LXXI. Alas! I must leave undescribed the gibier, The salmi, the consommé, the purée, All which I use to make my rhymes run glibber Than could roast beef in our rough John Bull way: I must not introduce even a spare rib here, "Bubble and squeak" would spoil my liquid lay, But I have dined, and must forego, alas! The chaste description even of a "bécasse;" LXXII. And fruits, and ice, and all that art refines Your stomach! Ere you dine, the French will do ; But after, there are sometimes certain signs Which prove plain English truer of the two. Hast ever had the gout? I have not had itBut I may have, and you too, reader, dread it. LXXIII. The simple olives, best allies of wine, Must I pass over in my bill of fare? I must, although a favourite "plat" of mine Amidst this tumult of fish, flesh, and fowl, No damsel, but a dish, as hath been said; I sometimes almost think that eyes have ears: Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears, Of which I can't tell whence their knowledge springs. Like that same mystic music of the spheres, Which no one hears, so loudly though it rings, Aurora sat with that indifference Which piques a preux chevalier-as it ought: Of all offences that's the worst offence, Which seems to hint you are not worth a thought. Now Juan, though no coxcomb in pretence, Was not exactly pleased to be so caught; [To-day in a palace, to-morrow in a cow-house this day with the pachia, the next with a shepherd."- Byron Letters, 1810.] LXXVIII. To his gay nothings, nothing was replied, LXXIX. And look'd as much as if to say, "I said it;" To bring what was a jest to a serious end : LXXX. Juan was drawn thus into some attentions, Though probably much less a fact than guess) So far relax'd her thoughts from their sweet prison, As once or twice to smile, if not to listen. LXXXI. From answering she began to question: this To keep extremes from meeting, when once set In motion; but she here too much refined— Aurora's spirit was not of that kind. LXXXII. But Juan had a sort of winning way, A proud humility, if such there be, His tact, too, temper'd him from grave to gay, LXXXIII. LXXXV. Aurora, who look'd more on books than faces, But Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces, Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for beauty. And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic, But innocently so, as Socrates; At seventy years had phantasies like these, Has shown, I know not why they should displease In virgins-always in a modest way, Observe; for that with me's a “sine quâ."1 LXXXVII. Also observe, that, like the great Lord Coke Or none at all-which seems a sorry jest: If people contradict themselves, can I Help contradicting them, and every body, And cut through such canals of contradiction, LXXXIX. Apologue, fable, poesy, and parable, Are false, but may be render'd also true, By those who sow them in a land that's arable. 'Tis wonderful what fable will not do! 'Tis said it makes reality more bearable : But what's reality? Who has its clue? Philosophy? No: she too much rejects. Religion? Yes; but which of all her sects? XC. Some millions must he wrong, that's pretty clear; But here again, why will I thus entangle 1 Subauditur "non;" omitted for the sake of euphony. 2 [John Scott, Earl of Eldon, Chancellor of England (with the interruption of fourteen months) from 1801 to 1830.] 3 Hecla is a fanous hot-spring in Iceland. Hamlet Act III. sc. ii. I always knock my head against some angle About the present, past, or future state: Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian, For I was bred a moderate Presbyterian. XCII. But though I am a temperate theologian, As Eldon on a lunatic commission, — In politics my duty is to show John Bull something of the lower world's condition. It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla, s To see men let these scoundrel sovereigns break law. XCIII. But politics, and policy, and piety, Are topics which I sometimes introduce, Not only for the sake of their variety, But as subservient to a moral use; Because my business is to dress society, And stuff with sage that very verdant goose. And now, that we may furnish with some matter all Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural. XCIV. And now I will give up all argument; And positively henceforth no temptation Shall "fool me to the top up of my bent:' Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation. Indeed, I never knew what people meant By deeming that my Muse's conversation Was dangerous; -I think she is as harmless As some who labour more and yet may charin less. XCV. Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost? No; but you have heard-I understand-be dumb! And don't regret the time you may have lost, For you have got that pleasure still to come : And do not think I mean to sneer at most XCVI. Serious? You laugh;-you may: that will I not; My smiles must be sincere or not at all. I say I do believe a haunted spot Exists and where? That shall I not recall, Because I'd rather it should be forgot, "Shadows the soul of Richard" 5 may appal. In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very Like those of the philosopher of Malmsbury. 6 XCVII. The night (I sing by night—sometimes an owl, I think too that I have sate up too late: ["By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard 6 Hobbes who, doubting of his own soul, paid that compliment to the souls of other people as to decline their visits, of which he had some apprehension. XCVIII. And therefore, though 't is by no means my way To rhyme at noon- when I have other things To think of, if I ever think-I say I feel some chilly midnight shudderings, Treating a topic which, alas! but brings Between two worlds life hovers like a star, How less what we may be! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on and bears afar Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge, Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves Of empires heave but like some passing waves. 1 Don Juan. CANTO THE SIXTEENTH. L. THE antique Persians taught three useful things, The cause of this effect, or this defect, "For this effect defective comes by cause,"-3 Is what I have not leisure to inspect; But this I must say in my own applause, Of all the Muses that I recollect, Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws In some things, mine 's beyond all contradiction III. And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats A wilderness of the most rare conceits, Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain. 'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets, Yet mix'd so slighty, that you can't complain, But wonder they so few are, since my tale is "De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis." 1["Man's life is like a sparrow-mighty king! That, stealing in while by the fire you sit, WORDSWORTH.] IV. But of all truths which she has told, the most True is that which she is about to tell. I said it was a story of a ghost What then? I only know it so befell. Have you explored the limits of the coast, Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell? 'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as The sceptics who would not believe Columbus. V. Some people would impose now with authority, Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle; Men whose historical superiority Is always greatest at a miracle. But Saint Augustine has the great priority, VI. And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all; 'Tis always best to take things upon trust. I do not speak profanely, to recall Those holier mysteries which the wise and just Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, As all truths must, the more they are disputed: VII. I merely mean to say what Johnson said, That in the course of some six thousand years, And what is strangest upon this strange head, 4 ["That the dead are seen no more," said Imlac, "I will not undertake to maintain, against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages, and of all nations. There is no people, rude or unlearned, among whom apparitions of the dead are not related and believed. This opinion, which prevails as far as human nature is diffused, could become universal only by its truth; those that never heard of one another would not have agreed in a tale which nothing but experience can make credible. That it is doubted by single cavillers, can very little weaken the general evidence; and some, who deny it with their tongues, confess it with their fears."- Rasselas.] 1 X. Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest, But next to dressing for a rout or ball, Undressing is a woe; our robe de chambre May sit like that of Nessus?, and recall Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber. Titus exclaim'd, "I've lost a day!" Of all The nights and days most people can remember, (I have had of both, some not to be disdain'd,) I wish they'd state how many they have gain'd. Xu. And Juan, on retiring for the night, Felt restless, and perplex'd, and compromised: XIII. He sigh'd; the next resource is the full moon, It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone To hail her with the apostrophe —“O thou!” Of amatory egotism the Tuism, Which further to explain would be a truism. XIV. But lover, poet, or astronomer, Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold, Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her: Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err); Deep secrets to her rolling light are told; The ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways, XV. Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed Below his window waved (of course) a willow; XVI. Upon his table or his toilet,—which The composition of the old Tyrian purple, whether from a shell-fish, or from cochineal, or froin kermes, is still an article of dispute; and even its colour-some say purple, others scarlet: I say nothing. A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche, XVII. Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw His chamber door wide open—and went forth Into a gallery, of a sombre hue, Long, furnish'd with old pictures of great worth, Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too, As doubtless should be people of high birth. But by dim lights the portraits of the dead Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread. XVIII. The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint Of your own footsteps-voices from the urn Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern, As if to ask how you can dare to keep A vigil there, where all but death should sleep. XIX. And the pale smile of beauties in the grave, The charms of other days, in starlight gleams, Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave Along the canvass; their eyes glance like dreams On ours, or spars within some dusky cave, But death is imaged in their shadowy beams. As Juan mused on mutability, Or on his mistress-terms synonymousNo sound except the echo of his sigh - Or step ran sadly through that antique house; When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh, A supernatural agent-or a mouse, Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass Most people as it plays along the arras. XXIII. Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd-the thing of air, Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t'other place: And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair Twine like a knot of snakes around his face; He tax'd his tongue for words, which were not granted, To ask the reverend person what he wanted. XXIV. The third time, after a still longer pause, The shadow pass'd away but where? the hall Was long, and thus far there was no great cause To think his vanishing unnatural : Doors there were many, through which, by the laws Of physics, bodies whether short or tall Might come or go; but Juan could not state Through which the spectre seem'd to evaporate. XXV. He stood how long he knew not, but it seem'd And would have pass'd the whole off as a dream, XXVI. All there was as he left it: still his taper Burnt, and not blue, as modest tapers use, Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour; He rubb'd his eyes, and they did not refuse Their office: he took up an old newspaper; The paper was right easy to peruse; He read an article the king attacking, And a long eulogy of "patent blacking." XXVII. This savour'd of this world; but his hand shook : Undrest, and rather slowly went to bed. There, couch'd all snugly on his pillow's nook, With what he had seen his phantasy he fed ; And though it was no opiate, slumber crept Upon him by degrees, and so he slept. XXVIII. He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed, And whether it ought not to be disclosed, At risk of being quizz'd for superstition. The more he thought, the more his mind was posed: XXIX. He dress'd; and like young people he was wont Aside his very mirror soon was put ; His clothes were not curb'd to their usual cut, His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side. 1 [During a visit to Newstead, in 1814. Lord Byron actually fancied he saw the ghost of the Black Friar, which was sup XXX. And when he walk'd down into the saloon, She look'd, and saw him pale, and turn'd as pale Lord Henry said, his muffin was ill butter'd; But seeing him all cold and silent still, He started, and said, "Yes-no- rather — yes.” The family physician had great skill, And being present, now began to express His readiness to feel his pulse and tell The cause, but Juan said, "He was quite well." "Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar? Or that our sires had a more gifted eye posed to have haunted the Abbey from the time of the dissolution of the monasteries. MOOKE.] |