Don Juan.

CANTO THE SECOND.

I.

O ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,

I pray ye flog them upon all occasions;

It mends their morals; never mind the pain. The best of mothers and of educations,

In Juan's case, were but employ'd in vain, Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he Became divested of his native modesty.

II.

Had he but been plac'd at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,

His daily task had kept his fancy cool,

At least, had he been nurtur'd in the north; Spain may prove an exception to this rule,

But then exceptions always prove its worthA lad of sixteen causing a divorce,

Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III.

I can't say that it puzzles me at all,

If all things be consider'd: first there was His lady-mother, mathematical,

A -never mind;-his tutor, an old ass;

A pretty woman-(that's quite natural,

Or else the thing had hardly come to pass) A husband rather old, not much in unity With his young wife-a time and opportunity.

IV.

Well-well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love, and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,-perhaps a name.

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V.

I said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz-
A pretty town, I recollect it well-
'Tis there the mart of the colonial trade is,

(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel,)

And such sweet girls-I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it-I never saw the like.

VI.

An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb
New broke, a cameleopard, a gazelle,
No-none of these will do ;-and then their garb!
Their veil and petticoat-alas! to dwell
Upon such things would very near absorb
A canto-then their feet and ancles,-well,
Thank Heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready,
(And so, my sober Muse-come, let's be steady-

VII.

Chaste Muse!-well, if you must, you must)-the veil
Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand,
While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale,
Flashes into the heart:-All sunny land

Of love! when I forget you, may I fail

To say my prayers-but never was there plann'd A dress through which the eyes give such a volley, Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli.

VIII.

But to our tale: the Donna Inez sent

Her son to Cadiz only to embark;

To stay there had not answer'd her intent:

But why ?-we leave the reader in the dark

'Twas for a voyage that the young man was meant,
As if a Spanish ship was Noah's ark,

To wean him from the wickedness of earth,
And send him like a dove of promise forth.

IX.

Don Juan bade his valet pack his things
According to direction, then receiv'd
A lecture and some money: for four springs
He was to travel; and, though Inez griev'd,
(As every kind of parting has its stings,)
She hoped he would improve-perhaps believ'd:
A letter, too, she gave (he never read it)
Of good advice-and two or three of credit.

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X.

In the mean time, to pass her hours away,
Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school,
For naughty children, who would rather play
(Like truant rogues) the devil or the fool;
Infants of three years old were taught,that day,
Dunces were whipt, or set upon a stool:
The great success of Juan's education,
Spurr'd her to teach another generation.

XI.

Juan embark'd-the ship got under way,

The wind was fair, the water passing rough; A devil of a sea rolls in that bay,

As I, who've cross'd it oft, know well enough;
And, standing upon deck, the dashing spray

Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough:
And there he stood to take, and take again,
His first-perhaps his last-farewell of Spain.

XII.

I can't but say it is an awkward sight

To see one's native land receding through
The growing waters; it unmans one quite;
Especially when life is rather new:

I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white,
And almost every other country's blue,
When, gazing on them, mystified by distance,
We enter on our nautical existence.

XIII.

So Juan stood, bewilder'd, on the deck:

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The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors swore, And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck, From which away so fair and fast they bore.

The best of remedies is a beef-steak

Against sea-sickness; try it, sir, before You sneer, and I assure you this is true, For I have found it answer-so may you.

XIV.

Don Juan stood, and gazing from the stern,
Beheld his native Spain receding far:
First partings form a lesson hard to learn,
Even nations feel this when they go to war;
There is a sort of unexprest concern,

A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar:
At leaving even the most unpleasant people
And places, one keeps looking at the steeple.

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XV.

But Juan had got many things to leave,

His mother, and a mistress, and no wife, So that he had much better cause to grieve,

Than many persons more advanc'd in life;
And if we now and then a sigh must heave

At quitting even those we quit in strife,
No doubt we weep for those the heart endears—
That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears.

XVI.

So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews

By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion: I'd weep-but mine is not a weeping Muse,

And such light griefs are not a thing to die on:

Young men should travel, if but to amuse

Themselves; and the next time their servants tie on Behind their carriages their new portmanteau, Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

XVII.

And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd, and thought,
While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea,
"Sweets to the sweet;" (I like so much to quote;
You must excuse this extract, 'tis where she,
The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought
Flowers to the grave;) and, sobbing often, he
Reflected on his present situation,

And seriously resolved on reformation.

XVIII.

"Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell!" he cried,
"Perhaps I may revisit thee no more,
But die, as many an exiled heart hath died,
Of its own thirst to see again thy shore;
Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide!
Farewell, my mother! and since all is o'er,
Farewell, too, dearest Julia !"-(here he drew
Her letter out again, and read it through.)

XIX.

"And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear-
But that's impossible, and cannot be-
Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air,
Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,
Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair!
Or think of anything excepting thee;
A mind diseased no remedy can physic"-
(Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick.)

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XX.

"Sooner shall heaven kiss earth-(here he fell sicker) 20 Oh, Julia! what is every other woe ?(For God's sake, let me have a glass of liquor; Pedro, Battista, help me down below.) Julia, my love!-(you rascal, Pedro, quicker)→ Oh Julia!-(this curst vessel pitches so)Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!" (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)

XXI.

He felt that chilling heaviness of heart,
Or rather stomach, which alas! attends,
Beyond the best apothecary's art,

The loss of love, the treachery of friends,

Of us dies with them, as each fond hope ends:

Or death of those we dote on, when a part

No doubt he would have been much more pathetic,
But the sea acted as a strong emetic.

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XXII.

Love's a capricious power; I've known it hold
Out through a fever caused by its own heat,
But be much puzzled by a cough and cold,
And find a quinsy very hard to treat:

Against all noble maladies he's bold,

But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.

XXIII.

But worst of all is nausea, or a pain

About the lower region of the bowels;

Love, who heroically breathes a vein,

Shrinks from the application of hot towels,

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And purgatives are dangerous to his reign,

Sea-sickness, death; his love was perfect, how else

Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar,

Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?

XXIV.

The ship, call'd the most holy "Trinidada,”
Was steering duly for the port Leghorn;
For there the Spanish family Moncada

Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born:
They were relations, and for them he had a
Letter of introduction, which the morn

Of his departure had been sent him by
His Spanish friends for those in Italy.

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