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How I have treated it, I do not know-
Perhaps no better than they have treated me
Who have imputed such designs as show,

Not what they saw, but what they wish'd to see;
But if it gives them pleasure, be it so,-

This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free:
Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear,
And tells me to resume my story here.


Young Juan and his lady-love were left

To their own hearts' most sweet society; Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft

With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms; he
Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft,

Though foe to love; and yet they could not be
Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring,
Before one charm or hope had taken wing.


Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their
Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail;
The blank gray was not made to blast their hair,
But, like the climes that know nor snow nor hail,
They were all summer: lightning might assail
And shiver them to ashes, but to trail
A long and snake-like life of dull decay
Was not for them-they had too little clay.


They were alone once more; for them to be
Thus was another Eden; they were never
Weary, unless when separate the tree

Cut from its forest root of years-the river
Damm'd from its fountain-the child from the knee
And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever,
Would wither less than these two torn apart;
Alas! there is no instinct like the heart-


The heart-which may be broken: happy they!
Thrice fortunate! who, of that fragile mould,
The precious porcelain of human clay,

Break with the first fall: they can ne'er behold
The long year link'd with heavy day on day,

And all which must be borne, and never told; While life's strange principle will often lie Deepest in those who long the most to die.


"Whom the gods love die young," was said of yore,' And many deaths do they escape by this:


The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,

The least glance better understood than words,
Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much;

A language, too, but like to that of birds,
Known but to them, at least appearing such

As but to lovers a true sense affords;
Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd
To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard


All these were theirs, for they were children still,
And children still they should have ever been;
They were not made in the real world to fill
A busy character in the dull scene;
But like two beings born from out a rill,
A nymph and her beloved, all unseen
To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers,
And never know the weight of human hours.

Moons changing had roll'd on, and changeless found
Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys
As rarely they beheld throughout their round:
And these were not of the vain kind which cloys;
For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound

By the mere senses; and that which destroys
Most love, possession, unto them appear'd
A thing which each endearment more endear'd.

Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful!

But theirs was love in which the mind delights
To lose itself, when the whole world grows dull,
And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights,
Intrigues, adventures of the common school,

Its petty passions, marriages, and fights,
Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet more,
Whose husband only knows her not a wh-re.

Hard words; harsh truth; a truth which many know.
Enough.-The faithful and the fairy pair,
Who never found a single hour too slow,
What was it made them thus exempt from care?
Young innate feelings all have felt below,

Which perish in the rest, but in them were
Inherent; what we mortals call romantic,
And always envy, though we deem it frantic.

This is in others a factitious state,

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, Except mere breath; and since the silent shore

Awaits at last even those whom longest miss The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save. XIII.

Haidee and Juan thought not of the dead;

The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made for them: They found no fault with time, save that he fled; They saw not in themselves aught to condemn : Each was the other's mirror, and but read

Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gcm, And knew such brightness was but the reflection Of their exchanging glances of affection.

No novels e'er had set their young hearts bleeding,
For Haidee's knowledge was by no means great,
And Juan was a boy of saintly breeding,
So that there was no reason for their loves,
More than for those of nightingales or doves.


They gazed upon the sunset; 't is an hour
Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
For it had made them what they were: the power
Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies,
When happiness had been their only dower,

And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties ;
Charm'd with each other, all things charm'd that brought
The past still welcome as the present thought.


I know not why, but in that hour to-night,
Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came,
And swept, as 't were, across their hearts' delight,
Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame,
When one is shook in sound, and one in sight;
And thus some boding flash'd through either frame,
And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh,
While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye.


That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate
And follow far the disappearing sun,
As if their last day of a happy date

With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone; Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate

He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none, His glance inquired of hers for some excuse For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse. XXIII.

She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort
Which makes not others smile; then turn'd aside:
Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,

And master'd by her wisdom or her pride;
When Juan spoke, too-it might be in sport-
Of this their mutual feeling, she replied-
"If it should be so,-but-it cannot be-
Or I at least snall not survive to see."

Juan would question further, but she press'd
His lips to hers, and silenced him with this,
And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast,

Defying augury with that fond kiss;
And no doubt of all methods 't is the best:

Some people prefer wine-'t is not amiss:

I have tried both; so those who would a part take May choose between the head-ache and the heart-ache.


One of the two, according to your choice,
Women or wine, you'll have to undergo;
Both maladies are taxes on our joys:

But which to choose I really hardly know;
And if I had to give a casting voice,

For both sides I could many reasons show, And then decide, without great wrong to either, It were much better to have both than neither. XXVI.

Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other,

With swimming looks of speechless tenderness,
Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother,
All that the best can mingle and express,
When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another,
And love too much, and yet can not love less;
But almost sanctify the sweet excess
By the immortal wish and power to bless.

Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart,
Why did they not then die ?-they had lived too long,
Should an hour come to bid then breathe apart;
Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong,
The world was not for them, nor the world's art
For beings passionate as Sappho's song;
Love was born with them, in them, so intense,
It was their very spirit-not a sense.


They should have lived together deep in woods,
Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were
Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes

Call'd social, where all vice and hatred are:
How lonely every freeborn creature broods!

The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair;
The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow
Flock o'er their carrion, just as mortals do.

Now pillow'd, cheek to cheek, in loving sleep,
Haidee and Juan their siesta took,

A gentle sluinber, but it was not deep,
For ever and anon a something shook
Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep;
And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd like a brook
A wordless music, and her face so fair

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

Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream

Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream, The mystical usurper of the mindO'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem

Good to the soul which we no more can bind; Strange state of being! (for 't is still to be) Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see.


She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore, Chain'd to a rock; she knew not how, but stir She could not from the spot, and the loud roar Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her; And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour,

Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.


Anon-she was released, and then she stray'd
O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet,
And stumbled almost every step she made;
And something roll'd before her in a sheet,
Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid;

'Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet
Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasp'd,
And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd.

The dream changed: in a cave she stood, its walls
Were hung with marble icicles; the work
Of ages on its water-fretted halls,

Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk;

Her hair was dripping, and the very balls

Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and mu The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught, Which froze to marble as it feli, she thought.


And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet,

Pale as the foam that froth'd on his dead brow, Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how sweet Were once her cares, how idle seem'd they now ') Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat

Of his quench'd heart; and the sea-dirges low Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song, And that brief dream appear'd a life too long.


And gazing on the dead, she thought his face
Faded, or alter'd into something new-
Lake to her father's features, till each trace

More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew-
With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace;
And starting, she awoke, and what to view!
Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there?
'Tis 't is her father's-fix'd upon the pair!


Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell,
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see
Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell
The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be
Perchance the death of one she loved too well;
Dear as her father had been to Haidee,
It was a moment of that awful kind-

I have seen such-but must not call to mind.


Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek,

And caught her falling, and from off the wall Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak Vengeance on him who was the cause of all: Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak, Smiled scornfully, and said, "Within my call A thousand scimitars await the word; Put up, young man, put up your silly sword." XXXVIII.

And Haidee clung around him; "Juan, 't is—
'Tis Lambro-'t is my father! Kneel with me-
He will forgive us-yes-it must be-yes.

Oh dearest father, in this agony
Of pleasure and of pain-even while I kiss

Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be That doubt should mingle with my filial joy? Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy." XXXIX.

High and inscrutable the old man stood,

Calm in his voice, and calm within his eyeNot always signs with him of calmest mood: He look'd upon her, but gave no reply; Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood Oft came and went, as there resolved to die; In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring.


"Young man, your sword;" so Lambro once more said:
Juan replied, "Not while this arm is free."
The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with dread,
And drawing from his belt a pistol, he
Replied, "Your blood be then on your own head."
Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see
'Twas fresh-for he had lately used the lock-
And next proceedea quietly to cock.


It has a strange quick jar upon the ear,

That cocking of a pistol, when you know A moment more will bring the sight to bear Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so; A gentlemanly distance, not too near,

If you have got a former friend for foe; But after being fired at once or twice, The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.


Lambro presented, and one instant more
Had stopp'd this canto, and Don Juan's breath,
When Haidee threw herself her boy before,

Stern as her sire: "On me," she cried, "let death Descend-the fault is mine; this fatal shore

He found-but sought not. I have pledged my faith; I love him-I will die with him: I knew Your nature's firmness-know your daughter's too."


A minute past, and she had been all tears,
And tenderness, and infancy: but now
She stood as one who champion'd human fears-
Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the blow;
And tall beyond her sex and their compeers,
She drew up to her height, as if to show
A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd
Her father's face-but never stopp'd his hand.

He gazed on her, and she on him; 't was strange
How like they look'd! the expression was the same;
Serenely savage, with a little change

In the large dark eye's mutual-darted flame; For she too was as one who could avenge,

If cause should be-a lioness, though tame:
Her father's blood before her father's face
Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race.

I said they were alike, their features and
Their stature differing but in sex and years;
Even to the delicacy of their hands

There was resemblance, such as true blood wears;
And now to see them, thus divided, stand
In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears,
And sweet sensations, should have welcomed both,
Show what the passions are in their full growth.

The father paused a moment, then withdrew

His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still,
And looking on her, as to look her through,
"Not I," he said, "have sought this stranger's ill;
Not I have made this desolation: few

Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill;
But I must do my duty-how thou hast
Done thine, the present vouches for the past.

"Let him disarm; or, by my father's head,

His own shall roll before you like a ball!" He raised his whistle, as the word he said, And blew; another answer'd to the call, And rushing in disorderly, though led,

And arm'd from boot to turban, one and all, Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; He gave the word, "Arrest or slay the Frank."


Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew His daughter; while compress'd within his grasp, "Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew;

In vain she struggled in her father's grasp,-
His arms were like a serpent's coil: then flew
Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp,

The file of pirates; save the foremost, who
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 red-
One 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 them 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 least 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 nymphs, 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. LIV.

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. LV.

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 force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. LVII.

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 o 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 fell'd.


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 summon'd handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;

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


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. LXI.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows

When exquisitely chisell'd, 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,
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why,
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
Not speechless, though she spoke not: not a sigh
Reveal'd her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;
Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away;
She recognised no being, and no spot,

However dear or cherish'd in their day;
They changed from room to room, but all forgot,
Gentle, but without memory, she lay;

And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Back to old thoughts, seem'd full of fearful meaning. LXV.

At last a slave bethought her of a harp;

The harper came, and tuned his instrument; At the first notes, irregular and sharp,

On him her flashing eyes a moment bent,
Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp
Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent,
And he began a long low island song

Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.

Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall

In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of love-the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream Of what she was, and is, if ye could call To be so being; in a gushing stream

The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain,
Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.

Short solace, vain relief!-thought came too quick,
And whirl'd her brain to madness; she arose
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
And flew at all she met, as on her foes;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,
Although her paroxysm drew towards its close:
Hers was a frenzy which disdain'd to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.

Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense;

Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Though on all other things with looks intense

She gazed, but none she ever could retrace;
Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
Avail'd for either; neither change of place,
Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her
Senses to sleep-the power seem'd gone for ever.

Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last,
Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show
A parting pang, the spirit from her pass'd:

And they who watch'd her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast

Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes-the beautiful, the blackOh' possess such lustre-and then lack!


She died, but not alone; she held within
A second principle of life, which might
Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin :
But closed its little being without light,
And went down to the grave unborn, wherein
Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one blight;
In vain the dews of heaven descend above
The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.

Thus lived-thus died she: never more on her,
Shall sorrow light or shame. She was not made
Through years or moons the inner weight to bear,
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By age in earth; her days and pleasures were
Brief, but delightful-such as had not stay'd
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell.

That isle is now all desolate and bare,

Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away, None but her own and father's grave is there, And nothing outward tells of human clay: Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair,

No stone is there to show, no tongue to say What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's, Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.


But many a Greek maid in a loving song

Sighs o'er her name, and many an islander With her sire's story makes the night less long; Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her; If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrongA heavy price must all pay who thus err, In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, For soon or late Love is his own avenger.


But let me change this theme, which grows too sad,
And lay this sheet of sorrow on the shelf;

I don't much like describing people mad,
For fear of seeming rather touch'd myself-
Besides, I've no more on this head to add:
And as my Muse is a capricious elf,
We'll put about and try another tack
With Juan, left half-kill'd some stanzas back.

Wounded and fetter'd, "cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,"
Some days and nights elapsed before that he
Could altogether call the past to mind;

And when he did, he found himself at sea, Sailing six knots an hour before the wind;

The shores of Ilion lay beneath their leeAnother time he might have liked to see 'em, But now was not much pleased with Cape Sigæum. LXXVI. There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is (Flank'd by the Hellespont and by the sea) Entomb'd the bravest of the brave, Achilles: They say so-(Bryant says the contrary): And further downward, tall and towering, still is The tumulus-of whom? Heaven knows; 't may be Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus,

All heroes, who if living still would slay us.

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