701

LXXV.

Sooner & come place into the civil list,

And champion him to the utmost»-he would keep it, Till duly disappointed or dismiss'd:

Profit he cared not for, let others reap it; But should the day come when place ceased to exist, The country would have far more cause to weep it; For how could it go on? Explain who can! He gloried in the name of Englishman.

LXXVI.

He was as independent—ay, much more—
Than those who were not paid for independence,
As common soldiers, or a common--shore

Have in their several arts or parts ascendance
O'er the irregulars in lust or gore

Who do not give professional attendance. Thus on the mob all statesmen are as cager To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar. LXXVII.

All this (save the last stanza) Henry said,

And thought. I say no more-I've said too much;

For all of us have either heard or read

Of or upon the hustings-some slight such
Hints from the independent heart or head

Of the official candidate. I'll touch
No more on this-the dinner-bell hath rung,
And grace is said; the grace I should have sung-
LXXVIII.
But I'm too late, and therefore must make play.
'T was a great banquet, such as Albion old
Was wont to boast-as if a glutton's tray
Were something very glorious to behold.
But it was a public feast and public day,—
Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold,
Great plenty, much formality, small cheer,
And every body out of their own sphere.
LXXIX.

The squires familiarly formal, and

My lords and ladies proudly condescending; The very servants puzzling how to hand

Their plates-without it might be too much bending From their high places by the sideboard's standYet, like their masters, fearful of offending. deviation from the graces For any Might cost both men and masters too-their places.

LXXX.

Some deadly shot; too, Septembrisers, seen
Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search
Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen.
There were some massy members of the church,
Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches,
And several who sung fewer psalms than catches.
LXXXI.

There were some country wags too,—and alas!
Some exiles from the town, who had been driven
To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass,
And rise at nine in lieu of long eleven.
And lo! upon that day it came to pass,

I sate next that o'erwhelming son of Heaven,
The very powerful parson, Peter Pith,
The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with.

His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes;
But both were thrown away amongst the fens;
For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks.
No longer ready ears and short-hand pens
Imbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax:

The poor priest was reduced to common sense, Or to coarse efforts very loud and long,

To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng. LXXXIV.

There is a difference, says the song, “

between

A beggar and a queen,» or was (of late The latter worse used of the two we 've seenBut we'll say nothing of affairs of state)A difference « 'twixt a bishop and a dean,»

A difference between crockery-ware and plate, As between English beef and Spartan broth-. And yet great heroes have been bred by both LXXXV.

But of all nature's discrepancies, none

Upon the whole is greater than the difference Beheld between the country and the town,

Of which the latter merits every preference From those who've few resources of their own, And only think, or act, or feel with reference To some small plan of interest or ambitionBoth which are limited to no condition.

LXXXVI.

LXXXVII.

LXXXVIII.

LXXXIX.

This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd,
The supplicator being an amateur;
But others, who were left with scarce a third,
Were angry-as they well might, to be sure.
They wonder'd how a young man so absurd
Lord Henry at his table should endure;
And this, and his not kuowing how much oats
Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.
XC.

They little knew, or might have sympathized,
That he the night before had seen a ghost;
A prologue which but slightly harmonised
With the substantial company engross'd
By matter, and so much materialised,

That one scarce knew at what to marvel most
Of two things-how (the question rather odd is)
Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies.
XCI.

But what confused him more than smile or stare From all the squires and 'squiresses around, Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air, Especially as he had been renown'd

For some vivacity among the fair,

Even in the country circle's narrow bound(For little things upon my lord's estate

Were good small-talk for others still less great)

XCVI.

Though this was most expedient on the whole,

And usual-Juan, when he cast a glance On Adeline while playing her grand role,

Which she went through as though it were a dance (Betraying only now and then her soul

By a look scarce perceptibly askance
Of weariness or scorn), began to feel
Some doubt how much of Adeline was real;
XCVII.

So well she acted all and every part

By turns-with that vivacious versatility, Which many people take for want of heart. They err-t is merely what is call'd mobility, A thing of temperament and not of art,

Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false-though true; for surely they're sincerest, Who 're strongly acted on by what is nearest.

XCVIII.

This makes your actors, artists, and romancers,
Heroes sometimes, though seidom-sages never;
But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers,
Little that's great, but much of what is clever;
Most orator, but very
few financiers,

Though all Exchequer Chancellors endeavour, Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours, And grow quite figurative with their figures. XCIX.

The poets of arithmetic are they

Who, though they prove not two and two to be Five, as they would do in a modest way,

Have plainly made it out that four are three,
Judging by what they take and what they pay.
The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea,
That most unliquidating liquid, leaves
The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives.
C.

While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces,

The fair Fitz-Fulke seem'd very much at ease; Though too well-bred to quiz men to their faces, Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize The ridicules of people in all places

That honey of your fashionable bees-
And store it up for mischievous enjoyment;
And this at present was her kind employment.
CI.

However, the day closed, as days must close;
The evening also waned-and coffee came.
Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose,
And curtseying off, as curtsies country dame,
Retired: with most unfashionable bows

Their docile esquires also did the same,
Delighted with the dinner and their host,
But with the lady Adeline the most.

CI.

Some praised her beauty; others her great grace; The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity Was obvious in each feature of her face,

Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity. Yes, she was truly worthy her high place!

No one could envy her deserved prosperity: And then her dress-what beautiful simplicity Draperied her form with curious felicity! 7

CIII.

Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their praises,
By an impartial indemnification

For all her past exertion and soft phrases,

In a most edifying conversation,

Which turn'd upon their late guests' miens and faces,
And families, even to the last relation;
Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses,
And truculent distortion of their tresses.

CIV.

True, she said little-'t was the rest that broke

Forth into universal epigram:

But then 't was to the purpose what she spoke : Like Addison's « faint praise» so wont to damn, Her own but served to set off every joke,

As music chimes in with a melo-drame. How sweet the task to shield an absent friend! I ask but this of mine, to--not defend.

CV.

There were but two exceptions to this keen
Skirmish of wits o'er the departed: one,
Aurora, with her pure and placid mien;

And Juan too, iu general behind none
In gay remark on what he 'd heard or seen,
Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone:
In vain he heard the others rail or rally,
He would not join them in a single sally.
CVL.

'Tis true he saw Aurora look as though
She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook
Its motive for that charity we owe

But seldom pay the absent, nor would look
Further; it might or it might not be so,
But Juan, sitting silent in his nook,
Observing little in his reverie,

Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see.

CVII.

The ghost at least had done him this much good, In making him as silent as a ghost,

If in the circumstances which ensued

He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most. And certainly Aurora had renew'd

In him some feelings he had lately lost
Or harden'd; feelings which, perhaps ideal,
Are so divine, that I must deem them real :-

CVII.

The love of higher things and better days;

The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance
Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways;
The moments when we gather from a glance
More joy than from all future pride or praise,
Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance
The heart in an existence of its own,
Of which another's bosom is the zone.
CIX.

Who would not sigh At αι ταν Κυθέρειαν

That hath a memory, or that had a heart? Alas! her star must wane like that of Dian,

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

Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart Of Eros; but, though thou hast play'd us many tricks, Still we respect thee, « Alma Venus Genitrix !»

CX.

And full of sentiments, sublime as billows
Heaving between this world and worlds beyond,
Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows
Arrived, retired to his; but to despond
Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows
Waved o'er his couch; he ineditated, fond
Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,
And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.

CXI.

The night was as before: he was undrest,

Saving his night-gown, which is an undress :
Completely « sans culotte,» and without vest;
In short, he hardly could be clothed with less;
But, apprehensive of his spectral guest,

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

And not in vain he listen'd-Hush! what 's that?
I see-I see-Ah, no! 't is not-yet't is-
Ye powers! it is the-the-the-Pooh! the cat!
The devil may take that stealthy pace of his!
So like a spiritual pit-a-pat,

Or tiptoe of an amatory miss,

Gliding the first time to a rendezvous,

And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.

CXIII.

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

With awful footsteps, regular as rhyme,

Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more. | Again, through shadows of the night sublime, When deep sleep fell on men, and the world wore The starry darkness round her like a girdle Spangled with gems-the monk made his blood curdle. CXIV.

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass, 8

Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter,
Like showers which on the midnight gusts will pass,
Sounding like very supernatural water,-
Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd, alas!

For immaterialism's a serious matter:
So that even those whose faith is the most great
In souls immortal, shun them tête-à-tête.

CXV.

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

Ilis

eyes were open, and (as was before Stated) his mouth. What open'd next?—the door. CXVI.

It open'd with a most infernal creak,

Like that of hell. « Lasciate ogni speranza,
Voi che entrate!» The hinge seem'd to speak,
Dreadful as Dante's rima, or this stanza;
Or-but all words upon such themes are weak:
A single shade 's sufficient to entrance a
Hero-for what is substance to a spirit?
Or how is 't matter trembles to come near it?

CXVII.

The door flew wide, not swiftly-but, as fly

The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flightAnd then swung back; nor close-but stood awry, Half letting in long shadows on the light, Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high,

For he had two, both tolerably bright,— And in the door-way, darkening darkness, stood The sable friar in his solemn hood.

CXVIII.

Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken
The night before; but, being sick of shaking,
He first inclined to think he had been mistaken,
And then to be ashamed of such mistaking,
His own internal ghost began to awaken
Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking-
Hinting, that soul and body on the whole

Were odds against a disembodied soul.

CXIX.

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

Follow'd; his veins no longer cold, but heated,
Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce,
At whatsoever risk of being defeated :
The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until
He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still.
CXX.

Juan put forth one arm-Eternal Powers!

It touch'd no soul, nor body, but the wall, On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers Chequer'd with all the tracery of the hall: He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers When he can't tell what 't is that doth appal. How odd, a single hobgoblin's non-entity Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity.9 CXXI

But still the shade remain'd; the blue

eyes glared,

And rather variably for stony death; Yet one thing rather good the grave had sparedThe ghost had a remarkably sweet breath. A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd; A red lip, with two rows of pearl beneath, Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud The moon peep'd, just escaped from a grey cloud. CXXII.

And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust

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

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

CXXIII.

The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweet soul,
As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood:

A dimpled chin, a neck of ivory, stole

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

And they reveal'd (alas! that e'er they should!) In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk, The phantom of her frolic grace-Fitz-Fulke!

Note 3. Stanza Ixxii.

A like gold bar, above her instep roll'd. The bar of gold above the instep is a mark of sovereign rank in the women of the families of the Deys, and is worn as such by their female relatives.

Note 4. Stanza lxxiii.

Her person if allow'd at large to run. This is no exaggeration; there were four women whom I remember to have seen, who possessed their hair in this profusion; of these, three were English, the other was a Levantine. Their hair was of that length and quantity that, when let down, it almost entirely shaded the person, so as nearly to render dress a superfluity. Of these, only one had dark hair; the Oriental's had, perhaps, the lightest colour of the four.

Note 5. Stanza cvii.

Oh Hesperus thou bringest all good things.

Εσπερε, πάντα φέρεις;

Φέρεις οίνον, φέρεις αιγα,

Φέρεις ματέρι παιδα.

Fragment of Sappho.

Note 6. Stanza cviii.

Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart.

Era già l'ora che volge 'I disio,

A' naviganti, e 'ntenerisce il cuore;

Lo di ch han detto a' dolci amici addio,
E che lo nuovo peregrin d'amore

Punge, se ode Squilla di lontano,

Che paja 'l giorno pianger che si muore.

DANTR's Purgatory, Canto viii.

company for some foreign theatre; embarked them at an Italian port, and, carrying them to Algiers, sold them all. One of the women, returned from her captivity, I heard sing, by a strange coincidence, in Rossini's opera of « L'Italiana in Algieri,» at Venice, in the beginning of 1817.

Note 4. Stanza lxxxvi.

From all the Pope makes yearly 't would perplex
To find three perfect pipes of the third sex.

It is strange that it should be the pope and the sultan who are the chief encouragers of this branch of trade— women being prohibited as singers at St Peter's, and not deemed trust-worthy as guardians of the haram. Note 5. Stanza ciii.

While weeds and ordure rankle round the base.

The pillar which records the battle of Ravenna is about two miles from the city, on the opposite side of the river to the road towards Forli. Gaston de Foix, who gained the battle, was killed in it; there fell on both sides twenty thousand men. The present state of the pillar and its site is described in the text.

THIS expression of Homer has been much criticised. It hardly answers to our Atlantic ideas of the occan,

Note 7. Stanza cix.

Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb. See Suetonius for this fact.

CANTO IV.

Note 1. Stanza xii.

Whom the gods love die young, was said of yore. See Herodotus.

Note 2. Stanza lix.

A vein bad burst.

This is no very uncommon effect of the violence of conflicting and different passions. The Doge Francis Foscari, on his deposition, in 1457, hearing the bell

of St Mark announce the election of his successor, << mourut subitement d'une hémorrhagie causée par une veine qui s'éclata dans sa poitrine,» (see Sismondi and Daru, vols. i and ii), at the age of eighty years, when a who would have thought the old man had so much blood in him?» Before I was sixteen years of age, I was witness to a melancholy instance of the same effect of mixed passions upon a young person; who, however, did not die in consequence, at that time, but fell a victim some years afterwards to a seizure of the same kind, arising from causes intimately connected with agitation of mind.

Note 3. Stanza lxxx.

But sold by the impresario at no high rate. This is a fact. A few years ago a man engaged a

Bosphorus, with the Egean intersected with islands.

Note 5. Stanza l:ii.

Prepared for supper with a glass of rum.

In Turkey nothing is more common than for the Mussulmans to take several glasses of strong spirits by way of appetizer. I have seen them take as many as six of raki before dinner, and swear that they dined the better for it; I tried the experiment, but was like the Scotchman, who having heard that the birds called kittiewiaks were admirable whets, ate six of them, and complained that «he was no hungrier than when he began.»

Note 6. Stanza lv.

Splendid but silent, save in one, where, dropping.

A marble fountain echoes.

A common furniture.-I recollect being received by