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He enter'd in the house—his home no more,
For without hearts there is no home; —and felt The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome: there he long had dwelt, There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er,
There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt Over the innocence of that sweet child, His only shrine of feelings undefiled.
He was a man of a strange temperament,
Of mild demeanour though of savage mood, Moderate in all his habits, and content
With temperance in pleasure, as in food, Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and meant
For something better, if not wholly good; His country's wrongs and his despair to save her Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver.
The love of power, and rapid gain of gold,
The hardness by long habitude produced, The dangerous life in which he had grown old,
The mercy he had granted oft abused, The sights he was accustom'd to behold,
The wild seas, and wild men with whom he cruised, Had cost his enemies a long repentance, And made him a good friend, but bad acquaintance.
But something of the spirit of old Greece
Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays, Such as lit onward to the Golden Fleece
His predecessors in the Colchian days; 'T is true he had no ardent love for peace —
Alas ! his country show'd no path to praise : Hate to the world and war with every nation He waged, in vengeance of her degradation.
Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime
Shed its Ionian elegance, which show'd Its power unconsciously full many a time, –
A taste seen in the choice of his abode, A love of music and of scenes sublime,
A pleasure in the gentle stream that flow'd Past him in crystal, and a joy in flowers, Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours.
But whatsoe'er he had of love reposed
On that beloved daughter; she had been The only thing which kept his heart unclosed
Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen, A lonely pure affection unopposed :
There wanted but the loss of this to wean His feelings from all milk of human kindness, And turn him like the Cyclops mad with blindness.
1 [“And ness.” – M * [“Not so the single, deep, and wordless ire, Of a strong human heart,” &c. — MS.] * [“I said, I disliked the custom which some people had of bringing their children into company, because it in a manner forced us to pay foolish compliments to please their parents.” – Johnson. “You are right, sir; we may be excused for not caring much about other people's children, for there are many who care very little about their own.” – Boswell, vol. vi. p. 47. ed. is...} * [“Almost all Don Juan is real life, either my own, or from peole I knew. By the way, much of the description of the furniture, in Canto Third, is taken from Tully's Tripoli
* him Samson-like—more fierce with blind
The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock; The ocean when its yeasty war is waging
Is awful to the vessel near the rock ; But violent things will sooner bear assuaging,
Their fury being spent by its own shock, Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire 2 Of a strong human heart, and in a sire.
It is a hard although a common case
To find our children running restive — they In whom our brightest days we would retrace,
Our little selves re-form'd in finer clay, Just as old age is creeping on apace,
And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company—the gout or stone.
Yet a fine family is a fine thing
(Provided they don't come in after dinner);3 'T is beautiful to see a matron bring
Her children up (if nursing them don't thin her); Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling
To the fire-side (a sight to touch a sinner).
Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate,
And stood within his hall at eventide; Meantime the lady and her lover sate
At wassail in their beauty and their pride: An ivory inlaid table spread with state
Before them, and fair slaves on every side; * Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly, Mother of pearl and coral the less costly. *
The dinner made about a hundred dishes ;
Lamb and pistachio nuts — in short, all meats, And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fishes
Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets, Drest to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes;
The beverage was various sherbets Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice, Squeezed through the rind, which makes it best for use. 5
These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer,
And fruits, and date-bread loaves closed the repast, And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure,
In small fine China cups, came in at last ; Gold cups of filigree made to secure
The hand from burning underneath them placed, Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spoil'd.”
(pray note this), and the rest from my own observation. Itemember, I never meant to conceal this at all, and have only not stated it, because Don Juan had no preface, nor name to it.”— Lord B. to Mr. Murray, Aug. 23. 1821.] * [“. A small table is brought in, when refreshments are served ; it is of ebony, inlaid with mother-o'-pearl, tortoiseshell, ivory, gold, and silver.” — Tully's Tripoli, 4to, 1815, p. 133.) * [“The beverage was various sherbets, composed of the juice of boiled raisins, oranges, and pomegranates, squeezed through the rind.” – Ibid. p. 137.] 7 [“. Coffee was served in small China cups; gold filigree cups were put under them. They introduced cloves, cinnamon, and saffron into the coffee.” – Ibid. p. 132.]
! [“The hangings of the room were of tapestry, made in panels of different coloured velvets, thickly inlaid with flowers of silk damask; a yellow border finished the tapestry at top and bottom, the upper border being embroidered with o sentences out of the Koran in lilac letters. — Tully, p. 133.
2 so the Eclectic Review among the “Testimonies of Authors,” ante, p. 580. Ms o For that 's the name they like to cant beneath.” –
* [“. The carpet was of crimson satin with a deep border of pale blue. The cushions that lay around were of crimson velvet; the centre ones were embroidered with a sun in gold.”]
* [“The upholsterer's ‘flat lux' had bade to issue.”—MS.]
* [" Her chemise was covered with gold embroidery at the neck; over it she wore a gold and silver tissue jelick, with coral and pearl buttons, set quite close together down the front. The baracan she wore over her dress was of the finest crimson transparent gauzes, between rich silk stripes of the saine colour.” — Tully, p. 31.]
LXXV. Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were tinged (It is the country's custom ), but in vain; For those large black eyes were so blackly fringed, The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain, And in their native beauty stood avenged : Her nails were touch'd with henna; but again The power of art was turn'd to nothing, for They could not look more rosy than before. LXXVI. The henna should be deeply dyed to make The skin relieved appear more fairly fair; She had no need of this, day ne'er will break On mountain tops more heavenly white than her; The eye might doubt if it were well awake, She was so like a vision; I might err, But Shakspeare also says, 'tis very silly “To gild refined gold, or paint the lily.” LXXVII. Juan had on a shawl of black and gold, But a white baracan, and so transparent The sparkling gems beneath you might behold, Like small stars through the milky way apparent; His turban, furl’d in many a graceful fold, An emerald aigrette with Haidée's hair in 't Surmounted, as its clasp, a glowing crescent, Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant. LXXVIII. And now they were diverted by their suite, Dwarfs, dancing girls, black eunuchs, and a poet, Which made their new establishment complete ; The last was of great fame, and liked to show it: His verses rarely wanted their due feet — And for his theme—he seldom sung below it, He being paid to satirise or flatter, As the psalm says, “inditing a good matter." LXXIX. He praised the present, and abused the past, Reversing the good custom of old days, An Eastern anti-jacobin at last He turn'd, preferring pudding to no praise— For some few years his lot had been o'ercast By his seeming independent in his lays, But now he sung the Sultan and the Pacha With truth like Southey, and with verse like Crashaw.” LXXX. He was a man who had seen many changes, And always changed as true as any needle; His polar star being one which rather ranges, And not the fix'd — he knew the way to wheedle: So vile he 'scaped the doom which oft avenges ; And being fluent (save indeed when fee'd ill), He lied with such a fervour of intention— There was no doubt he earn'd his laureate pension. LXXXI. But he had genius, – when a turncoat has it, The “Wates irritabilis” takes care That without notice few full moons shall pass it; Even good men like to make the public stare : —
But to my subject—let me see—what was it?— Oh 1–the third canto—and the pretty pair–
Their loves, and feasts, and house, and dress, and mode
Of living in their insular abode.
Their poet, a sad trimmer, but no less
In company a very pleasant fellow,
Of men, and made them speeches when half mellow; And though his meaning they could rarely guess,
Yet still they deign'd to hiccup or to bellow
But now being lifted into high society,
And having pick'd up several odds and ends Of free thoughts in his travels for variety,
He deem’d, being in a lone isle, among friends, That without any danger of a riot, he
Might for long lying make himself amends; And singing as he sung in his warm youth, Agree to a short armistice with truth.
He had travell'd 'mongst the Arabs, Turks, and Franks,
And knew the self-loves of the different nations; And havin: lived with people of all ranks,
Had something ready upon most occasions—
He varied with some skill his adulations;
Thus, usually, when he was ask'd to sing,
He gave the different nations something national; 'T was all the same to him—“God save the king,”
Or “Qaira,” according to the fashion all: His muse made increment of anything,
From the high lyric down to the low rational; If Pindar sang horse-races, what should hinder Himself from being as pliable as Pindar?
In France, for instance, he would write a chanson;
In England a six canto quarto tale;
The last war—much the same in Portugal;
Would be old Goethe's—(see what says De Staël); In Italy he'd ape the “Trecentisti;”s In Greece, he'd sing some sort of hymn like this t ye:
l. The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece : Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung : Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
1 [" It was, and still is, the custom to tinge the eyes of the at Peterhouse for denying the covenant, he turned Roman
women with an impalpable powder, prepared chiefly from crude antimony. his pigment, when applied to the inner surface of the lids, communicates to the eye a tender and fascinating languor.” — Hauesci.]
Catholic, and died canon of the church at Loretto.” The
following are from Cowley's lines on his death
2. The Scian 1 and the Teian muse, 2 The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires’ “Islands of the Blest.” 3 3. The mountains look on Marathon 4– And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dream'd that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. 4. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations; — all were his ' He counted them at break of day— And when the sun set where were they : * 5. And where are they 7 and where art thou, My country On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now.— The heroic bosom beats no more l And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine 2 6. 'T is something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here 2 For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear. 7. Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush 7 — Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead Î Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae I
Hark! rising to the ignoble call– How answers each bold Bacchanal
10. You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier onc 2 You have the letters Cadmus gave— Think ye he meant them for a slavc 2
11. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine We will not think of themes like these : It made Anacreon's song divine: He served—but served Polycrates— A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen.
12. The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades : Oh that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind Such chains as his were sure to bind.
13. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, Exists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, The Heracleidan blood might own. 6
14. Trust not for freedom to the Franks – They have a king who buys and sells: In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells; But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad.
15. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! Our virgins dance beneath the shade – I see their glorious black eyes shine ; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
16. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murnurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die : 7 A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 3
recora’ 32.2° wrrey, &xez, tro razzz Xavvuov. x. T. X. — Soph. Ajar, v. 1217. * [This glorious 9de on the aspirations of Greece after Liberty is instantly followed up by a strain of cold-blooded ribaldry: and, in this way, all good feelings are excited only to accustom us to their speedy and complete extinction, and we are brought back, from their transient and theatrical exhibition, to the staple and substantial doctrine of the work — the non-existence of constancy in women, or honour in men, and the folly of expecting to meet with any such virtues, or of cultivating them for an undeserving world — and all this mixed up with so much wit and cleverness, and knowledge of human nature, as to make it irresistibly pleasant and plausible — while there is not only no antidote supplied, but every thing that might have operated in that way has been antici. pated, and presented already in as strong and engaging a sorin as possible. – JEFFRRY...]