LXXXV.

"As for the figuranti,[253] they are like The rest of all that tribe; with here and there A pretty person, which perhaps may strike— The rest are hardly fitted for a fair; There's one, though tall and stiffer than a pike, Yet has a sentimental kind of air Which might go far, but she don't dance with vigour— The more's the pity, with her face and figure.

LXXXVI.

"As for the men, they are a middling set; The musico is but a cracked old basin, But, being qualified in one way yet, May the seraglio do to set his face in,[ef] And as a servant some preferment get; His singing I no further trust can place in: From all the Pope[254] makes yearly 't would perplex To find three perfect pipes of the third sex.

LXXXVII.

"The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation; And for the bass, the beast can only bellow— In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow; But being the prima donna's near relation, Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow, They hired him, though to hear him you'd believe An ass was practising recitative.

LXXXVIII.

"'T would not become myself to dwell upon My own merits, and though young—I see, Sir—you Have got a travelled air, which speaks you one To whom the opera is by no means new: You've heard of Raucocanti?—I'm the man; The time may come when you may hear me too; You was[255] not last year at the fair of Lugo, But next, when I'm engaged to sing there—do go.

LXXXIX.

"Our baritone I almost had forgot, A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit; With graceful action, science not a jot, A voice of no great compass, and not sweet, He always is complaining of his lot, Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; In lovers' parts his passion more to breathe, Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."[eg]

XC.

Here Raucocanti's eloquent recital Was interrupted by the pirate crew, Who came at stated moments to invite all The captives back to their sad berths; each threw A rueful glance upon the waves, (which bright all From the blue skies derived a double blue, Dancing all free and happy in the sun,) And then went down the hatchway one by one.

XCI.

They heard next day—that in the Dardanelles, Waiting for his Sublimity's firman,[256] The most imperative of sovereign spells, Which everybody does without who can, More to secure them in their naval cells, Lady to lady, well as man to man, Were to be chained and lotted out per couple, For the slave market of Constantinople.

XCII.

It seems when this allotment was made out, There chanced to be an odd male, and odd female, Who (after some discussion and some doubt, If the soprano might be deemed to be male, They placed him o'er the women as a scout) Were linked together, and it happened the male Was Juan,—who, an awkward thing at his age, Paired off with a Bacchante blooming visage.

XCIII.

With Raucocanti lucklessly was chained The tenor; these two hated with a hate Found only on the stage, and each more pained With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate; Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grained, Instead of bearing up without debate, That each pulled different ways with many an oath, "Arcades ambo," id est—blackguards both.[eh]

XCIV.

Juan's companion was a Romagnole, But bred within the march of old Ancona, With eyes that looked into the very soul (And other chief points of a bella donna), Bright—and as black and burning as a coal; And through her clear brunette complexion shone a Great wish to please—a most attractive dower, Especially when added to the power.

XCV.

But all that power was wasted upon him, For Sorrow o'er each sense held stern command; Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim: And though thus chained, as natural her hand Touched his, nor that—nor any handsome limb (And she had some not easy to withstand) Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel brittle; Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little.

XCVI.

No matter; we should ne'er too much inquire, But facts are facts: no Knight could be more true, And firmer faith no Ladye-love desire; We will omit the proofs, save one or two: 'T is said no one in hand "can hold a fire By thought of frosty Caucasus"[257]—but few, I really think—yet Juan's then ordeal Was more triumphant, and not much less real.

XCVII.

Here I might enter on a chaste description, Having withstood temptation in my youth,[ei] But hear that several people take exception At the first two books having too much truth; Therefore I'll make Don Juan leave the ship soon, Because the publisher declares, in sooth, Through needles' eyes it easier for the camel is To pass, than those two cantos into families.

XCVIII.

'T is all the same to me; I'm fond of yielding, And therefore leave them to the purer page Of Smollett, Prior, Ariosto, Fielding, Who say strange things for so correct an age;[258] I once had great alacrity in wielding My pen, and liked poetic war to wage, And recollect the time when all this cant Would have provoked remarks—which now it shan't.

XCIX.

As boys love rows, my boyhood liked a squabble; But at this hour I wish to part in peace, Leaving such to the literary rabble; Whether my verse's fame be doomed to cease While the right hand which wrote it still is able, Or of some centuries to take a lease, The grass upon my grave will grow as long, And sigh to midnight winds, but not to song.

C.

Of poets who come down to us through distance Of time and tongues, the foster-babes of Fame, Life seems the smallest portion of existence; Where twenty ages gather o'er a name, 'T is as a snowball which derives assistance From every flake, and yet rolls on the same, Even till an iceberg it may chance to grow; But, after all, 't is nothing but cold snow.

CI.

And so great names are nothing more than nominal, And love of Glory's but an airy lust, Too often in its fury overcoming all Who would as 't were identify their dust From out the wide destruction, which, entombing all, Leaves nothing till "the coming of the just"— Save change: I've stood upon Achilles' tomb, And heard Troy doubted;[259] Time will doubt of Rome.

CII.

The very generations of the dead Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb, Until the memory of an Age is fled, And, buried, sinks beneath its offspring's doom: Where are the epitaphs our fathers read? Save a few gleaned from the sepulchral gloom Which once-named myriads nameless lie beneath, And lose their own in universal Death.

CIII.

I canter by the spot each afternoon Where perished in his fame the hero-boy, Who lived too long for men, but died too soon For human vanity, the young De Foix! A broken pillar, not uncouthly hewn, But which Neglect is hastening to destroy, Records Ravenna's carnage on its face, While weeds and ordure rankle round the base.[260]

CIV.

I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid:[261] A little cupola, more neat than solemn, Protects his dust, but reverence here is paid[ej] To the Bard's tomb, and not the Warrior's column: The time must come, when both alike decayed, The Chieftain's trophy, and the Poet's volume, Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth, Before Pelides' death, or Homer's birth.

CV.

With human blood that column was cemented, With human filth that column is defiled, As if the peasant's coarse contempt were vented To show his loathing of the spot he soiled:[ek] Thus is the trophy used, and thus lamented Should ever be those blood-hounds, from whose wild Instinct of gore and glory Earth has known Those sufferings Dante saw in Hell alone.[el]

CVI.

Yet there will still be bards: though Fame is smoke, Its fumes are frankincense to human thought; And the unquiet feelings, which first woke Song in the world, will seek what then they sought;[em] As on the beach the waves at last are broke, Thus to their extreme verge the passions brought Dash into poetry, which is but Passion, Or, at least, was so ere it grew a fashion.

CVII.

If in the course of such a life as was At once adventurous and contemplative, Men who partake all passions as they pass, Acquire the deep and bitter power to give[en] Their images again as in a glass, And in such colours that they seem to live; You may do right forbidding them to show 'em, But spoil (I think) a very pretty poem.[262]

CVIII.

Oh! ye, who make the fortunes of all books! Benign Ceruleans of the second sex! Who advertise new poems by your looks, Your "Imprimatur" will ye not annex? What! must I go to the oblivious cooks,[eo] Those Cornish plunderers of Parnassian wrecks? Ah! must I then the only minstrel be, Proscribed from tasting your Castalian tea![263]

CIX.

What! can I prove "a lion" then no more? A ball-room bard, a foolscap, hot-press darling? To bear the compliments of many a bore, And sigh, "I can't get out," like Yorick's starling;[264] Why then I'll swear, as poet Wordy swore (Because the world won't read him, always snarling), That Taste is gone, that Fame is but a lottery, Drawn by the blue-coat misses of a coterie.[265]

CX.

Oh! "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"[266] As some one somewhere sings about the sky, And I, ye learned ladies, say of you; They say your stockings are so—(Heaven knows why, I have examined few pair of that hue); Blue as the garters which serenely lie Round the Patrician left-legs, which adorn The festal midnight, and the levee morn.[ep]

CXI.

Yet some of you are most seraphic creatures— But times are altered since, a rhyming lover, You read my stanzas, and I read your features: And—but no matter, all those things are over; Still I have no dislike to learned natures, For sometimes such a world of virtues cover; I knew one woman of that purple school, The loveliest, chastest, best, but—quite a fool.[267]

CXIII.

Humboldt, "the first of travellers," but not The last, if late accounts be accurate, Invented, by some name I have forgot, As well as the sublime discovery's date, An airy instrument, with which he sought To ascertain the atmospheric state, By measuring "the intensity of blue:"[268] Oh, Lady Daphne! let me measure you![eq]

CXIII.

But to the narrative:—The vessel bound With slaves to sell off in the capital, After the usual process, might be found At anchor under the seraglio wall; Her cargo, from the plague being safe and sound, Were landed in the market,[269] one and all; And, there, with Georgians, Russians, and Circassians, Bought up for different purposes and passions.

CXIV.

Some went off dearly; fifteen hundred dollars For one Circassian, a sweet girl, were given, Warranted virgin; Beauty's brightest colours Had decked her out in all the hues of heaven: Her sale sent home some disappointed bawlers, Who bade on till the hundreds reached eleven; But when the offer went beyond, they knew 'T was for the Sultan, and at once withdrew.

CXV.

Twelve negresses from Nubia brought a price Which the West Indian market scarce could bring— Though Wilberforce, at last, has made it twice What 't was ere Abolition; and the thing Need not seem very wonderful, for Vice Is always much more splendid than a King: The Virtues, even the most exalted, Charity, Are saving—Vice spares nothing for a rarity.

CXVI.

But for the destiny of this young troop, How some were bought by Pachas, some by Jews, How some to burdens were obliged to stoop, And others rose to the command of crews As renegadoes; while in hapless group, Hoping no very old Vizier might choose, The females stood, as one by one they picked 'em, To make a mistress, or fourth wife, or victim:[er]

CXVII.

All this must be reserved for further song; Also our Hero's lot, howe'er unpleasant (Because this Canto has become too long),[es] Must be postponed discreetly for the present; I'm sensible redundancy is wrong, But could not for the Muse of me put less in 't: And now delay the progress of Don Juan, Till what is called in Ossian the fifth Duan.

Written Nov. 1819. Copied January, 1820.

FOOTNOTES:

{183}[230]

["Till Pride and worse Ambition threw me down, Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King."

Paradise Lost, iv. 40, 41.]

[231]

["Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy: In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r; With listless eyes the dotard views the store, He views, and wonders that they please no more."

Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.]

{184}[232]

[" ... my May of Life Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf."

Macbeth, act v. sc. 3, lines 22, 23.]

[dh] Itself to that fit apathy whose deed.—[MS.]

[di] First in the icy depths of Lethe's spring.—[MS.]

[233] [See "Introduction to the Morgante Maggiore," Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 280.]

[dj] Pulci being Father—.—[MS. Alternative reading.]

{185}[234] ["Cum canerem reges et praelia, Cynthius aurem Vellit, et admonuit." Virgil, Ecl. vi. lines 3, 4.]

{186}[dk] —— from its mother's knee When its last weaning draught is drained for ever, The child divided—it were less to see, Than these two from each other torn apart.—[MS.]

[235] [See Herodotus (Cleobis and Biton), i. 31. The sentiment is in a fragment of Menander.

[Greek: O)/n oi( theoi philou~sin a)pothne)skei ne/os] or [Greek: O)/n ga philei~ theos a)pothne)skei ne/os.]

Menandri at Philomenis reliquiae, edidit Augustus Meineke, p. 48.

See Letters, 1898, ii. 22, note 1. Byron applied the saying to Allegra in a letter to Sir Walter Scott, dated May 4, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 57.]

[236] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xcvi. line 7. Compare, too, Young's Night Thoughts ("The Complaint," Night I. ed. 1825, p. 5)]

{187}[237] [Compare Swift's "little language" in his letter to Stella: Podefar, for instance, which is supposed to stand for "Poor dear foolish rogue," and Ppt., which meant "Poor pretty thing."—See The Journal of Stella, edited by G.A. Aitken, 1901, xxxv. note 1, and "Journal: March, 1710-11," 165, note 2.]

[dl] For theirs were buoyant spirits, which would bound 'Gainst common failings, etc.—[MS.]

{188}[238] [The reference may be to Coleridge's Kubla Khan, which, to Medwin's wonderment, "delighted" Byron (Conversations, 1824, p. 264). De Quincy's Confessions of an English Opium Eater appeared in the London Magazine, October, November, 1821, after Cantos III., IV., V., of Don Juan were published. But, perhaps, he was contrasting the "simpler blisses" of Juan and Haidee with Shelley's mystical affinities and divagations.]

[dm] —— had set their hearts a bleeding.—[MS.]

{190}[239]

["The shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns: There can I sit alone, unseen of any, And to the nightingale's complaining notes Tune my distresses, and record, my woes."

Two Gentlemen of Verona, act v. sc. 4, lines 2-6.]

{191}[dn] Called social, where all Vice and Hatred are.—[MS.]

[do] Moved with her dream——.—[MS.]

[dp] Strange state of being!—for 't is still to be— And who can know all false what then we see?—[MS.]

{192}[240] [Compare the description of the "spacious cave," in The Island, Canto IV. lines 121, sq., Poetical Works, 1901, v. 629, note 1.]

[dq]—— methought.—[MS. Alternative reading.]

{195}[241] [The reader will observe a curious mark of propinquity which the poet notices, with respect to the hands of the father and daughter. Lord Byron, we suspect, is indebted for the first hint of this to Ali Pacha, who, by the bye, is the original of Lambro; for, when his lordship was introduced, with his friend Hobhouse, to that agreeable mannered tyrant, the Vizier said that he knew he was the Megalos Anthropos (i.e. the great Man), by the smallness of his ears and hands.—Galt. See Byron's letter to his mother, November 12, 1809, Letters, 1898, i. 251.]

[dr] And if I did my duty as thou hast, This hour were thine, and thy young minions last.—[MS.]

{196}[ds] Till further orders should his doom assign.—[MS.]

[dt] Loving and loved—.—[MS.]

{197}[du] But thou, sweet fury of the fiery rill, Makest on the liver a still worse attack; Besides, thy price is something dearer still.—[MS.]

[242] ["As squire Sullen says, 'My head aches consumedly,' 'Scrub, bring me a dram!' Drank some Imola wine, and some punch!"—Extracts from a Diary, February 25, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 209. For rack or "arrack" punch, see Thackeray's Vanity Fair, A Novel without a Hero, chap. vi. ed. 1892, p. 44.]

{198}[243] ["At Fas [Fez] the houses of the great and wealthy have, within-side, spacious courts, adorned with sumptuous galleries, fountains, basons of fine marble, and fish-ponds, shaded with orange, lemon, pomegranate, and fig trees, abounding with fruit, and ornamented with roses, hyacinths, jasmine, violets, and orange flowers, emitting a delectable fragrance."—Account of the Empire of Marocco and Suez, by James Grey Jackson, 1811, pp. 69, 70.]

[dv] Beauty and Passion were the natural dower Of Haidee's mother, but her climate's force Lay at her heart, though sleeping at the source. or, But in her large eye lay deep Passion's force, Like to a lion sleeping by a source. or, But in her large eye lay deep Passion's force, As sleeps a lion by a river's source.—[MS.]

[244] [Compare Manfred, act iii. sc. 1, line 128, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 125.]

{199}[dw] The blood gushed from her lips, and ears, and eyes: Those eyes, so beautiful—beheld no more.—[MS.]

[245] This is no very uncommon effect of the violence of conflicting and different passions. The Doge Francis Foscari, on his deposition in 1457, hearing the bells of St. Mark announce the election of his successor, "mourut subitement d'une hemorragie causee par une veine qui s'eclata dans sa poitrine" [see Sismondi, 1815, x. 46, and Daru, 1821, ii. 536; see, too, The Two Foscari, act v. sc. i, line 306, and Introduction to the Two Foscari, Poetical Works, 1901, v. 118, 193], at the age of eighty years, when "Who would have thought the old man had so much blood in him?" (Macbeth, act v. sc. 1, lines 34-36.) Before I was sixteen years of age I was witness to a melancholy instance of the same effect of mixed passions upon a young person, who, however, did not die in consequence, at that time, but fell a victim some years afterwards to a seizure of the same kind, arising from causes intimately connected with agitation of mind.

{200}[246] [The view of the Venus of Medici instantly suggests the lines in the "Seasons" [the description of "Musidora bathing" in Summer]—

" ... With wild surprise, As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless she stood: So stands the statue that enchants the world."

Hobhouse.

A still closer parallel to this stanza, and to Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanzas xlix., cxl., cxli., clx., clxi., is to be found in Thomson's Liberty, pt. iv. lines 131-206, where the "Farnese Hercules," the "Dying Gladiator," the "Venus of Medici," and the "Laocoon" group, are commemorated as typical works of art.]

[dx] Distinct from life, as being still the same.—[MS.]

{202}[dy] —working slow.—[MS.]

[dz] Have dawned a child of beauty, though of sin.—[MS.]

[247]

[" ... Duncan is in his grave: After life's fitful fever he sleeps well."

Macbeth, act iii. sc. 2., lines 22, 23.]

{203}[ea] No stone is there to read, nor tongue to say, No dirge—save when arise the stormy seas.—[MS.]

[248] ["But now I am cabined, cribbed," etc. Macbeth, act iii. sc. 4, line 24.]

{204}[249] [Jacob Bryant (1715-1804) published his Dissertation concerning the War of Troy, etc., in 1796. See The Bride of Abydos, Canto II. lines 510, sq., Poetical Works, 1900, iii. 179, note 1. See, too, Extracts from a Diary, January 11, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 165, 166, "I have stood upon that plain [of Troy] daily, for more than a month, in 1810; and if anything diminished my pleasure, it was that the blackguard Bryant had impugned its veracity." Hobhouse, in his Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 93, sq., discusses at length the identity of the barrows of the Troad with the tumuli of Achilles, Ajax, and Protesilaus, and refutes Bryant's arguments against the identity of Cape Janissary and the Sigean promontory.

[eb] / who alive perhaps All heroes —[MS. Alternative reading.] if still alive /



[ec] / _and mountain-bounded —— plain_.—[MS. Alternative reading.] _and mountain-outlined /

[250] ["The whole region was, in a manner, in possession of the Salsette's crew, parties of whom, in their white summer dresses, might be seen scattered over the plains collecting the tortoises, which swarm on the sides of the rivulets, and are found under every furze-bush."—Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 116. See, too, for mention of "hundreds of tortoises" falling "from the overhanging branches, and thick underwood," into the waters of the Mender, Travels, etc., by E.D. Clarke, 1812, Part II. sect. i. p. 96.]

[ed]—— and land tortoise crawls.—[MS. Alternative reading.]

{205}[ee] —their learned researches bear.—[MS. Alternative reading.]

[251] This is a fact. A few years ago a man engaged a company for some foreign theatre, embarked them at an Italian port, and carrying them to Algiers, sold them all. One of the women, returned from her captivity, I heard sing, by a strange coincidence, in Rossini's opera of L'Italiana in Algieri, at Venice, in the beginning of 1817.

[We have reason to believe that the following, which we take from the MS. journal of a highly respectable traveller, is a more correct account: "In 1812 a Signor Guariglia induced several young persons of both sexes—none of them exceeding fifteen years of age—to accompany him on an operatic excursion; part to form the opera, and part the ballet. He contrived to get them on board a vessel, which took them to Janina, where he sold them for the basest purposes. Some died from the effect of the climate, and some from suffering. Among the few who returned were a Signor Molinari, and a female dancer named Bonfiglia, who afterwards became the wife of Crespi, the tenor singer. The wretch who so basely sold them was, when Lord Byron resided at Venice, employed as capo de' vestarj, or head tailor, at the Fenice."—Maria Graham (Lady Callcot). Ed. 1832.]

{206}[252] [A comic singer in the opera buffa. The Italians, however, distinguish the buffo cantante, which requires good singing, from the buffo comico, in which there is more acting.—Ed. 1832.]

{207}[253] [The figuranti are those dancers of a ballet who do not dance singly, but many together, and serve to fill up the background during the exhibition of individual performers. They correspond to the chorus in the opera.—Maria Graham.]

[ef] To help the ladies in their dress and lacing.—[MS.]

[254] It is strange that it should be the Pope and the Sultan, who are the chief encouragers of this branch of trade—women being prohibited as singers at St. Peter's, and not deemed trustworthy as guardians of the harem.

["Scarcely a soul of them can read. Pacchierotti was one of the best informed of the castrati ... Marchesi is so grossly ignorant that he wrote the word opera, opperra, but Nature has been so bountiful to the animal, that his ignorance and insolence were forgotten the moment he sang."—Venice, etc., by a Lady of Rank, 1824, ii. 86.]

{208}[255] [The N. Engl. Dict. cites Bunyan, Walpole, Fielding, Miss Austen, and Dickens as authorities for the plural "was." See art. "be." Here, as elsewhere, Byron wrote as he spoke.]

[eg] He never shows his feelings, but his teeth.—[MS. Alternative reading.]

[256] ["Our firman arrived from Constantinople on the 30th of April (1810)."—Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 186.]

{209}[eh] That each pulled, different ways—and waxing rough, Had cuffed each other, only for the cuff.—[MS.]

{210}[257]

["O, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?"

Richard II., act i. sc. 3, lines 294, 295.]

[ei] Having had some experience in my youth.—[MS. erased.]

[258] ["Don Juan will be known, by and by, for what it is intended—a Satire on abuses in the present states of society, and not an eulogy of vice. It may be now and then voluptuous:—I can't help that. Ariosto is worse. Smollett (see Lord Strutwell in vol. 2^nd^ of R[oderick] R[andom][1793, pp. 119-127]) ten times worse; and Fielding no better."—Letter to Murray, December 25, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 155, 156.]

{211}[259] [Vide ante, p. 204, note 1. "It seems hardly to admit of doubt, that the plain of Anatolia, watered by the Mender, and backed by a mountainous ridge, of which Kazdaghy is the summit, offers the precise territory alluded to by Homer. The long controversy, excited by Mr. Bryant's publication, and since so vehemently agitated, would probably never have existed, had it not been for the erroneous maps of the country which, even to this hour, disgrace our geographical knowledge of that part of Asia."—Travels, etc., by E.D. Clarke, 1812, Part II. sect, i. p. 78.]

{212}[260] The pillar which records the battle of Ravenna is about two miles from the city, on the opposite side of the river to the road towards Forli. Gaston de Foix [(1489-1512) Duc de Nemours, nephew of Louis XII.], who gained the battle, was killed in it: there fell on both sides twenty thousand men. The present state of the pillar and its site is described in the text.

[Beyond the Porta Sisi, about two miles from Ravenna, on the banks of the Ronco, is a square pillar (La Colonna de Francesi), erected in 1557 by Pietro Cesi, president of Romagna, as a memorial of the battle gained by the combined army of Louis XII. and the Duke of Ferrara over the troops of Julius II. and the King of Spain, April 11 1512.—Handbook of Northern Italy, p. 548.]

[261] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza lvii. line i, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 371, note i. See, too, Preface to the Prophecy of Dante, ibid., iv. 243.]

[ej] Protects his tomb, but greater care is paid.—[MS.]

{213}[ek] With human ordure is it now defiled, As if the peasant's scorn this mode invented To show his loathing of the thing he soiled.—[MS.]

[el] Those sufferings once reserved for Hell alone.—[MS.]

[em] Its fumes are frankincense; and were there nought Even of this vapour, still the chilling yoke Of silence would not long be borne by Thought.—[MS.]

[en] I have drunk deep of passions as they pass, And dearly bought the bitter power to give.—[MS.]

[262] [See, for instance, Wilson's review of Don Juan, in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, August, 1819, vol. v. p. 512, sq.: "To confess ... to his Maker, and to weep over in secret agonies the wildest and most fantastic transgressions of heart and mind, is the part of a conscious sinner, in whom sin has not become the sole principle of life and action.... But to lay bare to the eye of man—and of woman—all the hidden convulsions of a wicked spirit," etc.]

{214}[eo] What! must I go with Wordy to the cooks? Read—were it but your Grandmother's to vex— And let me not the only minstrel be Cut off from tasting your Castalian tea.—[MS.]

[263] [Compare—

"I leave them to their daily 'tea is ready,' Snug coterie, and literary lady."

Beppo, stanza lxxvi. lines 7, 8, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 184, note.]

[264] [The caged starling, by its repeated cry, "I can't get out! I can't get out!" cured Yorick of his sentimental yearnings for imprisonment in the Bastille. See Sterne's Sentimental Journey, ed. 1804, pp. 100-106.]

[265] [In his Essay, Supplement to the Preface (Poems by William Wordsworth, ed. 1820, iii. 315-348), Wordsworth maintains that the appreciation of great poetry is a plant of slow growth, that immediate recognition is a mark of inferiority, or is to be accounted for by the presence of adventitious qualities: "So strange, indeed, are the obliquities of admiration, that they whose opinions are much influenced by authority will often be tempted to think that there are no fixed principles in human nature for this art to rest upon.... Away, then, with the senseless iteration of the word popular! ... The voice that issues from this spirit [of human knowledge] is that Vox Populi which the Deity inspires. Foolish must he be who can mistake for this a local acclamation, or a transitory outcry—transitory though it be for years, local though from a Nation. Still more lamentable is his error who can believe that there is anything of divine infallibility in this clamour of that small though loud portion of the community ever governed by factitious influence, which under the name of the PUBLIC, passes itself upon the unthinking for the PEOPLE." Naturally enough Byron regarded this pronouncement as a taunt if not as a challenge. Wordsworth's noble appeal from a provincial to an imperial authority, from the present to the future, is not strengthened by the obvious reference to the popularity of contemporaries.]

{215}[266] [Southey's Madoc in Wales, Poetical Works, Part I. Canto V. Ed. 1838, v. 39.]

[ep] Not having looked at many of that hue, Nor garters—save those of the "honi soit"—which lie Round the Patrician legs which walk about, The ornaments of levee and of rout.—[M.S.]

[267] [Probably Lady Charlemont. See "Journal," November 22, 1813.]

{216}[268] [The cyanometer, an instrument for ascertaining the intensity of the blue colour of the sky, was invented by Horace Benedict de Saussure (1740-1799); see his Essai sur l'Hygrometrie. F.H. Alexander von Humboldt (1769-1859) "made great use of his instrument on his voyages, and ascertained by the colour the degree of blueness, the accumulation and the nature of the non-transparent exhalations of the air."—Alexander von Humboldt, by Professor Klencke, translated by Juliette Bauer, 1852, pp. 45, 46.]

[eq] I'll back a London "Bas" against Peru. or, I'll bet some pair of stocking beat Peru. or, And so, old Sotheby, we'll measure you.—[MS.]

[269] ["The slave-market is a quadrangle, surrounded by a covered gallery, and ranges of small and separate apartments." Here the poor wretches sit in a melancholy posture. "Before they cheapen 'em, they turn 'em about from this side to that, survey 'em from top to bottom.... Such of 'em, both men and women, to whom Dame Nature has been niggardly of her charms, are set apart for the vilest services: but such girls as have youth and beauty pass their time well enough.... The retailers of this human ware are the Jews, who take good care of their slaves' education, that they may sell the better: their choicest they keep at home, and there you must go, if you would have better than ordinary; for 'tis here, as 'tis in markets for horses, the handsomest don't always appear, but are kept within doors."—A Voyage into the Levant, by M. Tournefort, 1741, ii. 198, 199. See, too, for the description of the sale of two Circassians and one Georgian, Voyage de Vienne a Belgrade, ... par N.E. Kleeman, 1780, pp. 141, 142. The "lowest offer for the prize Circassian was 4000 piastres."]

[er] The females stood, till chosen each as victim To the soft oath of "Ana seing Siktum!"[*]—[MS.]

[[*]If the Turkish words are correctly given, "the oath" may be an imprecation on "your mother's" chastity.]

[es] For fear the Canto should become too long.—[MS.]



CANTO THE FIFTH.[270]

I.

WHEN amatory poets sing their loves In liquid lines mellifluously bland, And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves, They little think what mischief is in hand; The greater their success the worse it proves, As Ovid's verse may give to understand; Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity, Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

II.

I therefore do denounce all amorous writing, Except in such a way as not to attract; Plain—simple—short, and by no means inviting, But with a moral to each error tacked, Formed rather for instructing than delighting, And with all passions in their turn attacked; Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill, This poem will become a moral model.

III.

The European with the Asian shore Sprinkled with palaces—the Ocean stream[271] Here and there studded with a seventy-four, Sophia's Cupola with golden gleam,[272] The cypress groves, Olympus high and hoar, The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream, Far less describe, present the very view Which charmed the charming Mary Montagu.

IV.

I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"[273] For once it was a magic sound to me; And still it half calls up the realms of Fairy, Where I beheld what never was to be; All feelings changed, but this was last to vary, A spell from which even yet I am not quite free: But I grow sad—and let a tale grow cold, Which must not be pathetically told.

V.

The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades; 'T is a grand sight from off "the Giant's Grave"[274] To watch the progress of those rolling seas Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease: There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

VI.

'T was a raw day of Autumn's bleak beginning, When nights are equal, but not so the days; The Parcae then cut short the further spinning Of seamen's fates, and the loud tempests raise[et] The waters, and repentance for past sinning In all, who o'er the great deep take their ways: They vow to amend their lives, and yet they don't; Because if drowned, they can't—if spared, they won't.

VII.

A crowd of shivering slaves of every nation, And age, and sex, were in the market ranged; Each bevy with the merchant in his station: Poor creatures! their good looks were sadly changed. All save the blacks seemed jaded with vexation, From friends, and home, and freedom far estranged; The negroes more philosophy displayed,— Used to it, no doubt, as eels are to be flayed.

VIII.

Juan was juvenile, and thus was full, As most at his age are, of hope, and health; Yet I must own, he looked a little dull, And now and then a tear stole down by stealth; Perhaps his recent loss of blood might pull His spirit down; and then the loss of wealth, A mistress, and such comfortable quarters, To be put up for auction amongst Tartars,

IX.

Were things to shake a Stoic; ne'ertheless, Upon the whole his carriage was serene: His figure, and the splendour of his dress, Of which some gilded remnants still were seen, Drew all eyes on him, giving them to guess He was above the vulgar by his mien; And then, though pale, he was so very handsome; And then—they calculated on his ransom.[eu]

X.

Like a backgammon board the place was dotted With whites and blacks, in groups on show for sale, Though rather more irregularly spotted: Some bought the jet, while others chose the pale. It chanced amongst the other people lotted,[ev] A man of thirty, rather stout and hale, With resolution in his dark grey eye, Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy.

XI.

He had an English look; that is, was square In make, of a complexion white and ruddy, Good teeth, with curling rather dark brown hair, And, it might be from thought, or toil, or study, An open brow a little marked with care: One arm had on a bandage rather bloody; And there he stood with such sang froid, that greater Could scarce be shown even by a mere spectator.

XII.

But seeing at his elbow a mere lad, Of a high spirit evidently, though At present weighed down by a doom which had O'erthrown even men, he soon began to show A kind of blunt compassion for the sad Lot of so young a partner in the woe, Which for himself he seemed to deem no worse Than any other scrape, a thing of course.

XIII.

"My boy!"—said he, "amidst this motley crew Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and what not, All ragamuffins differing but in hue, With whom it is our luck to cast our lot, The only gentlemen seem I and you; So let us be acquainted, as we ought: If I could yield you any consolation, 'T would give me pleasure.—Pray, what is your nation?"

XIV.

When Juan answered—"Spanish!" he replied, "I thought, in fact, you could not be a Greek; Those servile dogs are not so proudly eyed: Fortune has played you here a pretty freak, But that's her way with all men, till they're tried; But never mind,—she'll turn, perhaps, next week; She has served me also much the same as you, Except that I have found it nothing new."

XV.

"Pray, sir," said Juan, "if I may presume, What brought you here?"—"Oh! nothing very rare— Six Tartars and a drag-chain——"—"To this doom But what conducted, if the question 's fair, Is that which I would learn."—"I served for some Months with the Russian army here and there; And taking lately, by Suwarrow's bidding, A town, was ta'en myself instead of Widdin."[275]

XVI.

"Have you no friends?"—"I had—but, by God's blessing, Have not been troubled with them lately. Now I have answered all your questions without pressing, And you an equal courtesy should show." "Alas!" said Juan, "'t were a tale distressing, And long besides."—"Oh! if 't is really so, You're right on both accounts to hold your tongue; A sad tale saddens doubly when 't is long.

XVII.

"But droop not: Fortune at your time of life, Although a female moderately fickle, Will hardly leave you (as she's not your wife) For any length of days in such a pickle. To strive, too, with our fate were such a strife As if the corn-sheaf should oppose the sickle: Men are the sport of circumstances, when The circumstances seem the sport of men."

XVIII.

"'T is not," said Juan, "for my present doom I mourn, but for the past;—I loved a maid:"— He paused, and his dark eye grew full of gloom; A single tear upon his eyelash staid A moment, and then dropped; "but to resume, 'Tis not my present lot, as I have said, Which I deplore so much; for I have borne Hardships which have the hardiest overworn,

XIX.

"On the rough deep. But this last blow—" and here He stopped again, and turned away his face. "Aye," quoth his friend, "I thought it would appear That there had been a lady in the case; And these are things which ask a tender tear, Such as I, too, would shed if in your place: I cried upon my first wife's dying day, And also when my second ran away:

XX.

"My third——"—"Your third!" quoth Juan, turning round; "You scarcely can be thirty: have you three?" "No—only two at present above ground: Surely 't is nothing wonderful to see One person thrice in holy wedlock bound!" "Well, then, your third," said Juan; "what did she? She did not run away, too,—did she, sir?" "No, faith."—"What then?"—"I ran away from her."

XXI.

"You take things coolly, sir," said Juan. "Why," Replied the other, "what can a man do? There still are many rainbows in your sky, But mine have vanished. All, when Life is new, Commence with feelings warm, and prospects high; But Time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

XXII.

"'T is true, it gets another bright and fresh, Or fresher, brighter; but the year gone through, This skin must go the way, too, of all flesh, Or sometimes only wear a week or two;— Love's the first net which spreads its deadly mesh; Ambition, Avarice, Vengeance, Glory, glue The glittering lime-twigs of our latter days, Where still we flutter on for pence or praise."

XXIII.

"All this is very fine, and may be true," Said Juan; "but I really don't see how It betters present times with me or you." "No?" quoth the other; "yet you will allow By setting things in their right point of view, Knowledge, at least, is gained; for instance, now, We know what slavery is, and our disasters May teach us better to behave when masters."

XXIV.

"Would we were masters now, if but to try Their present lessons on our Pagan friends here," Said Juan,—swallowing a heart-burning sigh: "Heaven help the scholar, whom his fortune sends here!" "Perhaps we shall be one day, by and by," Rejoined the other, "when our bad luck mends here; Meantime (yon old black eunuch seems to eye us) I wish to G—d that somebody would buy us.

XXV.

"But after all, what is our present state? 'T is bad, and may be better—all men's lot: Most men are slaves, none more so than the great, To their own whims and passions, and what not; Society itself, which should create Kindness, destroys what little we had got: To feel for none is the true social art Of the world's Stoics—men without a heart."

XXVI.

Just now a black old neutral personage Of the third sex stepped up, and peering over The captives seemed to mark their looks and age, And capabilities, as to discover If they were fitted for the purposed cage: No lady e'er is ogled by a lover, Horse by a blackleg, broadcloth by a tailor, Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailor,

XXVII.

As is a slave by his intended bidder. 'T is pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures; And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by features Are bought up, others by a warlike leader, Some by a place—as tend their years or natures: The most by ready cash—but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.

XXVIII.

The eunuch, having eyed them o'er with care, Turned to the merchant, and began to bid First but for one, and after for the pair; They haggled, wrangled, swore, too—so they did! As though they were in a mere Christian fair, Cheapening an ox, an ass, a lamb, or kid; So that their bargain sounded like a battle For this superior yoke of human cattle.

XXIX.

At last they settled into simple grumbling, And pulling out reluctant purses, and Turning each piece of silver o'er, and tumbling Some down, and weighing others in their hand, And by mistake sequins[276] with paras jumbling, Until the sum was accurately scanned, And then the merchant giving change, and signing Receipts in full, began to think of dining.

XXX.

I wonder if his appetite was good? Or, if it were, if also his digestion? Methinks at meals some odd thoughts might intrude, And Conscience ask a curious sort of question, About the right divine how far we should Sell flesh and blood. When dinner has oppressed one, I think it is perhaps the gloomiest hour Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four.

XXXI.

Voltaire says "No:" he tells you that Candide Found life most tolerable after meals;[277] He's wrong—unless man were a pig, indeed, Repletion rather adds to what he feels, Unless he's drunk, and then no doubt he's freed From his own brain's oppression while it reels. Of food I think with Philip's son[278] or rather Ammon's (ill pleased with one world and one father);[ew]

XXXII.

I think with Alexander, that the act Of eating, with another act or two, Makes us feel our mortality in fact Redoubled; when a roast and a ragout, And fish, and soup, by some side dishes backed, Can give us either pain or pleasure, who Would pique himself on intellects, whose use Depends so much upon the gastric juice?

XXXIII.

The other evening ('t was on Friday last)— This is a fact, and no poetic fable— Just as my great coat was about me cast, My hat and gloves still lying on the table, I heard a shot—'t was eight o'clock scarce past— And, running out as fast as I was able,[279] I found the military commandant Stretched in the street, and able scarce to pant.

XXXIV.

Poor fellow! for some reason, surely bad, They had slain him with five slugs; and left him there To perish on the pavement: so I had Him borne into the house and up the stair, And stripped, and looked to[ex]——But why should I add More circumstances? vain was every care; The man was gone—in some Italian quarrel Killed by five bullets from an old gun-barrel.

XXXV.

I gazed upon him, for I knew him well; And though I have seen many corpses, never Saw one, whom such an accident befell, So calm; though pierced through stomach, heart, and liver, He seemed to sleep,—for you could scarcely tell (As he bled inwardly, no hideous river Of gore divulged the cause) that he was dead: So as I gazed on him, I thought or said—

XXXVI.

"Can this be Death? then what is Life or Death? Speak!" but he spoke not: "wake!" but still he slept:— "But yesterday and who had mightier breath? A thousand warriors by his word were kept In awe: he said, as the Centurion saith, 'Go,' and he goeth; 'come,' and forth he stepped. The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb— And now nought left him but the muffled drum."[ey]

XXXVII.

And they who waited once and worshipped—they With their rough faces thronged about the bed To gaze once more on the commanding clay Which for the last, though not the first, time bled; And such an end! that he who many a day Had faced Napoleon's foes until they fled,— The foremost in the charge or in the sally, Should now be butchered in a civic alley.

XXXVIII.

The scars of his old wounds were near his new, Those honourable scars which brought him fame; And horrid was the contrast to the view—— But let me quit the theme; as such things claim Perhaps even more attention than is due From me: I gazed (as oft I have gazed the same) To try if I could wrench aught out of Death Which should confirm, or shake, or make a faith;

XXXIX.

But it was all a mystery. Here we are, And there we go:—but where? five bits of lead, Or three, or two, or one, send very far! And is this blood, then, formed but to be shed? Can every element our elements mar? And Air—Earth—Water—Fire live—and we dead? We, whose minds comprehend all things? No more; But let us to the story as before.

XL.

The purchaser of Juan and acquaintance Bore off his bargains to a gilded boat, Embarked himself and them, and off they went thence As fast as oars could pull and water float; They looked like persons being led to sentence, Wondering what next, till the caique[280] was brought Up in a little creek below a wall O'ertopped with cypresses, dark-green and tall.

XLI.

Here their conductor tapping at the wicket Of a small iron door, 't was opened, and He led them onward, first through a low thicket Flanked by large groves, which towered on either hand: They almost lost their way, and had to pick it— For night was closing ere they came to land. The eunuch made a sign to those on board, Who rowed off, leaving them without a word.

XLII.

As they were plodding on their winding way Through orange bowers, and jasmine, and so forth: (Of which I might have a good deal to say, There being no such profusion in the North Of oriental plants, et cetera, But that of late your scribblers think it worth Their while to rear whole hotbeds in their works, Because one poet travelled 'mongst the Turks:)[281]

XLIII.

As they were threading on their way, there came Into Don Juan's head a thought, which he Whispered to his companion:—'t was the same Which might have then occurred to you or me. "Methinks,"—said he,—"it would be no great shame If we should strike a stroke to set us free; Let's knock that old black fellow on the head, And march away—'t were easier done than said."

XLIV.

"Yes," said the other, "and when done, what then? How get out? how the devil got we in? And when we once were fairly out, and when From Saint Bartholomew we have saved our skin,[282][ez] To-morrow'd see us in some other den, And worse off than we hitherto have been; Besides, I'm hungry, and just now would take, Like Esau, for my birthright a beef-steak.

XLV.

"We must be near some place of man's abode;— For the old negro's confidence in creeping, With his two captives, by so queer a road, Shows that he thinks his friends have not been sleeping; A single cry would bring them all abroad: 'T is better therefore looking before leaping— And there, you see, this turn has brought us through, By Jove, a noble palace!—lighted too."

XLVI.

It was indeed a wide extensive building Which opened on their view, and o'er the front There seemed to be besprent a deal of gilding And various hues, as is the Turkish wont,— A gaudy taste; for they are little skilled in The arts of which these lands were once the font: Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen New painted, or a pretty opera-scene.[283]

XLVII.

And nearer as they came, a genial savour Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus, Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour, Made Juan in his harsh intentions pause, And put himself upon his good behaviour: His friend, too, adding a new saving clause, Said, "In Heaven's name let's get some supper now, And then I'm with you, if you're for a row."

XLVIII.

Some talk of an appeal unto some passion, Some to men's feelings, others to their reason; The last of these was never much the fashion, For Reason thinks all reasoning out of season: Some speakers whine, and others lay the lash on, But more or less continue still to tease on, With arguments according to their "forte:" But no one ever dreams of being short.—

XLIX.

But I digress: of all appeals,—although I grant the power of pathos, and of gold, Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling,—no Method's more sure at moments to take hold[fa] Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow More tender, as we every day behold, Than that all-softening, overpowering knell, The Tocsin of the Soul—the dinner-bell.

L.

Turkey contains no bells, and yet men dine; And Juan and his friend, albeit they heard No Christian knoll to table, saw no line Of lackeys usher to the feast prepared, Yet smelt roast-meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared, And gazed around them to the left and right, With the prophetic eye of appetite.

LI.

And giving up all notions of resistance, They followed close behind their sable guide, Who little thought that his own cracked existence Was on the point of being set aside: He motioned them to stop at some small distance, And knocking at the gate, 't was opened wide, And a magnificent large hall displayed The Asian pomp of Ottoman parade.

LII.

I won't describe; description is my "forte," But every fool describes in these bright days His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise— Death to his publisher, to him 't is sport; While Nature, tortured twenty thousand ways, Resigns herself with exemplary patience To guide-books, rhymes, tours, sketches, illustrations.[284]

LIII.

Along this hall, and up and down, some, squatted Upon their hams, were occupied at chess; Others in monosyllable talk chatted, And some seemed much in love with their own dress; And divers smoked superb pipes decorated With amber mouths of greater price or less; And several strutted, others slept, and some Prepared for supper with a glass of rum.[285]

LIV.

As the black eunuch entered with his brace Of purchased Infidels, some raised their eyes A moment, without slackening from their pace; But those who sate ne'er stirred in any wise: One or two stared the captives in the face, Just as one views a horse to guess his price; Some nodded to the negro from their station, But no one troubled him with conversation.[286]

LV.

He leads them through the hall, and, without stopping, On through a farther range of goodly rooms, Splendid, but silent, save in one, where dropping[287] A marble fountain echoes through the glooms Of night which robe the chamber, or where popping Some female head most curiously presumes To thrust its black eyes through the door or lattice, As wondering what the devil noise that is!

LVI.

Some faint lamps gleaming from the lofty walls Gave light enough to hint their farther way, But not enough to show the imperial halls In all the flashing of their full array; Perhaps there's nothing—I'll not say appals, But saddens more by night as well as day, Than an enormous room without a soul[288] To break the lifeless splendour of the whole.

LVII.

Two or three seem so little, one seems nothing: In deserts, forests, crowds, or by the shore, There Solitude, we know, has her full growth in The spots which were her realms for evermore; But in a mighty hall or gallery, both in More modern buildings and those built of yore, A kind of Death comes o'er us all alone, Seeing what's meant for many with but one.

LVIII.

A neat, snug study on a winter's night,[fb] A book, friend, single lady, or a glass Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite, Are things which make an English evening pass— Though certes by no means so grand a sight As is a theatre lit up by gas— I pass my evenings in long galleries solely,[fc][289] And that's the reason I'm so melancholy.

LIX.

Alas! Man makes that great which makes him little— I grant you in a church 't is very well: What speaks of Heaven should by no means be brittle, But strong and lasting, till no tongue can tell Their names who reared it; but huge houses fit ill, And huge tombs, worse, Mankind—since Adam fell: Methinks the story of the tower of Babel Might teach them this much better than I'm able.

LX.

Babel was Nimrod's hunting-box, and then A town of gardens, walls, and wealth amazing, Where Nabuchadonosor,[290] King of men, Reigned, till one summer's day he took to grazing, And Daniel tamed the lions in their den, The people's awe and admiration raising; 'T was famous, too, for Thisbe and for Pyramus,[291] And the calumniated queen Semiramis—

LXI.

That injured Queen, by chroniclers[292] so coarse, Has been accused (I doubt not by conspiracy) Of an improper friendship for her horse (Love, like Religion, sometimes runs to heresy): This monstrous tale had probably its source (For such exaggerations here and there I see) In writing "Courser" by mistake for "Courier:"[fd] I wish the case could come before a jury here.[293]

LXII.

But to resume,—should there be (what may not Be in these days?) some infidels, who don't, Because they can't find out the very spot Of that same Babel, or because they won't (Though Claudius Rich, Esquire, some bricks has got, And written lately two memoirs upon't),[294] Believe the Jews, those unbelievers, who Must be believed, though they believe not you:

LXIII.

Yet let them think that Horace has expressed Shortly and sweetly the masonic folly Of those, forgetting the great place of rest, Who give themselves to Architecture wholly; We know where things and men must end at best: A moral (like all morals) melancholy, And "Et sepulchri immemor struis domos" Shows that we build when we should but entomb us.

LXIV.

At last they reached a quarter most retired, Where Echo woke as if from a long slumber; Though full of all things which could be desired, One wondered what to do with such a number Of articles which nobody required; Here Wealth had done its utmost to encumber With furniture an exquisite apartment, Which puzzled Nature much to know what Art meant.

LXV.

It seemed, however, but to open on A range or suite of further chambers, which Might lead to Heaven knows where; but in this one The moveables were prodigally rich: Sofas 't was half a sin to sit upon, So costly were they; carpets every stitch Of workmanship so rare, they made you wish You could glide o'er them like a golden fish.

LXVI.

The black, however, without hardly deigning A glance at that which wrapped the slaves in wonder, Trampled what they scarce trod for fear of staining, As if the milky way their feet was under With all its stars; and with a stretch attaining A certain press or cupboard niched in yonder, In that remote recess which you may see— Or if you don't the fault is not in me,—

LXVII.

I wish to be perspicuous—and the black, I say, unlocking the recess, pulled forth A quantity of clothes fit for the back Of any Mussulman, whate'er his worth: And of variety there was no lack— And yet, though I have said there was no dearth,— He chose himself to point out what he thought Most proper for the Christians he had bought.

LXVIII.

The suit he thought most suitable to each Was, for the elder and the stouter, first A Candiote cloak, which to the knee might reach, And trousers not so tight that they would burst, But such as fit an Asiatic breech; A shawl, whose folds in Cashmire had been nursed, Slippers of saffron, dagger rich and handy; In short, all things which form a Turkish Dandy.

LXIX.

While he was dressing, Baba, their black friend, Hinted the vast advantages which they Might probably attain both in the end, If they would but pursue the proper way Which Fortune plainly seemed to recommend; And then he added, that he needs must say, "'T would greatly tend to better their condition, If they would condescend to circumcision.

LXX.

"For his own part, he really should rejoice To see them true believers, but no less Would leave his proposition to their choice." The other, thanking him for this excess Of goodness, in thus leaving them a voice In such a trifle, scarcely could express "Sufficiently" (he said) "his approbation Of all the customs of this polished nation.

LXXI.

"For his own share—he saw but small objection To so respectable an ancient rite; And, after swallowing down a slight refection, For which he owned a present appetite, He doubted not a few hours of reflection Would reconcile him to the business quite." "Will it?" said Juan, sharply: "Strike me dead, But they as soon shall circumcise my head![fe]

LXXII.

"Cut off a thousand heads, before——"—"Now, pray," Replied the other, "do not interrupt: You put me out in what I had to say. Sir!—as I said, as soon as I have supped, I shall perpend if your proposal may Be such as I can properly accept; Provided always your great goodness still Remits the matter to our own free-will."

LXXIII.

Baba eyed Juan, and said, "Be so good As dress yourself—" and pointed out a suit In which a Princess with great pleasure would Array her limbs; but Juan standing mute, As not being in a masquerading mood, Gave it a slight kick with his Christian foot; And when the old negro told him to "Get ready," Replied, "Old gentleman, I'm not a lady."

LXXIV.

"What you may be, I neither know nor care," Said Baba; "but pray do as I desire: I have no more time nor many words to spare." "At least," said Juan, "sure I may inquire The cause of this odd travesty?"—"Forbear," Said Baba, "to be curious; 't will transpire, No doubt, in proper place, and time, and season: I have no authority to tell the reason."

LXXV.

"Then if I do," said Juan, "I'll be——"—"Hold!" Rejoined the negro, "pray be not provoking; This spirit's well, but it may wax too bold, And you will find us not too fond of joking." "What, sir!" said Juan, "shall it e'er be told That I unsexed my dress?" But Baba, stroking The things down, said, "Incense me, and I call Those who will leave you of no sex at all.

LXXVI.

"I offer you a handsome suit of clothes: A woman's, true; but then there is a cause Why you should wear them."—"What, though my soul loathes The effeminate garb?"—thus, after a short pause, Sighed Juan, muttering also some slight oaths, "What the devil shall I do with all this gauze?" Thus he profanely termed the finest lace Which e'er set off a marriage-morning face.

LXXVII.

And then he swore; and, sighing, on he slipped A pair of trousers of flesh-coloured silk;[ff] Next with a virgin zone he was equipped, Which girt a slight chemise as white as milk; But tugging on his petticoat, he tripped, Which—as we say—or as the Scotch say, whilk.[295] (The rhyme obliges me to this; sometimes Monarchs are less imperative than rhymes)—[fg]

LXXVIII.

Whilk, which (or what you please), was owing to His garment's novelty, and his being awkward: And yet at last he managed to get through His toilet, though no doubt a little backward: The negro Baba helped a little too, When some untoward part of raiment stuck hard; And, wrestling both his arms into a gown, He paused, and took a survey up and down.

LXXIX.

One difficulty still remained—his hair Was hardly long enough; but Baba found So many false long tresses all to spare, That soon his head was most completely crowned, After the manner then in fashion there; And this addition with such gems was bound As suited the ensemble of his toilet, While Baba made him comb his head and oil it.

LXXX.

And now being femininely all arrayed, With some small aid from scissors, paint, and tweezers, He looked in almost all respects a maid,[fh] And Baba smilingly exclaimed, "You see, sirs, A perfect transformation here displayed; And now, then, you must come along with me, sirs, That is—the Lady:" clapping his hands twice, Four blacks were at his elbow in a trice.

LXXXI.

"You, sir," said Baba, nodding to the one, "Will please to accompany those gentlemen To supper; but you, worthy Christian nun, Will follow me: no trifling, sir; for when I say a thing, it must at once be done. What fear you? think you this a lion's den? Why, 't is a palace; where the truly wise Anticipate the Prophet's paradise.

LXXXII.

"You fool! I tell you no one means you harm." "So much the better," Juan said, "for them; Else they shall feel the weight of this my arm, Which is not quite so light as you may deem. I yield thus far; but soon will break the charm, If any take me for that which I seem: So that I trust for every body's sake, That this disguise may lead to no mistake."

LXXXIII.

"Blockhead! come on, and see," quoth Baba; while Don Juan, turning to his comrade, who Though somewhat grieved, could scarce forbear a smile Upon the metamorphosis in view,— "Farewell!" they mutually exclaimed: "this soil Seems fertile in adventures strange and new; One's turned half Mussulman, and one a maid, By this old black enchanter's unsought aid."

LXXXIV.

"Farewell!" said Juan: "should we meet no more, I wish you a good appetite."—"Farewell!" Replied the other; "though it grieves me sore: When we next meet, we'll have a tale to tell: We needs must follow when Fate puts from shore. Keep your good name; though Eve herself once fell." "Nay," quoth the maid, "the Sultan's self shan't carry me, Unless his Highness promises to marry me."

LXXXV.

And thus they parted, each by separate doors; Baba led Juan onward, room by room, Through glittering galleries, and o'er marble floors, Till a gigantic portal through the gloom, Haughty and huge, along the distance lowers; And wafted far arose a rich perfume: It seemed as though they came upon a shrine, For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine.

LXXXVI.

The giant door was broad, and bright, and high, Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious guise; Warriors thereon were battling furiously; Here stalks the victor, there the vanquished lies; There captives led in triumph droop the eye, And in perspective many a squadron flies: It seems the work of times before the line Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantine.

LXXXVII.

This massy portal stood at the wide close Of a huge hall, and on its either side Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose, Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied In mockery to the enormous gate which rose O'er them in almost pyramidic pride: The gate so splendid was in all its features,[296] You never thought about those little creatures,

LXXXVIII.

Until you nearly trod on them, and then You started back in horror to survey The wondrous hideousness of those small men, Whose colour was not black, nor white, nor grey, But an extraneous mixture, which no pen Can trace, although perhaps the pencil may; They were mis-shapen pigmies, deaf and dumb— Monsters, who cost a no less monstrous sum.

LXXXIX.

Their duty was—for they were strong, and though They looked so little, did strong things at times— To ope this door, which they could really do, The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes; And now and then, with tough strings of the bow, As is the custom of those Eastern climes, To give some rebel Pacha a cravat— For mutes are generally used for that.

XC.

They spoke by signs—that is, not spoke at all; And looking like two Incubi, they glared As Baba with his fingers made them fall To heaving back the portal folds: it scared Juan a moment, as this pair so small, With shrinking serpent optics on him stared;[297] It was as if their little looks could poison Or fascinate whome'er they fixed their eyes on.

XCI.

Before they entered, Baba paused to hint To Juan some slight lessons as his guide: "If you could just contrive," he said, "to stint That somewhat manly majesty of stride, 'T would be as well, and—(though there's not much in 't) To swing a little less from side to side, Which has at times an aspect of the oddest;— And also could you look a little modest,

XCII.

"'T would be convenient; for these mutes have eyes Like needles, which may pierce those petticoats; And if they should discover your disguise, You know how near us the deep Bosphorus floats; And you and I may chance, ere morning rise, To find our way to Marmora without boats, Stitched up in sacks—a mode of navigation A good deal practised here upon occasion."[298]

XCIII.

With this encouragement he led the way Into a room still nobler than the last; A rich confusion formed a disarray In such sort, that the eye along it cast Could hardly carry anything away, Object on object flashed so bright and fast; A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter, Magnificently mingled in a litter.

XCIV.

Wealth had done wonders—taste not much; such things Occur in Orient palaces, and even In the more chastened domes of Western kings (Of which I have also seen some six or seven), Where I can't say or gold or diamond flings Great lustre, there is much to be forgiven; Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs, and pictures, On which I cannot pause to make my strictures.

XCV.

In this imperial hall, at distance lay Under a canopy, and there reclined Quite in a confidential queenly way, A lady; Baba stopped, and kneeling signed To Juan, who though not much used to pray, Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind What all this meant: while Baba bowed and bended His head, until the ceremony ended.

XCVI.

The lady rising up with such an air As Venus rose with from the wave, on them Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair[fi] Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem; And raising up an arm as moonlight fair, She signed to Baba, who first kissed the hem Of her deep purple robe, and, speaking low, Pointed to Juan who remained below.

XCVII.

Her presence was as lofty as her state; Her beauty of that overpowering kind, Whose force Description only would abate: I'd rather leave it much to your own mind, Than lessen it by what I could relate Of forms and features; it would strike you blind Could I do justice to the full detail; So, luckily for both, my phrases fail.

XCVIII.

Thus much however I may add,—her years Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs, But there are forms which Time to touch forbears, And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things:[fj] Such as was Mary's, Queen of Scots; true—tears And Love destroy; and sapping Sorrow wrings Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow Ugly; for instance—Ninon de l'Enclos.[299]

XCIX.

She spake some words to her attendants, who Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen, And were all clad alike; like Juan, too, Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen: They formed a very nymph-like looking crew,[300] Which might have called Diana's chorus "cousin," As far as outward show may correspond— I won't be bail for anything beyond.

C.

They bowed obeisance and withdrew, retiring, But not by the same door through which came in Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring, At some small distance, all he saw within This strange saloon, much fitted for inspiring Marvel and praise; for both or none things win; And I must say, I ne'er could see the very Great happiness of the "Nil admirari."[301]

CI.

"Not to admire is all the art I know (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech)— To make men happy, or to keep them so" (So take it in the very words of Creech)— Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope[302] quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?[303]

CII.

Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn, Motioned to Juan to approach, and then A second time desired him to kneel down, And kiss the lady's foot; which maxim when He heard repeated, Juan with a frown Drew himself up to his full height again, And said, "It grieved him, but he could not stoop To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope."

CII.

Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride, Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat He muttered (but the last was given aside) About a bow-string—quite in vain; not yet Would Juan bend, though 't were to Mahomet's bride: There's nothing in the world like etiquette In kingly chambers or imperial halls, As also at the Race and County Balls.

CIV.

He stood like Atlas, with a world of words About his ears, and nathless would not bend; The blood of all his line's Castilian lords Boiled in his veins, and, rather than descend To stain his pedigree, a thousand swords A thousand times of him had made an end; At length perceiving the "foot" could not stand, Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand,

CV.

Here was an honourable compromise, A half-way house of diplomatic rest, Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise; And Juan now his willingness expressed To use all fit and proper courtesies, Adding, that this was commonest and best, For through the South, the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

CVI.

And he advanced, though with but a bad grace, Though on more thorough-bred[304] or fairer fingers No lips e'er left their transitory trace: On such as these the lip too fondly lingers, And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace, As you will see, if she you love shall bring hers In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger's An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers.

CVII.

The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade Baba retire, which he obeyed in style, As if well used to the retreating trade; And taking hints in good part all the while, He whispered Juan not to be afraid, And looking on him with a sort of smile, Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction, As good men wear who have done a virtuous action.

CVIII.

When he was gone, there was a sudden change: I know not what might be the lady's thought, But o'er her bright brow flashed a tumult strange, And into her clear cheek the blood was brought, Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range The verge of Heaven; and in her large eyes wrought, A mixture of sensations might be scanned, Of half voluptuousness and half command.

CIX.

Her form had all the softness of her sex, Her features all the sweetness of the Devil, When he put on the Cherub to perplex[305] Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil; The Sun himself was scarce more free from specks Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil; Yet, somehow, there was something somewhere wanting, As if she rather ordered than was granting.—

CX.

Something imperial, or imperious, threw A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain Was thrown as 't were about the neck of you,— And Rapture's self will seem almost a pain With aught which looks like despotism in view; Our souls at least are free, and 't is in vain We would against them make the flesh obey— The spirit in the end will have its way.

CXI.

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet; Her very nod was not an inclination; There was a self-will even in her small feet, As though they were quite conscious of her station— They trod as upon necks; and to complete Her state (it is the custom of her nation), A poniard decked her girdle, as the sign She was a Sultan's bride (thank Heaven, not mine!).

CXII.

"To hear and to obey" had been from birth The law of all around her; to fulfil All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth, Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her will; Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of earth: Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood still; Had she but been a Christian, I've a notion We should have found out the "perpetual motion."

CXIII.

Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought; Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed It might be seen, with diligence was sought, And when 't was found straightway the bargain closed: There was no end unto the things she bought, Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused; Yet even her tyranny had such a grace, The women pardoned all except her face.[fk]

CXIV.

Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught Her eye in passing on his way to sale; She ordered him directly to be bought, And Baba, who had ne'er been known to fail In any kind of mischief to be wrought, At all such auctions knew how to prevail:[fl] She had no prudence, but he had—and this Explains the garb which Juan took amiss.

CXV.

His youth and features favoured the disguise, And should you ask how she, a Sultan's bride, Could risk or compass such strange phantasies, This I must leave sultanas to decide: Emperors are only husbands in wives' eyes, And kings and consorts oft are mystified,[fm] As we may ascertain with due precision, Some by experience, others by tradition.

CXVI.

But to the main point, where we have been tending:— She now conceived all difficulties past, And deemed herself extremely condescending When, being made her property at last, Without more preface, in her blue eyes blending Passion and power, a glance on him she cast, And merely saying, "Christian, canst thou love?" Conceived that phrase was quite enough to move.

CXVII.

And so it was, in proper time and place; But Juan, who had still his mind o'erflowing With Haidee's isle and soft Ionian face, Felt the warm blood, which in his face was glowing Rush back upon his heart, which filled apace, And left his cheeks as pale as snowdrops blowing: These words went through his soul like Arab spears,[306] So that he spoke not, but burst into tears.

CXVIII.

She was a good deal shocked; not shocked at tears, For women shed and use them at their liking; But there is something when man's eye appears Wet, still more disagreeable and striking: A woman's tear-drop melts, a man's half sears, Like molten lead, as if you thrust a pike in His heart to force it out, for (to be shorter) To them 't is a relief, to us a torture.

CXIX.

And she would have consoled, but knew not how: Having no equals, nothing which had e'er Infected her with sympathy till now, And never having dreamt what 't was to bear Aught of a serious, sorrowing kind, although There might arise some pouting petty care To cross her brow, she wondered how so near Her eyes another's eye could shed a tear.

CXX.

But Nature teaches more than power can spoil,[fn] And, when a strong although a strange sensation Moves—female hearts are such a genial soil For kinder feelings, whatso'er their nation, They naturally pour the "wine and oil," Samaritans in every situation; And thus Gulbeyaz, though she knew not why, Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye.

CXXI.

But tears must stop like all things else; and soon Juan, who for an instant had been moved To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone Of one who dared to ask if "he had loved," Called back the Stoic to his eyes, which shone Bright with the very weakness he reproved; And although sensitive to beauty, he Felt most indignant still at not being free.

CXXII.

Gulbeyaz, for the first time in her days, Was much embarrassed, never having met In all her life with aught save prayers and praise; And as she also risked her life to get Him whom she meant to tutor in love's ways Into a comfortable tete-a-tete, To lose the hour would make her quite a martyr, And they had wasted now almost a quarter.

CXXIII.

I also would suggest the fitting time To gentlemen in any such like case, That is to say in a meridian clime— With us there is more law given to the chase, But here a small delay forms a great crime: So recollect that the extremest grace Is just two minutes for your declaration— A moment more would hurt your reputation.

CXXIV.

Juan's was good; and might have been still better, But he had got Haidee into his head: However strange, he could not yet forget her, Which made him seem exceedingly ill-bred. Gulbeyaz, who looked on him as her debtor For having had him to her palace led, Began to blush up to the eyes, and then Grow deadly pale, and then blush back again.

CXXV.

At length, in an imperial way, she laid Her hand on his, and bending on him eyes Which needed not an empire to persuade, Looked into his for love, where none replies: Her brow grew black, but she would not upbraid, That being the last thing a proud woman tries; She rose, and pausing one chaste moment threw Herself upon his breast, and there she grew.

CXXVI.

This was an awkward test, as Juan found, But he was steeled by Sorrow, Wrath, and Pride: With gentle force her white arms he unwound, And seated her all drooping by his side, Then rising haughtily he glanced around, And looking coldly in her face he cried, "The prisoned eagle will not pair, nor I Serve a Sultana's sensual phantasy.

CXXVII.

"Thou ask'st, if I can love? be this the proof How much I have loved—that I love not thee! In this vile garb, the distaff, web, and woof, Were fitter for me: Love is for the free! I am not dazzled by this splendid roof; Whate'er thy power, and great it seems to be, Heads bow, knees bend, eyes watch around a throne, And hands obey—our hearts are still our own."

CXXVIII.

This was a truth to us extremely trite; Not so to her, who ne'er had heard such things: She deemed her least command must yield delight, Earth being only made for Queens and Kings. If hearts lay on the left side or the right She hardly knew, to such perfection brings Legitimacy its born votaries, when Aware of their due royal rights o'er men.

CXXIX.

Besides, as has been said, she was so fair As even in a much humbler lot had made A kingdom or confusion anywhere, And also, as may be presumed, she laid Some stress on charms, which seldom are, if e'er, By their possessors thrown into the shade: She thought hers gave a double "right divine;" And half of that opinion's also mine.

CXXX.

Remember, or (if you can not) imagine, Ye! who have kept your chastity when young, While some more desperate dowager has been waging Love with you, and been in the dog-days stung[fo] By your refusal, recollect her raging! Or recollect all that was said or sung On such a subject; then suppose the face Of a young downright beauty in this case!

CXXXI.

Suppose,—but you already have supposed, The spouse of Potiphar, the Lady Booby,[307] Phaedra,[308] and all which story has disclosed Of good examples; pity that so few by Poets and private tutors are exposed,[fp] To educate—ye youth of Europe—you by! But when you have supposed the few we know, You can't suppose Gulbeyaz' angry brow.

CXXXII.

A tigress robbed of young, a lioness, Or any interesting beast of prey, Are similes at hand for the distress Of ladies who can not have their own way; But though my turn will not be served with less, These don't express one half what I should say: For what is stealing young ones, few or many, To cutting short their hope of having any?

CXXXIII.

The love of offspring's Nature's general law, From tigresses and cubs to ducks and ducklings; There's nothing whets the beak, or arms the claw Like an invasion of their babes and sucklings; And all who have seen a human nursery, saw How mothers love their children's squalls and chucklings: This strong extreme effect (to tire no longer Your patience) shows the cause must still be stronger.[fq]

CXXXIV.

If I said fire flashed from Gulbeyaz' eyes, 'T were nothing—for her eyes flashed always fire; Or said her cheeks assumed the deepest dyes, I should but bring disgrace upon the dyer, So supernatural was her passion's rise; For ne'er till now she knew a checked desire: Even ye who know what a checked woman is (Enough, God knows!) would much fall short of this.

CXXXV.

Her rage was but a minute's, and 't was well— A moment's more had slain her; but the while It lasted 't was like a short glimpse of Hell: Nought's more sublime than energetic bile, Though horrible to see, yet grand to tell, Like Ocean warring 'gainst a rocky isle; And the deep passions flashing through her form Made her a beautiful embodied storm.

CXXXVI.

A vulgar tempest 't were to a typhoon To match a common fury with her rage, And yet she did not want to reach the moon,[309] Like moderate Hotspur on the immortal page;[fr] Her anger pitched into a lower tune, Perhaps the fault of her soft sex and age— Her wish was but to "kill, kill, kill," like Lear's,[310] And then her thirst of blood was quenched in tears.

CXXXVII.

A storm it raged, and like the storm it passed, Passed without words—in fact she could not speak; And then her sex's shame[311] broke in at last, A sentiment till then in her but weak, But now it flowed in natural and fast, As water through an unexpected leak; For she felt humbled—and humiliation Is sometimes good for people in her station.

CXXXVIII.

It teaches them that they are flesh and blood, It also gently hints to them that others, Although of clay, are yet not quite of mud; That urns and pipkins are but fragile brothers, And works of the same pottery, bad or good, Though not all born of the same sires and mothers; It teaches—Heaven knows only what it teaches, But sometimes it may mend, and often reaches.

CXXXIX.

Her first thought was to cut off Juan's head; Her second, to cut only his—acquaintance; Her third, to ask him where he had been bred; Her fourth, to rally him into repentance; Her fifth, to call her maids and go to bed; Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventh, to sentence The lash to Baba:—but her grand resource Was to sit down again, and cry—of course.

CXL.

She thought to stab herself, but then she had The dagger close at hand, which made it awkward; For Eastern stays are little made to pad, So that a poniard pierces if 't is struck hard: She thought of killing Juan—but, poor lad! Though he deserved it well for being so backward, The cutting off his head was not the art Most likely to attain her aim—his heart.

CXLI.

Juan was moved: he had made up his mind To be impaled, or quartered as a dish For dogs, or to be slain with pangs refined, Or thrown to lions, or made baits for fish, And thus heroically stood resigned, Rather than sin—except to his own wish: But all his great preparatives for dying Dissolved like snow before a woman crying.

CXLII.

As through his palms Bob Acres' valour oozed,[312] So Juan's virtue ebbed, I know not how; And first he wondered why he had refused; And then, if matters could be made up now; And next his savage virtue he accused, Just as a friar may accuse his vow, Or as a dame repents her of her oath, Which mostly ends in some small breach of both.

CXLIII.

So he began to stammer some excuses; But words are not enough in such a matter, Although you borrowed all that e'er the Muses Have sung, or even a Dandy's dandiest chatter, Or all the figures Castlereagh abuses;[fs] Just as a languid smile began to flatter His peace was making, but, before he ventured Further, old Baba rather briskly entered.

CXLIV.

"Bride of the Sun! and Sister of the Moon!" ('T was thus he spake,) "and Empress of the Earth! Whose frown would put the spheres all out of tune, Whose smile makes all the planets dance with mirth, Your slave brings tidings—he hopes not too soon— Which your sublime attention may be worth: The Sun himself has sent me like a ray, To hint that he is coming up this way."

CXLV.

"Is it," exclaimed Gulbeyaz, "as you say? I wish to heaven he would not shine till morning! But bid my women form the milky way. Hence, my old comet! give the stars due warning—[ft] And, Christian! mingle with them as you may, And as you'd have me pardon your past scorning——-" Here they were interrupted by a humming Sound, and then by a cry, "The Sultan's coming!"

CXLVI.

First came her damsels, a decorous file, And then his Highness' eunuchs, black and white; The train might reach a quarter of a mile: His Majesty was always so polite As to announce his visits a long while Before he came, especially at night; For being the last wife of the Emperor, She was of course the favourite of the four.

CXLVII.

His Highness was a man of solemn port, Shawled to the nose, and bearded to the eyes, Snatched from a prison to preside at court, His lately bowstrung brother caused his rise; He was as good a sovereign of the sort As any mentioned in the histories Of Cantemir, or Knøllĕs, where few shine[fu] Save Solyman, the glory of their line.[313]