His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng,
Which learn'd from this example not to fly
From a true lover, shadow'd my mind's eye.
CVII.

Oh Hesperus!5 thou bringest all good things-
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,
To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer;
Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings,
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,
Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest;
Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.
CVIII.
Soft hour!6 which wakes the wish and melts the heart
Of those who sail the seas, on the first day
When they from their sweet friends are torn apart;
Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way,
As the far bell of vesper makes him start,
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay ;

Is this a fancy which our reason scorns?
Ah! surely nothing dies but something mourns!
CIX.

When Nero perish'd by the justest doom
Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd,
Amidst the roar of liberated Rome,

Of nations freed, and the world overjoy'd,
Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb :7
Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void

Of feeling for some kindness done, when power
Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour.

CX.

But I'm digressing; what on earth has Nero,
Or any such like sovereign buffoons,

To do with the transactions of my hero,

More than such madmen's fellow-mau-the moon's?

Sure my invention must be down at zero,

And I grown one of many « wooden spoons»>

Of verse (the name with which we Cantabs please
To dub the last of honours in degrees).

CXI

I feel this tediousness will never do-
T is being too epic, and I must cut down
(In copying) this long canto into two:

They never find it out, unless I own
The fact, excepting some experienced few;
And then as an improvement 't will be shown:
I'll prove
that such the opinion of the critic is,
From Aristotle passim. See Ilstations.

But time, which brings all beings to their level,
And sharp adversity, will teach at last
Man,--and, as we would hope,-perhaps the devil,
That neither of their intellects are vast:
While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
We know not this-the blood flows on too fast;
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.
III.

As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow,

And wish'd that others held the same opinion: They took it up when my days grew more mellow, And other minds acknowledged my dominion: Now my sere fancy «falls into the yellow

Leaf,» and imagination droops her piniou, And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk Turus what was once romantic to burlesque. IV.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing,

'Tis that I may not weep; and if I weep,
T is that our nature cannot always bring
Itself to apathy, which we must steep
First in the icy depths of Lethe's spring,

Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep.
Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx;
A mortal mother would on Lethe fix.

V.

Some have accused me of a strange design Against the creed and morals of the land, And trace it in this poem every line:

I don't pretend that I quite understand My own meaning when I would be very fine; But the fact is that I have nothing plann'd, Unless it was to be a moment merryA novel word in my vocabulary.

VI.

To the kind reader of our sober clime

This way of writing will appear exotic;

Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme,

Who sung when chivalry was more Quixotic,

And revell'd in the fancies of the time,

True knights,chaste dames, huge giants, kings despotic,

But all these, save the last, being obsolete,

I chose a modern subject as more meet.

VIL

How I have treated it, I do not know

Perhaps no better than they have treated me Who have imputed such designs as show,

Not what they saw, but what they wish'd to see: But if it gives them pleasure, be it so,

This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free:
Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear,
And tells me to resume my story here.

VIL

Young Juan and his lady-love were left

To their own hearts' most sweet society; Even Time, the pitiless, in sorrow cleft

With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms; he Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft,

Though foe to love; and yet they could not be
Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring,
Before one charm or hope had taken wing
IX.

Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their
Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail ;
The blank grey was not made to blast their hair,
But, like the climes that know nor snow nor hail,
They were all summer: lightning might assail
And shiver them to ashes, but to trail
A long and snake-like life of dull decay
Was not for them-they had too little clay.

X.

They were alone once more; for them to be
Thus was another Eden; they were never
Weary, unless when separate: the tree

Cut from its forest root of years-the river Dammi'd from its fountain-the child from the knee

And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever, Would wither less than these two torn apart; Alas! there is no instinct like the heart

XI.

The heart--which may be broken. Happy they! Thrice fortunate! who, of that fragile mould. The precious porcelain of human clay,

Break with the first fall; they can ne'er behold The long year link'd with heavy day on day,

And all which must be borne, and never told; While life's strange principle will often lic Deepest in those who long the most to die.

XII.

Whom the gods love die young,» was said of yore,' And many deaths do they escape by this:

XIV.

The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,

The least glance better understood than words, Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much; A language, too, but like to that of birds, Known but to them, at least appearing such

As but to lovers a true sense affords;

Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd

To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard:

XV.

All these were theirs, for they were children still, And children still they should have ever been; They were not made in the real world to fill

A busy character in the dull scene; But like two beings born from out a rill,

A nymph and her beloved, all unseen To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers, And never know the weight of human hours.

XVI.

Moons changing had roll'd on, and changeless found
Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys
As rarely they behield throughout their round:
And these were not of the vain kind which cloys:
For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound

By the mere senses; and that which destroys
Most love, possession, unto them appear'd
A thing which each endearment more endear'3.
XVII.

Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful!

But theirs was love in which the mind delights To lose itself, when the whole world grows dull, And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights, Intrigues, adventures of the common school,

Its petty passions, marriages, and flights, Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet more. Whose husband ouly knows her not a wh-re.

XVIII.

Hard words; harsh truth; a truth which many know.
Enough. The faithful and the fairy pair,

Who never found a single hour too slow,
What was it made them thus exempt from care
Young innate feelings all have felt below,

Which perish in the rest, but in them were
Inherent, what we mortals cali romantic,
And always envy, though we deem it frantic.

XIX.

The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is, Except mere breath: and since the silent shore

Awaits at last even those whom longest miss The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save, XIII

Haider and Juan thought not of the dead;

The heavens, and earth, and air, seem d made for them: They found no fault with time, save that he fled; They saw not in themselves aught to condemu Each was the other's mirror, and but read

Joy sparkling in their dark eyc like a gem. And know such brightness was but the reflection Of their exchanging glances of affection.

No novels e'er had set their young hearts bleeding, For ilaidee's knowledge was by no means great,

And Juan was a boy of samtly breeding,

So that there was no reason for their loves,
More than for those of nightingales or doves.

XX.

They gazed upon the sunset; 't is an hour
Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
For it had made them what they were: the power
Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies,

When happiness had been their only dower,

And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties; Charm'd with each other, all things charmi'd that brought The past still welcome as the present thought.

XXI.

I know not why, but in that hour to-night,
Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came,
And swept, as 't were, across their hearts' delight,
Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame,
When one is shook in sound, and one in sight;

And thus some boding flash'd through either frame,
And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh,
While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye.

XXII.

That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate
And follow far the disappearing sun,

As if their last day of a happy date

With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone.

Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate

He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none, His glance inquired of hers for some excuse For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse.

XXIII.

She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort
Which makes not others smile; then turn'd aside :
Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,

And master'd by her wisdom or her pride.
When Juan spoke, too-it might be in sport-
Of this their mutual feeling, she replied-
If it should be so,-but-it cannot be-
Or I at least shall not survive to see,"
XXIV.

Juan would question further, but she press'd
His lips to hers, and silenced him with this,
And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast,
Defying augury with that fond kiss;

And no doubt of all methods 't is the best :

Some people prefer wine-`t is not amiss:

I have tried both; so those who would a part take May chuse between the headache and the heartache. XXV.

One of the two, according to your choice,

Women or wine, you ll have to undergo; Both maladies are taxes on our joys:

But which to chuse I really hardly know; And if I had to give a casting voice,

For both sides I could many reasons show, And then decide, without great wrong to either, It were much better to have both than neither.

XXVI.

Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other,

With swimming looks of speechless tenderness,
Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother,
All that the best can mingle and express,
When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another,
And love too much, and yet can not love less,

But almost sanctify the sweet excess
By the immortal wish and power to bless.

XXVII.

Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart,

Why did they not then die?-they had lived too long, Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart;

Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong. The world was not for them, nor the world's art For beings passionate as Sappho's song: Love was born with them, in them, so intense, It was their very spirit-not a sense.

XXVIII.

They should have lived together deep in woods, Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes

Called social, where all vice and hatred are: How lonely every freeborn creature broods! The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair; The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow Flock o'er their carrion, just as mortals do.

ΧΧΙΧ.

Now pillow'd, cheek to cheek, in loving sleep,
Haidee and Juan their siesta took;

A gentle slumber, but it was not deep,

For ever and anon a something shook Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep ; And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd, like a brook, A wordless music; and her face so fair

Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air:
XXX.

Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream
Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind
Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream,
The mystical usurper of the mind-
O'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem

Good to the soul which we no more can bind; Strange state of being! (for 't is still to be) Senseless to fecl, and with seal'd eyes to see.

XXXI.

She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore,
Chain'd to a rock; she knew not how, but stir
She could not from the spot, and the loud roar
Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her;
And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour,

Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were
Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high
Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.
XXXII.

Anon-she was released, and then she stray'd
O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet,
And stumbled almost every step she made;
And something roll'd before her in a sheet,
Which she must still pursue, howe'er afraid;

"T was white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasp'd, And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd.

XXXIII.

The dream changed in a cave she stood; its walls
Were hung with marble icicles; the work

Of ages on its water-fretted halls,

Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and Jurk;

Her hair was dripping, and the very balls

Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and murk The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught, Which froze to marble as it fell, she thought.

XXXIV.

And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet,

Pale as the foam that froth'd on his dead brow, Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how sweet Were once her cares, how idle seem'd they now!) Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat

Of his quench'd heart; and the sea-dirges low Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song, And that brief dream appear'd a life too long.

XXXV.

And gazing on the dead, she thought his face
Faded, or alter'd into something new-
Like to her father's features, till each trace

More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew-
With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace;

And starting, she awoke, and what to view! Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there? Tis-t is her father's-fix'd upon the pair!

XXXVI.

Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell,
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see
Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell
The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be
Perchance the death of one she loved too well
Dear as her father had been to Haidee,
It was a moment of that awful kind--
I have seen such-but must not call to mind.

XXXVII

Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek,
And caught her falling, and from off the wall
Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak

Vengeance on him who was the cause of all :
Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak,
Smiled scornfully, and said, «Within my call
A thousand scimitars await the word;
Put up, young man, put up your silly sword.»
XXXVIII.

And Haidee clung around him: « Juan, 't is-
T is Lambro-t is my father! Kneel with me-
He will forgive us-yes-it must be-yes.
Oh! dearest father, in this agony

Of pleasure and of pain-even while I kiss

Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be That doubt should mingle with my filial joy? Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy,» XXXIX.

High and inscrutable the old man stood,

Calm in his voice, and calm within his eyeNot always signs with him of calmest mood: He look'd upon her, but gave no reply; Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood Oft came and went, as there resolved to die ; In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring.

XLII.

Lambro presented, and one instant more

Had stopp'd this Canto, and Don Juan's breath, When Haidee threw herself her boy before,

Stern as her sire : « On me,» she cried, « let death Descend-the fault is mine; this fatal shore

He found-but sought not. I have pledged my faith; I love him-I will die with him: I knew Your nature's firmness-know your daughter's too.»

XLIII.

A minute past, and she had been all tears,
And tenderness, and infancy: but now
She stood as one who champion'd human fears—
Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the blow;
And tall beyond her sex and their compeers,

She drew up to her height, as if to show
A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd
Her father's face-but never stopp'd his hand.

XLIV.

He gazed on her, and she on him; it was strange
How like they look'd! the expression was the same;
Serenely savage, with a little change

In the large dark eye's mutual-darted flame;
For she too was as one who could avenge,

If cause should be-a lioness, though tame:
Her father's blood before her father's face
Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race.

XLV.

I said they were alike, their features and
Their stature differing but in sex and years;
Even to the delicacy of their bands

There was resemblance, such as true blood wears; And now to see them, thus divided, stand

In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears,

And sweet sensations, should have welcomed both, Show what the passions are in their full growth.

XLVI.

The father paused a moment, then withdrew
His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still,
And looking on her, as to look her through,

« Not I,» he said, «have sought this strangers ill; Not I have made this desolation: few

Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill;
But I must do my duty-how thou hast
Done thine, the present vouches for the past.

XLVII.

Let him disarm; or, by my father's head, His own shall roll before you like a ball !a He raised his whistle, as the word he said,

And biew; another answer'd to the call, And rushing in disorderly, though led,

And arm'd from boot to turban, one and all, Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; He gave the word, « Arrest or slay the Frank.»

XLVII.

Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew
His daughter; while compress'd within his grasp
Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew;

In vain she struggled in her father's grasp
His arms were like a serpents coil: then flew
Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp,

The file of pirates; save the foremost, who
Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut throuĘ

Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic,

Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea!
Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic;
For if my pure libations exceed three,
I feel my heart become so sympathetic,

That I must have recourse to black Bohea :
'Tis pity wine should be so deleterious,
For tea and coffee leave us much more serious.
LIII.

Unless when qualified with thee, Cognac !
Sweet Naiad of the Phlegethontic rill!
Ah! why the liver wilt thou thus attack,

And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill?
I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack
(In each sense of the word), whene'er I fill
My mild and midnight beakers to the brim,
Wakes me next morning with its
synonym.

LIV.

I leave Don Juan for the present safe

Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded; Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half

Of those with which his Haidee's bosom bounded? She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe,

And then give way, subdued because surrounded; Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez, Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.

LV.

There the large olive rains its amber store

In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit,
Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er;
But there too many a poison-tree has root,
And midnight listens to the lion's roar,

And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot,
Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan,
Aud as the soil is, so the heart of man.

LVI.

Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth

Her human clay is kindled, full of power For good or evil, burning from its birth,

The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, And like the soil beneath it will bring forth:

Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower : But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

LVII.

Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,

Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder they display Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way;

But, overwrought with passion and despair,
The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
Even as the simoom sweeps the blasted plains.
LVIII.

The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
His blood was running on the very floor

Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own:
Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,-

Her struggles ceased with one convulsive Groan; On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.

LIX.

A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes
Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er;
And her head droop'd as when the lily lies
O'ercharged with rain: her suminon'd handmaids bore
Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store,
But she defied all means they could employ,
Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.

LX.

Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill,
With nothing livid, still her lips were red ;
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;
No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead;
Corruption came not in each mind to kill

All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul,
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.
LXI.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows

When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there,
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,
And ever-dying Gladiator's air,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.
LXH.

She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,

Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new, A strange sensation which she must partake Perforce, since whatsoever met her view Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true Brought back the sense of pain without the cause, For, for a while, the furies made a pause.