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To meet the daylight after seven hours' sitting No circulating library amasses
Among three thousand people at a ball, Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures To make her curtcey thought it right and fitting Upon the living manners, as they pass us; The Count was at her elbow with her shawl,
No exhibition glares with annual pictures ; And they the room were on the point of quitting, They stare not on the stars from out their attics, When lo! those cursed gondoliers had got Nor deal (thank God for that!) in mathematics. Just in the very place where they should not. LXXIX.
LXXXVI. Why I thank God for that is no great matter,
In this they're like our coachmen, and the cause. I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose,
Is much the same—the crowd, and pulling, hauling, And as, perhaps, they would not highly flatter, With blasphemies enough to break their jaws, I'll keep them for my life (to come) in prose;
They make a never intermittent bawling. I fear I have a little turn for satire,
At home, our Bow-street gemmen keep the laws, And yet methinks the older that one grows
And here a sentry stands within your calling; Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughter But for all that, there is a deal of swearing, Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after.
And nauseous words past mentioning or bearing. LXXX.
LXXXVII. Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water !
The Count and Laura found their boat at last, Ye happy mixtures of more happy days !
And homeward floated o'er the silent tide, In these sad centuries of sin and slaughter,
Discussing all the dances gone and past; Abominable Man no more allays
The dancers and their dresses, too, beside; His thirst with such pure beverage. No matter,
Some little scandals eke: but all aghast I love you both, and both shall have my praise :
(As to their palace stairs the rowers glide) Oh, for old Saturn's reign of sugar-candy!
Sate Laura by the side of her Adorer, Meantime I drink to your return in brandy.
When lo! the Mussulman was there before her.
“ Sir," said the Count, with brow exceeding grave, Less in the Mussulman than Christian way,
“Your unexpected presence here will make Which seems to say, “Madam, I do you honor,
It necessary for myself to crave
Its import? But perhaps 'tis a mistake;
All compliment, I hope so for your sake;
You understand my meaning, or you shall." Even at this stranger’s most outlandish ogle.
“Str," (quoth the Turk,) “'tis no mistake at all.
" That lady is my wife!” Much wonder paints
The lady's changing cheek, as well it might; A turn of time at which I would advise
But where an Englishwoman sometimes faints, Ladies who have been dancing, or partaking
Italian females don't do so outright; In any other kind of exercise,
They only call a little on their saints, To make their preparations for forsaking
And then come to themselves, almost or quite ; The ball-room ere the sun begins to rise,
Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and sprinkling Because when once the lamps and candles fail,
faces, His blushes make them look a little pale.
And cutting stays, as usual in such cases.
But the Count courteously invited in And then I look'd (I hope it was no crime)
The stranger, much appeased by what he heard : To see what lady best stood out the season;
“Such things, perhaps, we'd best discuss within," And though I've seen some thousands in their prime, Said he; “don't let us make ourselves absurd
Lovely and pleasing, and who still may please on, In public, by a scene, nor raise a din,
For then the chief and only satisfaction
Although I might, for she was nought to me A beverage for Turks and Christians both, More than that patent work of God's invention, Although the way they make it's not the same. A charming woman, whom we like to see;
Now Laura, much recover'd, or less loth But writing names would merit reprehension, To speak, cries “Beppo ! what's your pagan name! Yet if you like to find out this fair she,
Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth! At the next London or Parisian ball
And how came you to keep away so long? You still may mark her cheek, out-blooming all. Are you not sensible 'twas very wrong?
XCVI. And are you really truly, now a Turk ? Himself, and much (heaven knows how gotten) eash With any other women did you wive?
He then embark'd with risk of life and limb,
Well, that's the prettiest shawl-as I'm alive! He said that Providence protected him-
In our opinions: well, the ship was trim,
Set sail, and kept her reckoning fairly on, Saw a man grown so yellow! How's your liver ? Except three days of calm when off Cape Bonn. XCIII.
XCVII. * Beppo ! that beard of your's becomes you not; They reach'd the island, he transferr'a his lading,
It shall be shaved before you're a day older: And self and live-stock, to another bottom, Why do you wear it? Oh! I had forgot
And pass'd for a true Turkey merchant, trading Pray don't you think the weather here is colder ? With goods of various names, but I've forgot'em. How do I look? You shan't stir from this spot However, he got off by this evading,
In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder Or else the people would perhaps have shot him;
(He made the church a present by the way ;) About where Troy stood once, and nothing stands; He then threw off the garments which disguised him, Became a slave of course, and for his pay
And borrow'd the Count's small-clothes for a day; Had bread and bastinadoes, till some bands His friends the more for his long absence prized him,
Of pirates landing in a neighboring bay, Finding he'd wherewithal to make them gay,
For stories but I don't believe the half of them.
With wealth and talking made him some amends;
I've heard the Count and he were always friends. Lonely he felt, at times, as Robin Crusoe, My pen is at the bottom of a page,
And so he hired a vessel come from Spain, Which being finish’d, here the story ends;
'Tis to be wish'd it had been sooner done, Mann'd with twelve hands, and laden with tobacco. But stories somehow lengthen when begun.
NOTES TO BEPPO.
“Cortejo” is pronounced "Corteho," with an aspiLike the lost Pleiad, seen no more below. rate, according to the Arabesque guttural. It meang
Page 189, line 48. what there is as yet no precise name for in England, Quæ septem dici ser tamen esse solent." -OVID. though the practice is as common as in any tramon2.
tane country whatever. His name Giuseppe, called more briefly, Beppo.
4. Page 190, line 24. Beppo is the Joe of the Italian Joseph.
Raphael, echo died in thy embrace. 3.
Page 191, line 19. The Spaniards call the person a “Cortejo.". For the received accounts of the cause of Rapha
Page 191, line 3. Jel's death, see his Lives.
Until a day more dark and drear,
“Celui qui remplissait alors cette place était un gentilhomme Polonais, nommé Mazeppa, né dans le palatinat de Padolie; il avait éte élevé page de Jean Casimir, et avait pris à sa cour quelque teinture des belles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il eut dans sa jeunesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme Polonais, ayant été découverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était du pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Nazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques paysans le secoururent: il resta longtems parini eux, et se signala dans plusieurs courses contre les Tartarcs. La superiorité de ses lumières lui donna une grande considération parmi les Cosaques: sa r-putation s'augmentant de jour en jour, obligea le Czar à le faire Prince de l'artine." -VOLTAIRE, Hist. de Charles XII. p. 196.
“Le roi fuyant et poursuivi eut son cheval tué sous lui; le Colonel Gicta, blessé, et perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. Ainsi on remit deux fois à cheval, dans la fuite, ce conquérant qui n'avait pu y monter pendant la bataille."-VOLTAIRE, Hist. de Charles XII. p. 216.
“Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec quelques cavaliers. Le carrosse, où il était, rompit dans la marche; on le remit à cheval. Pour comble de disgrace, il s'égara pendant la nuit dans un bois; là, son courage ne pouvant plus siippl er à ses forces épuissées, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues plus insupportables per la fatigue, son cheval étant tombe de lassitude, il se coucha quelques heures au pied d'un arbre, en danger d'être surpris à tout moment par les vainqucurs qui le cherchaient de tous côtés.”'-VOLTAIRE, Iist. de Charles XII.
II. Such was the hazard of the die; The wounded Charles was taught to fly By day and night through field and flood, Stain'd with his own and subjects blood; For thousands fell that flight to aid : And not a voice was heard t' upbraid Ambition in his humbled hour, When truth had nought to dread from power. His horse was slain, and Gieta gave Ilis own--and died the Russians' slave. This too sinks after many a league Of well sustained, but vain fatigue; And in the depth of forests, darkling The watch-fires in the distance sparkling
The beacons of surrounding foesA king must lay his limbs at length.
Are these the laurels and repose For.which the nations strain their strength! They laid him by a savage tree, In outworn nature's agony; His wounds were stiff-his limbs were starkThe heavy hour was chill and dark ; The fever in his blood forbade A transient slumber's fitful aid, And thus it was; but yet through all, Kinglike the monarch bore his fall, And made, in this extreme of ill, His pangs the vassals of his will ; All silent and subdued were they, As once the nations round him lay.
I. 'Twas after dread Pultowa's day,
When fortune left the royal Swede, Around a slaughter'd army lay,
No more to combat and to bleed. The power and glory of the war,
Faithless as their vain votarics, men, Had passid to the triumphant Czar,
And Moscow's walls were safe again,
Since but the fleeting of a day
Beside his monarch and his steed, For danger levels man and brute, 1
And all are fellows in their need.
Said Sweden's monarch, thou wilt tell
Among the rest, Mazeppa made
And smoothed his fetlocks and his name,
And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, And joy'd to see how well he fed ; For until now he had the dread His wearied courser might refuse To browse beneath the midnight dews: But he was hardy as his lord, And little cared for bed and board ; But spirited and docile too; Whate'er was to be done, would do. Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb, All Tartar-like he carried him; Obey'd his voice, and came to call, And knew him in the midst of all; Though thousands were around,--and Night, Without a star, pursued her flight,That steed from sunset until dawn His chief would follow like a fawn.
And fints unloosen'd kept their leck-
Prepared and spread his slender stock;
"Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track
A count of far and high descent,
As if from heaven he had been sent;
As few could match beneath the throne;
He thought their merits were his own.
His junior she by thirty yearsGrew daily tired of his dominion;
And, after wishes, hopes, and fears,
To virtue a few farewell tears, A restless dream or two, some glances At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, Awaited but the usual chances, Those happy accidents which render The coldest dames so very tender, To deck her Count with titles given, "Tis said, as passports into heaven; But, strange to say, they rarely boast Of these who have deserved them most.
V. “I was a goodly stripling then;
At seventy years I so may say,
• This comparison of a "salt mine" may perhaps be admitted to a Pale w the wealth of the
consists greatly in the salt núna.
That there were few, or boys or men,
I long'd, and was resolved to speak, Who, in my dawning time of day,
But on my lips they died again, Of vassal or of knight's degree,
The accents tremulous and weak, Could vie in vanities with me;
Until one hour. There is a game, For I had strength, youth, gayety,
A frivolous and foolish play, A port, not like to this ye see,
Wherewith we while away the day; But smooth, as all is rugged now:
It is—I have forgot the name For time, and care, and war, have plough'd And to this, it seems, were set, My very soul from out my brow;
By some strange chance, which I forget. And thus I should be disavow'd
I reck'd not if I won or lost, By all my kind and kin, could they
It was enough for me to be Compare my day and yesterday;
So near to hear, and oh! to see This change was wrought, too, long ere age The being whom I loved the most.Had ta'en my features for his page :
I watch'd her as a sentinel, With years ye know, have not declined
(May ours this dark night watch as well!) My strength, my courage, or my mind,
Until I saw, and thus it was, Or at this hour I should not be
That she was pensive, nor perceived Telling old tales beneath a tree,
Her occupation, nor was grieved With starless skies my canopy.
Nor glad to lose or gain ; but still But let me on: Theresa's form
Play'd on for hours, as if her will Methinks it glides before me now,
Yet bound her to the place, though not Between me and yon chestnut's bough,
That hers might be the winning lot. The memory is so quick and warm;
Then through my brain the thought did pass, And yet I find no words to tell
Even as a flash of lightning there, The shape of her I loved so well:
That there was something in her air She had the Asiatic eye,
Which would not doom me to despair ; Such as our Turkish neighborhood
And on the thought my words broke forth. Hath mingled with our Polish blood,
All incoherent as they were Dark as above us is the sky;
Their eloquence was little worth, But through it stole a tender light,
But yet she listened—'tis enough Like the first moonrise of midnight;
Who listens once will listen twice; Large, dark, and swimming in the stream,
Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,
And one refusal no rebuff.
“I loved, and was beloved againAs though it were a joy to die.
They tell me, Sire, you never knew A brow like a midsummer lake,
Those gentle frailtics; if 'tis true, Transparent with the sun therein,
I shorten all my joy or pain ; When waves no murmur dare to make,
To you 'twould seem absurd as vain; And heaven beholds her face within.
But all men are not born to reign, A cheek and lip--but why proceed ?
Or o'er their passions, or as you I loved her then--I love her still;
Thus o'er themselves and nations too. And such as I am, love indeed
I am-or rather was-a prince, In fierce extremes-in good and ill.
A chief of thousands, and could lead But still we love even in our rage,
Them on where each would foremost bleed And haunted to our very age
But could not o'er myself evince With the vain shadow of the past,
The like control-But to resume:
I loved, and was beloved again ;
But yet where happiest ends in pain.-
We met in secret, and the hour " We met-we gazed-I saw, and sigh'd,
Which led me to that lady's bower She did not speak, and yet replied ;
Was fiery Expectation's dower. There are ten thousand tones and signs
My days and nights were nothing-all We hear and sce, but none defines
Except that hour, which doth recall,
In the long lapse from youth to age,
The Ukraine back again to live
It o'er once more-and be a page, Which link the burning chain that binds,
The happy page, who was the lord Without their will, young hearts and minds ; Of one soft heart, and his own sword, Conveying, as the electric wire,
And had no other gem nor wealth We know not how, the absorbing fire.
Save nature's gift of youth and health.I saw, and sigh'd-in silence wept,
We met in secret-doubly sweet, And still reluctant distance kept,
Some say, they find it so to meet; Until I was made known to her,
I know not that-I would have given And we might then and there confer
My life but to have call'd her mine Without suspicion—then, even then,
In the full view of earth and heaven;