CXCVI.

An infant when it gazes on a light,

A child the moment when it drains the breast, A devotee when soars the Host in sight,

An Arab with a stranger for a guest,

A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,
A miser filling his most hoarded chest,

Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.
CXCVII.

For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,

All that it hath of life with us is living; So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,

And all unconscious of the joy 't is giving; All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,

Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving; There lies the thing we love with all its errors And all its charms, like death without its terrors. CXCVIII.

Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers,
Some mind their household, others dissipation,
Some run away, and but exchange their cares,
Losing the advantage of a virtuous station;
Few changes e'er can better their affairs,

Theirs being an unnatural situation,
From the dull palace to the dirty hovel : 1
Some play the devil, and then write a novel. 2

1 [Perhaps there are not a few women who may profit from seeing in what a style of contemptuous coldness, the sufferings to which licentious love exposes them are talked of by such people as the author of Don Juan. The many fine eyes that have wept dangerous tears over the descriptions of the Gulnares and Medoras, cannot be the worse for seeing the true side of his picture. - BLACKWOOD.]

2 [Lady Caroline Lamb was supposed by Lord Byron to have alluded to him in her novel of "Glenarvon," published in 1816. Madame de Staël once asked me," said Lord Byron, "if my real character was well drawn in that novel. She was only singular in putting the question in the dry way she did. There are many who pin their faith on that insincere production. I am made out a very amiable person in that work! The only thing belonging to me in it is part of a letter."- MEDWIN.]

CCII.

Haidée was Nature's bride, and knew not this;
Haidée was Passion's child, born where the sun
Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss
Of his gazelle-eyed daughters; she was one
Made but to love, to feel that she was his

Who was her chosen; what was said or done Elsewhere was nothing. She had nought to fear, Hope, care, nor love, beyond, her heart beat here. ССІІІ.

And oh that quickening of the heart, that beat!
How much it costs us! yet each rising throb

Is in its cause as its effect so sweet,

That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob

Joy of its alchemy, and to repeat

Fine truths; even Conscience, too, has a tough job To make us understand each good old maxim, So good I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em. CCIV.

And now 't was done-on the lone shore were plighted Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted:

Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed,

By their own feelings hallow'd and united,
Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed: 3
And they were happy, for to their young eyes
Each was an angel, and earth paradise. 4

CCV.

Oh, Love of whom great Cæsar was the suitor, Titus the master, Antony the slave,

Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor,

Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave All those may leap who rather would be neuter— (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave).

Oh, Love! thou art the very god of evil,
For, after all, we cannot call thee devil.

CCVI.

Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state precarious, And jestest with the brows of mightiest men : Cæsar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius,

Have much employ'd the muse of history's pen: Their lives and fortunes were extremely various, Such worthies Time will never see again; Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds, They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds.

CCVII.

Thou mak'st philosophers; there's Epicurus
And Aristippus, a material crew!
Who to immoral courses would allure us
By theories quite practicable too;

If only from the devil they would insure us,
How pleasant were the maxim (not quite new),
"Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us ?"
So said the royal sage Sardanapalus. 5

3

["In their sweet feelings holily united,

By Solitude (soft parson) they were wed." - MS.] 4 [Don Juan is dashed on the shore of the Cyclades, where he is found by a beautiful and innocent giri, the daughter of an old Greek pirate, with whom, as might be supposed, the same game of guilt and abandonment is played over again. There is, however, a very superior kind of poetry in the conception of this amour; the desolate isle the utter loneliness of the maiden, who is as ignorant as she is innocentthe helpless condition of the youth-every thing conspires to render it a true romance. How easy for Lord Byron to have kept it free from any stain of pollution! What cruel barbarity, in creating so much of beauty only to mar and ruin it! This is really the very suicide of genius.— - BLACKWOOD.] [See antè, p. 249.]

CCVIII.

But Juan had he quite forgotten Julia ?
And should he have forgotten her so soon?

I can't but say it seems to me most truly a

Perplexing question; but, no doubt, the moon
Does these things for us, and whenever newly a
Palpitation rises, 't is her boon,

Else how the devil is it that fresh features
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures ?
CCIX.

I hate inconstancy—I loathe, detest,

Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made
Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast
No permanent foundation can be laid;
Love, constant love, has been my constant guest,
And yet last night, being at a masquerade,

I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan,
Which gave me some sensations like a villain.
CCX.

But soon Philosophy came to my aid,

And whisper'd, "Think of every sacred tie!" "I will, my dear Philosophy!" I said,

"But then her teeth, and then, oh, Heaven! her eye! I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid,

Or neither out of curiosity."

"Stop!" cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian, (Though she was masqued then as a fair Venetian ;)

CCXI.

"Stop!" so I stopp'd. But to return: that which Men call inconstancy is nothing more

Than admiration due where nature's rich
Profusion with young beauty covers o'er
Some favour'd object; and as in the niche
A lovely statue we almost adore,
This sort of adoration of the real

Is but a heightening of the "beau ideal.”

CCXII.

"T is the perception of the beautiful,

A fine extension of the faculties,

Platonic, universal, wonderful,

Drawn from the stars, and filter'd through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull;

In short, it is the use of our own eyes, With one or two small senses added, just To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust.

CCXIII.

Yet 't is a painful feeling, and unwilling,
For surely if we always could perceive
In the same object graces quite as killing

As when she rose upon us like an Eve,

"T would save us many a heartach, many a shilling, (For we must get them anyhow, or grieve,) Whereas if one sole lady pleased for ever, How pleasant for the heart, as well as liver !

["You say that one-half is very good: you are wrong; for, if it were, it would be the finest poem in existence. Where is the poetry of which one-half is good? Is it the Eneid? is it Milton's? is it Dryden's? is it any one's except Pope's and Goldsmith's, of which all is good? and yet these two last are the poets your pond poets would explode. But if one-half of these two Cantos be good in your opinion, what the devil would you have more? No-no; no poetry is generally good only by fits and starts-and you are lucky to get a sparkle here and there. You might as well want a midnight all stars, as rhyme all perfect."- Lord Byron to Mr. Murray.]

2 [Lord Byron began to compose Canto III. in October, 1819; but the outcry raised by the publication of Cantos I. and II. annoyed him so much, that he for a time laid the work aside, and afterwards proceeded in it only by fits and starts. Mr. Moore, who visited him while Canto III. was in

CCXIV.

The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven,

But changes night and day, too, like the sky; Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, And darkness and destruction as on high: But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and riven, Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye Pours forth at last the heart's blood turn'd to tears, Which make the English climate of our years. CCXV.

The liver is the lazaret of bile,

But very rarely executes its function,
For the first passion stays there such a while,
That all the rest creep in and form a junction,
Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil,

Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction,
So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail,
Like earthquakes from the hidden fire call'd "central."
CCXVI.

In the mean time, without proceeding more
In this anatomy, I've finish'd now
Two hundred and odd stanzas as before,

That being about the number I'll allow
Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four;

And, laying down my pen, I make my bow,
Leaving Don Juan and Haidée to plead
For them and theirs with all who deign to read. 1

HAIL, Muse! et cetera.

I.

We left Juan sleeping,

Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast,

And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping,
And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest
To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,
Or know who rested there, a foe to rest,
Had soil'd the current of her sinless years,
And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears!
II.

Oh, Love what is it in this world of ours

Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why
With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers,
And made thy best interpreter a sigh ?

As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,
And place them on their breast- but place to die-
Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish
Are laid within our bosoms but to perish. 3

progress, says "So sensitive, indeed, in addition to his usual abundance of this quality, did he, at length, grow on the subject, that when Mr. W. Bankes, who succceded me as his visiter, happened to tell him, one day, that he had heard a Mr. Saunders (or some such name), then resident at Venice, declare that, in his opinion, Don Juan was all Grub-street, such an effect had this disparaging speech upon his mind (though coming from a person who, as he himself would have it, was nothing but a d-d salt-fish seller '), that, for some time after, by his own confession to Mr. Bankes, he could not bring himself to write another line of the Poem; and one morning, opening a drawer where the neglected manuscript lay, he said to his friend, Look here this is all Mr. Saunders's Grub-street.'" Cantos III. IV. and V. were published together in August, 1821,- still without the name either of author or bookseller.]

3 [This, we must allow, is pretty enough, and not at all

III.

In her first passion woman loves her lover,
In all the others all she loves is love,
Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over,

And fits her loosely-like an easy glove,

As you may find, whene'er you like to prove her:
One man alone at first her heart can move;
She then prefers him in the plural number,
Not finding that the additions much encumber.
IV.

I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ;

But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted
(Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers) —
After a decent time must be gallanted;
Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs

Is that to which her heart is wholly granted;
Yet there are some, they say, who have had none,
But those who have ne'er end with only one. 1
V.

'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign

Of human frailty, folly, also crime,
That love and marriage rarely can combine,
Although they both are born in the same clime;
Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine—
A sad, sour, sober beverage—by time
Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour
Down to a very homely household savour.
VI.

There's something of antipathy, as 't were,
Between their present and their future state;

A kind of flattery that's hardly fair

Is used until the truth arrives too lateYet what can people do, except despair?

The same things change their names at such a rate; For instance-passion in a lover's glorious, But in a husband is pronounced uxorious.

VII.

Men grow ashamed of being so very fond;
They sometimes also get a little tired
(But that, of course, is rare), and then despond :
The same things cannot always be admired,
Yet 't is so nominated in the bond,"

That both are tied till one shall have expired. Sad thought to lose the spouse that was adorning Our days, and put one's servants into mourning.

VIII.

There's doubtless something in domestic doings
Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis ;
Romances paint at full length people's wooings,
But only give a bust of marriages ;
For no one cares for matrimonial cooings,

There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss: Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life? 2

objectionable in a moral point of view. We fear, however, that we cannot say as much for what follows: marrying is no joke, and therefore not a fit subject to joke about; besides, for a married man to be merry on that score, is very like trying to overcome the toothach by a laugh. HoGG.]

[These two lines are a versification of a saying of Montaigne.]

2["Had Petrarch's passion led to Petrarch's wedding,

How many sonnets had ensued the bedding ?"-s.]

3 [The old ballad of " Death and the Lady" is alluded to in Shakspeare.]

Dante calls his wife, in the laferno, la fiera moglie." [See ante, p. 499.]

IX.

All tragedies are finish'd by a death,

All comedies are ended by a marriage; The future states of both are left to faith,

For authors fear description might disparage

The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath, [riage; And then both worlds would punish their miscarSo leaving each their priest and prayer-book ready, They say no more of Death or of the Lady. 3

X.

The only two that in my recollection

Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, are Dante and Milton 5, and of both the affection Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar Of fault or temper ruin'd the connection (Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to mar); But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive. 6

XI.

Some persons say that Dante meant theology
By Beatrice, and not a mistress—I,
Although my opinion may require apology,
Deem this a commentator's phantasy,
Unless indeed it was from his own knowledge he
Decided thus, and show'd good reason why;
I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics
Meant to personify the mathematics. 7

XII.

Haidée and Juan were not married, but

The fault was theirs, not mine: it is not fair, Chaste reader, then, in any way to put

The blame on me, unless you wish they were; Then if you'd have them wedded, please to shut The book which treats of this erroneous pair, Before the consequences grow too awful; 'Tis dangerous to read of loves unlawful.

XIII.

Yet they were happy,-happy in the illicit
Indulgence of their innocent desires;
But more imprudent grown with every visit,
Haidée forgot the island was her sire's;
When we have what we like 'tis hard to miss it,
At least in the beginning, ere one tires;
Thus she came often, not a moment losing,
Whilst her piratical papa was cruising.

XIV.

Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, For into a prime minister but change

His title, and 't is nothing but taxation; But he, more modest, took an humbler range Of life, and in an honester vocation Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey, 8 And merely practised as a sea-attorney.

5 Milton's first wife ran away from him within the first month. If she had not, what would John Milton have done?

6 [From whatever causes it may have arisen, the coincidence is no less striking than saddening, that, on the list of married poets, who have been unhappy in their homes, there should already be found four such illustrious names as Dante, Milton, Shakspeare, and Dryden; and that we should now have to add, as a partner in their destiny, a name worthy of being placed beside the greatest of them.- MOORE.]

7 [Lady B. would have made an excellent wrangler at Cambridge."- Byron Diary.]

["Display'd much more of nerve, perhaps, of wit,
Than any of the parodies of Pitt." - MS.]

XV.

The good old gentleman had been detain'd

By winds and waves, and some important captures; And, in the hope of more, at sea remain'd,

Although a squall or two had damp'd his raptures, By swamping one of the prizes; he had chain'd

His prisoners, dividing them like chapters
In number'd lots; they all had cuffs and collars,
And averaged each from ten to a hundred dollars.
XVI.

Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan,

Among his friends the Mainots; some he sold
To his Tunis correspondents, save one man

Toss'd overboard unsaleable (being old);
The rest-save here and there some richer one,
Reserved for future ransom in the hold,
Were link'd alike, as for the common people he
Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli.

XVII.

The merchandise was served in the same way,
Pieced out for different marts in the Levant,
Except some certain portions of the prey,

Light classic articles of female want,

French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toothpicks, teapot, tray,
Guitars and castanets from Alicant,

All which selected from the spoil he gathers,
Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers.

XVIII.

A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw,

Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens, He chose from several animals he saw—

A terrier, too, which once had been a Briton's, Who dying on the coast of Ithaca,

The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance. These to secure in this strong blowing weather, He caged in one huge hamper altogether.

XIX.

Then having settled his marine affairs,
Despatching single cruisers here and there,
His vessel having need of some repairs,

He shaped his course to where his daughter fair Continued still her hospitable cares;

But that part of the coast being shoal and bare, And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile, His port lay on the other side o' the isle.

XX.

And there he went ashore without delay,
Having no custom-house nor quarantine
To ask him awkward questions on the way,
About the time and place where he had been :
He left his ship to be hove down next day,
With orders to the people to careen;

So that all hands were busy beyond measure,
In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treasure.
XXI.

Arriving at the summit of a hill

Which overlook'd the white walls of his home, He stopp'd. What singular emotions fill Their bosoms who have been induced to roam!

["Thus near the gates, conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew;
He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head.
He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet,
In vain he strove, to crawl and kiss his feet;

The approach of home to husbands and to sires,
After long travelling by land or water,
Most naturally some small doubt inspires.
A female family's a serious matter;
(None trusts the sex more, or so much admires
But they hate flattery, so I never flatter ;)
Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,
And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.
XXIII.

An honest gentleman at his return

May not have the good fortune of Ulysses; Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn, Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses; The odds are that he finds a handsome urn

And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays,
Small social parties just begun to dine;
Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze,
And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine,

And sherbet cooling in the porous vase;

Above them their dessert grew on its vine;
The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er
Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow store.
XXXII.

A band of children, round a snow-white ram,
There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers;
While peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb,

The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers
His sober head, majestically tame,

Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers
His brow, as if in act to butt, and then
Yielding to their small hands, draws back again.

The

1["This dance is still performed by young men armed cap-a-pie, who execute, to the sound of instruments, all the proper movements of attack and defence." — Dr. E. CLARKE.] 2 ["Their manner of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung to have danced on the banks of Eurotas. great lady still leads the dance, and is followed by a troop of young girls, who imitate her steps, and if she sings, make up the chorus. The tunes are extremely gay and lively, yet with something in them wonderfully soft. The steps are varied according to the pleasure of her that leads the dance, but always in exact time, and infinitely more agreeable than any of our dances."- LADY M. W. MONTAGU.]

["That would have set Tom Moore, though married, raving." MS.]

XXXIV.

Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales
To a sedate grey circle of old smokers
Of secret treasures found in hidden vales,
Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers,
Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails,
Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers,
Of magic ladies who, by one sole act,
Transform'd their lords to beasts (but that's a fact).
XXXV.

Here was no lack of innocent diversion
For the imagination or the senses,

Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian,
All pretty pastimes in which no offence is;
But Lambro saw all these things with aversion,
Perceiving in his absence such expenses,
Dreading that climax of all human ills,
The inflammation of his weekly bills.+

XXXVI.

Ah! what is man? what perils still environ
The happiest mortals even after dinner-
A day of gold from out an age of iron

Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner;
Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least) 's a siren,
That lures, to flay alive, the young beginner;
Lambro's reception at his people's banquet
Was such as fire accords to a wet blanket.

XXXVII.

He being a man who seldom used a word
Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise
(In general he surprised men with the sword)
His daughter had not sent before to advise
Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd;

And long he paused to re-assure his eyes, In fact much more astonish'd than delighted, To find so much good company invited.

XXXVIII.

He did not know (alas! how men will lie)
That a report (especially the Greeks)
Avouch'd his death (such people never die),
And put his house in mourning several weeks,
But now their eyes and also lips were dry;

The bloom, too, had return'd to Haidée's cheeks.
Her tears, too, being return'd into their fount,
She now kept house upon her own account.

XXXIX.

Hence all this rice, meat, dancing, wine, and fiddling,
Which turn'd the isle into a place of pleasure;
The servants all were getting drunk or idling,
A life which made them happy beyond measure.
Her father's hospitality seem'd middling,

Compared with what Haidée did with his treasure; 'T was wonderful how things went on improving, While she had not one hour to spare from loving. 5

[The piratical father of Haidée having remained long at sea, it was supposed he had perished, and she, în consequence, took possession of all his treasures, and surrendered herself to the full enjoyment of her lover. The old gentleman, however, returns, and, landing on a distant part of the island, walks leisurely towards his home, while Juan and his daughter are giving a public breakfast to their friends and acquaintances. The description of the fete is executed with equal felicity and spirit; we think it would be difficult to match the life and gaiety of the picture by any thing of the kind in English-perhaps in any other poetry.— BLACKWOOD.]

["All had been open heart, and open house,
Ever since Juan served her for a spouse.'

-MS.]