(A hollow archway by the sun unseen,
Save through the billows' glassy veil of green,
In some transparent ocean holiday,
When all the finny people are at play,)
Wiped with her hair the brine from Torquil's eyes,
And clapp'd her hands with joy at his surprise;
Led him to where the rock appear'd to jut,
And form a something like a Triton's hut;
For all was darkness for a space, till day,
Through clefts above let in a sober'd ray;
As in some old cathedral's glimmering aisle
The dusty monuments from light recoil,
Thus sadly in their refuge submarine

The vault drew half her shadow from the scene

VII.

Forth from her bosom the young savage drew
A pine-torch, strongly girded with gnatoo;
A plantain-leaf o'er all, the more to keep
Its latent sparkle from the sapping deep.
This mantle kept it dry; then from a nook
Of the same plantain-leaf a flint she took,

A few shrunk wither'd twigs, and from the blade
Of Torquil's knife struck fire, and thus array'd
The grot with torchlight. Wide it was and high,
And show'd a self-born Gothic canopy;
The arch uprear'd by nature's architect,
The architrave some earthquake might erect;
The buttress from some mountain's bosom hurl'd,
When the poles crash'd, and water was the world;
Or harden'd from some earth-absorbing fire,
While yet the globe reek'd from its funeral pyre;
The fretted pinnacle, the aisle, the nave, (1)
Were there, all scoop'd by Darkness from her cave.
There, with a little tinge of fantasy,
Fantastic faces mop'd and mow'd on high,
And then a mitre or a shrine would fix
The eye upon its seeming crucifix:

thought, to go into this cavern and drink cava. Mr. Mariner was not with them at the time this proposal was made; but happening to come down a little while after to the shore, and seeing some of the young chiefs diving into the water one after another, and not rise again, he was a little surprised, and inquired of the last, who was just preparing to take the same step, what they were about! "Follow me," said he, "and I will take you where you have never been before; and where Finow, and his chiefs and matabooles, are now assembled." Mr. Mariner, without any further hesitation, prepared himself to follow his companion, who dived into the water, and he after him, and, guided by the light reflected from his heels, entered the opening in the rock, and rose into the cavern. He was no sooner above the surface of the water than, sure enough! he heard the voices of the king and his friends; being directed by his guide, he climbed upon a jutting portion of rock and sat down. The light was sufficient, after remaining about five minutes, to show objects with some little distinctness; and he could discover Finow and the rest of the company seated, like himself, round the cavern. Nevertheless, as it was desirable to have a stronger illumination, Mr. Mariner dived out again, and procuring his pistol, primed it well, tied plenty of gnatoo tight round it, and wrapped the whole up in a plantain-leaf; he directed an attendant to bring a torch in the same way. Thus prepared, he re-entered the cavern, unwrapped the gnatoo, a great portion of which was perfectly dry, fired it by the flash of the powder, and lighted the torch. The place was now illuminated tolerably well, for the first time, perhaps, since its existence. It appeared (by guess) to be about forty feet wide in the main part, but which branched off, on one side, in two narrower portions. The medium height seemed also about forty feet. The roof was hung with stalactites in a very curious way, resembling, upon a cursory view, the Gothic arches and ornaments of an old church. After having exa

Thus Nature play'd with the stalactites, And built herself a chapel of the seas.

VIII.

And Neuha took her Torquil by the hand,
And waved along the vault her kindled brand,
And led him into each recess, and show'd
The secret places of their new abode.
Nor these alone, for all had been prepared
Before, to soothe the lover's lot she shared:
The mat for rest; for dress the fresh gnatoo,
And sandal-oil to fence against the dew;
For food the cocoa-nut, the yam, the bread
Borne of the fruit; for board the plantain spread
With its broad leaf, or turtle-shell which bore
A banquet in the flesh it cover'd o'er;
The gourd with water recent from the rill,
The ripe banana from the mellow hill;
A pine-torch pile to keep undying light,
And she herself, as beautiful as night,
To fling her shadowy spirit o'er the scene,
And make their subterranean world serene.
She had foreseen, since first the stranger's sail
Drew to their isle, that force or flight might fail,
And form'd a refuge of the rocky den
For Torquil's safety from his countrymen.
Each dawn had wafted there her light canoe,
Laden with all the golden fruits that grew;
Each eve had seen her gliding through the hour
With all could cheer or deck their sparry bower;
And now she spread her little store with smiles,
The happiest daughter of the loving isles.

IX.

She, as he gazed with grateful wonder, press'd
Her shelter'd love to her impassion'd breast;
And, suited to her soft caresses, told
An olden tale of love,-for love is old,

mined the place, they drank cava, and passed away the time in conversation upon different subjects." The account proceeds to state that the mode in which the cavern was discovered, and the interesting use made of the retreat by the young chief who found it out, were related by one of the matabooles present. According to his statement, the entire family of a certain chief had been in former times condemned to death in consequence of his conspiring against a tyrannical governor of the island. One of the devoted family was a beautiful daughter, to whom the young chief who had accidentally discovered the cave had long been ardently attached. On learning her danger, he be thought himself of this retreat, to which he easily persuaded her to accompany him, and she remained concealed within it, occasionally enjoying the society of her lover, until he was enabled to carry her off to the Fiji islands, where they remained until the death of the governor enabled them to return. The only part of this romantic tale which seemed very improbable was the length of time which the girl was said to have remained in the cavern, two or three months. To ascertain whether this was possible, Mr. Mariner examined every part of it, but without discovering any opening. If the story be true, in all likelihood the duration of her stay in the cavern was not much more than one fourth of the time mentioned; as the space would not contain a quantity of air sufficient for the respiration of an individual for a longer period.-P. E.]

(1) This may seem too minute for the general outline (in Mariner's Account) from which it is taken. But few men have travelled without seeing something of the kind-on land, that is. Without adverting to Ellora, in Mungo Park' last journal, he mentions having met with a rock or moun tain so exactly resembling a Gothic cathedral, that only minute inspection could convince him that it was a work of nature.

Old as eternity, but not outworn

With each new being born or to be born:(1)
How a young chief, a thousand moons ago,
Diving for turtle in the depths below,
Had risen, in tracking fast his ocean prey,
luto the cave which round and o'er them lay;
How in some desperate feud of after-time
He shelter'd there a daughter of the clime,
A foe beloved, and offspring of a foe,
Saved by his tribe but for a captive's woe;
How, when the storm of war was still'd, he led
His island clan to where the waters spread
Their deep-green shadow o'er the rocky door,
Then dived-it seem'd as if to rise no more:
His wondering mates, amazed within their bark,
Or deem'd him mad, or prey to the blue shark;
Row'd round in sorrow the sea-girded rock,
Then paused upon their paddles from the shock;
When, fresh and springing from the deep, they saw
A goddess rise-so deem'd they in their awe;
And their companion, glorious by her side,
Proud and exulting in his mermaid bride;
And how, when undeceived, the pair they bore
With sounding conchs and joyous shouts to shore;
How they had gladly lived and calmly died,-
And why not also Torquil and his bride?
Not mine to tell the rapturous caress
Which follow'd wildly in that wild recess
This tale; enough that all within that cave
Was love, though buried strong as in the grave
Where Abelard, through twenty years of death,
When Eloisa's form was lower'd beneath
Their nuptial vault, his arms outstretch'd, and press'd
The kindling ashes to his kindled breast. (2)
The waves without sang round their couch, their roar
As much unheeded as if life were o'er;
Within, their hearts made all their harmony,
Love's broken murmur and more broken sigh.

X.

And they, the cause and sharers of the shock
Which left them exiles of the hollow rock,
Where were they? O'er the sea for life they plied,
To seek from Heaven the shelter men denied.
Another course had been their choice-but where?
The wave which bore them still their foes would bear,
Who, disappointed of their former chase,
In search of Christian now renew'd their race.
Eager with anger, their strong arms made way,
Like vultures baffled of their previous prey.
They gain'd upon them, all whose safety lay
In some bleak crag or deeply-hidden bay:
No further chance or choice remain'd; and right
For the first further rock which met their sight
They steer'd, to take their latest view of land,
And yield as victims, or die sword in hand;
Dismiss'd the natives and their shallop, who
Would still have battled for that scanty crew;
But Christian bade them seek their shore again,
Nor add a sacrifice which were in vain;
For what were simple bow and savage spear
Against the arms which must be wielded here?

(1) The reader will recollect the epigram of the Greek anthology, or its translation into most of the modern languages:

"Whoe'er thou art, thy master see-
He was, or is, or is to be."

XI.

They landed on a wild but narrow scene,
Where few but Nature's footsteps yet had been;
Prepared their arms, and with that gloomy eye,
Stern and sustain'd, of man's extremity,
When hope is gone, nor glory's self remains
To cheer resistance against death or chains,-
They stood, the three, as the three hundred stood
Who dyed Thermopyla with holy blood.
But, ah! how different! 'tis the cause makes all,
Degrades or hallows courage in its fall.
O'er them no fame, eternal and intense,
Blazed through the clouds of death and beckon'd hence;
No grateful country, smiling through her tears,
Began the praises of a thousand years;

No nation's eyes would on their tomb be bent,
No heroes envy them their monument;
However boldly their warm blood was spilt,
Their life was shame, their epitaph was guilt.
And this they knew and felt, at least the one,
The leader of the band he had undone;
Who, born perchance for better things, had set
His life upon a cast which linger'd yet:
But now the die was to be thrown, and all
The chances were in favour of his fall:
And such a fall! But still he faced the shock,
Obdurate as a portion of the rock
Whereon he stood, and fix'd his levell'd gun,
Dark as a sullen cloud before the sun.

XII.

The boat drew nigh, well arm'd, and firm the crew
To act whatever duty bade them do;
Careless of danger, as the onward wind
Is of the leaves it strews, nor looks behind.
And yet perhaps they rather wish'd to go
Against a nation's than a native foe,
And felt that this poor victim of self-will,
Briton no more, had once been Britain's still.
They hail'd him to surrender-no reply;
Their arms were poised, and glitter'd in the sky.
They hail'd again-no answer; yet once more
They offer'd quarter louder than before.
The echoes only, from the rock's rebound,
Took their last farewell of the dying sound.
Then flash'd the flint, and blazed the volleying flame,
And the smoke rose between them and their aim,
While the rock rattled with the bullets' knell,
Which peal'd in vain, and flatten'd as they fell;
Then flew the only answer to be given

By those who had lost all hope in earth or heaven.
After the first fierce peal, as they pull'd nigher,
They heard the voice of Christian shout, "Now, fire!"
And, ere the word upon the echo died,

Two fell; the rest assail'd the rock's rough side,
And, furious at the madness of their foes,
Disdain'd all further efforts, save to close.
But steep the crag, and all without a path,
Each step opposed a bastion to their wrath,
While, placed 'midst clefts the least accessible,
Which Christian's eye was train'd to mark full well,

(2) The tradition is attached to the story of Eloisa, that when her body was lowered into the grave of Abelard (who had been buried twenty years), he opened his arms to receive her.

The three maintain'd a strife which must not yield,
In spots where eagles might have chosen to build.
Their every shot told; while the assailant fell,
Dash'd on the shingles like the limpet-shell ;
But still enough survived, and mounted still,
Scattering their numbers here and there, until
Surrounded and commanded, though not nigh
Enough for seizure, near enough to die,
The desperate trio held aloof their fate

But calm and careless heaved the wave below,
Eternal, with unsympathetic flow;

Far o'er its face the dolphins sported on,
And sprung the flying-fish against the sun,
Till its dried wing relapsed from its brief height,
To gather moisture for another flight.

XIV.

'Twas morn; and Neuha, who by dawn of day

And not a groan inform'd their foes who fell.

Christian died last-twice wounded; and once more
Mercy was offer'd when they saw his gore;
Too late for life, but not too late to die,
With, though a hostile hand, to close his eye.
A limb was broken, and he droop'd along
The crag, as doth a falcon reft of young.
The sound revived him, or appear'd to wake
Some passion which a weakly gesture spake:
He beckon'd to the foremost, who drew nigh,
But, as they near'd, he rear'd his weapon high-
His last ball had been aim'd, but from his breast
He tore the topmost button from his vest, (1)
Down the tube dash'd it, levell'd, fired, and smiled
As his foe fell; then, like a serpent, coil'd
His wounded weary form, to where the steep
Look'd desperate as himself along the deep;
Cast one glance back, and clench'd his hand, and shook
His last rage 'gainst the earth which he forsook;
Then plunged the rock below received like glass
His body crush'd into one gory mass,
With scarce a shred to tell of human form,
Or fragment for the sea-bird or the worm;

:

A fair-hair'd scalp, besmear'd with blood and weeds,
Yet reek'd, the remnant of himself and deeds;
Some splinters of his weapons (to the last,
As long as hand could hold, he held them fast)
Yet glitter'd, but at distance-hurl'd away
To rust beneath the dew and dashing spray.
The rest was nothing-save a life mis-spent,
And soul-but who shall answer where it went?
'Tis ours to bear, not judge the dead; and they
Who doom to hell, themselves are on the way:
Unless these bullies of eternal pains

Are pardon'd their bad hearts for their worse brains.

XIII.

The deed was over! All were gone or ta'en,
The fugitive, the captive, or the slain.
Chain'd on the deck, where once, a gallant crew,
They stood with honour, were the wretched few
Survivors of the skirmish on the isle;
But the last rock left no surviving spoil.
Cold lay they where they fell, and weltering,
While o'er them flapp'd the sea-birds' dewy wing,
Now wheeling nearer from the neighbouring surge,
And screaming high their harsh and hungry dirge:

(1) In Thibault's account of Frederic the Second of Prus sia, there is a singular relation of a young Frenchman, who with his mistress appeared to be of some rank. He enlisted and deserted at Schweidnitz; and after a desperate resistance was retaken, having killed an officer, who attempted to seize him after he was wounded, by the discharge of his musket loaded with a button of his uniform. Some circumstances on his court-martial raised a great interest amongst his judges, who wished to discover his real situation in life, which he offered to disclose, but to the king only, to whom he requested permission to write. This was refused, and

And watch if aught approach'd the amphibious lair
Where lay her lover, saw a sail in air:

It flapp'd, it fill'd, and to the growing gale
Bent its broad arch: her breath began to fail
With fluttering fear, her heart beat thick and high,
While yet a doubt sprung where its course might lie:
But no! it came not; fast and far away

The shadow lessen'd as it clear'd the bay.

all was joy!

She gazed, and flung the sea-foam from her eyes,
To watch as for a rainbow in the skies.
On the horizon verged the distant deck,
Diminish'd, dwindled to a very speck-
Then vanish'd. All was ocean,
Down plunged she through the cave to rouse her boy;
Told all she had seen, and all she hoped, and all
That happy love could augur or recall;
Sprung forth again, with Torquil, following free
His bounding nereid over the broad sea;
Swam round the rock, to where a shallow cleft
Hid the canoe that Neuha there had left
Drifting along the tide, without an oar,
That eve the strangers chased them from the shore;
But when these vanish'd, she pursued her prow,
Regain'd, and urged to where they found it now:
Nor ever did more love and joy embark,
Than now were wafted in that slender ark.

XV.

Again their own shore rises on the view,
No more polluted with a hostile hue;
No sullen ship lay bristling o'er the foam,
A floating dungeon:-all was hope and home!
A thousand proas darted o'er the bay,
With sounding shells, and heralded their way;
The chiefs came down, around the people pour'd,
And welcomed Torquil as a son restored;
The women throng'd embracing and embraced
By Neuha, asking where they had been chased,
And how escaped? The tale was told; and then
One acclamation rent the sky again;
And from that hour a new tradition gave
Their sanctuary the name of "Neuha's Cave."
A hundred fires, far-flickering from the height,
Blazed o'er the general revel of the night,
The feast in honour of the guest, return'd
To peace and pleasure, perilously earn'd;
A night succeeded by such happy days
As only the yet infant world displays. (2)

Frederic was filled with the greatest indignation, from baffled curiosity or some other motive, when he understood that his request had been denied.

(2) "Byron! the sorcerer! He can do with me according to his will. If it is to throw me headlong upon a desert island; if it is to place me on the summit of a dizzy cliffhis power is the same. I wish he had a friend or a servant, appointed to the office of the slave who was to knock every morning at the chamber-door of Philip of Macedon, and re mind him he was mortal." Dr. Parr.-L. E.

DEDICATION.

I.

BOB SOUTHEY! You're a poet-Poet-laureate,
And representative of all the race,
Although 'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory at
Last,-yours has lately been a common case:
And now, my Epic Renegade! what are ye at?
With all the Lakers, in and out of place?

(I) The first and second Cantos of Don Juan, were written at Venice in 1818, and published in July, 1819, without name either of author or bookseller; the third, fourth, and fifth, were written at Ravenna, in 1819 and 1821, and published in August of the latter year, still anonymously; the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh, were written at Pisa, in 1822 and 1823, and published in July and August of the latter year; and the remaining five were written at Genoa, in 1823, and published in November 1823 and March 1824. A Dedication, and several stanzas, hitherto suppressed, are now given in their proper places; and from two separate MSS. of the poet many curious various readings have been supplied.

In the notes to the Shipwreck in Canto II. we have endeavoured to trace minutely the authorities which the poet had before him when composing that extraordinary description.

Lord Byron's temporary suspension of the poem when he had finished Canto V., and the circumstances under which he resumed a very favourite plan twelve months afterwards, are explained in the note introductory to Canto VI.

The extracts now appended to the Siege, in Cantos VII. and VIII. will, it is presumed, interest and perhaps surprise many readers. It will be seen that, throughout this powerful picture, the poet has relied on a literal transcript of recorded facts, with precisely the same feelings which had produced the terrible verisimilitude of his Shipwreck in Canto II.; and it must please every one to know that those traits of graceful humanity, with which Don Juan's personal conduct is made to relieve the horrors of a Russian sack, are only a faithful copy of what was done in the moment of victory at Ismael, by a real "preux chevalier," the Duke of Richelieu.

Such additional particulars, respecting the production of the later Cantos, as may seem to deserve preservation, are given as the poem proceeds, as also some of the most strik ing passages of the poet's own letters with reference to this performance; and in an Appendix, at the end of the poem, will be found a selection of the principal Testimonies of authors and reviewers, elicited by the first publication of Don Juan, together with two prose pieces referring thereto, one of which had not before been published.

• PLUTARCH.

"I am Caius Martius, who hath done to thy selfe particularly, and to all the Volsces generally, great hurt and mischiefe, which I cannot denie for my surname of Coriolanus that I beare. For I never had other benefit nor recompense of the true and painfull service I have done, and the extreme dangers I have bene in, but this onely surname; a good memorie and witnesse of the malice and displeasure thou shouldest bear me. Indeed, the name only remaineth with me: for the rest, the envie and crueltie of the people of Rome have taken from me, by the sufferance of the dastardly nobilitie and magistrates, tho have forsaken me, and let me be banished by the people. That

A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye
Like "four-and-twenty Blackbirds in a pie;

II.

"Which pie being open'd they began to sing" (This old song and new simile holds good), "A dainty dish to set before the king,"

Or Regent, who admires such kind of food;And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing, But like a hawk encumber'd with his hood,

"In the year 1799, while Lord Byron was the pupil of Dr. Glennie, at Dulwich, among the books that lay acces sible to the boys was a pamphlet, entitled Narrative of the Shipwreck of the Juno on the Coast of Arracan, in the Year 1795. The pamphlet attracted but little public attention; but, among the young students of Dulwich Grove it was a favourite study; and the impression which it left on the retentive mind of Byron may have had some share, perhaps, in suggesting that curious research through all the various accounts of Shipwrecks upon record, by which he prepared himself to depict, with such power, a scene of the same description in Don Juan..... As to the charge of plagiarism brought against him by some scribblers of the day, for so doing, with as much justice might the Italian author, who wrote a Discourse on the Military Science displayed by Tasso in his battles, have reproached that poet with the sources from which he drew his knowledge;-with as much justice might Puysegur and Segrais, who have pointed out the same merit in Homer and Virgil, have withheld their praise, because the science on which this merit was founded, must have been derived by the skill and industry of these poets from others. So little was Tasso ashamed of those casual imitations of other poets which are so often branded as plagiarisms, that, in his Commentary on his Rime, he takes pains to point out whatever coincidences of this kind occur in his own verses."- Moore.

"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."-Lord B. to Mr. Murray.

"Of late, some persons have been nibbling at the reputation of Lord Byron, by charging him with plagiarism. There is a curious charge of this kind lately published, which redounds, in reality, to the noble author's credit. Every one who has looked into the sources from which Shakspeare took the stories of his plays, must know that, in Julius Cæsar and Coriolanus, he has taken whole dialogues, with remarkable exactness, from North's translation of Plutarch.* Now, it is that very circumstance which im. presses those plays with the stamp of antique reality, which the general knowledge of the poet could not have enabled him to communicate to them." Times.-L. E.

extremetie hath now driven me to come as a poor suter, to take thy chimnie harth; not of any hope I have to save my life thereby, for if I had feared death, I would not have come hither to put my self in hazard."

SHAKSPEARE.

My name is Caius Martius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces,
Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may
My surname, Coriolanus The painful service,
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood