he arose, And look'd upon the lady, in whose check The pale contended with the purple rose, As with an effort she began to speak : Her eyes were eloquent, her words would pose, Although she told him in good modern Greek, With an Ionian accent, low and sweet, That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat. CLI. Now Juan could not understand a word, Being no Grecian ; but he had an ear, And her voice was the warble of a bird, So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear, That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard ; The sort of sound we echo with a tear, Without knowing why — an overpowering tone, Whence Melody descends as from a throne. can. ii. DON JUAN. 101 CLIL And Juan gazed as one who is awoke By a distant organ, doubting if he be Not yet a dreamer, till the spell is broke By the watchmau, or some such reality, Or by one's early valet's cursed knock ; At least it is a heavy sound to me, Who like a morning slumber — for the night Shows stars and women in a better light. CLIIf. And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream. Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was, by feeling A most prodigious appetite : the steam Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing Upon his senses, and the kindling beam Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, kneeling, To stir her viands, made him quite awake And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak. CLIV. But beef is rare within these oxless isles ; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and million ; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on : But this occurs but seldom, between whiles, For some of these are rocks with scarce a hut on, Others are fair aud fertile, among which This, though not large, was one of the most rich. CLV. I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking That the old fable of the Minotaur — From which our modern morals, rightly shrinking Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore A cow's shape for a mask — was only (sinking The allegory) a mere type, no more. That Pasiphae promoted breeding cattle, To make the Cretans bloodier in battle O 102 DON JUAN. cAN.it. CLVi. For we all know that English people are Fed upon beef — I won't say much of beer, Because 'lis liquor only, and being far From this my subject, has no business here ; We know, too, they are very fond of war, A pleasure — like all pleasures — rather dear; So were the Cretans — from which I infer That beef and battles both were owing to her. CLVII. But to resume. The languid Juan raised His head upon his elbow, and he saw A sight on which he had not lately gazed, As all his latter meals had been quite raw. Three or four things, for which the Lord he praised, And, feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw, He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike. CLVIII. He ate, and he was well supplied ; and she, Who watch'd him like a mother, would have fed Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead : But Zoe, being older than Haidee, Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) That famished people must be slowly nurst, And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst. CLIX. And so she took the liberty to state, Rather by deeds than words, because the case Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace The sea-shore at this hour,'must leave his plate, Unless he wish'd to die upon the place- She snatch'd it, and refused another morsel, Saying, he had gorged enough to make a horse ill. ex*, ti. DON JUAN. 103 CLX. Next they — lie being naked, save a tatter'd Pair of scarce decent trowsers — went to work, And in the fire his recent rags they scatter'd, And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk, Or Greek — that is, although it not much matter'd. Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk — They furnish'd him, entire except some stitches, With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches. CLxr. And then fair Haidee tried her tongue at speaking, But not a word could Juan comprehend, Although he listen'd so that the young Greek in Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end ; And, as he interrupted not, went eking Her speech out to her protege and friend, Till pausing at the last her breath to take, She saw he did not understand Romaic. CLXII. And then she had recourse to nods and signs, And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye, And read (the only book she could) the lines Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy, The answer eloquent, where the soul shines And darts in one quick glance a long reply ; And thus in every look she saw exprest A world of words, and things at which she guess'd. CLxrn. And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes And words repeated after her, he took A lesson in her tongue ; but by surmise, No doubt, less of her language than her look : As he who studies fervently the skies Turns oftner to the stars than to his book, Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better From Haidee's glance than any graven letter. 104 DON JUAN. can. n. CLXIV. 'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes — that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been ; They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong They smile still more, and then there intervene Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss ; — I learn'd the little that I know by this : CLXV. That is, tjme words of Spanish, Turk, and Greek, Italian not at all, having no teachers; Much English I cannot pretend to speak, Learning that language chiefly from its preachers, Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week I study, also Blair, the highest reachers Of eloquence in piety and prose— I hate your poets, so read none of those. CLXVI. As for the ladies, I have nought to say, A wanderer from the British world of fashion, "Where I, like other " dogs, have had my day," Like other men too, may have had my passion- But that like other things, has pass'd away : And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on, Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me But dreams of what has been, no more to be. CLXVII. Return we to Don Juan. He begun To hear new words, and to repeat them ; but Some feelings, universal as the sun, Were such as could not in his breast be shut More than within the bosom of a nun : He was in love,— as you would be, no doubt, With a young benefactress — so was she, Ju»t in the way we very often see.^ can. ii. DON JUAN. 105 CLXVIII. And erery day by day-break — rather early For Juan, who was somewhat fond of rest- She came into the care, but it was merely To see her bird reposing in his nest ; And she would softly stir his locks so curly, Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest, Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth, As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south. CLXIX. And every morn his colour freshlier came, And every day help'd on his convalescence; 'Twas well, because health in the human frame Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence, For health and idleness to passion's flame Are oil and gunpowder ; and some good lessons Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus, Without whom Venus will not long attack us. CLXX. While Venus fills the heart (without heart really Love, though good always, is not quite so good) Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli, — For love must be sustain'd like llesh and blood, While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly : Eggs, oysters too, are amatory food : But who is their purveyor from above Heaven knows — it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove. CLXXI. When Juan woke he found some good tilings ready, A bath, a breakfast, and the finest eyes That ever made a youthful heart less steady, Besides her maid's as pretty for their size ; But I have spoken of all this already — And repetition's tiresome and unwise, — Well — Juan, after bathing in the sea, Came always back to colice and Ilaidee. 106 DON JUAN. can. ii. CLXXII. Both were so young, and one so innocent, That bathing pass'd for nothing ; Juan seem'd To her, as 'twere, the kind of being sent, Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd, A something to be loved, a creature meant To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd To render happy ; all who joy would win Must share it, — Happiness was born a twin. CLXXIII. It was such pleasure to behold him, such Eulargement of existence to partake Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch, To watch him slumbering, and to see him wake : To live with him for ever were too much ; But then the thought of parting made her quake : He was her own, her ocean-treasure, cast Like a rich wreck — her first love, and her last. CLXXIV. And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidee Paid daily visits to her boy, and took Such plentiful precautions, that still he Remain'd unknown within his craggy nook ; At last her father's prows put out to sea, For certain merchantmen upon the look, Not as of yore to carry off an Io, But three Ragusan vessels, bound for Scio. CLXXV. Then came her freedom, for she had no mother, So that, her father being at sea, she was Free as a married woman, or such other Female, as where she likes may freely pass, Without even the incumbrance of a brother, The freest she that ever gazed on glass : I speak of christian lands in this comparison, Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison. can. ii. DON JUAN. 107 CLXXVI. Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk (For they must talk), and he had learn't to say So much as to propose to take a walk, — For little had he wander'd since the day On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stalk, Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay, — And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon, And saw the sun set opposite the moon. CLXXV1I. It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast, With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore, Guarded by shoals and rocks as by an host, With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore A better welcome to the tempest-tost ; And rarely ceased the haughty billow's roar, Save on the dead long summer days, which make The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake, CLXXVIII. And the small ripple spilt upon the beach Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champaigne, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, That spring dew of the spirit ! the heart's rain ! Few things surpass old wine ; and they may preach Who please, — the more because they preach in vain,— Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda water the day after. CLXXIX. Man, being reasonable, must get drunk ; The best of life is but intoxication : Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk The hopes of all men, and of every nation ; Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion : But to return, — Get very drunk ; and when Y r ou wake with head-ache, you shall see what then. 108 DON JUAN. can. ii. CLXXX. Ring for your valet — bid him quickly bring Some hock and soda-water, then you'll know A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king ; .For not the blest sherbet, sublimed with snow, Nor the first sparkle of the desert spring, Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow, After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter, Vie with that draught of bock and soda-water. CLXXX I. The coast — I think it was the coast that I Was just describing — Yes, it was the coast — Lay at this period quiet as the sky, The sands untumbled, the blue waves untost, And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry, And dolphin's leap, and little billow crost By some low rock or shelve, that made it fret Against the boundary it scarcely wet. CLXXXII. And forth they wandered, her sire being gone, As I have said, upon an expedition ; And mother, brother, guardian, she had none, Save Zoe, who, although with due precision She waited on her lady with the sun, Thought daily service was her only mission, Bringing warm water, wreathing her long tresses, And asking now and then for cast-off dresses. CLXXXIII. It wag the cooling hour, just when the rounded Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill, Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded, Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still, With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill Upon the other, and the rosy sky, With one star sparkling through it like an eye. can. n. DON JUAN. 100 CLXXXlV. And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand, Over the shining; pebbles and the shells, Glided along the smooth and hardenM sand, And in the worn and wild receptacles Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd. In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells, They turn'd to rest ; and, each clasp'd by an arm, Yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm. CLXXXV. They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and blight: They gazed upon the glittering sea below, Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight; They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low, And saw each other's dark eyes darting light Into each other — and, beholding this, Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss; CLXXXV1. A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love, And beauty, all concentrating like rays Into one focus, kindled from above; Such kisses as belong to early days, Where heart, and soul, and sense in concert move, And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze, Each kiss a heart-quake, — for a kiss's strength, 1 think, it must be reckon'd by its length. CLXXXV1I. Bv length I mean duration ; theirs endured Heaven knows how long — no doubt they never reckon'd; And if they had, they could not have secured The sum of their sensations to a second : They had not spoken: but they felt allured, As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd, Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clung — 1 heir hearts the flowers from which the honey sprung, P 110 DON JUAN. can. n. CLXXXV1II. They were alone, but not alone as thty Who shut in chambers think it loneliness ; The silent ocean, and the starlight bay, The twifrght glow, which momently grew less, The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay Around them, made them to each other press, As if there were no life beneath the sky Save theirs, and that their life could never die. CLXXX1X. They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach", They felt no terrors from the night, they were All in all to each other : though their speech Was broken words, they thought a language there,— And all the burning tongues the passions teach Found in one sigh the best interpreter Of nature's oracle — first love, — that all Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall. cxc. Ilaidee spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows, Nor offer' d any ; she had never heard Of plight and promises to be a spouse, Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd ; She was all which pure ignorance allows, And flew to her young mate like a young bird ; And never having dreamt of falsehood, she Had not one word to say of constancy. CXCI. She loved, and was beloved — she adored, And she was worshipp'd ; after nature's fashion, Their intense souls, into each other pour'd, If souls c >uld die, had perish'd in that passion,— But by degrees their senses were restored, Ajain to be o'ercome, again to dash on : And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidee's heart Felt as if never more to beat apart. •an.it. DON JUAN. 11 CXCIl. Alas ! they were so young 1 , so beautiful, So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour Was that in which the hrart i.s always full, And, having o'er itself no further power, Prompts deeds eternity can not annul. Rut pays off moments in an endless shower Of hell-fire — all prepared fur people giving Pleasure or pain to one another living. CXCIII. Alas ! for Juan and Ilaidee ! they were S'o loving and so lovely — till then never, Fxceptin? our first parents, such a pair f lad run the risk of beintr damn'd for ever ; And Haidee, being devout as well as fair, Had, doubtless, heard ahout the Stygian river, And hell and purgatory — but forgot Just in the very crisis she should not. CXCIV. They look upon eaeh other, and their eyes Gleam in the moonlight ; and her white arm clasps Hound Juan's head, and his around hers lies Half buried in the tresses which it grasps ; She sits upon his knee, and drinks his sighs, He hers, until they end in broken gasps ; Arid thus they form a group that's quite antique, Half naked, loving, natural and Creek. cxcv. And when those deep and burning moments pass'd, And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms, Slip slept nut, but all tenderly, though fast, Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms ; And now and thrn her eye to heaven is cast, And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms, Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants With all it granted, and with all it grants. 112 DON JUAN. can. ii. CXCVI. An infant when it gazes on a light, A child the moment when it drains the hreast, A devotee when soars the Host in sight, An Arab with a stranger for a guest, A sailor when the prize has struck in fight, A miser filling his most hoarded chest, Feel rapture ; but not such true joy are reaping As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping. CXCVII. For there it lies *o tranquil, so beloved. A 11 that it hath of life with us is living ; So gentle, stirless, helpless and unmoved, And aH unconscious of the joy 'tis giving ; All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd and proved, Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving; There lies the thing we love with all its errors And all its charms, like death without its terrors. CXCVI 1 1. The lady watch'd her lover — and that hour Of Love's and Night's, and Ocean's solitude, O'erflow'd 1 er soul with their united power; Amiflst the barren sand and rocks so rude She and her wave-worn love had made their bower, Where nought upon their passion could intrude, And all the stars lhat crowded the blue space. Saw nothing happier than her glowing face. CXCIX. Alas ! the love of women ! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing ; For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring To them but mockeries of the past alone, And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, Deadly, and quick, and crushing ; yet, as real Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. can. if. DON JUAN. 113 CC. They are right ; for man, to man so oft unjust, Is always so to women ; »>ne sole bond Awaits them, treachery is all their trust ; Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond Over their idol, till some wealthier lust Buys them in marriage — and what rests beyond? A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over. CCJ. Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers, Some mind their household, others dissipation, Some run away, and but exchange their cares, Losing the advantage of a virtuous station ; Few changes e'er can better their affairs, 1 heirs being an unnatural situation, From the dull palace to the dirty hovel: Some play the devil, and then write a novel. ecu. Ilaidee was Nature's bride, and knew not this ; llaidee was Passion's child, born where the sun Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss Of his g;iz» lie-eyed daughters: she was one Made but to love, to feel that she was his W ho was her chosen : what was said or done Elsewhere was nothing — She had nought to fear, Hope, care, nor love beyond, her heart Leat here. LCI II. And oh ! that quickening of the heart, that beat ! How much it costs us ! yet each rising throb Is in its cause as its effect so sweet, That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob Joy of its alchymy, and to repeat Line truths ; even Conscience, loo, has a tough job To make us understand each good old maxim, So good — 1 wouder Castlertagh don't tax 'em. 114 DON JUAN. can ir. CCIV. And now 'twas done — on (he lone shore were plighted Their hearts ; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed Beauty upon the beautiful ihey lighted : Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, By their own feelinffs hnllow'd and united, Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed : And they were happy, for to their young eyes Each was an angel, and earth paradise. ccv Oh Love ! of whom great Cnesar was the suitor, Titus the master, Antony the slave, Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor, Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave All those may leap who rather would be neuter — (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave) Oh Love ! thou art the very god of evil, For, after all, we cannot call thee devil. CCVI. Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state precarious, And jestest with the brows of mightiest men : Csesar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius, Have much employ'd the muse of history's pen ; Their lives and fortunes were extremely various, Such worthies Time will never see again ; Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds, They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds. CCVII. Thou mak'st philosophers : there's Epicurus And Aristippus, a material crew ! Who to immoral courses would allure us, By theories quite practicable too ; If only from the devil they would insure us, How pleasant wpre the maxim, (not quite new) " Eat, drink, ami love, what can the rest avail us ?" So said the royal sage Sardanapalus. civ. ii. DON JUAN. Hi CCVUI. But Juan ! had he quite forgotten Julia ? Anil should lie have forgotten her so soon ? 1 can't but say ii seems to me most truly a Perplexing question ; but, no doubt, the moon Does these thing's for us, and whenever newly a Palp tatiou rises, 'tis her boon, Else huw the oevil is it that fresh Itatures Have such a charm for us poor human creatures ? CC1X. I hate inconstancy — 1 loathe, detest, Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast No permanent foundation ran be laid ; Love, constant love, has been my constant guest, And yet last night being at a Masquerade, 1 saw the prettiest creature fresh from Milan, Which gave me some sensations like a villain. ( CX. But soon Philosophy came to my aid, And whisper'd " think of every sacred tie!" •' I will, in v dear Phi.osophy !" I said, '* Hut 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 masqued then as a fair Venetian.) CCXI. *' Stop !" so I stopp'd. — But to return : that which Men call inconstancy is nothing more Than admiration due where nature's rich Profusion with young beauty covers o'er Some favour (I object; and as in the niche A lovely statue we almost adore, This sort of adoration of the real Is but a heightening of the " beau ideal." 116 DON JUAN. can. ii. CXCIT. 'Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filter'd through the skies. Without which life would be extremely dull ; Io short it is the use of our own eyes, With one or two small senses added, just To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust. CCX1II. Yet 'tis a painful feeling 1 , and unwilling-, For surely if we always could perceive In the same object graces quite as killing As when she rose upon us like an Eve, 'Twould save us many a heart-ache, many a shilling, (For we must get them any how, or grieve,) Whereas if one sole lady pleased for ever, How pleasant for the heart as well as liver ! CCXIV. The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven, But changes night and day too, like the sky ; Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, And darkness and destruction as on high : But when it hath been scortch'd, and pierced, and riven, Its storms expire in water-drops ; the eye Tours forth at last the heart's-blood turn'd to tears, Which make the English climate of our years. ccxv. The liver is the lazaret of bile, But very rarely executes its function, For the first passion stays there such a while, That all the rest creep in and form a junction, Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil, Rage, fear, hate, jealously, revenge, compunction, So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail, L ke earthquakes from the hidden fire call'd " central." can. ii. DON JUAN. 117 CCXVI. Ih the mean time, without proceeding more In this anatomy, I've finish'd now Two hundred and odd stanzas as before, That being about the number I'll allow Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four ; And, laying down my pen, I make my bow, Leaving Don Juan and Haidee to plead For them and theirs with all who deign to read. END OF CANTO II, E. TKjuuu, Printer, Dcnrwak-Conn, Stmnd. 9 3 3 13 University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. 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