The heart-which may be broken: happy they!
Thrice fortunate! who of that fragile mould,
The precious porcelain of human clay,

Break with the first fall: they can ne'er behold
The long year link'd with heavy day on day,
And all which must be borne, and never told;
While life's strange principle will often lie
Deepest in those who long the most to die.

found

Those their bright rise had lighted to sh rarely they beheld throughout their round: And these were not of the vain kind which cloys,

For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound

By the mere senses; and that which destroyS
Most love, possession, unto them appear d
A thing which each endearment more endear'd.

XVII.

Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful!

But theirs was love in which the mind delights To lose itself, when the old world grows dull, And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights, Intrigues, adventures of the common school, 'Whom the gods love, die young,' was said of Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet Its petty passions, marriages, and flights,

yore,*

XII.

And many deaths do they escape by this; The death of friends, and that which slays even

more

The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is, Except mere breath; and since the silent shore

Awaits at last even those who longest miss
The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave

Which men weep over, may be meant to save.
XIII.

Haidée and Juan thought not of the dead.

The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made
for them:

They found no fault with Time, save that he fled;
They saw not in themselves aught to condemn:
Each was the other's mirror, and but read

Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem ;
And knew such brightness was but the reflection
Of their exchanging glances of affection.

XIV.

The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,
The least glance better understood than words,

See Herodotus.

more,

The dream changed :—in a cave she stood, its High and inscrutable the old man stood,

walls

Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye-
Not always signs with him of calmest mood:
Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood
He look'd upon her, but gave no reply:

Oft came and went, as there resolved to dr
In arms, at least, he stood in act to spring
On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring.

XL.

'Young man, your sword!' So Lambro once more said;

Juan replied, 'Not while this arm is free! The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with dread,

But drawing from his belt a pistol, he Replied, "Your blood be then on your own head.

Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see 'Twas fresh-for he had lately used the lockAnd next proceeded quietly to cock.

XLI.

It has a strange, quick jar upon the ear,
That cocking of a pistol, when you know
A moment more will bring the sight to be r
Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so;
gentlemanly distance, not too near,
If you have got a former friend for foe;
But after being fired at once or twice,
The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.

And gazing on the dead, she thought his face
Faded, or alter'd into something new-
Like to her father's features, till each trace
More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew-A
With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace;
And starting, she awoke, and what to view?
O Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she
there?

'Tis 'tis her father's-fix'd upon the pair!

XXXVI.

Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell,
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see,
Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell
The ocean buried, risen from death, to be
Perchance the death of one she loved too well:
Dear as her father had been to Haidée,
It was a moment of that awful kind-

I have seen such-but must not call to mind.

XXXVII.

Up Juan sprang to Haidée's bitter shriek,

And caught her falling, and from off the wall

XLII.

Lambro presented, and one instant more

Had stopp'd this canto, and Don Juan's breath When Haidée threw herself her boy before. Stern as her sire: 'On me,' she cried, 'let death

Descend-the fault is mine; this fatal shore
He found-but sought not. I have pledged
my faith;

I love him-I will die with him: I knew "tor
Your nature's firmness-know your digits

XLIII.

A minute past, and she had been all tears,
And tenderness, and infancy; but now

She stood as one who champion'd human fears-The blows upon his cutlass, and then put
Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the
blow;

And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers,
She drew up to her height, as if to show
A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye, scann'd
Her father's face-but never stopp'd his hand.

His own well in: so well, ere you could look, His man was floor'd, and helpless at his foot, With the blood running, like a little brook, From two smart sabre gashes, deep and redOne on the arm, the other on the head.