LX.

In perfect iunocence she then unmade
Her toilet, which cost little, for she was
A child of nature, carelessly array'd;

If fond of a chance ogle at her glass,
T was like the fawn which, in the lake display'd,
Beholds her own shy shadowy image pass,
When first she starts, and then returns to peep,
Admiring this new native of the deep.

LXI.

And one by one her articles of dress

Were laid aside; but not before she offer d Her aid to fair Juanna, whose excess

Of modesty declined the assistance proffer'd— Which pass'd well off-as she could do no less:

Though by this politesse she rather suffer'd, Pricking her fingers with those cursed pins, Which surely were invented for our sins,

LXII.

Making a woman like a porcupine,

Not to be rashly touch'd. But still more dread, Oh ye! whose fate it is, as once 't was mine,

In early youth, to turn a lady's maid ;—

I did my very boyish best to shine
In tricking her out for a masquerade:
The pins were placed sufficiently, but not
Stuck all exactly in the proper spot.

LXIII.

But these are foolish things to all the wise-
And I love Wisdom more than she loves me;
My tendency is to philosophize

On most things, from a tyrant to a tree;
But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge thies.

What are we? and whence came we! what shall be Our ultimate existence? what 's our present? Are questions answerless, and yet incessant.

LXIV.

There was deep silence in the chamber; dim
And distant from each other bura'd the lights,
And slumber hover'd o'er each lovely limb

Of the fair occupants: if there be sprites,

They should have walk'd there in their spriteliest trim,
By way of change from their sepulchral sites,
And shown themselves as ghosts of better taste,
Than haunting some old ruin or wild waste.

LXV.

Many and beautiful lay those around,

Like flowers of different hue and clime and root, In some exotic garden sometimes found,

With cost and care and warmth induced to shoot. One, with her auburn tresses lightly bound,

And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit
Nods from the tree, was slumbering with soft breath
And lips apart, which show'd the pearls beneath.
LXVI.

One, with her flush'd cheek Jaid on her white arm,
And raven ringlets gather'd in dark crowd
Above her brow, lay dreaming soft and warm;

And smiling through her dream, as through a clon i
The moon breaks, half unveild each further charm,
As slightly stirring in her snowy shroud,
Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of night
All bashfully to struggle into light.

LXVII.

LXXIV.

Beloved and deplored; while slowly stray'd (As night dew, on a cypress glittering, tinges

Dudu had never pass'd for wanting sense, But, being << no orator, as Brutus is,>>

LXX.

But all this time how slept or dream'd Dudù?
With strict inquiry I could ne'er discover,
And scorn to add a syllable untrue;

But ere the middle watch was hardly over,
Just when the fading lamps waned dim and blue,
And phantoms hover'd, or might seem to hover,
To those who like their company, about
The apartment, on a sudden she scream'd out:
LXXI.

And that so loudly, that upstarted all

The Oda, in a general commotion:
Matron and maids, and those whom you may call
Neither, came crowding like the waves of ocean,
One on the other, throughout the whole hall;

All trembling, wondering, without the least notion,
More than I have myself, of what could make
The calm Dudu so turbulently wake.

LXXV.

At length she said, that, in a slumber sound,

She dream'd a dream of walking in a wood—
A « wood obscure, » like that where Dante found
Himself in at the age when all grow good;
Life's half-way house, where dames with virtue crown'd
Run much less risk of lovers turning rude ;—
And that this wood was full of pleasant fruits,
And trees of goodly growth and spreading roots;
LXXVI.

And in the midst a golden apple grew,—
A most prodigious pippin-but it hung
Rather too high and distant; that she threw
Her glances on it, and then, longing, flung
Stones, and whatever she could pick up, to
Bring down the fruit, which still perversely elung
To its own bough, and dangled yet in sight,
But always at a most provoking height :-

LXXVII.

That on a sudden, when she least had hope,
It fell down of its own accord, before
ller feet; that her first movement was to stoop
And pick it up, and bite it to the core;
That just as her young lip began to ope

Upon the golden fruit the vision bore,
A bee flew out and stung her to the heart,
And so she awoke with a great scream and start.
LXXVIII.

All this she told with some confusion and
Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams
Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand

To expound their vain and visionary gleams.
I've known some odd ones which seem'd really plann'd
Prophetically, or that which one deems

« A strange coincidence,» to use a phrase
By which such things are settled now-a-days.

LXXIX.

The damsels, who had thoughts of some great harm, Began, as is the consequence of fear,

To scold a little at the false alarm

That broke for nothing on their sleeping ear. The matron too was wroth to leave her warm

Bed for the dream she had been obliged to hear,
And chafed at poor Dudù, who only sigh'd,
And said that she was sorry she had cried.

LXXX.
"I've heard of stories of a cock and bull;
But visions of an apple and a bee,
To take us from our natural rest, and pull

The whole Oda from their beds at half-past three, Would make us think the moon is at its full.

You surely are unwell, child! we must see, To-morrow, what his highness's physician Will say to this hysteric of a vision.

LXXXI.

<< And poor Juanna too! the child's first night
Within these walls, to be broke in upon
With such a clamour-I had thought it right
That the young stranger should not lie alone,
And, as the quietest of all she might

With you, Dudù, a good night's rest have known;
But now I must transfer her to the charge
Of Lolah-though her couch is not so large.»>

LXXXII.

Lolah's eyes sparkled at the proposition;

But poor Dudu, with large drops in her own, Resulting from the scolding or the vision,

Implored that present pardon might be shown For this first fault, and that on no condition

(She added in a soft and piteous tone), Juanna should be taken from her, and

Her future dreams should all be kept in hand.

LXXXIII.

She promised never more to have a dream,
At least to dream so loudly as just now;
She wonder'd at herself how she could scream-
'T was foolish, nervous, as she must allow,
A fond hallucination, and a theme

For laughter-but she felt her spirits low,
And begg'd they would excuse her; she 'd get over
This weakness in a few hours, and recover.

LXXXIV.

And here Juanna kindly interposed,

And said she felt herself extremely well Where she then was, as her sound sleep disclosed When all around rang like a tocsin-bell: She did not find herself the least disposed To quit her gentle partner, and to dwell Apart from one who had no sin to show, Save that of dreaming ouce «< mal-à-propos.»>

LXXXV.

As thus Juanna spoke, Dudi turn'd round,
And hid her face within Juanna's breast;
Iler neck alone was seen, but that was found
The colour of a budding rose's crest.

I can't tell why she blush'd, nor can expound
The mystery of this rupture of their rest;
All that I know is, that the facts I state
Are true as truth has ever been of late.

LXXXVI.

And so good night to them, or, if you will,
Good morrow-for the cock had crown, and light
Began to clothe each Asiatic hill,

And the mosque crescent struggled into sight
Of the long caravan, which in the chill

Of dewy dawn wound slowly round each height That stretches to the stony belt which girds Asia, where Kaff looks down upon the Kurds.

LXXXVII.

With the first ray, or rather grey of morn,
Gulbeyaz rose from restlessness; and pale
As Passion rises, with its bosom worn,
Array'd herself with mantle, gem, and veil :
The nightingale that sings with the deep thorn,
Which Fable places in her breast of wail,
Is lighter far of heart and voice than those
Whose headlong passions form their proper woes,

LXXXVIII.

And that's the moral of this composition,
If people would but see its real drift;—
But that they will not do without suspicion,
Because all gentle readers have the gift
Of closing 'gainst the light their orbs of vision;
While gentle writers also love to lift

Their voices 'gainst each other, which is natura)—
The numbers are too great for them to flatter all.
LXXXIX.

Rose the Sultana from a bed of splendour,-
Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried
Aloud because his feelings were too tender

To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side,-
So beantiful that art could little mend her,

Though pale with conflicts between love and pride:So agitated was she with her error,

She did not even look into the mirror.

XC.

Also arose about the self-same time,
Perhaps a little later, her great lord,
Master of thirty kingdoms so sublime,

And of a wife by whom he was abhorr'd,
A thing of much less import in that clime-
At least to those of incomes which afford

The filling up their whole connubial cargo-
Than where two wives are under an embargo.
XCL

He did not think much on the matter, nor
Indeed on any other as a man,

He liked to have a handsome paramour

At hand, as one may like to have a fan, And therefore of Circassians had good store,

As an amusement after the Divan; Though an unusual fit of love, or duty,

Had made him lately bask in his bride's beauty.

XCV.

Had Catherine and the Sultan understood

Their own true interests, which kings rarely know, Until 't is taught by lessons rather rude,

There was a way to end their strife, although
Perhaps precarious, had they but thought good,
Without the aid of prince or plenipo:
She to dismiss her guards, and he his haram,
And for their other matters, meet and share 'em.
XCVI.

But as it was, his Highness had to hold

His daily council upon ways and means,
How to encounter with this martial scold,
This modern Amazon and Queen of queans;
And the perplexity could not be told

Of all the pillars of the state, which leans
Sometimes a little heavy on the backs
Of those who cannot lay on a new tax.

XCVII.

Meantime Gulbeyaz, when her king was gone,
Retired into her boudoir, a sweet place
For love or breakfast; private, pleasing, lone,
And rich with all contrivances which grace
Those gay recesses :—many a precious stone
Sparkled along its roof, and many a vase
Of porcelain held in the fetter'd flowers,
Those captive soothers of a captive's hours.
XCVIII.

Mother of pearl, and porphyry, and marble,
Vied with each other on this costly spot;
And singing-birds without were heard to warble;
And the stain'd glass which lighted this fair grot
Varied each ray;-but all descriptions garble

The true effect, and so we had better not
Be too minute, an outline is the best,-
A lively reader's fancy does the rest.

XCIX.

And here she summon'd Baba, and required
Don Juan at his hands, and information
Of what had past since all the slaves retired,
And whether he had occupied their station;
If matters had been managed as desired,

And his disguise with due consideration
Kept up; and, above all, the where and how

He had pass'd the night, was what she wish'd to know.

C.

Baba, with some embarrassment, replied

To this long catechism of questions ask'd More easily than answer'd,-that he had tried

His best to obey in what he had been task'd; But there seem'd something that he wish'd to hide, Which hesitation more betray'd than mask'd;

He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource
To which embarrass'd people have recourse.
CI.

Gulbeyaz was no model of true patience,

Nor much disposed to wait in word or deed; She liked quick answers in all conversations;

And when she saw him stumbling like a steed In his replies, she puzzled him for fresh ones;

And as his speech grew still more broken-knee'd, Her cheek began to flush, her eyes to sparkle, And her proud brow's blue veins to swell and darkle.

CII.

When Baba saw these symptoms, which he knew
To bode him no great good, he deprecated
Her anger,
and beseech'd she'd hear him through-
He could not help the thing which he related:
Then out it came at length, that to Dudù

Juan was given in charge, as hath been stated;
But not by Baba's fault, he said, and swore on
The holy camel's hump, besides the Koran.
CIII.

The chief dame of the Oda, upon whom

The discipline of the whole harem bore, As soon as they re-enter'd their own room,

For Baba's function stopp'd short at the door,
Had settled all; nor could he then presume

(The aforesaid Baba) just then to do more,
Without exciting such suspicion as
Might make the matter still worse than it was.
CIV.

He hoped, indeed he thought he could be sure,
Juan had not betray'd himself; in fact

T was certain that his conduct had been pure,
Because a foolish or imprudent act
Would not alone have made him insecure,

But ended in his being found out and sack'd,
And thrown into the sea.-Thus Baba spoke
Of all save Dudu's dream, which was no joke.
CV.

This he discreetly kept in the back ground,

And talk'd away-and might have talk'd till now, For any further answer that he found,

So deep an anguish wrung Gulbeyaz' brow; Her cheek turn'd ashes, ears rung, brain whirl'd round, As if she had received a sudden blow,

And the heart's dew of pain sprang fast and chilly O'er her fair front, like morning's on a lily.

CVI.

Although she was not of the fainting sort,

Baba thought she would faint, but there he err'dIt was but a convulsion, which, though short, Can never be described; we all have heard, And some of us have felt thus « all amort,»

When things beyond the common have occurr'd; Gulbeyaz proved in that brief agony

What she could ne'er express-then how should I? CVII.

She stood a moment, as a Pythoness

Stands on her tripod, agonized, and full

Of inspiration gather'd from distress,

When all the heart-strings like wild horses pull The heart asunder;-then, as more or less

Their speed abated or their strength grew dull,
She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees,
And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling knees.
CVIII.

Her face declined and was unseen; her hair
Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow,
Sweeping the marble underneath her chair,
Or rather sofa (for it was all pillow,-

A low, soft ottoman), and black despair

Stirr'd up and down her bosom like a billow, Which rushes to some shore whose shingles check Its farther course, but must receive its wreck.

CXVI.

What dost thou know of love or feeling?-wretch" Begone! she cried, with kindling eyes, and do My bidding!» Baba vanish'd; for to stretch

His own remonstrance further, he well knew,
Might end in acting as his own «Jack Ketch;»
And, though he wish'd extremely to get through
This awkward business without harm to others,
He still preferr'd his own neck to another's.
CXVIL

Away he went then upon his commission,
Growling and grumbling in good Turkish phrast
Against all women, of whate'er condition,
Especially Sultanas and their ways;

Their obstinacy, pride, and indecision,

Their never knowing their own mind two days, The trouble that they gave, their immorality, Which made him daily bless his own neutrality. CXVIII

And then he call'd his brethren to his aid,
And sent one on a summons to the pair,
That they must instantly be well array'd,

And, above all, be comb'd even to a hair,
And brought before the empress, who had made
Inquiries after them with kindest care:
At which Dudu look'd strange, and Juan silly;
But go they must at once, and will I—nill I.
CXIX.

And here I leave them at their preparation
For the imperial presence, wherein whether
Gulbeyaz show'd them both commiseration,
Or got rid of the parties altogether—
Like other angry ladies of her nation-

Are things the turning of a hair or feather
May settle; but far be 't from me to anticipate
In what way feminine caprice may dissipate.