CX.

Baba, who knew by experience when to talk
And when to hold his tongue, now held it till
This passion might blow o'er, nor dar'd to balk
Gulbeyaz' taciturn or speaking will.

At length she rose up and began to walk
Slowly along the room, but silent still,

And her brow clear'd, but not her troubled eye;

The wind was down, but still the sea ran high.

CXI.

110

She stopp'd, and rais'd her head to speak-but paus'd, 111 And then mov'd on again with rapid pace;

Then slacken'd it, which is the march most caus'd

By deep emotion:-you may sometimes trace

A feeling in each footstep, as disclos'd

By Sallust in his Catiline, who, chas'd

By all the demons of all passions, show'd
Their work even by the way in which he trode.

CXII.

Gulbeyaz stopp'd, and beckon'd Baba:-"Slave!
Bring the two slaves!" she said in a low tone,
But one which Baba did not like to brave,

And yet he shudder'd, and seem'd rather prone
To prove reluctant, and begg'd leave to crave
(Though he well knew the meaning) to be shown
What slaves her highness wish'd to indicate,
For fear of any error, like the late.

CXIII.

"The Georgian and her paramour," replied
The imperial bride-and added, "Let the boat

Be ready by the secret portal's side.

You know the rest." The words stuck in her throat, Despite her injur'd love and fiery pride;

And of this Baba willingly took note,

And begg'd, by every hair of Mahomet's beard,
She would revoke the order he had heard,

CXIV.

"To hear is to obey," he said; "but still, Sultana, think upon the consequence;

It is not that I shall not all fulfil

Your orders, even in their severest sense; But such precipitation may end ill,

Even at your own imperative expense: I do not mean destruction and exposure, In case of any premature disclosure:

112

113

114

CXV.

115

"But your own feelings. Even should all the rest Be hidden by the rolling waves, which hide Already many a once love-beaten breast

Deep in the caverns of the deadly tideYou love this boyish, new, seraglio guest, And if this violent remedy be triedExcuse my freedom, when I here assure you That killing him is not the way to cure you."

CXVI.

"What dost thou know of love or feeling ?-Wretch! 116
Begone!" she cried, with kindling eyes-" and do
My bidding!" Baba vanish'd, for to stretch
His own remonstrance further, he well knew
Might end in acting as his own" Jack Ketch;"
And though he wish'd extremely to get through
This awkward business without harm to others,
He still preferr'd his own neck to another's.

CXVII.

Away he went then upon his commission,
Growling and grumbling, in good Turkish phrase,
Against all women of whate'er condition,
Especially sultanas and their ways;
Their obstinacy, pride, and indecision,

Their never knowing their own mind two days,
The trouble that they gave, their immorality,
Which made him daily bless his own neutrality.

CXVIII.

And then he call'd his brethren to his aid,
And sent one on a summons to the pair,
That they must instantly be well array'd,
And above all be comb'd even to a hair,
And brought before the empress, who had made
Inquiries after them with kindest care;
At which Dudu look'd strange, and Juan silly;
But go they must at once, and will I-nill I.

CXIX.

And here I leave them at their preparation
For the imperial presence, wherein whether
Gulbeyaz show'd them both commiseration,
Or got rid of the parties altogether,
Like other angry ladies of her nation,-

Are things the turning of a hair or feather
May settle: but far be 't from me to anticipate
In what way feminine caprice may dissipate.

117

118

119

CXX.

I leave them for the present with good wishes,
Though doubts of their well doing, to arrange
Another part of history; for the dishes

Of this our banquet we must sometimes change;
And trusting Juau may escape the fishes,

Although his situation now seems strange, And scarce secure, as such digressions are fair, The Muse will take a little touch at warfare.

120

Don Juan.

CANTO THE SEVENTH.

I.

O LOVE! O Glory! what are ye who fly
Around us ever, rarely to alight?
There's not a meteor in the polar sky

Of such transcendent and more fleeting flight.
Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on high
Our eyes in search of either lovely light;
A thousand and a thousand colours they
Assume, then leave us on our freezing way.

1

II.

And such as they are, such my present tale is,

2

A non-descript and ever-varying rhyme,

A versified Aurora Borealis,

Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime.

When we know what all are, we must bewail us,
But ne'ertheless I hope it is no crime

To laugh at all things-for I wish to know
What, after all, are all things-but a show?

III.

They accuse me-Me-the present writer of
The present poem-of-I know not what-
A tendency to under-rate and scoff

At human power and virtue, and all that;
And this they say in language rather rough.
Good God! I wonder what they would be at!
I say no more than hath been said in Dante's
Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes;

IV.

By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault,
By Fenelon, by Luther, and by Plato;
By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau,

Who knew this life was not worth a potatoe.
"Tis not their fault, nor mine, if this be so-
For my part, I pretend not to be Cato,
Nor even Diogenes.-We live and die,
But which is best, you know no more than I.

3.

V.

Socrates said, our only knowledge was

"To know that nothing could be known;" a pleasant Science enough, which levels to an ass

Each man of wisdom, future, past, or present.

Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas!

Declar'd, with all his grand discoveries recent,
That he himself felt only "like a youth
Picking up shells by the great ocean-Truth."

VI.

Ecclesiastes said that "all is vanity"

Most modern preachers say the same, or show it By their examples of true Christianity:

In short, all know, or very soon may know it; And in this scene of all-confess'd inanity,

By saint, by sage, by preacher, and by poet, Must I restrain me, through the fear of strife, From holding up the nothingness of life?

VII.

Dogs, or men!-for Iflatter you in saying
That ye are dogs-your betters far-ye may
Read, or read not, what I am now essaying
To show ye what ye are in every way.

As little as the moon stops for the baying

Of wolves, will the bright muse withdraw one ray From out her skies-then howl your idle wrath! While she still silvers o'er your gloomy path.

VIII.

"Fierce loves and faithless wars "-I am not sure

If this be the right reading-'tis no matter;

The fact's about the same, I am secure:

I sing them both, and am about to batter A town which did a famous siege endure,

And was beleaguer'd, both by land and water, By Souvaroff, or Anglicè Suwarrow,

Who lov'd blood as an alderman loves marrow.

IX.

The fortress is call'd Ismail, and is plac'd

Upon the Danube's left branch and left bank,

With buildings in the Oriental taste,

But still a fortress of the foremost rank,

Or was, at least, unless 'tis since defac'd,

Which with your conquerors is a common prank :
It stands some eighty versts from the high sea,
And measures round of toises thousands three.

5

8