XC.

90

Some millions must be wrong, that's pretty clear:
Perhaps it may turn out that all were right.
God help us! Since we have need, on our career,
To keep our holy beacons always bright,
'Tis time that some new prophet should appear,
Or old indulge man with a second sight."
Opinions wear out in some thousand years,
Without a small refreshment from the spheres.

XCI.

But here again, why will I thus entangle
Myself with metaphysics? None can hate
So much as I do any kind of wrangle;

And yet, such is my folly, or my fate,
I always knock my head against some angle,
About the present, past, or future, state;
Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian,
For I was bred a moderate Presbyterian.

XCII.

But though I am a temperate theologian,
And also meek as a metaphysician,
Impartial between Tyrian and Trojan,
As Eldon on a lunatic commission,-

In politics my duty is to show John

Bull something of the lower world's condition.
It makes my blood boil, like the springs of Hecla,
To see men let these scoundrel sovereigns break law.

XCIII.

But politics, and policy, and piety,

Are topics which I sometimes introduce, Not only for the sake of their variety,

But as subservient to a moral use;

Because my business is to dress society,

And stuff with sage that very verdant goose;

And now, that we may furnish with some matter, all
Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural.

XCIV.

And now I will give up all argument;
And positively henceforth no temptation
Shall fool me to the top up of my bent.'
Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation.
Indeed, I never knew what people meant,

By dreaming that my Muse's conversation
Was dangerous:-I think she is as harmless
As some who labour more, and yet may charm less.

XCV.

Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost?

No; but you have heard-I understand-be dumb!
And don't regret the time you may have lost,

For you have got that pleasure still to come;
And do not think I mean to sneer at most
Of these things, or by ridicule benumb
That source of the sublime and the mysterious :-
For certain reasons, my belief is serious.

XCVI.

Serious? You laugh:-you may: that will I not.
My smiles must be sincere or not at all.

I say I do believe a haunted spot

Exists-and where? That shall I not recall,

Because I'd rather it should be forgot:

"Shadows the soul of Richard" may appal.

In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very
Like those of the philosopher of Malmsbury.

XCVII.

The night-(I sing by night-sometimes an owl,
And now and then a nightingale)—is dim;
And the loud shriek of sage Minerva's fowl,
Rattles around me her discordant hymn:
Old portraits from old walls upon me scowl-

I wish to heaven they would not look so grim:
The dying embers dwindle in the grate-
I think, too, that I have sate up too late :

XCVIII.

And therefore, though 'tis by no means my way
To rhyme at noon-when I have other things
To think of, if I ever think-I say

I feel some chilly midnight shudderings,
And prudently postpone, until mid-day,
Treating a topic, which, alas! but brings
Shadows;-but you must be in my condition,
Before you learn to call this superstition.

XCIX.

95

96

97

98

Between two worlds life hovers like a star,

99

"Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge:

How little do we know that which we are!

How less what we may be! The eternal surge

Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar

Our bubbles: as the old burst, new emerge, Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves Of empires heave but like some passing waves.

Don Juan.

CANTO THE SIXTEENTH.

1.

THE antique Persians taught three useful things,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.
This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings-

A mode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings:
Horses they ride without remorse or ruth:
At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,
But draw the long bow better now than ever.

II.

The cause of this effect, or this defect,

"For this effect defective comes by cause,"Is what I have not leisure to inspect;

But this I must say in my own applause,

Of all the Muses that I recollect,

Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws
In some things, mine's, beyond all contradiction,
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.

III.

And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats
From any thing, this epic will contain

A wilderness of the most rare conceits,

Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain. 'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets, Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't complain, But wonder they so few are, since my tale is "De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis:"

IV,

But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.

I said it was a story of a ghost

What then? I only know it so befell.

Have you explor'd the limits of the coast,

Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell P 'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as The sceptics who would not believe Columbus.

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V.

Some people would impose now with authority,
Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;
Men whose historical superiority

Is always greatest at a miracle.

But Saint Augustine has the great priority,
Who bids all men believe the impossible,
Because 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he
Quiets at once with "quia impossible."

VI.

And therefore, mortals cavil not at all:
Believe:-if 'tis improbable, you must,
And if it is impossible, you shall:

'Tis always best to take things upon trust.

I do not speak profanely, to recall

Those holier mysteries which the wise and just Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, As all truths must, the more they are disputed:

VII.

I merely meant to say what Johnson said,

That, in the course of some six thousand years,
All nations have believ'd that, from the dead,
A visitant at intervals appears:

And what is strangest upon this strange head,
Is, that, whatever bar the reason rears
'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger still
In its behalf, let those deny who will.

VIII.

The dinner and the soiree, too, were done:

The supper, too, discuss'd, the dames admir'd:
The banqueteers had dropp'd off, one by one
The song was silent, and the dance expir'd:
The last thin petticoats were vanish'd, gone
Like fleecy clouds into the sky retir'd;
And nothing brighter gleam'd through the saloon,
Than dying tapers-and the peeping moon.

IX.

The evaporation of a joyous day,

Is like the last glass of champagne, without
The foam which made its virgin bumper gay;
Or like a system coupled with a doubt;
Or like a soda bottle, when its spray
Has sparkled and let half its spirit out;
Or like a billow, left by storms behind,
Without the animation of the wind;

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6

7

8

X.

Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest,
Or none; or like-like nothing that I know,
Except itself;- such is the human breast;
A thing, of which similitudes can show
No real likeness,-like the old Tyrian vest
Dyed purple, none at present can tell how,
If from a shell-fish or from cochineal.
So perish every tyrant's robe, piece-meal!

XI.

But next to dressing for a rout or ball,
Undressing is a woe: our robe de chambre

May sit like that of Nessus, and recall

Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber.

Titus exclaim'd, "I've lost a day!" Of all

The nights and days most people can remember,

(I've had of both, some not to be disdain'd,)

I wish they'd state how many they have gain'd.

XII.

And Juan, on retiring for the night,

Felt restless, and perplex'd, and compromis'd:
He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright
Than Adeline (such is advice) advis'd.
If he had known exactly his own plight,
He probably would have philosophis'd;
A great resource to all, and ne'er denied
Till wanted: therefore, Juan only sigh'd.

XIII.

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11

12

He sigh'd-the next resource is the full moon,
Where all sighs are deposited; and now

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It happen'd, luckily, the chaste orb shone
As clear as such a climate will allow ;

And Juan's mind was in the proper tone

To hail her with the apostrophe-" O thou !" Of amatory egotism the Tuism,

Which further to explain would be a truism,

XIV.

But lover, poet, or astronomer,

Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold,

Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her:

Great thoughts we fetch from thence (besides a cold,

Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err):

Deep secrets to her rolling light are told:

The ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways,

And also hearts, if there be truth in lays.

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