Chapter IX: Canto THE SECOND: 96 (2)

But up she got, and up she made them get,
With some pretence about the Sun, that makes
Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set;
And 't is, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks
Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are wet
With mist, and every bird with him awakes,
And night is flung off like a mourning suit
Worn for a husband,--or some other brute.[bm]

CXL.

I say, the Sun is a most glorious sight,
I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of late
I have sat up on purpose all the night,[bn][153]
Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fate;
And so all ye, who would be in the right
In health and purse, begin your day to date
From daybreak, and when coffined at fourscore,
Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four.

CXLI.

And Haidée met the morning face to face;
Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush
Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race
From heart to cheek is curbed into a blush,
Like to a torrent which a mountain's base,
That overpowers some Alpine river's rush,
Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread;
Or the Red Sea--but the sea is not red.[154]

CXLII.

And down the cliff the island virgin came,
And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew,
While the Sun smiled on her with his first flame,
And young Aurora kissed her lips with dew,
Taking her for a sister; just the same
Mistake you would have made on seeing the two,
Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair,
Had all the advantage, too, of not being air.[bo]

CXLIII.

And when into the cavern Haidée stepped
All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
That like an infant Juan sweetly slept;
And then she stopped, and stood as if in awe
(For sleep is awful), and on tiptoe crept
And wrapped him closer, lest the air, too raw,
Should reach his blood, then o'er him still as Death
Bent, with hushed lips, that drank his scarce-drawn breath.

CXLIV.

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

CXLV.

She knew that the best feelings must have victual,
And that a shipwrecked youth would hungry be;
Besides, being less in love, she yawned a little,
And felt her veins chilled by the neighbouring sea;
And so, she cooked their breakfast to a tittle;
I can't say that she gave them any tea,
But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey,
With Scio wine,--and all for love, not money.

CXLVI.

And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and
The coffee made, would fain have wakened Juan;
But Haidée stopped her with her quick small hand,
And without word, a sign her finger drew on
Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand;
And, the first breakfast spoilt, prepared a new one,
Because her mistress would not let her break
That sleep which seemed as it would ne'er awake.

CXLVII.

For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek
A purple hectic played like dying day
On the snow-tops of distant hills; the streak
Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay,
Where the blue veins looked shadowy, shrunk, and weak;
And his black curls were dewy with the spray,
Which weighed upon them yet, all damp and salt,
Mixed with the stony vapours of the vault.

CXLVIII.

And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath,
Hushed as the babe upon its mother's breast,
Drooped as the willow when no winds can breathe,
Lulled like the depth of Ocean when at rest,
Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath,
Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest;[bp]
In short, he was a very pretty fellow,
Although his woes had turned him rather yellow.

CXLIX.

He woke and gazed, and would have slept again,
But the fair face which met his eyes forbade
Those eyes to close, though weariness and pain
Had further sleep a further pleasure made:
For Woman's face was never formed in vain
For Juan, so that even when he prayed
He turned from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy,
To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary.

CL.

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

CLI.

Now Juan could not understand a word,
Being no Grecian; but he had an ear,
And her voice was the warble of a bird,[155]
So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear,
That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard;[bq]
The sort of sound we echo with a tear,
Without knowing why--an overpowering tone,
Whence Melody descends as from a throne.

CLII.

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

CLIII.

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

CLIV.

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

CLV.

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

CLVI.

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

CLVII.

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

CLVIII.

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

CLIX.

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

CLX.

Next they--he being naked, save a tattered
Pair of scarce decent trowsers--went to work,
And in the fire his recent rags they scattered,
And dressed him, for the present, like a Turk,
Or Greek--that is, although it not much mattered,
Omitting turban, slippers, pistol, dirk,--
They furnished him, entire, except some stitches,
With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches.

CLXI.

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

CLXII.

And then she had recourse to nods, and signs,
And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye,
And read (the only book she could) the lines
Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy,
The answer eloquent, where the Soul shines
And darts in one quick glance a long reply;
And thus in every look she saw expressed
A world of words, and things at which she guessed.

CLXIII.

And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes,
And words repeated after her, he took
A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise,
No doubt, less of her language than her look:
As he who studies fervently the skies
Turns oftener to the stars than to his book,
Thus Juan learned his _alpha beta_ better
From Haidée's glance than any graven letter.

CLXIV.

'T is pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean,
When both the teacher and the taught are young,
As was the case, at least, where I have been;[156]
They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong
They smile still more, and then there intervene
Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss;--[br]
I learned the little that I know by this:

CLXV.

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

CLXVI.

As for the ladies, I have nought to say,
A wanderer from the British world of Fashion,[157]
Where I, like other "dogs, have had my day,"
Like other men, too, may have had my passion--
But that, like other things, has passed away,
And all her fools whom I _could_ lay the lash on:
Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me
But dreams of what has been, no more to be.[bt]

CLXVII.

Return we to Don Juan. He begun[158]
To hear new words, and to repeat them; but
Some feelings, universal as the Sun,
Were such as could not in his breast be shut
More than within the bosom of a nun:
He was in love,--as you would be, no doubt,
With a young benefactress,--so was she,
Just in the way we very often see.

CLXVIII.

And every day by daybreak--rather early
For Juan, who was somewhat fond of rest--
She came into the cave, but it was merely
To see her bird reposing in his nest;[159]
And she would softly stir his locks so curly,
Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest,
Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth,[bu]
As o'er a bed of roses the sweet South.

CLXIX.

And every morn his colour freshlier came,
And every day helped on his convalescence;
'T was well, because health in the human frame
Is pleasant, besides being true Love's essence,
For health and idleness to Passion's flame
Are oil and gunpowder; and some good lessons
Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus,
Without whom Venus will not long attack us.[160]

CLXX.

While Venus fills the heart, (without heart really
Love, though good always, is not quite so good,)
Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli,--
For Love must be sustained like flesh and blood,--
While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly:
Eggs, oysters, too, are amatory food;[bv]
But who is their purveyor from above
Heaven knows,--it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove.

CLXXI.

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

CLXXII.

Both were so young, and one so innocent,
That bathing passed for nothing; Juan seemed
To her, as 't were, the kind of being sent,
Of whom these two years she had nightly dreamed,
A something to be loved, a creature meant
To be her happiness, and whom she deemed
To render happy; all who joy would win
Must share it,--Happiness was born a Twin.

CLXXIII.

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

CLXXIV.

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

CLXXV.

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

CLXXVI.

Now she prolonged her visits and her talk
(For they must talk), and he had learnt to say
So much as to propose to take a walk,--
For little had he wandered since the day
On which, like a young flower snapped from the stalk,
Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,--
And thus they walked out in the afternoon,
And saw the sun set opposite the moon.[bx]

CLXXVII.

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

CLXXVIII.

And the small ripple spilt upon the beach
Scarcely o'erpassed the cream of your champagne,
When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach,
That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain!
Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach
Who please,--the more because they preach in vain,--
Let us have Wine and Woman,[161] Mirth and Laughter,
Sermons and soda-water the day after.

CLXXIX.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;
The best of Life is but intoxication:
Glory, the Grape, Love, Gold, in these are sunk
The hopes of all men, and of every nation;
Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk
Of Life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion!
But to return,--Get very drunk, and when
You wake with headache--you shall see what then!

CLXXX.

Ring for your valet--bid him quickly bring
Some hock and soda-water,[162] then you'll know
A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king;
For not the blest sherbet, sublimed with snow,[163]
Nor the first sparkle of the desert-spring,
Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow,[by]
After long travel, Ennui, Love, or Slaughter,
Vie with that draught of hock and soda-water!

CLXXXI.

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

CLXXXII.

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

CLXXXIII.

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded,
Circling all Nature, hushed, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.

CLXXXIV.

And thus they wandered forth, and hand in hand,
Over the shining pebbles and the shells,
Glided along the smooth and hardened sand,
And in the worn and wild receptacles
Worked by the storms, yet worked as it were planned
In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells,
They turned to rest; and, each clasped by an arm,
Yielded to the deep Twilight's purple charm.

CLXXXV.

They looked up to the sky, whose floating glow
Spread like a rosy Ocean, vast and bright;[bz]
They gazed upon the glittering sea below,
Whence the broad Moon rose circling into sight;
They heard the waves' splash, and the wind so low,
And saw each other's dark eyes darting light
Into each other--and, beholding this,
Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;

CLXXXVI.

A long, long kiss, a kiss of Youth, and Love,
And Beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;
Such kisses as belong to early days,
Where Heart, and Soul, and Sense, in concert move,
And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake,--for a kiss's strength,
I think, it must be reckoned by its length.

CLXXXVII.

By length I mean duration; theirs endured
Heaven knows how long--no doubt they never reckoned;
And if they had, they could not have secured
The sum of their sensations to a second:
They had not spoken, but they felt allured,
As if their souls and lips each other beckoned,
Which, being joined, like swarming bees they clung--
Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung.[ca]

CLXXXVIII.

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

CLXXXIX.

They feared no eyes nor ears on that lone beach;
They felt no terrors from the night; they were
All in all to each other: though their speech
Was broken words, they _thought_ a language there,--
And all the burning tongues the Passions teach[cb]
Found in one sigh the best interpreter
Of Nature's oracle--first love,--that all
Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall.

CXC.

Haidée spoke not of scruples, asked no vows,
Nor offered any; she had never heard
Of plight and promises to be a spouse,
Or perils by a loving maid incurred;
She was all which pure Ignorance allows,
And flew to her young mate like a young bird;
And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she
Had not one word to say of constancy.

CXCI.

She loved, and was belovéd--she adored,
And she was worshipped after Nature's fashion--
Their intense souls, into each other poured,
If souls could die, had perished in that passion,--
But by degrees their senses were restored,
Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on;
And, beating 'gainst _his_ bosom, Haidée's heart
Felt as if never more to beat apart.

CXCII.

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

CXCIII.

Alas! for Juan and Haidée! they were
So loving and so lovely--till then never,
Excepting our first parents, such a pair
Had run the risk of being damned for ever:
And Haidée, being devout as well as fair,
Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian river,
And Hell and Purgatory--but forgot
Just in the very crisis she should not.

CXCIV.

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

CXCV.

And when those deep and burning moments passed,
And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms,
She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast,
Sustained his head upon her bosom's charms;
And now and then her eye to Heaven is cast,
And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms,
Pillowed on her o'erflowing heart, which pants
With all it granted, and with all it grants.[cc]

CXCVI.

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

CXCVII.

For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,
All that it hath of Life with us is living;
So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,
And all unconscious of the joy 't is giving;
All it hath felt, inflicted, passed, and proved,
Hushed into depths beyond the watcher's diving:
There lies the thing we love with all its errors
And all its charms, like Death without its terrors.

CXCVIII.

The Lady watched her lover--and that hour
Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude
O'erflowed her soul with their united power;
Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude
She and her wave-worn love had made their bower,
Where nought upon their passion could intrude,
And all the stars that crowded the blue space
Saw nothing happier than her glowing face.

CXCIX.

Alas! the love of Women! it is known
To be a lovely and a fearful thing;
For all of theirs upon that die is thrown,
And if 't is lost, Life hath no more to bring
To them but mockeries of the past alone,
And their revenge is as the tiger's spring,
Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real
Torture is theirs--what they inflict they feel.

CC.

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

CCI.

Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers,
Some mind their household, others dissipation,
Some run away, and but exchange their cares,
Losing the advantage of a virtuous station;
Few changes e'er can better their affairs,
Theirs being an unnatural situation,
From the dull palace to the dirty hovel:[cd]
Some play the devil, and then write a novel.[164]

CCII.

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

CCIII.

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

CCIV.

And now 't was done--on the lone shore were plighted
Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed
Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted:
Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed,
By their own feelings hallowed and united,
Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed:[ce]
And they were happy--for to their young eyes
Each was an angel, and earth Paradise.

CCV.

Oh, Love! of whom great Cæsar was the suitor,
Titus the master,[165] Antony the slave,
Horace, Catullus, scholars--Ovid tutor--
Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave
All those may leap who rather would be neuter--
(Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave)--
Oh, Love! thou art the very God of evil,
For, after all, we cannot call thee Devil.

CCVI.

Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state precarious,
And jestest with the brows of mightiest men:
Cæsar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius,[166]
Have much employed the Muse of History's pen:
Their lives and fortunes were extremely various,
Such worthies Time will never see again;
Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds,
They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds.

CCVII.

Thou mak'st philosophers; there's Epicurus
And Aristippus, a material crew!
Who to immoral courses would allure us
By theories quite practicable too;
If only from the Devil they would insure us,
How pleasant were the maxim (not quite new),
"Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us?"
So said the royal sage Sardanapalus.[167]

CCVIII.

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

CCIX.

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

CCX.

But soon Philosophy came to my aid,
And whispered, "Think of every sacred tie!"
"I will, my dear Philosophy!" I said,
"But then her teeth, and then, oh, Heaven! her eye!
I'll just inquire if she be wife or maid,
Or neither--out of curiosity."
"Stop!" cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian,
(Though she was masqued then as a fair Venetian;)

CCXI.

"Stop!" so I stopped.--But to return: that which
Men call inconstancy is nothing more
Than admiration due where Nature's rich
Profusion with young beauty covers o'er
Some favoured object; and as in the niche
A lovely statue we almost adore,
This sort of adoration of the real
Is but a heightening of the _beau ideal_.

CCXII.

'T is the perception of the Beautiful,
A fine extension of the faculties,
Platonic, universal, wonderful,
Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies,
Without which Life would be extremely dull;
In short, it is the use of our own eyes,
With one or two small senses added, just
To hint that flesh is formed of fiery dust.[cf]

CCXIII.

Yet 't is a painful feeling, and unwilling,
For surely if we always could perceive
In the same object graces quite as killing
As when she rose upon us like an Eve,
'T would save us many a heartache, many a shilling,
(For we must get them anyhow, or grieve),
Whereas if one sole lady pleased for ever,
How pleasant for the heart, as well as liver!

CCXIV.

The Heart is like the sky, a part of Heaven,
But changes night and day, too, like the sky;
Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven,
And Darkness and Destruction as on high:
But when it hath been scorched, and pierced, and riven,
Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye
Pours forth at last the Heart's blood turned to tears,
Which make the English climate of our years.

CCXV.

The liver is the lazaret of bile,
But very rarely executes its function,
For the first passion stays there such a while,
That all the rest creep in and form a junction,
Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil--[168]
Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction--
So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail,
Like Earthquakes from the hidden fire called "central."

CCXVI.

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

FOOTNOTES:

[96] Begun at Venice, December 13, 1818,-finished January 20, 1819.

{81}[ay] _Lost that most precious stone of stones--his modesty_.--[MS.]

{82}[97] [Compare "The Girl of Cadiz," _Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 1, and note 1.

[az] _But d----n me if I ever saw the like_.--[MS.]

{83}[98] _Fazzioli_--literally, little handkerchiefs--the veils most availing of St. Mark.

["_I fazzioli_, or kerchiefs (a white kind of veil which the lower orders wear upon their heads)."--Letter to Rogers, March 3, 1818, _Letters,_ 1900, iv. 208.]

[ba]
_Their manners mending, and their morals curing.
She taught them to suppress their vice--and urine_.--[MS.]

{84}[99] [Compare--

"And fast the white rocks faded from his view
* * * * *
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam
Repented he."

_Childe Harold_, Canto I. stanza xii. lines 3-6, _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 24.]

{87}[100] ["To breathe a vein ... to lance it so as to let blood." Compare--

"_Rosalind_. Is the fool sick?
_Biron_. Sick at heart.
_Ros_. Alack, let it blood."
_Love's Labour's Lost_, act ii. sc. I, line 185.]

[bb]
_Sea-sickness death; then pardon Juan--how else_
_Keep down his stomach ne'er at sea before_?--[MS. M.]

[101] ["With regard to the charges about the Shipwreck, I think that I told you and Mr. Hobhouse, years ago, that there was not a _single circumstance_ of it _not_ taken from _fact_: not, indeed, from any _single_ shipwreck, but all from _actual_ facts of different wrecks."---Letter to Murray, August 23, 1821. In the _Monthly Magazine_, vol. liii. (August, 1821, pp. 19-22, and September, 1821, pp. 105-109), Byron's indebtedness to Sir G. Dalzell's _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_ (1812, 8vo) is pointed out, and the parallel passages are printed in full.]

[102] ["Night came on worse than the day had been; and a _sudden shift of wind,_ about midnight, _threw the ship into the trough of the sea, which struck her aft, tore away the rudder, started the stern-post, and shattered the whole of her stern-frame. The pumps_ were _immediately sounded,_ and in the course of a few minutes the water had increased to _four feet_....

_"One gang was instantly put on them, and the remainder of the people employed in getting up_ rice from the run of the ship, and heaving it over, _to come at the leak,_ if possible. After three or four hundred bags were thrown into the sea, _we did get at it,_ and found _the water rushing_ into the ship with astonishing rapidity; therefore we _thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, tales of muslin,_ and everything of the like description that could be got, _into the opening._

"Notwithstanding the pumps _discharged fifty tons of water an hour,_ the ship certainly _must have gone down,_ had not our _expedients_ been attended with some success. _The pumps,_ to the excellent construction of which I owe the preservation of my life, _were made by Mr. Mann of London. As the next day advanced, the weather appeared to moderate,_ the men continued incessantly at the pumps, and every exertion was made to _keep the ship afloat._"--See "Loss of the American ship _Hercules,_ Captain Benjamin Stout, June 16, 1796," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea,_ 1812, iii. 316, 317.]

{90}[103] ["Scarce was this done, when _a gust, exceeding in violence everything of the kind I had ever seen, or could conceive, laid the ship on her beam ends_....

"The ship _lay motionless_, and, to all appearance, irrevocably overset.... _The water forsook the hold_, and appeared between decks....

"Immediate directions were given _to cut away the main and mizen masts_, trusting when the ship righted, to be able to wear her. On cutting one or two lanyards, the _mizen-mast went first over_, but without producing the smallest effect on the ship, and, on cutting the lanyard of one shroud, the _main-mast followed_. I had next the mortification to see the _foremast and bowsprit also go over_. On this, _the ship immediately righted with great violence_."--"Loss of the _Centaur_ Man-of-War, 1782, by Captain Inglefield," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 41.]

[bc] _Perhaps the whole would have got drunk, but for_.--[MS.]

{91}[104] ["A midshipman was appointed to guard the spirit-room, to repress that unhappy desire of a devoted crew _to die in a state of intoxication._ The sailors, though in other respects orderly in conduct, here pressed eagerly upon him.

"_'Give us some grog,'_ they exclaimed, _'it will be all one an hour hence.'--'I know we must die,'_ replied the gallant officer, coolly, _'but let us die like men!'--Armed with a brace of pistols,_ he kept his post, even while the ship was sinking."--"Loss of the _Earl of Abergavenny,_ February 5, 1805," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 418. John Wordsworth, the poet's brother, was captain of the _Abergavenny_. See _Life of William Wordsworth_, by Professor Knight, 1889, i. 370-380; see, too, Coleridge's _Anima Poetæ_, 1895, p. 132. For a contemporary report, see a Maltese paper, _Il Cartaginense_, April 17, 1805.]

[105] ["However, by great exertions of the chain-pumps, we _held our own_.... All who were not seamen by profession, had been employed in _thrumming a sail which was passed under the ship's bottom, and I thought_ had some effect....

"_The Centaur laboured so much_, that I _could scarce hope she would swim_ till morning: ... our sufferings _for want of water_ were very great....

"_The weather again threatened_, and by noon _it blew a storm_. The ship laboured greatly; _the water appeared in the fore and after-hold_. I was informed by the carpenter also that _the leathers_ were nearly consumed, and the _chains of the pumps_, by constant exertion, and friction of the coils, were rendered almost useless....

"At this period the carpenter acquainted me that the well was stove in.... and the chain-pumps displaced and totally useless.... Seeing their efforts useless, many of them [the people] burst into tears, and wept like children....

"I perceived _the ship settling by the head._"--"Loss of the _Centaur_," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. pp. 45-49.]

{92}[bd] _'T is ugly dying in the Gulf of Lyons_.--[MS.]

{93}[106] [Byron may have had in mind the story of the half-inaudible vow of a monster wax candle, to be offered to St. Christopher of Paris, which Erasmus tells in his _Naufragium_. The passage is scored with a pencil-mark in his copy of the _Colloquies_.]

[107] [Stanza xliv. recalls Cardinal de Retz's description of the storm at sea in the Gulf of Lyons: "Everybody were at their prayers, or were confessing themselves.... The private captain of the galley caused, in the greatest height of the danger, _his embroidered coat and his red scarf_ to be brought to him, saying, that a true Spaniard ought to die bearing his King's Marks of distinction. He sat himself down in a great elbow chair, and with his foot struck a poor Neapolitan in the chops, who, not being able to stand upon the Coursey of the Galley, was crawling along, crying out aloud, _'Sennor Don Fernando, por l'amor de Dios, Confession.'_ The captain, when he struck him, said to him, _'Inimigo de Dios piedes Confession!'_ And as I was representing to him, that his inference was not right, he said that that old man gave offence to the whole galley. You can't imagine the horror of a great storm; you can as little imagine the Ridicule mixed with it. A Sicilian Observantine monk was preaching at the foot of the great mast, that St. Francis had appeared to him, and had assured him that we should not perish. I should never have done, should I undertake to describe all the ridiculous frights that are seen on these occasions."--_Memoirs of Cardinal de Retz_, 1723, iii. 353.]

{94}[108] ["Some appeared perfectly resigned, _went to their hammocks,_ and desired their messmates _to lash them in_; others were securing themselves to gratings and small rafts; but the most predominant idea was that _of putting on their best_ and _cleanest clothes_. The boats ... were got over the side."--"Loss of the _Centaur_," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 49, 50.]

[be] _Men will prove hungry, even when next perdition_.--[MS.]

{95}[109] ["Eight bags of rice, _six casks of water_, and a _small quantity of salted beef and pork_, were put into the long-boat, as provisions for the whole."--"Wreck of the _Sidney_, 1806," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 434.]

[110] ["The _yawl was stove_ alongside and sunk."--"Loss of the _Centaur_," _ibid._, iii. 50.]

[111] ["_One oar_ was erected for a _main-mast_, and the other broke to the breadth of the _blankets for a yard_."--"Loss of the _Duke William_ Transport, 1758," _ibid_., ii. 387.]

[bf] _Which being withdrawn, discloses but the frown_.--[MS. erased.]

[bg]
_Of one who hates us, so the night was shown_
_And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale_,
_And hopeless eyes, which o'er the deep alone_
_Gazed dim and desolate_----.--[MS.]

{96}[112] ["As _rafts_ had been mentioned by the carpenter, I thought it right _to make the attempt_.... It was impossible for any man to deceive himself with the hopes of being saved on a raft in such a sea."--"Loss of the _Centaur_," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 50. 51.]

[113] ["_Spars, booms, hencoops_, and _every thing_ buoyant, was therefore _cast loose_, that the men might have some chance to save themselves."--"Loss of the _Pandora_," ibid., iii. 197.]

[114] ["We had scarce quitted the ship, when she gave a heavy _lurch to port_, and _then went down, head foremost._"--"Loss of the _Lady Hobart_," ibid., iii. 378.]

[115] ["At this moment, one of the officers told the captain that she was going down.... and bidding him farewell, leapt overboard: ... the crew had just time to _leap overboard_, which they did, uttering _a most dreadful yell_."--"Loss of the _Pandora_," ibid., iii. 198.]

{98}[116] ["The boat, being fastened to the rigging, was no sooner cleared of the greatest part of the water, than a dog of mine came to me running along the gunwale. _I took him in_."--"Shipwreck of the Sloop _Betsy_, on the Coast of Dutch Guiana, August 5, 1756 (Philip Aubin, Commander)," _Remarkable Shipwrecks_, Hartford, 1813, p. 175.]

[117] [Qy. "My good Sir! when the sea runs very high this is the case, as _I know_, but if _my authority_ is not enough, see Bligh's account of his run to Timor, after being cut adrift by the mutineers headed by Christian."--[B.]

"Pray tell me who was the Lubber who put the query? surely not _you_, Hobhouse! We have both of us seen too much of the sea for that. You may rely on my using no nautical word not founded on authority, and no circumstances not grounded in reality."]

{99}[118] ["It blew a violent storm, and the sea ran very high, so that between the seas the sail was becalmed; and when _on the top of the sea, it was too much to have set_, but I was obliged to carry it, for we were now in very imminent danger and distress; _the sea curling over the stern_ of the boat, which obliged us _to bale with all our might_."--_A Narrative of the Mutiny of the Bounty_, by William Bligh, 1790, p. 23.]

[119] ["Before it was dark, _a blanket_ was discovered in the boat. This was immediately bent to one of the stretchers, and under it, _as a sail_, we scudded all night, in expectation of being _swallowed up by every wave._"--"Loss of the _Centaur_," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 52.]

[120] ["_The sun rose very fiery and red, a sure indication of a severe gale of wind_.--We could do nothing more than keep before the sea.--_I now served a tea-spoonful of rum to each person_, ... with a quarter of a bread-fruit, which was scarce eatable, for dinner."--_A Narrative, etc._, by W. Bligh, 1790, pp. 23, 24.]

{100}[121] ["[As] our lodgings were very miserable and confined, I had only in my power to remedy the latter defect, by putting ourselves _at watch and watch_; so that _one half_ always sat up, while the other half _lay down_ on the boat's bottom, with _nothing to cover us but the heavens."--A Narrative of the Mutiny of the Bounty_, by William Bligh, 1790, p. 28.]

[122] [For Byron's debts to Mrs. Massingberd, "Jew" King, etc., and for money raised on annuities, see _Letters_, 1898, ii. 174, note 2, and letter to Hanson, December 11, 1817, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 187, "The list of annuities sent by Mr. Kinnaird, including Jews and Sawbridge, amounts to twelve thousand eight hundred and some odd pounds."]

{101}[123] ["The third day we began to suffer exceedingly ... from hunger and thirst. I then seized my dog, and plunged the knife in his throat. We caught his blood in the hat, receiving in our hands and drinking what ran over; we afterwards drank in turn out of the hat, and felt ourselves refreshed."--"Shipwreck of the _Betsy_," _Remarkable Shipwrecks_, Hartford, 1813, p. 177.]

{102}[124] ["One day, when I was at home in my hut with my Indian dog, a party came to my door, and told me their necessities were such that they must eat the creature or starve. Though their plea was urgent, I could not help using some arguments to endeavour to dissuade them from killing him, as his faithful services and fondness deserved it at my hands; but, without weighing my arguments, they took him away by force and killed him.... Three weeks after that I was glad to make a meal of his paws and skin which, upon recollecting the spot where they had killed him, I found thrown aside and rotten."--_The Narrative of the Honourable John Byron, etc._, 1768, pp. 47, 48.]

{103}[125] [Being driven to distress for want of food, "they _soaked their shoes_, and two _hairy caps_ in water; and when sufficiently softened ate portions of the leather." But day after day having passed, and the cravings of hunger pressing hard upon them, they fell upon the horrible and dreadful expedient of eating each other; and in order to prevent any contention about who should become the food of the others, "they cast lots to determine the sufferer."--"Sufferings of the Crew of the _Thomas_ [Twelve Men in an Open Boat, 1797]," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii 356.]

[126] ["_The lots were drawn_: 'the captain, summoning all his strength, wrote upon slips of paper the name of each man, folded them up, put them into a hat, and shook them together. The crew, meanwhile, preserved _an awful silence_; each eye was fixed and each mouth open, while terror was strongly impressed upon every countenance.' The unhappy person, with manly fortitude, resigned himself to his miserable associates."--"Famine in the American Ship _Peggy_, 1765," _Remarkable Shipwrecks_, Hartford, 1813, pp. 358, 359.]

[127] ["_He requested to be bled to death, the surgeon_ being with them, and having _his case of instruments_ in his pocket when he quitted the vessel."--"Sufferings of the Crew of the _Thomas," Shipwrecks, etc._, 1812, iii. 357.]

{104}[128] ["Yet scarce was the vein divided when the operator, applying his own parched lips, _drank the stream as it flowed_, and his comrades anxiously watched the last breath of the victim, that they might prey upon his flesh."--_Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 357.]

[129] ["Those who indulged their cannibal appetite to excess speedily perished in _raging madness_," etc.--_Ibid_.]

{105}[130] ["Another expedient we had frequent recourse to, on finding it supplied our mouths with temporary moisture, was _chewing_ any substance we could find, generally a bit of canvas, or even _lead_."--"The Shipwreck of the _Juno_ on the Coast of Aracan," 1795, _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 270.]

[131] ["At noon, some noddies came so near to us that one of them was caught by hand.... I divided it into eighteen portions. In the evening we saw several _boobies_."--_A Narrative of the Mutiny of the Bounty_, by William Bligh, 1790, p. 41.]

[132]

["Quand' ebbe detto ciò, con gli occhi torti
Riprese il teschio misero coi denti,
Che furo all' osso, come d'un can forti."

Dante, _Inferno_, canto xxxiii. lines 76-78.]

{106}[133] ["Whenever a heavy shower afforded us a few mouthfuls of fresh water, either by catching the drops as they fell or by squeezing them out of our clothes, it infused new life and vigour into us, and for a while we had almost forgot our misery."--_Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 270. Compare _The Island_, Canto I. stanza ix. lines 193, 194, _Poetical Works_, 1901, v. 595.]

[134] [Compare--

"With throats unslaked, with black lips baked."

_Ancient Mariner_, Part III. line 157.]

{107}[135] ["Mr. Wade's boy, a _stout healthy lad, died early_, and almost without a groan; while another, of the same age, but of a less promising appearance, held out much longer. Their fathers were both in the fore-top, when the boys were taken ill. [Wade], hearing of his son's illness, answered, with indifference, that _he could do nothing for him_, and left him to his fate."--"Narrative of the Shipwreck of the _Juno_, 1795," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 273.]

[136] ["_The other [Father]_ hurried down.... By that time only three or four planks of the quarter-deck remained, just over the quarter gallery. To this spot the unhappy man led his son, making him fast to the rail, to prevent his being washed away."--_Ibid_.]

[137] ["Whenever the _boy was seized_ with a fit of retching, the father lifted him up and _wiped away the foam from his lips_; and if a _shower came_, he made him open his mouth to _receive the drops_, or gently _squeezed them into it from a rag."--Ibid_.]

{108}[138] ["In this affecting situation both remained four or five days, till _the boy expired_. The unfortunate parent, as if unwilling to believe the fact, raised the body, looked _wistfully_ at it, and when he could no _longer entertain any doubt_, watched it in silence _until_ it was carried _off by sea_; then wrapping himself in a piece of canvas, _sunk down_, and rose no more; though he must have lived two days longer, as we judged from the _quivering of his limbs_ when a wave broke over him."--"Narrative of the Shipwreck of the _Juno_, 1795," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, p. 274.]

{109}[139] [_"About this time a beautiful white bird, web-footed, and not unlike a dove in size and plumage_, hovered over the mast-head of the cutter, and, notwithstanding the pitching of the boat, frequently _attempted to perch on it_, and continued _fluttering there till dark_. Trifling as such an incident may appear, we all considered it a _propitious omen_."--"Loss of the _Lady Hobart_, 1803," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 389.]

[140] ["I found it necessary to caution the people against being deceived by the _appearance of land_, or calling out till we were quite convinced of its reality, more especially as _fog-banks_ are often mistaken for land: several of the poor fellows nevertheless repeatedly exclaimed _they heard breakers_, and some the _firing of guns_."--"Loss of the _Lady Hobart," Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii. 391.]

{110}[141] ["_At length one of them broke out into a most immoderate swearing fit of joy_, which I could not restrain, and declared, that _he had never seen land in his life, if what he now saw was not so_."--"Loss of the _Centaur," ibid_., p. 55.]

[142] ["The joy at a speedy relief affected us all in a most remarkable way. Many _burst into tears; some looked at each other with a stupid stare, as if doubtful_ of the reality of what they saw; while several were in such a lethargic condition, that no animating words could rouse them to exertion. At this affecting period, I proposed offering up our solemn thanks to Heaven for the miraculous deliverance."--"Loss of the _Lady Hobart," ibid_., p. 391.]

[143] [After having suffered the horrors of hunger and thirst for many days, "they accidentally descried a _small_ turtle _floating on the surface of the water asleep_."--"Sufferings of the Crew of the _Thomas," ibid_., p. 356.]

{111}[144] ["An indifferent spectator would have been at a loss which most to admire; the eyes of famine sparkling at immediate relief, or the horror of their preservers at the sight of so many spectres, whose ghastly countenances, if the cause had been unknown, would rather have excited terror than pity. Our bodies were nothing but skin and bones, our limbs were full of sores, and we were clothed in rags."--_Narrative of the Mutiny of the Bounty_, by William Bligh, 1790, p. 80. Compare _The Siege of Corinth_, lines 1048, 1049, _Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 494, note 3.]

{112}[145] ["They discovered land _right ahead_, and steered for it. There being a very _heavy surf_, they endeavoured to turn the boat's head to it, which, from weakness, they were unable to accomplish, and soon afterwards _the boat upset_."--"Sufferings of Six Deserters from St. Helena, 1799," _Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea_, 1812, iii, 371.]

[146] [Compare lines "Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos," _Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 13, note 1; see, too, _Letters_, 1898, i. 262, 263, note 1.]

{114}[147] [Compare--

"How long in that same fit I lay
I have not to declare."

_The Ancient Mariner_, Part V. lines 393, 394.]

{115}[bh] ---- _in short she's one_.--[MS.]

{116}[bi]
_A set of humbug rascals, when all's done_--
_I've seen much finer women, ripe and real_,
_Than all the nonsense of their d----d ideal_.--[MS.]

[148] [Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza 1. lines 6-9, _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 366, note 1.]

[149] [Probably that "Alpha and Omega of Beauty," Lady Adelaide Forbes (daughter of George, sixth Earl of Granard), whom Byron compared to the Apollo Belvidere. See _Letters_, 1898, ii. 230, note 3.]

[150] ["The _saya_ or _basquiña_ ... the outer petticoat ... is always black, and is put over the indoor dress on going out." Compare Μελανείμονες ἅπαντες τὸ πλέον ἐν σάγοις, [Greek: Melanei/mones a(/pantes to\ ple/on e)n sa/gois,] Strabo, lib. iii. ed. 1807, i. 210. Ford's _Handbook for Spain_, 1855, i. 111.]

{117}[151] ["When Ajax, Ulysses, and Phoenix stand before Achilles, he rushes forth to greet them, brings them into the tent, directs Patroclus to mix the wine, cuts up the meat, dresses it, and sets it before the ambassadors." (_Iliad_, ix. 193, sq.)--_Study of the Classics_, by H.N. Coleridge, 1830, p, 71]

{119}[bj] _And such a bed of furs, and a pelisse_.--[MS.]

{120}[bk]
---- _which often spread_,
_And come like opening Hell upon the mind_,
_No "baseless fabric" but "a wrack behind."_--[MS.]

{121}[bl]
_Had e'er escaped more dangers on the deep_;--
_And those who are not drowned, at least may sleep_.--[MS.]

[152] [Entitled "_A Narrative of the Honourable John Byron_ (Commodore in a late expedition round the world), containing an account of the great distresses suffered by himself and his companions on the coast of Patagonia, from the year 1740, till their arrival in England, 1746. Written by Himself," London, 1768, 40. For the Hon. John Byron, 1723-86, younger brother of William, fifth Lord Byron, see _Letters_, 1898, i. 3.]

[bm] _Wore for a husband--or some such like brute_.--[MS.]

[bn]
---- _although of late_
_I've changed, for some few years, the day to night_.--[MS.]

[153] [The second canto of _Don Juan_ was finished in January, 1819, when the Venetian Carnival was at its height.]