LXXII.

That isle is now all desolate and bare,
Its dwellings down, its tenants past 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 shew, no tongue to say
What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's,
Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

LXXIII.

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 wrong-
A 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.

LXXIV.

But let me change this theme, which grows too sad,
And lay this sheet of sorrows 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.

LXXV.

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 down, 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.

LXXVII.

High barrows, without marble, or a name,
A vast, untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain,
And Ida in the distance, still the same,

And old Scamander, (if 'tis he) remain ;
The situation seems still form'd for fame-

A hundred thousand men might fight again With ease; but where I sought again for Ilion's walls, The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls;

LXXVIII.

Troops of untended horses; here and there
Some little hamlets with new names uncouth;
Some shepherds, (unlike Paris) led to stare
A moment at the European youth

Whom to the spot their schoolboy feelings bear.

A Turk, with beads in hand, and pipe in mouth, Extremely taken with his own religion,

Are what I found there-but the devil a Phrygian.

LXXIX.

Don Juan, here permitted to emerge

From his dull cabin, found himself a slave;
Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge,
O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's grave;
Weak still with loss of blood, he scarce could urge
A few brief questions; and the answers gave
No very satisfactory information

About his past or present situation.

LXXX.

He saw some fellow captives, who appear'd
To be Italians, as they were in fact;
From them, at least, their destiny he heard,
Which was an odd one; a troop going to act
In Sicily-all singers, duly rear'd

In their vocation; had not been attacked
In sailing from Livorno by the pirate,
But sold by the impresario at no high rate. [3]

LXXXI.

By one of these, the buffo of the party,
Juan was told about their curious case;
For although destined to the Turkish mart, he
Still kept his spirits up-at least his face;
The little fellow really look'd quite hearty,

And bore him with some gaiety and grace,
Showing a much more reconciled demeanour
Than did the prima donna and the tenor.

LXXXII.

In a few words he told their hapless story,
Saying, "Our Machiavelian impresario,
Making a signal off some promontory,

"Hail'd a strange brig; Corpo di Caio Mario!
"We were transferr'd on board her in a hurry,
"Without a single scudo of salario;

"But if the Sultan has a taste for song
"We will revive our fortunes before long.

LXXXIII.

The prima donna, though a little old "And haggard with a dissipated life, "And subject, when the house is thin, to cold,

"Has some good notes; and then the tenor's wife,

"With no great voice, is pleasing to behold;

"Last carnival she made a deal of strife

By carrying off Count Cesare Cicogna "From an old Roman princess at Bologna.

P

LXXXIV.

"And then there are the dancers; there's the Nini,
"With more than one profession, gains by all;
"Then there's that laughing slut, the Pelegrini,
"She too was fortunate last carnival,

"And made at least five hundred gold zecchini,
"But spends so fast she has not now a paul;
"And then there's the Grotesca-such a dancer!
"Where men have souls or bodies she must answer.

LXXXV.

"As for the figuranti, they are like

"The rest of all that tribe; with here and there "A pretty person, which perhaps may strike, "The rest are hardly fitted for a fair;

"There's one, though tall and stiffer than a pike, "Yet has a sentimental kind of air

"Which might go far, but she don't dance with vigour; The more's the pity, with her face and figure.

.LXXXVI.

"As for the men, they are a middling set; "The Musico is but a crack'd old basin, "But being qualified in one way yet,

May the seraglio do to set his face in,

"And as a servant some preferment get;

"His singing I no further trust can place in:

"From all the pope [4] makes yearly 't would perplex "To find three perfect pipes of the third sex.

LXXXVII.

"The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,
"And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;
"In fact, he had no singing education,

"An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow, "But being the prima donna's near relation,

"Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow, They hired him, though to hear him you'd believe "An ass was practising recitative.

LXXXVIII.

""Twould not become myself to dwell upon

66

My own merits, and though young-I see, Sir-you "Have got a travell'd air, which shows you one "To whom the opera is by no means new; "You've heard of Raucocanti?-I'm the man;

"The time may come when you may hear me too; "You was not last year at the fair of Lugo, "But next, when I'm engaged to sing there-do go.

LXXXIX.

"Our baritone I almost had forgot,

"A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit; "With graceful action, science not a jot,

A voice of no great compass, and not sweet, "He always is complaining of his lot,

"Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; "In lovers' parts his passion more to breathe, Having no heart to show, he shews his teeth."

XC.

Here Raucocanti's eloquent recital

Was interrupted by the pirate crew,

Who came at stated moments to invite all

The captives back to their sad berths; each threw
A rueful glance upon the waves (which bright all
From the blue skies derived a double blue,
Dancing all free and happy in the sun),
And then went down the hatchway one by one.

XCI.

They heard next day that in the Dardanelles,
Waiting for his sublimity's firman,
The most imperative of sovereign spells,
Which every body does without who can,
More to secure them in their naval cells,
Lady to lady, well as man to man,

Were to be chain'd, and lotted out per couple,
For the slave market of Constantinople.