CANTO I.

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 butcher, Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke, Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppeì, 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 Buonaparté 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, Launes, Dessaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,

Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV.

Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,

And still should be so, but the tide is turn'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,'
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,

A good deal like him too, though quite the same none,
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:- 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.

His father's name was Jose-Don, of course,
A true Hidalgo, free from every stain

Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source
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
Begot-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 equalled by her wit alone,
She made the cleverest people quite ashamed,
And even the good with inward envy groan,
Finding themselves so very much exceeded
In their own way by all the things that she did.
XI.

Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart
All Calderon and greater part of Lopé,

So that if any actor miss'd his part,

She could have served him for the prompter's copy; For her Feinagle s were an useless ar1,

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.

XL.

The languages, especially the dead,

The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, The arts, 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 bustle,

But never put on pantaloons or boddices; His reverend tutors had at times a tussle,

And for their Eneids, 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;
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample;
Catullus scarcely has a decent poem;

I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example, Although 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 Corydon."

XLIII.

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?
XLIV.

Juan was taught from out the best edition,
Expurgated by learned men, who place,
Judiciously, from out the school-boy'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 the ingenuous youth of future ages, Till some less rigid editor shall stoop

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; and how they
Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all,
Could turn their optics to the text and pray
Is more than I 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.
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-
I recommend as much to every wife.

XLIX.

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 days were pass'd at church, the other Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.

L.

At six, I said he was a charming child,
At twelve, he was a fine, but 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 at 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 skili 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 pairBut scandal's my aversion-I protest Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

LII.

For my part I say nothing-nothing-but
This I will say-my reasons are my own-
That if I had an only son to put

To school (as God be praised that I have none) 'Tis not with Donna Inez I would shut

Him up to learn his catechism alone;
No-no-I'd send him out betimes to college,
For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.
LIII.

For there one learns-'t is 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 sit.
I think I pick'd up, too, as well as most,
Knowledge of matters-but, no matter what-
I never married-but I think, I know,
That sons should not be educated so.

LIV.

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).
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 stay'd in Spain, Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain.

LVII.

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 they bred in and in, as might be shown, Marrying their cousins-nay, their aunts and nieces, Which always spoils the breed, if it increases. LVIII.

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 I fain would hush-
Tis said that Donna Julia's grandmamma
Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.

LIX.

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 be but Julia (whom on this occasion
I shall have much to speak about), and she
Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three.
LX.

Her eye (I'in very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise
Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire,
And love than either; and there would arise
A something in them which was not desire,
But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul
Which struggled through and chasten'd down the whole.

'Tis a sad thing, I 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 much more common where the climate 's sultry.
LXIV.

Happy the nations of the moral north!

Where all is virtue, and the winter season Sends sin without a rag on, shivering forth

('T was snow that brought Saint Anthony to reason); Where juries cast up what a wife is worth,

By laying whate'er sum, in mulct, they please on The lover, who must pay a handsome price, Because it is a marketable vice.

LXV.

Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord,

A man well looking for his years, and who Was neither much beloved nor yet abhorr'd: They lived together as most people do, Suffering each others' 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.
LXVI.

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 (but no doubt they lie,

For malice still imputes some private end) That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage, Forgot with him her very prudent carriage;

LXVII.

And that, still keeping up the old connexion, Which time had lately render'd much more chaste She took his lady also in affection,

And certainly this course was much the best: She flatter'd Julia with her sage protection,

And complimented Don Alfonso's taste; And if she could not (who can?) silence scandal, At least she left it a more slender handle.