And they the room were on the point of quitting, When lo! those cursed gondoliers had got

Just in the very place where they should not.

LXXXVI.

In this they're like our coachmen, and the cause
Is much the same-the crowd, and pulling, hauling,
With blasphemies enough to break their jaws,
They make a never intermitted bawling.
At home, our Bow-street gemmen keep the laws,
And here a sentry stands within your calling;
But for all that, there is a deal of swearing,
And nauseous words past mentioning or bearing.

LXXXVII.

The Count and Laura found their boat at last,
And homeward floated o'er the silent tide,
Discussing all the dances gone and past;

The dancers and their dresses, too, beside;
Some little scandals eke: but all aghast

(As to their palace stairs the rowers glide) Sate Laura by the side of her Adorer,

When lo! the Mussulman was there before her.

LXXXVIII.

"Sir," said the Count, with brow exceeding grave, "Your unexpected presence here will make

It necessary for myself to crave

Its import? But perhaps 'tis a mistake;

I hope it is so; and at once to waive

All compliment, I hope so for your sake: You understand my meaning, or you shall." "Sir," (quoth the Turk) "'tis no mistake at all:

LXXXIX.

"That lady is my wife!" Much wonder paints
The lady's changing cheek, as well as it might;
But where an Englishwoman sometimes faints,
Italian females don't do so outright;

They only call a little on their saints,

And then come to themselves, almost or quite; Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and sprinkling faces, And cutting stays, as usual in such cases.

XC.

She said what could she say? Why, not a word:
But the Count courteously invited in

The stranger, much appeased by what he heard:
"Such things, perhaps, we'd best discuss within,"
Said he; "don't let us make ourselves absurd
In public, by a scene, nor raise a din,
For then the chief and only satisfaction
Will be much quizzing on the whole transaction."

XCI.

They enter'd, and for coffee call'd-it came,
A beverage for Turks and Christians both,
Although the way they make it's not the same.
Now Laura, much recover'd, or less loth

To speak, cries "Beppo! what's your pagan name?
Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth!
And how came you to keep away so long?
Are you not sensible 'twas very wrong?

XCII.

"And are you really, truly, now a Turk?
With any other women did you wive?
Is't true they use their fingers for a fork?
Well, that's the prettiest shawl—as I'm alive!
You'll give it me? They say you eat no pork.
And how so many years did you contrive
To-Bless me! Did I ever? No, I never
Saw a man grown so yellow! How's your liver?

XCIII.

"Beppo, that beard of yours becomes you not; It shall be shaved before you're a day older: Why do you wear it? Oh! I had forgot

Pray don't you think the weather here is colder? How do I look? You shan't stir from this spot

In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder Should find you out, and make the story known. How short your hair is! Lord! how grey it's grown!"

XCIV.

What answer Beppo made to these demands
Is more than I know. He was cast away
About where Troy stood once, and nothing stands;
Became a slave of course, and for his pay

Had bread and bastinadoes, till some bands
Of pirates landing in a neighbouring bay,
He joined the rogues and prosper'd, and became
A renegado of indifferent fame.

XCV.

But he grew rich, and with his riches grew so
Keen the desire to see his home again,
He thought himself in duty bound to do so,
And not be always thieving on the main;
Lonely he felt, at times, as Robin Crusoe,

And so he hired a vessel come from Spain,
Bound for Corfu: she was a fine polacca,

Mann'd with twelve hands, and laden with tobacco.

XCVI.

Himself, aud much (Heaven knows how gotten !) cash, He then embark'd, with risk of life and limb,

And got clear off, although the attempt was rash;
He said that Providence protected him—
For my part, I say nothing, lest we clash

In our opinions:-well, the ship was trim,
Set sail, and kept her reckoning fairly on,
Except three days of calm when off Cape Bonn.

XCVII.

They reach'd the island, he transferr'd his lading,
And self and live stock, to another bottom,
And pass'd for a true Turkey-merchant, trading
With goods of various names, but I've forgot 'em.
However, he got off by this evading,

Or else the people would perhaps have shot him; And thus at Venice landed to reclaim

His wife, religion, house and Christian name.

XCVIII.

His wife received, the patriarch re-baptized him
(He made the church a present, by the way);
He then threw off the garments which disguised him,
And borrow'd the Count's smallclothes for a day:
His friends the more for his long absence prized him,
Finding he'd wherewithal to make them gay,
With dinners, where he oft became the laugh of them,
For stories-but I don't believe the half of them.

XCIX.

Whate'er his youth had suffer'd, his old age

With wealth and talking make him some amends; Though Laura sometimes put him in a rage,

I've heard the Count and he were always friends. My pen is at the bottom of a page,

Which being finish'd, here the story ends; "Tis to be wish'd it had been sooner done, But stories somehow lengthen when begun.

MAZEPPA.

ADVERTISEMENT.

"CELUI qui remplissait alors cette place était un gentilhomme Polonais, nommé Mazeppa, né dans le palatinat de Podolie: il avait été élevé page de Jean Casimir, et avait pris à sa cour quelque teinture des belles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il eut dans sa jeunesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme Polonais ayant été découverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était du pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Mazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques paysans le secoururent: il resta long-tems parmi eux, et se signala dans plusieurs courses contre les Tartares. La supériorité de ses lumières lui donna une grande considération parmi les Cosaques : sa réputation s'augmentant de jour en jour obligea le Czar à le faire Prince de l'Ukraine."-VOLTAIRE, Hist. de Charles XII. p. 196.

"Le roi fuyant, et poursuivi, eut son cheval tué sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, blessé, et perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. Ainsi on remit deux fois à cheval, dans sa fuite, ce conquérant qui n'avait pu y monter pendant la bataille."-Ib., p. 216.

"Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec quelques cavaliers. Le carrosse où il était rompit dans la marche; on le remit à cheval. Pour comble de disgrace, il s'égara pendant la nuit dans un bois; là, son courage ne pouvant plus suppléer à ses forces épuisées, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues plus insupportables par la fatigue, son cheval étant tombé de lassitude, il se coucha quelques heures au pied d'un arbre, en danger d'être surpris à tout moment par les vainqueurs, qui le cherchaient de tous côtés."-Ib., p. 218.

I.

"TWAS after dread Pultowa's day,
When fortune left the royal Swede,
Around a slaughter'd army lay,

No more to combat and to bleed.
The power and glory of the war,
Faithless as their vain votaries, men,
Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar,

And Moscow's walls were safe again,
Until a day more dark and drear,
And a more memorable year,
Should give to slaughter and to shame
A mightier host and haughtier name;
A greater wreck, a deeper fall,

A shock to one-a thunderbolt to all.

II.

Such was the hazard of the die;
The wounded Charles was taught to fly
By day and night through field and flood,
Stain'd with his own and subjects' blood;
For thousands fell that flight to aid:
And not a voice was heard t' upbraid
Ambition in his humbled hour,

When truth had nought to dread from power,
His horse was slain, and Gieta gave
His own-and died the Russians' slave.
This too sinks after many a league
Of well sustain'd but vain fatigue;
And in the depth of forests, darkling
The watch-fires in the distance sparkling-
The beacons of surrounding foes-

A king must lay his limbs at length.
Are these the laurels and repose

For which the nations strain their strength?
They laid him by a savage tree,

In outworn nature's agony;

His wounds were stiff-his limbs were stark-
The heavy hour was chill and dark;
The fever in his blood forbade

A transient slumber's fitful aid:

And thus it was; but yet through all,
Kinglike the monarch bore his fall,
And made, in this extreme of ill,
His pangs the vassals of his will:
All silent and subdued were they,
As once the nations round him lay.

III.

A band of chiefs!-alas! how few,
Since but the fleeting of a day
Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true
And chivalrous: upon the clay

Each sat him down, all sad and mute,
Beside his monarch and his steed,
For danger levels man and brute,
And all are fellows in their need.
Among the rest, Mazeppa made
His pillow in an old oak's shade-
Himself as rough, and scarce less old,
The Ukraine's Hetman, calm and bold;
But first, outspent with this long course,
The Cossack prince rubb'd down his horse,
And made for him a leafy bed,

And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane,
And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein,
And joy'd to see how well he fed ;
For until now he had the dread

His wearied courser might refuse

To browse beneath the midnight dews: