XIV. How I have treated it, I do not know

The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch, Perhaps no better than they have treated me The least glance better understood than woras, Who have imputed such designs as show,

Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much; Not what they saw, but what they wish'd to see ; A language, too, but like to that of birds, But if it gives them pleasure, be it so,

Known but to them, at least appearing such This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free:

As but to lovers a true sense affords; Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear,

Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd And tells me to resume my story here.

To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard VIII.

XV. Young Juan and his lady-love were left

All these were theirs, for they were children still, To their own hearts' most sweet soriety;

And children still they should have ever been; Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft

They were not made in the real world to fill
With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms; he A busy character in the dull scene;
Sigh'd to behold them of their hours berest, But like two beings born from out a rill,

Though foe to love ; and yet they could not be A nymph and her beloved, all unseen
Aleant to grow old, but die in happy spring, To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers,
Before onc charm or hope had taken wing.

And never know the weight of human hours.

Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their Moons changing had rollid on, and changeless found

Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail ; Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys The blank gray was not made to blast their hair, As rarely they beheld throughout their round:

But, like the climes that know nor snow nor hail, And these were not of the vain kind which cloys; They were all summer : lightning might assail For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound And shiver them to ashes, but to trail

By the mere senses; and that which destroys A long and snake-like life of dull decay

Most love, possession, unto them appeard
Was not for them—they had too little clay. A thing which each endearment more endear'd.

They were alone once more; for them to be Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful!
Thus was another Eden; they were never

But theirs was love in which the mind delights Weary, unless when separate : the tree

To lose itself, when the whole world grows dull, Cut from its forest root of years—the river And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights, Damm'd from its fountain-the child from the knee Intrigues, adventures of the common school,

And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever, Ils petty passions, marriages, and flights, Would wither less than these two torn apart; Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet more, Alas! there is no instinct like the heart- Whose husband only knows her not a wh-re. XI.

XVIII. The heart-which may be broken : happy they! Hard words; harsh truth; a truth which many know,

Thrice fortunate! who, of that fragile mould, Enough. The faithful and the fairy pair, The precious porcelain of human clay,

Who never found a single hour too slow, Break with the first fall: they can ne'er behold What was it made them thus exempt from care ? The long year link'd with heavy day on day, Young innate feelings all have felt below,

And all which must be borne, and never told; Which perish in the rest, but in them were While life's strange principle will often lie Inherent; what we mortals call romantic, Deepest in those who long the most to die. And always envy, though we deem it frantic. XII.

XIX. u Whom the gods love die young," was said of yore," This is in others a factitious state, And many deaths do they escape by this:

An opium dream of too much youth and reading, The death of friends, and, that which slays even more But was in them their nature or their fate;

The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is, No novels e'er had set their young hearts bleeding, Except mere breath ; and since the silent shore For Haidee's knowledge was by no means greal,

Awaits at last even those whom longest miss And Juan was a boy of saintly breeding, The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave

So that there was no reason for their loves,
Which men weep over inay be meant to save. More than for those of nightingales or doves.

Maidee and Juan thought not of the dead; They gazed upon the sunset; 't is an hour

The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made for them: Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
They found no fault with time, save that he fled; For it had made them what they were : the power

They sew not in themselves aught to condemn : Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies, kach was the other's mirror, and but read When happiness had been their only dower,

Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem, And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties; And knew such brightness was but the reflection Charm'd with each other, all things charm'd that brought of their exchanging glances of affection.

The past still welcome as the present thought.


XXVIII. I know not why, but in that hour to-night,

They should have lived together deep in woods, Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came, Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were And swept, as 't were, across their hearts' delight, Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame,

Callid social, where all vice and hatred are: When one is shook in sound, and one in sight; How lonely every freeborn creature broods !

And thus some boding flash'd through either frame, The sweetest song-birds nesile in a pair;
And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh, The eag'e soars alone; the gull and crow
While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye. Flock o'er their carrion, just as mortals do.

That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate Now pillow'd, cheek to cheek, in loving sleep,
And follow far the disappearing sun,

Haidee and Juan their siesta took,
As if their last day of a happy date

A gentle sluinber, but it was not deep, With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone; For ever and anon a something shook Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate

Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep ; He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none,

And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd like a brook His glance inquired of hers for some excuse A wordless music, and her face so fair For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse.

Stirr'd with her dream as rose-leaves with the air: XXIII.

XXX. She turn’d to him, and smiled, but in that sort

Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream Which makes not others smile; then turn'd aside :

Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,

Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream, And master'd by her wisdom or her pride;

The mystical usurper of the mindWhen Juan spoke, 100—it might be in sport

O'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem Of this their mutual feeling, she replied

Good to the soul which we no more can bind; & If it should be so,—but-it cannot be

Strange state of being! (for 't is still to be)

Senseless to feel, and with seald eyes to see.
Or I at least snall not survive to see.”


She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore, Juan would question further, but she press'd

Chain'd to a rock; she knew not how, but stir His lips to hers, and silenced him with this,

She could not from the spot, and the loud roar And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast,

Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her ; Defying augury with that fond kiss;

And o'er her upper lip they seem'd 10 pour, And no doubt of all methods 't is the best :

Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were Some people prefer wine-t is not amiss :

Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high
I have tried both; so those who would a part take
May choose between the head-ache and the heart-ache. Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.


Anon-she was released, and then she stray'd
One of the two, according to your choice,

O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet, Women or wine, you'll have to undergo; And stumbled almost every step she made; Both maladies are taxes on our joys :

And something rollid before her in a sheet, But which to choose I really hardly know; Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid; And if I had to give a casting voice,

'Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet For both sides I could many reasons show,

Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasp'd, And then decide, without great wrong to either,

And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd.
It were much better to have both than neither.


The dream changed: in a cave she stood, its walls Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other,

Were hung with marble icicles; the work
With swimming looks of speechless tenderness, or ages on its water-fretted halls,
Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother,

Where waves might wash, and seals might brecv and
All that the best can mingle and express,
When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another, Her hair was dripping, and the very

balls And love too much, and yet can not love less; or her black eyes secm'd turn'd to tears, and mur But almost sanctify the sweet excess

The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caughi, By the immortal wish and power to bless. Which froze to marble as it feli, she thought. XXVII.

XXXIV. Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart,

cold, and lifeless at her feet, Why did they not then die ?— they had lived too long, Pale as the foam thal froth'd on his dead brow, Should an hour come to bid thein breathe apart; Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how sweet

Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong, Were once her cares, how. idle seem'd they nor'! The world was not for them, nor the world's art Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat For beings passionate as Sappho's song ;

or his quench'd heart; and the sea-dirges low Love was born with them, in them, so intense, Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song, It was their very spirit-not a sense.

And that brief dream appear'd a life too long.


And wet,


And gazing on the dead, she thought his face Lambro presented, and one instant more
Faded, or alter'd into something new

Had stopp'd this canto, and Don Juan's breath, Like to her father's features, till each trace When Haidee threw herself her boy before,

More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew Stern as her sire: “On me," she cried, " let death With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace; Descend—the fault is mine ; this fatal shore

And starting, she awoke, and what to view! He found—but sought not. I have pledged my faith;
Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there? I love him—I will die with him: I knew
"Tis—'t is her father's-fix'd upon the pair! Your nature's firmness-know your daughter's too."

Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell, A minute past, and she had been all tears,

With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see And tenderness, and infancy: but now
Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell She stood as one who champion'd human fears-
The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be

Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the blow; Perchance the death of one she loved too well; And tall beyond her sex and their compeers, Dear as her father had been to Haidee,

She drew up to her height, as if to show It was a moment of that awful kind

A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd I have seen such--but must not call to mind. Her father's face-but never stopp'd his hand. XXXVII.

XLIV. Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek,

He gazed on her, and she on him; 't was strange And caught her falling, and from off the wall How like they look’d! the expression was the same; Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak Serenely savage, with a little change

Vengeance on him who was the cause of all : In the large dark eye's mutual-darted flame; Then Lambro, who till now forbure to speak, For she too was as one who could avenge,

Smiled scornfully, and said, “Within my call If cause should be-a lioness, though Lame : A thousand scimitars await the word;

Her father's blood before her father's face
Put up, young man, put up your silly sword.” Boild up, and proved her truly of his race.

And Haidee clung around him; “Juan, 't is- I said they were alike, their features and

'Tis Lambro—'t is my father! Kneel with me- Their stature differing but in sex and years; Ile will forgive us-yes-it must be-yes. Even to the delicacy of their hands ! dearest father, in this agony

There was resemblance, such as true blood wears; or pleasure and of pain—even while I kiss And now to see them, thus divided, stand

Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears, That doubt should mingle with my filial joy ? And sweet sensations, should have welcomed both, Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy." Show what the passions are in their full growth. XXXIX.

XLVI. High and inscrutable the old man stood,

The father paused a moment, then withdrew Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye- His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still, Not always signs with him of calmest mood : And looking on her, as to look her through, He look'd upon her, but gave no reply ;

“Not I,” he said, “have sought this stranger's ill; Then turn’d to Juan, in whose cheek the blood Not I have made this desolation : few

Os came and went, as there resolved to die; Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill ; In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring But I must do my duty-how thou hast On the first foe whom Lambro's call migit bring, Done thine, the present vouches for the past. XL.

XLVII. “Young man, your sword;" so Lambro once more said: “Let him disarm; or, by my father's head,

Juan replied, “Not while this arm is free.” His own shall roll before you like a ball!"
The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with dread, He raised his whistle, as the word he said,
And drawing from his belt a pistol, he

And blew; another answer'd to the call,
Replied, “ Your blood be then on your own head.” And rushing in disorderly, though led,
Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see

And arm'd from boot lo turban, one and all, "T was fresh—for he had lately used the lock- Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; And next proceedea quietly to cock.

He gave the word, “ Arrest or slay the Frank." XLI.

XLVIII. It has a strange quick jar upon the ear,

Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew Thal cocking of a pistol, when you know

His daughter; while compress'd within his graspo A moment more will bring the sight to bear ’T wixt her and Juan interposed the crew;

Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so; In vain she struggled in her father's grasp, A gentlemanly distance, not too near,

His arms were like a serpent's coil : then flew If you have got a former friend for foe;

Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp, But after being fired at once or twice,

The file of pirates; save the foremost, who The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice. Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through.

The second had his cheek laid open; but

The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took
The blows upon his cutlass, and then put

His own well in: so well, ere you could look, His man was floor'd, and helpless at his foot,

With the blood running like a little brook From two smart sabre gashes, deep and redOne on the arm, the other on the head.

And then they bound him where he fell, and bore

Juan from the apartment: with a sign
Old Lambro bade then take him to the shore,

Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine. They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar

Until they reach'd some galliots, placed in line; On board of one of these, and under hatches, They stow'd him, with strict orders to the watches.

The world is full of strange vicissitudes,

And here was one exceedingly unpleasant:
A gentleman so rich in the world's goods,

Handsome and young, enjoying all the present, Just at the very time when he Icast broods

On such a thing, is suddenly to sea sent,
Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot move,
And all because a lady fell in love.

Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic,

Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea! Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic;

For if my pure libations exceed three, I feel my heart become so sympathetic,

That I must have recourse to black Bohea: 'Tis pity wine should be so deleterious, For tea and coffee leave us much more serious.

Unless when qualified with thee, Cognac!

Sweet Naiad of the Phlegethontic rill!
Ah! why the liver wilt thou thus attack,

And make, like other nyınphs, thy lovers ill ? I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack

(In each sense of the word), whene'er I fill My mild and midnight beakers to the brim, Wakes me next morning with its synonym.

I leave Don Juan for the present safe-

Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded;
Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half

of those with which his Haidee's bosom bounded ? She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe,

And then give way, subdued because surrounded;
Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez,
Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.

There the large olive rains its amber store

In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit, Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er;

But there too many a poison-tree has root, And midnight listens to the lion's roar,

And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot, Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan, And as the soil is, so the beart of man.

Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth

Her human clay is kindled: full of power
For good or evil, burning from its birth,

The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, And like the soil beneath it will bring forth:

Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower: But her large dark eye show'd deep passion's forcr, Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,

Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder they display

Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way;

But, overwrought with passion and despair,
The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
Even as the simoom sweeps the blasted plains.

The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,

And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down ;
His blood was running on the very floor

Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own : Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,

Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan; On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar felld.

A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes

Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er; And her head droop'd as when the lily lies

O’ercharged with rain: her summond handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing cyes ;

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, But she defied all means they could employ, Like one Kfe could not hold, nor death destroy.

LX. Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill,

With nothing livid, still her lips were red; She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;

No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead; Corruption came not in each mind to kill

All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul,
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows

When exquisitely chisellid, still lay there,
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws

O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair ;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,

And ever-dying Gladiator's air,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.

She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,

Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
A strange sensation which she must partake

Perforce, since whatsoever met her view Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true Brought back the sense of pain without the cause, For, for a while, the furies made a pause,


She look'd on many a face with vacant eye, She died, but not alone; she held within
On many a token without knowing what;

A second principle of life, which might
She saw them watch her without asking why, Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin :
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;

But closed its little being without light, Not speechless, though she spoke not: not a sigh And went down to the grave unborn, wherein

Reveald her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one blight; Were tried in vain by those who served ; she gave In vain the dews of heaven descend above No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love. LXIV.

LXXI. Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; Thus lived-thus died she: never more on her,

Her father watchd, she turn'd her eyes away; Shall sorrow light or shame. She was not made She recognised no being, and no spot,

Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, However dear or cherish'd in their day;

Which colder hearts endure till they are laid They changed from room to room, but all forgot, By age in earth; her days and pleasures were Gentle, but without memory, she lay;

Brief, but delightful-such as had not stay'd And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well Back to old thoughts, seem’d full of fearful meaning. By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell. LXV.

LXXII. At last a slave bethought her of a harp ;

That isle is now all desolate and bare, The harper came, and tuned his instrument; Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away, At the first notes, irregular and sharp,

None but her own and father's grave is there, On him her flashing eyes a moment bent,

And nothing outward tells of human clay: Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp

Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair, Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent, No stone is there to show, no tongue to say And he began a long low island song

What was ; no dirge, except the hollow sca's, Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.

Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall

But many a Greek maid in a loving song In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, Sighs o'er her name, and many an islander And sumg of love-the fierce name struck through all With her sire's story makes the night less long; Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream

Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her ; Of what she was, and is, if ye could call

If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrongTo be so being ; in a gushing stream

A heavy price must all pay who thus err, The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain, In some shape ; let none think to fly the danger, Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain. For soon or late Love is his own avenger. LXVII.

LXXIV. Short solace, vain relief !-thought came too quick, But let me change this theme, which grows too sad,

And whirl'd her brain to madness; she arose And lay this sheet of sorrow on the shelf; As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick, I don't much like describing people mad, And flew at all she met, as on her foes;

For fear vi seeming rather touch'd myselfBut no one ever heard her speak or shriek, Besides, I've no more on this head to add:

Although her paroxysm drew towards its close: And as my Muse is a capricious elf,
Hers was a frenzy which disdain'd to rave,

We'll put about and try another tack
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save. With Juan, left half-kill'd some stanzas back.

Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense ; Wounded and fetterd, “ cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,"

Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Some days and nights elapsed before that he Though on all other things with looks intense Could altogether call the past to mind;

She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; And when he did, he found himself at sea, Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence Sailing six knols an hour before the wind;

Avail'd for either ; neither change of place, The shores of lion lay beneath their leeNor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her Another time he might have liked to see 'em, Senses to sleep-the power se m'd gone

But now was not much pleased with Cape Sigæum.

Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last, There, on the green and village-cotted bill, is

Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show (Flank'd by the Hellespont and by the sea)
A parting pang, the spirit from her pass'd :

Entomb'd the bravest of the brave, Achilles : And they who watch'd her nearest could not know They say so-(Bryant says the contrary): The very instant, till the change that cast

And further downward, tall and toweriny, still 13 Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, The timulus-of whom? Heaven knows; 't may be Glased o'er her eyes--the beautiful, the black- Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus,Oh' w possess such lustreand then lack!

| Al heroes, who is living still would slay us.

for ever.

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