Don Juan
"Canto the Second"
by George Gordon Lord Byron (1788-1824)


1   Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, 
2      Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, 
3   I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, 
4      It mends their morals, never mind the pain: 
5   The best of mothers and of educations 
6      In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain, 
7   Since in a way, that's rather of the oddest, he 
8   Became divested of his native modesty. 


9   Had he but been placed at a public school, 
10      In the third form, or even in the fourth, 
11   His daily task had kept his fancy cool, 
12      At least, had he been nurtured in the north; 
13   Spain may prove an exception to the rule, 
14      But then exceptions always prove its worth--- 
15   A lad of sixteen causing a divorce 
16   Puzzled his tutors very much, of course. 


17   I can't say that it puzzles me at all, 
18      If all things be consider'd: first, there was 
19   His lady-mother, mathematical, 
20      A---never mind; his tutor, an old ass; 
21   A pretty woman---(that's quite natural, 
22      Or else the thing had hardly come to pass); 
23   A husband rather old, not much in unity 
24   With his young wife---a time, and opportunity. 


25   Well---well, the world must turn upon its axis, 
26      And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, 
27   And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, 
28      And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails; 
29   The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us, 
30      The priest instructs, and so our life exhales, 
31   A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame, 
32   Fighting, devotion, dust,---perhaps a name. 


33   I said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz--- 
34      A pretty town, I recollect it well--- 
35   'Tis there the mart of the colonial trade is, 
36      (Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel) 
37   And such sweet girls---I mean, such graceful ladies, 
38      Their very walk would make your bosom swell; 
39   I can't describe it, though so much it strike, 
40   Nor liken it---I never saw the like: 


41   An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb 
42      New broke, a camelopard, a gazelle, 
43   No---none of these will do;---and then their garb! 
44      Their veil and petticoat---Alas! to dwell 
45   Upon such things would very near absorb 
46      A canto---then their feet and ancles---well, 
47   Thank heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready, 
48   (And so, my sober Muse---come, let's be steady--- 


49   Chaste Muse!---(well, if you must, you must)---the veil 
50      Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand, 
51   While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale, 
52      Flashes into the heart:---All sunny land 
53   Of love! when I forget you, may I fail 
54      To---say my prayers---but never was there plann'd 
55   A dress through which the eyes give such a volley, 
56   Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli. 


57   But to our tale: the Donna Inez sent 
58      Her son to Cadiz only to embark; 
59   To stay there had not answer'd her intent, 
60      But why?---we leave the reader in the dark--- 
61   'Twas for a voyage that the young man was meant, 
62      As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark, 
63   To wean him from the wickedness of earth, 
64   And send him like a dove of promise forth. 


65   Don Juan bade his valet pack his things 
66      According to direction, then received 
67   A lecture and some money: for four springs 
68      He was to travel; and though Inez grieved, 
69   (As every kind of parting has its stings) 
70      She hoped he would improve---perhaps believed: 
71   A letter, too, she gave (he never read it) 
72   Of good advice---and two or three of credit. 


73   In the mean time, to pass her hours away, 
74      Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school 
75   For naughty children, who would rather play 
76      (Like truant rogues) the devil, or the fool; 
77   Infants of three years old were taught that day, 
78      Dunces were whipt, or set upon a stool: 
79   The great success of Juan's education, 
80   Spurr'd her to teach another generation. 


81   Juan embark'd---the ship got under way, 
82      The wind was fair, the water passing rough; 
83   A devil of a sea rolls in that Bay, 
84      As I, who've cross'd it oft, know well enough; 
85   And, standing upon deck, the dashing spray 
86      Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough: 
87   And there he stood to take, and take again, 
88   His first---perhaps his last---farewell of Spain. 


89   I can't but say it is an awkward sight 
90      To see one's native land receding through 
91   The growing waters; it unmans one quite, 
92      Especially when life is rather new: 
93   I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white, 
94      But almost every other country's blue, 
95   When gazing on them, mystified by distance, 
96   We enter on our nautical existence. 


97   So Juan stood, bewilder'd, on the deck: 
98      The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors swore, 
99   And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck, 
100      From which away so fair and fast they bore. 
101   The best of remedies is a beef-steak 
102      Against sea-sickness; try it, sir, before 
103   You sneer, and I assure you this is true, 
104   For I have found it answer---so may you. 


105   Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern, 
106      Beheld his native Spain receding far: 
107   First partings form a lesson hard to learn, 
108      Even nations feel this when they go to war; 
109   There is a sort of unexprest concern, 
110      A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar: 
111   At leaving even the most unpleasant people 
112   And places, one keeps looking at the steeple. 


113   But Juan had got many things to leave, 
114      His mother, and a mistress, and no wife, 
115   So that he had much better cause to grieve 
116      Than many persons more advanced in life; 
117   And if we now and then a sigh must heave 
118      At quitting even those we quit in strife, 
119   No doubt we weep for those the heart endears--- 
120   That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears. 


121   So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews 
122      By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion: 
123   I'd weep, but mine is not a weeping Muse, 
124      And such light griefs are not a thing to die on; 
125   Young men should travel, if but to amuse 
126      Themselves; and the next time their servants tie on 
127   Behind their carriages their new portmanteau, 
128   Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto. 


129   And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd and thought, 
130      While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea, 
131   "Sweets to the sweet"; (I like so much to quote; 
132      You must excuse this extract, 'tis where she, 
133   The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought 
134      Flowers to the grave); and, sobbing often, he 
135   Reflected on his present situation, 
136   And seriously resolved on reformation. 


137   "Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell!" he cried, 
138      "Perhaps I may revisit thee no more, 
139   But die, as many an exiled heart hath died, 
140      Of its own thirst to see again thy shore: 
141   Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide! 
142      Farewell, my mother! and, since all is o'er, 
143   Farewell, too dearest Julia!"---(here he drew 
144   Her letter out again, and read it through). 


145   "And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear--- 
146      But that's impossible, and cannot be--- 
147   Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air, 
148      Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea, 
149   Than I resign thine image, Oh! my fair! 
150      Or think of any thing excepting thee; 
151   A mind diseased no remedy can physic---" 
152   (Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick.) 


153   "Sooner shall heaven kiss earth---" (here he fell sicker) 
154      "Oh, Julia! what is every other woe?--- 
155   (For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor, 
156      Pedro, Battista, help me down below.) 
157   Julia, my love!---(you rascal, Pedro, quicker)--- 
158      Oh Julia!---(this curst vessel pitches so)--- 
159   Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!" 
160   (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.) 


161   He felt that chilling heaviness of heart, 
162      Or rather stomach, which, alas! attends, 
163   Beyond the best apothecary's art, 
164      The loss of love, the treachery of friends, 
165   Or death of those we dote on, when a part 
166      Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends: 
167   No doubt he would have been much more pathetic, 
168   But the sea acted as a strong emetic. 


169   Love's a capricious power; I've known it hold 
170      Out through a fever caused by its own heat, 
171   But be much puzzled by a cough and cold, 
172      And find a quinsy very hard to treat; 
173   Against all noble maladies he's bold, 
174      But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, 
175   Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, 
176   Nor inflammations redden his blind eye. 


177   But worst of all is nausea, or a pain 
178      About the lower region of the bowels; 
179   Love, who heroically breathes a vein, 
180      Shrinks from the application of hot towels, 
181   And purgatives are dangerous to his reign, 
182      Sea-sickness death: his love was perfect, how else 
183   Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar, 
184   Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before? 


185   The ship, call'd the most holy "Trinidada," 
186      Was steering duly for the port Leghorn; 
187   For there the Spanish family Moncada 
188      Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born: 
189   They were relations, and for them he had a 
190      Letter of introduction, which the morn 
191   Of his departure had been sent him by 
192   His Spanish friends for those in Italy. 


193   His suite consisted of three servants and 
194      A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo, 
195   Who several languages did understand, 
196      But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow, 
197   And, rocking in his hammock, long'd for land, 
198      His headache being increased by every billow; 
199   And the waves oozing through the port-hole made 
200   His birth a little damp, and him afraid. 


201   'Twas not without some reason, for the wind 
202      Increased at night, until it blew a gale; 
203   And though 'twas not much to a naval mind, 
204      Some landsmen would have look'd a little pale, 
205   For sailors are, in fact, a different kind: 
206      At sunset they began to take in sail, 
207   For the sky show'd it would come on to blow, 
208   And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so. 


209   At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift 
210      Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea, 
211   Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift, 
212      Started the stern-post, also shatter'd the 
213   Whole of her stern-frame, and ere she could lift 
214      Herself from out her present jeopardy 
215   The rudder tore away: 'twas time to sound 
216   The pumps, and there were four feet water found. 


217   One gang of people instantly was put 
218      Upon the pumps, and the remainder set 
219   To get up part of the cargo, and what not, 
220      But they could not come at the leak as yet; 
221   At last they did get at it really, but 
222      Still their salvation was an even bet: 
223   The water rush'd through in a way quite puzzling, 
224   While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin, 


225   Into the opening; but all such ingredients 
226      Would have been vain, and they must have gone down, 
227   Despite of all their efforts and expedients, 
228      But for the pumps: I'm glad to make them known 
229   To all the brother tars who may have need hence, 
230      For fifty tons of water were upthrown 
231   By them per hour, and they had all been undone 
232   But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London. 


233   As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate, 
234      And then the leak they reckon'd to reduce, 
235   And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet 
236      Kept two hand and one chain-pump still in use. 
237   The wind blew fresh again: as it grew late 
238      A squall came on, and while some guns broke loose, 
239   A gust---which all descriptive power transcends--- 
240   Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends. 


241   There she lay, motionless, and seem'd upset; 
242      The water left the hold, and wash'd the decks, 
243   And made a scene men do not soon forget; 
244      For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks, 
245   Or any other thing that brings regret, 
246      Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or necks: 
247   Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the divers 
248   And swimmers who may chance to be survivors. 


249   Immediately the masts were cut away, 
250      Both main and mizen; first the mizen went, 
251   The mainmast follow'd: but the ship still lay 
252      Like a mere log, and baffled our intent. 
253   Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they 
254      Eased her at last (although we never meant 
255   To part with all till every hope was blighted), 
256   And then with violence the old ship righted. 


257   It may be easily supposed, while this 
258      Was going on, some people were unquiet, 
259   That passengers would find it much amiss 
260      To lose their lives as well as spoil their diet; 
261   That even the able seaman, deeming his 
262      Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot, 
263   As upon such occasions tars will ask 
264   For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask. 


265   There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms 
266      As rum and true religion; thus it was, 
267   Some plunder'd, some drank spirits, some sung psalms, 
268      The high wind made the treble, and as bass 
269   The hoarse harsh waves kept time; fright cured the qualms 
270      Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws: 
271   Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, 
272   Clamour'd in chorus to the roaring ocean. 


273   Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for 
274      Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years, 
275   Got to the spirit-room, and stood before 
276      It with a pair of pistols; and their fears, 
277   As if Death were more dreadful by his door 
278      Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears, 
279   Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk, 
280   Thought it would be becoming to die drunk. 


281   "Give us more grog," they cried, "for it will be 
282      All one an hour hence." Juan answer'd, "No! 
283   'Tis true that death awaits both you and me, 
284      But let us die like men, not sink below 
285   Like brutes":---and thus his dangerous post kept he, 
286      And none liked to anticipate the blow; 
287   And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor, 
288   Was for some rum a disappointed suitor. 


289   The good old gentleman was quite aghast, 
290      And made a loud and pious lamentation; 
291   Repented all his sins, and made a last 
292      Irrevocable vow of reformation; 
293   Nothing should tempt him more (this peril past) 
294      To quit his academic occupation, 
295   In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, 
296   To follow Juan's wake like Sancho Panca. 


297   But now there came a flash of hope once more; 
298      Day broke, and the wind lull'd: the masts were gone, 
299   The leak increased; shoals round her, but no shore, 
300      The vessel swam, yet still she held her own. 
301   They tried the pumps again, and though before 
302      Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless grown, 
303   A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale--- 
304   The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a sail. 


305   Under the vessel's keel the sail was past, 
306      And for the moment it had some effect; 
307   But with a leak, and not a stick of mast, 
308      Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect? 
309   But still 'tis best to struggle to the last, 
310      'Tis never too late to be wholly wreck'd: 
311   And though 'tis true that man can only die once, 
312   'Tis not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons. 


313   There winds and waves had hurl'd them and from thence, 
314      Without their will, they carried them away; 
315   For they were forced with steering to dispense, 
316      And never had as yet a quiet day 
317   On which they might repose, or even commence 
318      A jurymast or rudder, or could say 
319   The ship would swim an hour, which, by good luck, 
320   Still swam---though not exactly like a duck. 


321   The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less, 
322      But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could hope 
323   To weather out much longer; the distress 
324      Was also great with which they had to cope 
325   For want of water, and their solid mess 
326      Was scant enough: in vain the telescope 
327   Was used---nor sail nor shore appear'd in sight, 
328   Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night. 


329   Again the weather threaten'd,---again blew 
330      A gale, and in the fore and after hold 
331   Water appear'd; yet, though the people knew 
332      All this, the most were patient, and some bold, 
333   Until the chains and leathers were worn through 
334      Of all our pumps:---a wreck complete she roll'd, 
335   At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are 
336   Like human beings during civil war. 


337   Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears 
338      In his rough eyes, and told the captain, he 
339   Could do no more; he was a man in years, 
340      And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea, 
341   And if he wept at length, they were not fears 
342      That made his eyelids as a woman's be, 
343   But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children, 
344   Two things for dying people quite bewildering. 


345   The ship was evidently settling now 
346      Fast by the head; and, all distinction gone, 
347   Some went to prayers again, and made a vow 
348      Of candles to their saints---but there were none 
349   To pay them with; and some look'd o'er the bow; 
350      Some hoisted out the boats; and there was one 
351   That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution, 
352   Who told him to be damn'd---in his confusion. 


353   Some lash'd them in their hammocks, some put on 
354      Their best clothes, as if going to a fair; 
355   Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun, 
356      And gnash'd their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair; 
357   And others went on as they had begun, 
358      Getting the boats out, being well aware 
359   That a tight boat will live in a rough sea, 
360   Unless with breakers close beneath her lee. 


361   The worst of all was, that in their condition, 
362      Having been several days in great distress, 
363   'Twas difficult to get out such provision 
364      As now might render their long suffering less: 
365   Men, even when dying, dislike inanition; 
366      Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress: 
367   Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter, 
368   Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. 


369   But in the long-boat they contrived to stow 
370      Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet; 
371   Water, a twenty gallon cask or so; 
372      Six flasks of wine; and they contrived to get 
373   A portion of their beef up from below, 
374      And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, 
375   But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheon--- 
376   Then there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon. 


377   The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had 
378      Been stove in the beginning of the gale; 
379   And the long-boat's condition was but bad, 
380      As there were but two blankets for a sail, 
381   And one oar for a mast, which a young lad 
382      Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail; 
383   And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, 
384   To save one half the people then on board. 


385   'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down 
386      Over the waste of waters; like a veil, 
387   Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown 
388      Of one whose hate is masked but to assail, 
389   Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown 
390      And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale, 
391   And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear 
392   Been their familiar, and now Death was here. 


393   Some trial had been making at a raft, 
394      With little hope in such a rolling sea, 
395   A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd, 
396      If any laughter at such times could be, 
397   Unless with people who too much have quaff'd, 
398      And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, 
399   Half epileptical, and half hysterical:--- 
400   Their preservation would have been a miracle. 


401   At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, 
402      And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, 
403   That still could keep afloat the struggling tars, 
404      For yet they strove, although of no great use: 
405   There was no light in heaven but a few stars, 
406      The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews; 
407   She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, 
408   And, going down head foremost---sunk, in short. 


409   Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, 
410      Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, 
411   Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, 
412      As eager to anticipate their grave; 
413   And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, 
414      And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave, 
415   Like one who grapples with his enemy, 
416   And strives to strangle him before he die. 


417   And first one universal shriek there rush'd, 
418      Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash 
419   Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd, 
420      Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash 
421   Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, 
422      Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
423   A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
424   Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 


425   The boats, as stated, had got off before, 
426      And in them crowded several of the crew; 
427   And yet their present hope was hardly more 
428      Than what it had been, for so strong it blew 
429   There was slight chance of reaching any shore; 
430      And then they were too many, though so few--- 
431   Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat, 
432   Were counted in them when they got afloat. 


433   All the rest perish'd; near two hundred souls 
434      Had left their bodies; and, what's worse, alas! 
435   When over Catholics the ocean rolls, 
436      They must wait several weeks before a mass 
437   Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals, 
438      Because, till people know what's come to pass, 
439   They won't lay out their money on the dead--- 
440   It costs three francs for every mass that's said. 


441   Juan got into the long-boat, and there 
442      Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place; 
443   It seem'd as if they had exchanged their care, 
444      For Juan wore the magisterial face 
445   Which courage gives, while poor Pedrillo's pair 
446      Of eyes were crying for their owner's case: 
447   Battista, though, (a name call'd shortly Tita) 
448   Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita. 


449   Pedro, his valet, too, he tried to save, 
450      But the same cause, conducive to his loss, 
451   Left him so drunk, he jump'd into the wave 
452      As o'er the cutter's edge he tried to cross, 
453   And so he found a wine-and-watery grave; 
454      They could not rescue him although so close, 
455   Because the sea ran higher every minute, 
456   And for the boat---the crew kept crowding in it. 


457   A small old spaniel,---which had been Don Jóse's, 
458      His father's, whom he loved, as ye may think, 
459   For on such things the memory reposes 
460      With tenderness,---stood howling on the brink, 
461   Knowing, (dogs have such intellectual noses!) 
462      No doubt, the vessel was about to sink; 
463   And Juan caught him up, and ere he stepp'd 
464   Off, threw him in, then after him he leap'd. 


465   He also stuff'd his money where he could 
466      About his person, and Pedrillo's too, 
467   Who let him do, in fact, whate'er he would, 
468      Not knowing what himself to say, or do, 
469   As every rising wave his dread renew'd; 
470      But Juan, trusting they might still get through, 
471   And deeming there were remedies for any ill, 
472   Thus re-embark'd his tutor and his spaniel. 


473   'Twas a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet, 
474      That the sail was becalm'd between the seas, 
475   Though on the wave's high top too much to set, 
476      They dared not take it in for all the breeze; 
477   Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them wet, 
478      And made them bale without a moment's ease, 
479   So that themselves as well as hopes were damp'd, 
480   And the poor little cutter quickly swamp'd. 


481   Nine souls more went in her: the long-boat still 
482      Kept above water, with an oar for mast, 
483   Two blankets stitch'd together, answering ill 
484      Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast: 
485   Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill, 
486      And present peril all before surpass'd, 
487   They grieved for those who perish'd with the cutter, 
488   And also for the biscuit casks and butter. 


489   The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign 
490      Of the continuance of the gale: to run 
491   Before the sea, until it should grow fine, 
492      Was all that for the present could be done: 
493   A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine 
494      Was served out to the people, who begun 
495   To faint, and damaged bread wet through the bags, 
496   And most of them had little clothes but rags. 


497   They counted thirty, crowded in a space 
498      Which left scarce room for motion or exertion; 
499   They did their best to modify their case, 
500      One half sate up, though numb'd with the immersion, 
501   While t'other half were laid down in their place, 
502      At watch and watch; thus, shivering like the tertian 
503   Ague in its cold fit, they fill'd their boat, 
504   With nothing but the sky for a great coat. 


505   'Tis very certain the desire of life 
506      Prolongs it; this is obvious to physicians, 
507   When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife, 
508      Survive through very desperate conditions, 
509   Because they still can hope, nor shines the knife 
510      Nor shears of Atropos before their visions: 
511   Despair of all recovery spoils longevity, 
512   And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity. 


513   'Tis said that persons living on annuities 
514      Are longer lived than others,---God knows why, 
515   Unless to plague the grantors,---yet so true it is, 
516      That some, I really think, do never die; 
517   Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is, 
518      And that's their mode of furnishing supply: 
519   In my young days they lent me cash that way, 
520   Which I found very troublesome to pay. 


521   'Tis thus with people in an open boat, 
522      They live upon the love of life, and bear 
523   More than can be believed, or even thought, 
524      And stand like rocks the tempest's wear and tear; 
525   And hardship still has been the sailor's lot, 
526      Since Noah's ark went cruising here and there; 
527   She had a curious crew as well as cargo, 
528   Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo. 


529   But man is a carnivorous production, 
530      And must have meals, at least one meal a day; 
531   He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, 
532      But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey: 
533   Although his anatomical construction 
534      Bears vegetables in a grumbling way, 
535   Your labouring people think beyond all question, 
536   Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion. 


537   And thus it was with this our hapless crew; 
538      For on the third day there came on a calm, 
539   And though at first their strength it might renew, 
540      And lying on their weariness like balm, 
541   Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue 
542      Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm, 
543   And fell all ravenously on their provision, 
544   Instead of hoarding it with due precision. 


545   The consequence was easily foreseen--- 
546      They ate up all they had, and drank their wine, 
547   In spite of all remonstrances, and then 
548      On what, in fact, next day were they to dine? 
549   They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish men! 
550      And carry them to shore; these hopes were fine, 
551   But as they had but one oar, and that brittle, 
552   It would have been more wise to save their victual. 


553   The fourth day came, but not a breath of air, 
554      And Ocean slumber'd like an unwean'd child: 
555   The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there, 
556      The sea and sky were blue, and clear, and mild--- 
557   With their one oar (I wish they had had a pair) 
558      What could they do? and hunger's rage grew wild: 
559   So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, 
560   Was kill'd, and portion'd out for present eating. 


561   On the sixth day they fed upon his hide, 
562      And Juan, who had still refused, because 
563   The creature was his father's dog that died, 
564      Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws, 
565   With some remorse received (though first denied) 
566      As a great favour one of the fore-paws, 
567   Which he divided with Pedrillo, who 
568   Devour'd it, longing for the other too. 


569   The seventh day, and no wind---the burning sun 
570      Blister'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the sea, 
571   They lay like carcasses; and hope was none, 
572      Save in the breeze that came not; savagely 
573   They glared upon each other---all was done, 
574      Water, and wine, and food,---and you might see 
575   The longings of the cannibal arise 
576   (Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes. 


577   At length one whisper'd his companion, who 
578      Whisper'd another, and thus it went round, 
579   And then into a hoarser murmur grew, 
580      An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound, 
581   And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew, 
582      'Twas but his own, suppress'd till now, he found: 
583   And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood, 
584   And who should die to be his fellow's food. 


585   But ere they came to this, they that day shared 
586      Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of shoes; 
587   And then they look'd around them, and despair'd, 
588      And none to be the sacrifice would choose; 
589   At length the lots were torn up, and prepared, 
590      But of materials that much shock the Muse--- 
591   Having no paper, for the want of better, 
592   They took by force from Juan Julia's letter. 


593   The lots were made, and mark'd, and mix'd, and handed, 
594      In silent horror, and their distribution 
595   Lull'd even the savage hunger which demanded, 
596      Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution; 
597   None in particular had sought or plann'd it, 
598      'Twas nature gnaw'd them to this resolution, 
599   By which none were permitted to be neuter--- 
600   And the lot fell on Juan's luckless tutor. 


601   He but requested to be bled to death: 
602      The surgeon had his instruments, and bled 
603   Pedrillo, and so gently ebb'd his breath, 
604      You hardly could perceive when he was dead. 
605   He died as born, a Catholic in faith, 
606      Like most in the belief in which they're bred, 
607   And first a little crucifix he kiss'd, 
608   And then held out his jugular and wrist. 


609   The surgeon, as there was no other fee, 
610      Had his first choice of morsels for his pains; 
611   But being thirstiest at the moment, he 
612      Preferr'd a draught from the fast-flowing veins: 
613   Part was divided, part thrown in the sea, 
614      And such things as the entrails and the brains 
615   Regaled two sharks, who follow'd o'er the billow--- 
616   The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo. 


617   The sailors ate him, all save three or four, 
618      Who were not quite so fond of animal food; 
619   To these was added Juan, who, before 
620      Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could 
621   Feel now his appetite increased much more; 
622      'Twas not to be expected that he should, 
623   Even in extremity of their disaster, 
624   Dine with them on his pastor and his master. 


625   'Twas better that he did not; for, in fact, 
626      The consequence was awful in the extreme: 
627   For they, who were most ravenous in the act, 
628      Went raging mad---Lord! how they did blaspheme! 
629   And foam and roll, with strange convulsions rack'd, 
630      Drinking salt-water like a mountain-stream, 
631   Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing, 
632   And, with hyaena laughter, died despairing. 


633   Their numbers were much thinn'd by this infliction, 
634      And all the rest were thin enough, heaven knows; 
635   And some of them had lost their recollection, 
636      Happier than they who still perceived their woes; 
637   But others ponder'd on a new dissection, 
638      As if not warn'd sufficiently by those 
639   Who had already perish'd, suffering madly, 
640   For having used their appetites so sadly. 


641   And next they thought upon the master's mate, 
642      As fattest; but he saved himself, because, 
643   Besides being much averse from such a fate, 
644      There were some other reasons; the first was, 
645   He had been rather indisposed of late, 
646      And that which chiefly proved his saving clause, 
647   Was a small present made to him at Cadiz, 
648   By general subscription of the ladies. 


649   Of poor Pedrillo something still remain'd, 
650      But was used sparingly,---some were afraid, 
651   And others still their appetites constrain'd, 
652      Or but at times a little supper made; 
653   All except Juan, who throughout abstain'd, 
654      Chewing a piece of bamboo, and some lead: 
655   At length they caught two boobies, and a noddy, 
656   And then they left off eating the dead body. 


657   And if Pedrillo's fate should shocking be, 
658      Remember Ugolino condescends 
659   To eat the head of his arch-enemy 
660      The moment after he politely ends 
661   His tale; if foes be food in hell, at sea 
662      'Tis surely fair to dine upon our friends, 
663   When shipwreck's short allowance grows too scanty, 
664   Without being much more horrible than Dante. 


665   And the same night there fell a shower of rain, 
666      For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of earth 
667   When dried to summer dust; till taught by pain, 
668      Men really know not what good water's worth; 
669   If you had been in Turkey or in Spain, 
670      Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your birth, 
671   Or in the desert heard the camel's bell, 
672   You'd wish yourself where Truth is---in a well. 


673   It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer 
674      Until they found a ragged piece of sheet, 
675   Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher, 
676      And when they deem'd its moisture was complete, 
677   They wrung it out, and though a thirsty ditcher 
678      Might not have thought the scanty draught so sweet 
679   As a full pot of porter, to their thinking 
680   They ne'er till now had known the joys of drinking. 


681   And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack, 
682      Suck'd in the moisture, which like nectar stream'd; 
683   Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues were black, 
684      As the rich man's in hell, who vainly scream'd 
685   To beg the beggar, who could not rain back 
686      A drop of dew, when every drop had seem'd 
687   To taste of heaven---If this be true, indeed, 
688   Some Christians have a comfortable creed. 


689   There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, 
690      And with them their two sons, of whom the one 
691   Was more robust and hardy to the view, 
692      But he died early; and when he was gone, 
693   His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw 
694      One glance on him, and said, "Heaven's will be done! 
695   I can do nothing," and he saw him thrown 
696   Into the deep without a tear or groan. 


697   The other father had a weaklier child, 
698      Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate; 
699   But the boy bore up long, and with a mild 
700      And patient spirit held aloof his fate; 
701   Little he said, and now and then he smiled, 
702      As if to win a part from off the weight 
703   He saw increasing on his father's heart, 
704   With the deep deadly thought, that they must part. 


705   And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised 
706      His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam 
707   From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed, 
708      And when the wish'd-for shower at length was come, 
709   And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed, 
710      Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam, 
711   He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain 
712   Into his dying child's mouth---but in vain. 


713   The boy expired---the father held the clay, 
714      And look'd upon it long, and when at last 
715   Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay 
716      Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past, 
717   He watch'd it wistfully, until away 
718      'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast; 
719   Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering, 
720   And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering. 


721   Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through 
722      The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea, 
723   Resting its bright base on the quivering blue; 
724      And all within its arch appear'd to be 
725   Clearer than that without, and its wide hue 
726      Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free, 
727   Then changed like to a bow that's bent, and then 
728   Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men. 


729   It changed, of course; a heavenly cameleon, 
730      The airy child of vapour and the sun, 
731   Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermillion, 
732      Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun, 
733   Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, 
734      And blending every colour into one, 
735   Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle, 
736   (For sometimes we must box without the muffle). 


737   Our shipwreck'd seamen thought it a good omen--- 
738      It is as well to think so, now and then; 
739   'Twas an old custom of the Greek and Roman, 
740      And may become of great advantage when 
741   Folks are discouraged; and most surely no men 
742      Had greater need to nerve themselves again 
743   Than these, and so this rainbow look'd like hope--- 
744   Quite a celestial kaleidoscope. 


745   About this time a beautiful white bird, 
746      Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size 
747   And plumage, (probably it might have err'd 
748      Upon its course) pass'd oft before their eyes, 
749   And tried to perch, although it saw and heard 
750      The men within the boat, and in this guise 
751   It came and went, and flutter'd round them till 
752   Night fell:---this seem'd a better omen still. 


753   But in this case I also must remark, 
754      'Twas well this bird of promise did not perch, 
755   Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark 
756      Was not so safe for roosting as a church; 
757   And had it been the dove from Noah's ark, 
758      Returning there from her successful search, 
759   Which in their way that moment chanced to fall, 
760   They would have eat her, olive-branch and all. 


761   With twilight it again came on to blow, 
762      But not with violence; the stars shone out, 
763   The boat made way; yet now they were so low, 
764      They knew not where nor what they were about; 
765   Some fancied they saw land, and some said "No!" 
766      The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubt--- 
767   Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns, 
768   And all mistook about the latter once. 


769   As morning broke the light wind died away, 
770      When he who had the watch sung out and swore, 
771   If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray 
772      He wish'd that land he never might see more; 
773   And the rest rubb'd their eyes, and saw a bay, 
774      Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore; 
775   For shore it was, and gradually grew 
776   Distinct, and high, and palpable to view. 


777   And then of these some part burst into tears, 
778      And others, looking with a stupid stare, 
779   Could not yet separate their hopes from fears, 
780      And seem'd as if they had no further care; 
781   While a few pray'd---(the first time for some years)--- 
782      And at the bottom of the boat three were 
783   Asleep; they shook them by the hand and head, 
784   And tried to awaken them, but found them dead. 


785   The day before, fast sleeping on the water, 
786      They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind, 
787   And by good fortune gliding softly, caught her, 
788      Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind 
789   Proved even still a more nutritious matter, 
790      Because it left encouragement behind: 
791   They thought that in such perils, more than chance 
792   Had sent them this for their deliverance. 


793   The land appear'd a high and rocky coast, 
794      And higher grew the mountains as they drew, 
795   Set by a current, toward it: they were lost 
796      In various conjectures, for none knew 
797   To what part of the earth they had been tost, 
798      So changeable had been the winds that blew; 
799   Some thought it was Mount Aetna, some the highlands 
800   Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands. 


801   Meantime the current, with a rising gale, 
802      Still set them onwards to the welcome shore, 
803   Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale: 
804      Their living freight was now reduced to four, 
805   And three dead, whom their strength could not avail 
806      To heave into the deep with those before, 
807   Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd 
808   The spray into their faces as they splash'd. 


809   Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done 
810      Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to 
811   Such things a mother had not known her son 
812      Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew; 
813   By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one 
814      They perish'd, until wither'd to these few, 
815   But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter, 
816   In washing down Pedrillo with salt water. 


817   As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen 
818      Unequal in its aspect here and there, 
819   They felt the freshness of its growing green, 
820      That waved in forest-tops, and smooth'd the air, 
821   And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen 
822      From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare--- 
823   Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep 
824   Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep. 


825   The shore look'd wild, without a trace of man, 
826      And girt by formidable waves; but they 
827   Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran, 
828      Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay: 
829   A reef between them also now began 
830      To show its boiling surf and bounding spray, 
831   But finding no place for their landing better, 
832   They ran the boat for shore, and overset her. 


833   But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir, 
834      Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont; 
835   And having learnt to swim in that sweet river, 
836      Had often turn'd the art to some account: 
837   A better swimmer you could scarce see ever, 
838      He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont, 
839   As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided) 
840   Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did. 


841   So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark, 
842      He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply 
843   With the quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark, 
844      The beach which lay before him, high and dry: 
845   The greatest danger here was from a shark, 
846      That carried off his neighbour by the thigh; 
847   As for the other two they could not swim, 
848   So nobody arrived on shore but him. 


849   Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar, 
850      Which, providentially for him, was wash'd 
851   Just as his feeble arms could strike no more, 
852      And the hard wave o'erwhelm'd him as 'twas dash'd 
853   Within his grasp; he clung to it, and sore 
854      The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd; 
855   At last, with swimming, wading, scrambling, he 
856   Roll'd on the beach, half senseless, from the sea: 


857   There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung 
858      Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave, 
859   From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung, 
860      Should suck him back to her insatiate grave: 
861   And there he lay, full length, where he was flung, 
862      Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave, 
863   With just enough of life to feel its pain, 
864   And deem that it was saved, perhaps, in vain. 


865   With slow and staggering effort he arose, 
866      But sunk again upon his bleeding knee 
867   And quivering hand; and then he look'd for those 
868      Who long had been his mates upon the sea, 
869   But none of them appear'd to share his woes, 
870      Save one, a corpse from out the famish'd three, 
871   Who died two days before, and now had found 
872   An unknown barren beach for burial ground. 


873   And as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast, 
874      And down he sunk; and as he sunk, the sand 
875   Swam round and round, and all his senses pass'd: 
876      He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand 
877   Droop'd dripping on the oar, (their jury-mast) 
878      And, like a wither'd lily, on the land 
879   His slender frame and pallid aspect lay, 
880   As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay. 


881   How long in his damp trance young Juan lay 
882      He knew not, for the earth was gone for him, 
883   And Time had nothing more of night nor day 
884      For his congealing blood, and senses dim; 
885   And how this heavy faintness pass'd away 
886      He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb, 
887   And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to life, 
888   For Death, though vanquish'd, still retired with strife. 


889   His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed, 
890      For all was doubt and dizziness; he thought 
891   He still was in the boat, and had but dozed, 
892      And felt again with his despair o'erwrought, 
893   And wish'd it death in which he had reposed, 
894      And then once more his feelings back were brought, 
895   And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen 
896   A lovely female face of seventeen. 


897   'Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth 
898      Seem'd almost prying into his for breath; 
899   And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth 
900      Recall'd his answering spirits back from death; 
901   And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe 
902      Each pulse to animation, till beneath 
903   Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh 
904   To these kind efforts made a low reply. 


905   Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung 
906      Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm 
907   Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung; 
908      And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm, 
909   Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung 
910      His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm; 
911   And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew 
912   A sigh from his heaved bosom---and hers, too. 


913   And lifting him with care into the cave, 
914      The gentle girl, and her attendant,---one 
915   Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave, 
916      And more robust of figure,---then begun 
917   To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave 
918      Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which the sun 
919   Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoe'er 
920   She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair. 


921   Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, 
922      That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair, 
923   Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd 
924      In braids behind, and though her stature were 
925   Even of the highest for a female mould, 
926      They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air 
927   There was a something which bespoke command, 
928   As one who was a lady in the land. 


929   Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes 
930      Were black as death, their lashes the same hue, 
931   Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies 
932      Deepest attraction, for when to the view 
933   Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies, 
934      Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew; 
935   'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length, 
936   And hurls at once his venom and his strength. 


937   Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dye 
938      Like twilight rosy still with the set sun; 
939   Short upper lip---sweet lips! that make us sigh 
940      Ever to have seen such; for she was one 
941   Fit for the model of a statuary, 
942   (A race of mere impostors, when all's done--- 
943   I've seen much finer women, ripe and real, 
944   Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal). 


945   I'll tell you why I say so, for 'tis just 
946      One should not rail without a decent cause: 
947   There was an Irish lady, to whose bust 
948      I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was 
949   A frequent model; and if e'er she must 
950      Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws, 
951   They will destroy a face which mortal thought 
952   Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrought. 


953   And such was she, the lady of the cave: 
954      Her dress was very different from the Spanish, 
955   Simpler, and yet of colours not so grave; 
956      For, as you know, the Spanish women banish 
957   Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while wave 
958      Around them (what I hope will never vanish) 
959   The basquina and the mantilla, they 
960   Seem at the same time mystical and gay. 


961   But with our damsel this was not the case: 
962      Her dress was many-colour'd, finely spun; 
963   Her locks curl'd negligently round her face, 
964      But through them gold and gems profusely shone; 
965   Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace 
966      Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone 
967   Flash'd on her little hand; but, what was shocking, 
968   Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking. 


969   The other female's dress was not unlike, 
970      But of inferior materials; she 
971   Had not so many ornaments to strike, 
972      Her hair had silver only, bound to be 
973   Her dowry; and her veil, in form alike, 
974      Was coarser; and her air, though firm, less free; 
975   Her hair was thicker, but less long; her eyes 
976   As black, but quicker, and of smaller size. 


977   And these two tended him, and cheer'd him both 
978      With food and raiment, and those soft attentions, 
979   Which are (as I must own) of female growth, 
980      And have ten thousand delicate inventions: 
981   They made a most superior mess of broth, 
982      A thing which poesy but seldom mentions, 
983   But the best dish that e'er was cook'd since Homer's 
984   Achilles order'd dinner for new comers. 


985   I'll tell you who they were, this female pair, 
986      Lest they should seem princesses in disguise; 
987   Besides, I hate all mystery, and that air 
988      Of clap-trap, which your recent poets prize; 
989   And so, in short, the girls they really were 
990      They shall appear before your curious eyes, 
991   Mistress and maid; the first was only daughter 
992   Of an old man, who lived upon the water. 


993   A fisherman he had been in his youth, 
994      And still a sort of fisherman was he; 
995   But other speculations were, in sooth, 
996      Added to his connexion with the sea, 
997   Perhaps not so respectable, in truth: 
998      A little smuggling, and some piracy, 
999   Left him, at last, the sole of many masters 
1000   Of an ill-gotten million of piastres. 


1001   A fisher, therefore, was he---though of men, 
1002      Like Peter the Apostle,---and he fish'd 
1003   For wandering merchant vessels, now and then, 
1004      And sometimes caught as many as he wish'd; 
1005   The cargoes he confiscated, and gain 
1006      He sought in the slave-market too, and dish'd 
1007   Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade, 
1008   By which, no doubt, a good deal may be made. 


1009   He was a Greek, and on his isle had built 
1010      (One of the wild and smaller Cyclades) 
1011   A very handsome house from out his guilt, 
1012      And there he lived exceedingly at ease; 
1013   Heaven knows what cash he got, or blood he spilt, 
1014      A sad old fellow was he, if you please, 
1015   But this I know, it was a spacious building, 
1016   Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding. 


1017   He had an only daughter, call'd Haidée, 
1018      The greatest heiress of the Eastern Isles; 
1019   Besides, so very beautiful was she, 
1020      Her dowry was as nothing to her smiles: 
1021   Still in her teens, and like a lovely tree 
1022      She grew to womanhood, and between whiles 
1023   Rejected several suitors, just to learn 
1024   How to accept a better in his turn. 


1025   And walking out upon the beach, below 
1026      The cliff, towards sunset, on that day she found, 
1027   Insensible,---not dead, but nearly so,--- 
1028      Don Juan, almost famish'd, and half drown'd; 
1029   But being naked, she was shock'd, you know, 
1030      Yet deem'd herself in common pity bound, 
1031   As far as in her lay, "to take him in, 
1032   A stranger" dying, with so white a skin. 


1033   But taking him into her father's house 
1034      Was not exactly the best way to save, 
1035   But like conveying to the cat the mouse, 
1036      Or people in a trance into their grave; 
1037   Because the good old man had so much "     " 
1038      Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave, 
1039   He would have hospitably cured the stranger, 
1040   And sold him instantly when out of danger. 


1041   And therefore, with her maid, she thought it best 
1042      (A virgin always on her maid relies) 
1043   To place him in the cave for present rest: 
1044      And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes, 
1045   Their charity increased about their guest; 
1046      And their compassion grew to such a size, 
1047   It open'd half the turnpike-gates to heaven--- 
1048   (St. Paul says 'tis the toll which must be given). 


1049   They made a fire, but such a fire as they 
1050      Upon the moment could contrive with such 
1051   Materials as were cast up round the bay, 
1052      Some broken planks, and oars, that to the touch 
1053   Were nearly tinder, since so long they lay 
1054      A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch; 
1055   But, by God's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty, 
1056   That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty. 


1057   He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse, 
1058      For Haidée stripp'd her sables off to make 
1059   His couch; and, that he might be more at ease, 
1060      And warm, in case by chance he should awake, 
1061   They also gave a petticoat apiece, 
1062      She and her maid, and promised by day-break 
1063   To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish 
1064   For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish. 


1065   And thus they left him to his lone repose: 
1066      Juan slept like a top, or like the dead, 
1067   Who sleep at last, perhaps, (God only knows) 
1068      Just for the present; and in his lull'd head 
1069   Not even a vision of his former woes 
1070      Throbb'd in accursed dreams, which sometimes spread 
1071   Unwelcome visions of our former years, 
1072   Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears. 


1073   Young Juan slept all dreamless:---but the maid, 
1074      Who smooth'd his pillow, as she left the den 
1075   Look'd back upon him, and a moment staid, 
1076      And turn'd, believing that he call'd again. 
1077   He slumber'd; yet she thought, at least she said, 
1078      (The heart will slip even as the tongue and pen) 
1079   He had pronounced her name---but she forgot 
1080   That at this moment Juan knew it not. 


1081   And pensive to her father's house she went, 
1082      Enjoining silence strict to Zoe, who 
1083   Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant, 
1084      She being wiser by a year or two: 
1085   A year or two's an age when rightly spent, 
1086      And Zoe spent hers, as most women do, 
1087   In gaining all that useful sort of knowledge 
1088   Which is acquired in nature's good old college. 


1089   The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering still 
1090      Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon 
1091   His rest; the rushing of the neighbouring rill, 
1092      And the young beams of the excluded sun, 
1093   Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill; 
1094      And need he had of slumber yet, for none 
1095   Had suffer'd more---his hardships were comparative 
1096   To those related in my grand-dad's Narrative. 


1097   Not so Haidée; she sadly toss'd and tumbled, 
1098      And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er, 
1099   Dream'd of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she stumbled, 
1100      And handsome corpses strew'd upon the shore; 
1101   And woke her maid so early that she grumbled, 
1102      And call'd her father's old slaves up, who swore 
1103   In several oaths---Armenian, Turk, and Greek,--- 
1104   They knew not what to think of such a freak. 


1105   But up she got, and up she made them get, 
1106      With some pretence about the sun, that makes 
1107   Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set; 
1108      And 'tis, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks 
1109   Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are wet 
1110      With mist, and every bird with him awakes, 
1111   And night is flung off like a mourning suit 
1112   Worn for a husband, or some other brute. 


1113   I say, the sun is a most glorious sight, 
1114      I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of late 
1115   I have sat up on purpose all the night, 
1116      Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fate; 
1117   And so all ye, who would be in the right 
1118      In health and purse, begin your day to date 
1119   From day-break, and when coffin'd at fourscore, 
1120   Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four. 


1121   And Haidée met the morning face to face; 
1122      Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush 
1123   Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race 
1124      From heart to cheek is curb'd into a blush, 
1125   Like to a torrent which a mountain's base, 
1126      That overpowers some alpine river's rush, 
1127   Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread; 
1128   Or the Red Sea---but the sea is not red. 


1129   And down the cliff the island virgin came, 
1130      And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew, 
1131   While the sun smiled on her with his first flame, 
1132      And young Aurora kiss'd her lips with dew, 
1133   Taking her for a sister; just the same 
1134      Mistake you would have made on seeing the two, 
1135   Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair, 
1136   Had all the advantage too of not being air. 


1137   And when into the cavern Haidée stepp'd 
1138      All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw 
1139   That like an infant Juan sweetly slept; 
1140      And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe, 
1141   (For sleep is awful) and on tiptoe crept 
1142      And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw, 
1143   Should reach his blood, then o'er him still as death 
1144   Bent, with hush'd lips, that drank his scarce-drawn breath. 


1145   And thus like to an angel o'er the dying 
1146      Who die in righteousness, she lean'd; and there 
1147   All tranquilly the shipwreck'd boy was lying, 
1148      As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air: 
1149   But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying, 
1150      Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair 
1151   Must breakfast, and betimes---lest they should ask it, 
1152   She drew out her provision from the basket. 


1153   She knew that the best feelings must have victual, 
1154      And that a shipwreck'd youth would hungry be; 
1155   Besides, being less in love, she yawn'd a little, 
1156      And felt her veins chill'd by the neighbouring sea; 
1157   And so, she cook'd their breakfast to a tittle; 
1158      I can't say that she gave them any tea, 
1159   But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey, 
1160   With Scio wine,---and all for love, not money. 


1161   And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and 
1162      The coffee made, would fain have waken'd Juan; 
1163   But Haidée stopp'd her with her quick small hand, 
1164      And without word, a sign her finger drew on 
1165   Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand; 
1166      And, the first breakfast spoilt, prepared a new one, 
1167   Because her mistress would not let her break 
1168   That sleep which seem'd as it would ne'er awake. 


1169   For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek 
1170      A purple hectic play'd like dying day 
1171   On the snow-tops of distant hills; the streak 
1172      Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay, 
1173   Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, and weak; 
1174      And his black curls were dewy with the spray, 
1175   Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt, 
1176   Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault. 


1177   And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath, 
1178      Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast, 
1179   Droop'd as the willow when no winds can breathe, 
1180      Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at rest, 
1181   Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath, 
1182      Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest; 
1183   In short, he was a very pretty fellow, 
1184   Although his woes had turn'd him rather yellow. 


1185   He woke and gazed, and would have slept again, 
1186      But the fair face which met his eyes forbade 
1187   Those eyes to close, though weariness and pain 
1188      Had further sleep a further pleasure made; 
1189   For woman's face was never form'd in vain 
1190      For Juan, so that even when he pray'd 
1191   He turn'd from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy, 
1192   To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary. 


1193   And thus upon his elbow he arose, 
1194      And look'd upon the lady, in whose cheek 
1195   The pale contended with the purple rose, 
1196      As with an effort she began to speak; 
1197   Her eyes were eloquent, her words would pose, 
1198      Although she told him, in good modern Greek, 
1199   With an Ionian accent, low and sweet, 
1200   That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat. 


1201   Now Juan could not understand a word, 
1202      Being no Grecian; but he had an ear, 
1203   And her voice was the warble of a bird, 
1204      So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear, 
1205   That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard; 
1206      The sort of sound we echo with a tear, 
1207   Without knowing why---an overpowering tone, 
1208   Whence Melody descends as from a throne. 


1209   And Juan gazed as one who is awoke 
1210      By a distant organ, doubting if he be 
1211   Not yet a dreamer, till the spell is broke 
1212      By the watchman, or some such reality, 
1213   Or by one's early valet's cursed knock; 
1214      At least it is a heavy sound to me, 
1215   Who like a morning slumber---for the night 
1216   Shows stars and women in a better light. 


1217   And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream, 
1218      Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was, by feeling 
1219   A most prodigious appetite: the steam 
1220      Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing 
1221   Upon his senses, and the kindling beam 
1222      Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, kneeling, 
1223   To stir her viands, made him quite awake 
1224   And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak. 


1225   But beef is rare within these oxless isles; 
1226      Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; 
1227   And, when a holiday upon them smiles, 
1228      A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on: 
1229   But this occurs but seldom, between whiles, 
1230      For some of these are rocks with scarce a hut on, 
1231   Others are fair and fertile, among which 
1232   This, though not large, was one of the most rich. 


1233   I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking 
1234      That the old fable of the Minotaur--- 
1235   From which our modern morals, rightly shrinking, 
1236      Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore 
1237   A cow's shape for a mask---was only (sinking 
1238      The allegory) a mere type, no more, 
1239   That Pasiphae promoted breeding cattle, 
1240   To make the Cretans bloodier in battle. 


1241   For we all know that English people are 
1242      Fed upon beef---I won't say much of beer, 
1243   Because 'tis liquor only, and being far 
1244      From this my subject, has no business here; 
1245   We know, too, they are very fond of war, 
1246      A pleasure---like all pleasures---rather dear; 
1247   So were the Cretans---from which I infer 
1248   That beef and battles both were owing to her. 


1249   But to resume. The languid Juan raised 
1250      His head upon his elbow, and he saw 
1251   A sight on which he had not lately gazed, 
1252      As all his latter meals had been quite raw, 
1253   Three or four things, for which the Lord he praised, 
1254      And, feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw, 
1255   He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like 
1256   A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike. 


1257   He ate, and he was well supplied; and she, 
1258      Who watch'd him like a mother, would have fed 
1259   Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see 
1260      Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead: 
1261   But Zoe, being older than Haidée, 
1262      Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) 
1263   That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, 
1264   And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst. 


1265   And so she took the liberty to state, 
1266      Rather by deeds than words, because the case 
1267   Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate 
1268      Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace 
1269   The sea-shore at this hour, must leave his plate, 
1270      Unless he wish'd to die upon the place--- 
1271   She snatch'd it, and refused another morsel, 
1272   Saying, he had gorged enough to make a horse ill. 


1273   Next they---he being naked, save a tatter'd 
1274      Pair of scarce decent trowsers---went to work, 
1275   And in the fire his recent rags they scatter'd, 
1276      And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk, 
1277   Or Greek---that is, although it not much matter'd, 
1278      Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk,--- 
1279   They furnish'd him, entire except some stitches, 
1280   With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches. 


1281   And then fair Haidée tried her tongue at speaking, 
1282      But not a word could Juan comprehend, 
1283   Although he listen'd so that the young Greek in 
1284      Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end; 
1285   And, as he interrupted not, went eking 
1286      Her speech out to her protegé and friend, 
1287   Till pausing at the last her breath to take, 
1288   She saw he did not understand Romaic. 


1289   And then she had recourse to nods, and signs, 
1290      And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye, 
1291   And read (the only book she could) the lines 
1292      Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy, 
1293   The answer eloquent, where the soul shines 
1294      And darts in one quick glance a long reply; 
1295   And thus in every look she saw exprest 
1296   A world of words, and things at which she guess'd. 


1297   And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes, 
1298      And words repeated after her, he took 
1299   A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise, 
1300      No doubt, less of her language than her look: 
1301   As he who studies fervently the skies 
1302      Turns oftener to the stars than to his book, 
1303   Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better 
1304   From Haidée's glance than any graven letter. 


1305   'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue 
1306      By female lips and eyes---that is, I mean, 
1307   When both the teacher and the taught are young, 
1308      As was the case, at least, where I have been; 
1309   They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong 
1310      They smile still more, and then there intervene 
1311   Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss;--- 
1312   I learn'd the little that I know by this: 


1313   That is, some words of Spanish, Turk, and Greek, 
1314      Italian not at all, having no teachers; 
1315   Much English I cannot pretend to speak, 
1316      Learning that language chiefly from its preachers, 
1317   Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week 
1318      I study, also Blair, the highest reachers 
1319   Of eloquence in piety and prose--- 
1320   I hate your poets, so read none of those. 


1321   As for the ladies, I have nought to say, 
1322      A wanderer from the British world of fashion, 
1323   Where I, like other "dogs, have had my day," 
1324      Like other men too, may have had my passion--- 
1325   But that, like other things, has pass'd away, 
1326      And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on: 
1327   Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me 
1328   But dreams of what has been, no more to be. 


1329   Return we to Don Juan. He begun 
1330      To hear new words, and to repeat them; but 
1331   Some feelings, universal as the sun, 
1332      Were such as could not in his breast be shut 
1333   More than within the bosom of a nun: 
1334      He was in love,---as you would be, no doubt, 
1335   With a young benefactress---so was she, 
1336   Just in the way we very often see. 


1337   And every day by day-break---rather early 
1338      For Juan, who was somewhat fond of rest--- 
1339   She came into the cave, but it was merely 
1340      To see her bird reposing in his nest; 
1341   And she would softly stir his locks so curly, 
1342      Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest, 
1343   Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth, 
1344   As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south. 


1345   And every morn his colour freshlier came, 
1346      And every day help'd on his convalescence; 
1347   'Twas well, because health in the human frame 
1348      Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence, 
1349   For health and idleness to passion's flame 
1350      Are oil and gunpowder; and some good lessons 
1351   Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus, 
1352   Without whom Venus will not long attack us. 


1353   While Venus fills the heart (without heart really 
1354      Love, though good always, is not quite so good) 
1355   Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli,--- 
1356      For love must be sustain'd like flesh and blood,--- 
1357   While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly: 
1358      Eggs, oysters too, are amatory food; 
1359   But who is their purveyor from above 
1360   Heaven knows,---it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove. 


1361   When Juan woke he found some good things ready, 
1362      A bath, a breakfast, and the finest eyes 
1363   That ever made a youthful heart less steady, 
1364      Besides her maid's, as pretty for their size; 
1365   But I have spoken of all this already--- 
1366      And repetition's tiresome and unwise,--- 
1367   Well---Juan, after bathing in the sea, 
1368   Came always back to coffee and Haidée. 


1369   Both were so young, and one so innocent, 
1370      That bathing pass'd for nothing; Juan seem'd 
1371   To her, as 'twere, the kind of being sent, 
1372      Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd, 
1373   A something to be loved, a creature meant 
1374      To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd 
1375   To render happy; all who joy would win 
1376   Must share it,---Happiness was born a twin. 


1377   It was such pleasure to behold him, such 
1378      Enlargement of existence to partake 
1379   Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch, 
1380      To watch him slumbering, and to see him wake: 
1381   To live with him for ever were too much; 
1382      But then the thought of parting made her quake: 
1383   He was her own, her ocean-treasure, cast 
1384   Like a rich wreck---her first love, and her last. 


1385   And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidée 
1386      Paid daily visits to her boy, and took 
1387   Such plentiful precautions, that still he 
1388      Remain'd unknown within his craggy nook; 
1389   At last her father's prows put out to sea, 
1390      For certain merchantmen upon the look, 
1391   Not as of yore to carry off an Io, 
1392   But three Ragusan vessels, bound for Scio. 


1393   Then came her freedom, for she had no mother, 
1394      So that, her father being at sea, she was 
1395   Free as a married woman, or such other 
1396      Female, as where she likes may freely pass, 
1397   Without even the incumbrance of a brother, 
1398      The freest she that ever gazed on glass: 
1399   I speak of christian lands in this comparison, 
1400   Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison. 


1401   Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk 
1402      (For they must talk), and he had learnt to say 
1403   So much as to propose to take a walk,--- 
1404      For little had he wander'd since the day 
1405   On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stalk, 
1406      Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,--- 
1407   And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon, 
1408   And saw the sun set opposite the moon. 


1409   It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast, 
1410      With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore, 
1411   Guarded by shoals and rocks as by an host, 
1412      With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore 
1413   A better welcome to the tempest-tost; 
1414      And rarely ceased the haughty billow's roar, 
1415   Save on the dead long summer days, which make 
1416   The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake. 


1417   And the small ripple spilt upon the beach 
1418      Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champaigne, 
1419   When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, 
1420      That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! 
1421   Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach 
1422      Who please,---the more because they preach in vain,--- 
1423   Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter, 
1424   Sermons and soda water the day after. 


1425   Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; 
1426      The best of life is but intoxication: 
1427   Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk 
1428      The hopes of all men, and of every nation; 
1429   Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk 
1430      Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion: 
1431   But to return,---Get very drunk; and when 
1432   You wake with head-ache, you shall see what then. 


1433   Ring for your valet---bid him quickly bring 
1434      Some hock and soda-water, then you'll know 
1435   A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king; 
1436      For not the blest sherbet, sublimed with snow, 
1437   Nor the first sparkle of the desert-spring, 
1438      Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow, 
1439   After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter, 
1440   Vie with that draught of hock and soda-water. 


1441   The coast---I think it was the coast that I 
1442      Was just describing---Yes, it was the coast--- 
1443   Lay at this period quiet as the sky, 
1444      The sands untumbled, the blue waves untost, 
1445   And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry, 
1446      And dolphin's leap, and little billow crost 
1447   By some low rock or shelve, that made it fret 
1448   Against the boundary it scarcely wet. 


1449   And forth they wander'd, her sire being gone, 
1450      As I have said, upon an expedition; 
1451   And mother, brother, guardian, she had none, 
1452      Save Zoe, who although with due precision 
1453   She waited on her lady with the sun, 
1454      Thought daily service was her only mission, 
1455   Bringing warm water, wreathing her long tresses, 
1456   And asking now and then for cast-off dresses. 


1457   It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded 
1458      Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill, 
1459   Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded, 
1460      Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still, 
1461   With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded 
1462      On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill 
1463   Upon the other, and the rosy sky, 
1464   With one star sparkling through it like an eye. 


1465   And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand, 
1466      Over the shining pebbles and the shells, 
1467   Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand, 
1468      And in the worn and wild receptacles 
1469   Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd, 
1470      In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells, 
1471   They turn'd to rest; and, each clasp'd by an arm, 
1472   Yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm. 


1473   They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow 
1474      Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright; 
1475   They gazed upon the glittering sea below, 
1476      Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight; 
1477   They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low, 
1478      And saw each other's dark eyes darting light 
1479   Into each other---and, beholding this, 
1480   Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss; 


1481   A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love, 
1482      And beauty, all concentrating like rays 
1483   Into one focus, kindled from above; 
1484      Such kisses as belong to early days, 
1485   Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move, 
1486      And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze, 
1487   Each kiss a heart-quake,---for a kiss's strength, 
1488   I think, it must be reckon'd by its length. 


1489   By length I mean duration; theirs endured 
1490      Heaven knows how long---no doubt they never reckon'd; 
1491   And if they had, they could not have secured 
1492      The sum of their sensations to a second: 
1493   They had not spoken; but they felt allured, 
1494      As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd, 
1495   Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clung--- 
1496   Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung. 


1497   They were alone, but not alone as they 
1498      Who shut in chambers think it loneliness; 
1499   The silent ocean, and the starlight bay, 
1500      The twilight glow, which momently grew less, 
1501   The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay 
1502      Around them, made them to each other press, 
1503   As if there were no life beneath the sky 
1504   Save theirs, and that their life could never die. 


1505   They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach, 
1506      They felt no terrors from the night, they were 
1507   All in all to each other: though their speech 
1508      Was broken words, they thought a language there,--- 
1509   And all the burning tongues the passions teach 
1510      Found in one sigh the best interpreter 
1511   Of nature's oracle---first love,---that all 
1512   Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall. 


1513   Haidée spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows, 
1514      Nor offer'd any; she had never heard 
1515   Of plight and promises to be a spouse, 
1516      Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd; 
1517   She was all which pure ignorance allows, 
1518      And flew to her young mate like a young bird; 
1519   And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she 
1520   Had not one word to say of constancy. 


1521   She loved, and was beloved---she adored, 
1522      And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion, 
1523   Their intense souls, into each other pour'd, 
1524      If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion,--- 
1525   But by degrees their senses were restored, 
1526      Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on; 
1527   And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidée's heart 
1528   Felt as if never more to beat apart. 


1529   Alas! they were so young, so beautiful, 
1530      So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour 
1531   Was that in which the heart is always full, 
1532      And, having o'er itself no further power, 
1533   Prompts deeds eternity can not annul, 
1534      But pays off moments in an endless shower 
1535   Of hell-fire---all prepared for people giving 
1536   Pleasure or pain to one another living. 


1537   Alas! for Juan and Haidée! they were 
1538      So loving and so lovely---till then never, 
1539   Excepting our first parents, such a pair 
1540      Had run the risk of being damn'd for ever; 
1541   And Haidée, being devout as well as fair, 
1542      Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian river, 
1543   And hell and purgatory---but forgot 
1544   Just in the very crisis she should not. 


1545   They look upon each other, and their eyes 
1546      Gleam in the moonlight; and her white arm clasps 
1547   Round Juan's head, and his around hers lies 
1548      Half buried in the tresses which it grasps; 
1549   She sits upon his knee, and drinks his sighs, 
1550      He hers, until they end in broken gasps; 
1551   And thus they form a group that's quite antique, 
1552   Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek. 


1553   And when those deep and burning moments pass'd, 
1554      And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms, 
1555   She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast, 
1556      Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms; 
1557   And now and then her eye to heaven is cast, 
1558      And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms, 
1559   Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants 
1560   With all it granted, and with all it grants. 


1561   An infant when it gazes on a light, 
1562      A child the moment when it drains the breast, 
1563   A devotee when soars the Host in sight, 
1564      An Arab with a stranger for a guest, 
1565   A sailor when the prize has struck in fight, 
1566      A miser filling his most hoarded chest, 
1567   Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping 
1568   As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping. 


1569   For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved, 
1570      All that it hath of life with us is living; 
1571   So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved, 
1572      And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving; 
1573   All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved, 
1574      Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving; 
1575   There lies the thing we love with all its errors 
1576   And all its charms, like death without its terrors. 


1577   The lady watch'd her lover---and that hour 
1578      Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude, 
1579   O'erflow'd her soul with their united power; 
1580      Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude 
1581   She and her wave-worn love had made their bower, 
1582      Where nought upon their passion could intrude, 
1583   And all the stars that crowded the blue space 
1584   Saw nothing happier than her glowing face. 


1585   Alas! the love of women! it is known 
1586      To be a lovely and a fearful thing; 
1587   For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, 
1588      And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring 
1589   To them but mockeries of the past alone, 
1590      And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, 
1591   Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real 
1592   Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. 


1593   They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust, 
1594      Is always so to women; one sole bond 
1595   Awaits them, treachery is all their trust; 
1596      Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond 
1597   Over their idol, till some wealthier lust 
1598      Buys them in marriage---and what rests beyond? 
1599   A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, 
1600   Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over. 


1601   Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers, 
1602      Some mind their household, others dissipation, 
1603   Some run away, and but exchange their cares, 
1604      Losing the advantage of a virtuous station; 
1605   Few changes e'er can better their affairs, 
1606      Theirs being an unnatural situation, 
1607   From the dull palace to the dirty hovel: 
1608   Some play the devil, and then write a novel. 


1609   Haidée was Nature's bride, and knew not this; 
1610      Haidée was Passion's child, born where the sun 
1611   Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss 
1612      Of his gazelle-eyed daughters; she was one 
1613   Made but to love, to feel that she was his 
1614      Who was her chosen: what was said or done 
1615   Elsewhere was nothing---She had nought to fear, 
1616   Hope, care, nor love beyond, her heart beat here . 


1617   And oh! that quickening of the heart, that beat! 
1618      How much it costs us! yet each rising throb 
1619   Is in its cause as its effect so sweet, 
1620      That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob 
1621   Joy of its alchymy, and to repeat 
1622      Fine truths; even Conscience, too, has a tough job 
1623   To make us understand each good old maxim, 
1624   So good---I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em. 


1625   And now 'twas done---on the lone shore were plighted 
1626      Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed 
1627   Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted: 
1628      Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, 
1629   By their own feelings hallow'd and united, 
1630      Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed: 
1631   And they were happy, for to their young eyes 
1632   Each was an angel, and earth paradise. 


1633   Oh Love! of whom great Caesar was the suitor, 
1634      Titus the master, Antony the slave, 
1635   Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor, 
1636      Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave 
1637   All those may leap who rather would be neuter--- 
1638      (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave) 
1639   Oh Love! thou art the very god of evil, 
1640   For, after all, we cannot call thee devil. 


1641   Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state precarious, 
1642      And jestest with the brows of mightiest men: 
1643   Caesar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius, 
1644      Have much employ'd the muse of history's pen; 
1645   Their lives and fortunes were extremely various, 
1646      Such worthies Time will never see again; 
1647   Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds, 
1648   They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds. 


1649   Thou mak'st philosophers; there's Epicurus 
1650      And Aristippus, a material crew! 
1651   Who to immoral courses would allure us 
1652      By theories quite practicable too; 
1653   If only from the devil they would insure us, 
1654      How pleasant were the maxim, (not quite new) 
1655   "Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us?" 
1656   So said the royal sage Sardanapalus. 


1657   But Juan! had he quite forgotten Julia? 
1658      And should he have forgotten her so soon? 
1659   I can't but say it seems to me most truly a 
1660      Perplexing question; but, no doubt, the moon 
1661   Does these things for us, and whenever newly a 
1662      Strong palpitation rises, 'tis her boon, 
1663   Else how the devil is it that fresh features 
1664   Have such a charm for us poor human creatures? 


1665   I hate inconstancy---I loathe, detest, 
1666      Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made 
1667   Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast 
1668      No permanent foundation can be laid; 
1669   Love, constant love, has been my constant guest, 
1670      And yet last night, being at a masquerade, 
1671   I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan, 
1672   Which gave me some sensations like a villain. 


1673   But soon Philosophy came to my aid, 
1674      And whisper'd "think of every sacred tie!" 
1675   "I will, my dear Philosophy!" I said, 
1676      "But then her teeth, and then, Oh heaven! her eye! 
1677   I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid, 
1678      Or neither---out of curiosity." 
1679   "Stop!" cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian, 
1680   (Though she was masqued then as a fair Venetian). 


1681   "Stop!" so I stopp'd.---But to return: that which 
1682      Men call inconstancy is nothing more 
1683   Than admiration due where nature's rich 
1684      Profusion with young beauty covers o'er 
1685   Some favour'd object; and as in the niche 
1686      A lovely statue we almost adore, 
1687   This sort of adoration of the real 
1688   Is but a heightening of the "beau ideal." 


1689   'Tis the perception of the beautiful, 
1690      A fine extension of the faculties, 
1691   Platonic, universal, wonderful, 
1692      Drawn from the stars, and filter'd through the skies, 
1693   Without which life would be extremely dull; 
1694      In short, it is the use of our own eyes, 
1695   With one or two small senses added, just 
1696   To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust. 


1697   Yet 'tis a painful feeling, and unwilling, 
1698      For surely if we always could perceive 
1699   In the same object graces quite as killing 
1700      As when she rose upon us like an Eve, 
1701   'Twould save us many a heart-ache, many a shilling, 
1702      (For we must get them any how, or grieve), 
1703   Whereas if one sole lady pleased for ever, 
1704   How pleasant for the heart, as well as liver! 


1705   The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven, 
1706      But changes night and day too, like the sky; 
1707   Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, 
1708      And darkness and destruction as on high; 
1709   But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and riven, 
1710      Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye 
1711   Pours forth at last the heart's-blood turn'd to tears, 
1712   Which make the English climate of our years. 


1713   The liver is the lazaret of bile, 
1714      But very rarely executes its function, 
1715   For the first passion stays there such a while, 
1716      That all the rest creep in and form a junction, 
1717   Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil, 
1718      Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction, 
1719   So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail, 
1720   Like earthquakes from the hidden fire call'd "central." 


1721   In the mean time, without proceeding more 
1722      In this anatomy, I've finish'd now 
1723   Two hundred and odd stanzas as before, 
1724      That being about the number I'll allow 
1725   Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four; 
1726      And, laying down my pen, I make my bow, 
1727   Leaving Don Juan and Haidée to plead 
1728   For them and theirs with all who deign to read.