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A name, a wretched picture, and worse

bust. Canto I. September, 1818. July 15, 1819.



Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the

bee. Think'st thou the honey with those ob

jects grew ? Alas ! 't was not in them, but in thy power To double even the sweetness of a flower, No more--no more--Oh I never more, my

heart, Canst thou be my sole world, my uni

verse ! Once all in all, but now a thing apart, Thou canst not be my blessing or my

curse : The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art

Insensible, I trust, but none the worse, And in thy stead I've got a deal of

judgment, Though heaven knows how it ever found

a lodgment. My days of love are over; me no more The charms of maid, wife, and still less

of widow, Can make the fool of which they made

before,In short, I must not lead the life I did

do ; The credulous hope of mutual minds is

o'er, The copious use of claret is forbid too, So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with a varice. Ambition was my idol, which was broken Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of

Pleasure ; And the two last have left me many a

token O'er which reflection may be made at

leisure; Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head,

I've spoken, “ Time is, Time was, Time's past :”-a

chymic treasure Is glittering youth, which I have spent

betimes-My heart in passion, and my head on

rhymes. What is the end of fame? 't is but to fill

A certain portion of uncertain paper : Some liken it to climbing up a hill Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in

vapor; For this men write, speak, preach, and

heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their

"midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust,


'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down

(St. 49. Over the waste of waters ; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose

the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was

shown, And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale, And the dim desolate deep: twelve days

had Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was

here. Some trial had been making at a raft,

With little hope in such a rolling sea, A sort of thing at which one would have

laughid, If any laughter at such times could be, Unless with people who too much have

quaff’d, And have a kind of wild and horrid

glee, Half epileptical, and half hysterical :Their preservation would have been a

miracle. At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hen

coops, spars, And all things, for a chance, had been

cast loose That still could keep afloat the struggling

tars, For yet they strove, although of no

great use: There was no light in heaven but a few

stars, The boats put off o'ercrowded with

their crews; She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And, going down head-foremost-sunk,

in short. Then rose from sea to sky the wild fare

wellThen shriek'd the timid, and stood

still the brave . Then some leapil overboard with dread.

ful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawu'd around her like a


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Recall'd lis answering spirits bac

from death ; And, bathing his chill temples, tried to

soothe Eaclı pulse to animation, till beneath Its gentle touch and trembling care, a

sigh To these kind efforts made a low reply. Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle

flung Around his scarce-clad limbs ; and the

fair arm Raised higher the faint head which o'er

it hung ; And her transparent cheek, all pure

and warm, Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then

she wrung His dewy curls, long drench'd by

every storm ; And watch'd with eagerness each throb

that drew A sigh from his heaved bosom—and

hers, too.


How long in his damp trance young Juan lay

[St. 111. He knew not, for the earth was gone

for bim. And time had nothing more of night

nor day For his congealing blood, and senses

dim; And how this heavy faintness pass'd

away He knew not, till each painful pulse

and limb, And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing

back to life, For Death, though vanquish'd, still re

tired with strife.

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His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed, For all was doubt and dizziness; he

thought He still was in the boat, and had but

dozed, And felt again with his despair o'er

wrought, And wish‘d it death in which he had

reposed, And then once more his feelings back

were brought, And slowly by his swimming eyes was A lovely female face of seventeen. 'Twas bending close o'er his, and the

small mouth Seem'd almost prying into his for

breath ; And chafing him, the soft warm hand

of youth

Her brow was overhung with coins of

gold, That sparkled o'er the auburn of lier

hair, Her clustering hair, whose longer locks

were rollid In braids behind ; and though her

stature were Even of the highest for a female mould. They nearly reach'd her heel; and in

her air There was a something which bespoke

command, As one who was a lady in the land. Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her

eyes Were black as death, their lashes the

same hue,


Of downcast length, in whose silk

shadow lies Deepest attraction ; for when to the

view Forth from its raven fringe the full

glance flies, Ne'er with such force the swiftest

arrow flew ; 'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours

his length, And Juurls at once his venom and his

strength. Her brow was white and low, 'ler cheek's

pure dye Like twilight rysy still with the set

sun ; Short upper lip-sweet lips! that make

us sigh Ever to have seen such; for she was

one Fit for the model of a statuary (A race of mere impostors, when all's

doneI've seen much finer women, ripe and

real, Than all the nonsense of their stone

ideal). I'll tell you why I say so, for 't is just

One should not rail without a decent

Her locks curld negligently round her

face, But through them gold and gems pro

fusely shone : Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious

stone Flash'd on her little hand; but, what

was shocking, Her small snow feet had slippers, but no

stocking The other female's dress was not unlike,

But of inferior materials: she Had not so many ornaments to strike,

Her hair had silver only, bound to be Her dowry; and her veil, in form alike, Was coarser; and her air, though

firm, less free ; Her hair was thicker, but less long; her

eves As black, but quicker, and of smaller

size. And these two tended him, and cheer'd

him both With food and raiment, and those soft

attentions, Which are -(as I must own) --of feinale

growth, And have ten thousand delicate inven

tions: They made a most superior mess of broth, A thing which poesy but seldom men.

tions, But the best dish that e'er was cook'd

since Homer's Achilles order'd dinner for new comers.

cause :


There was an Irish lady, to whose bust

I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she A frequent model; and if e'er she must Yield to stern Time and Nature's

wrinkling laws, They will destroy a face which mortal

thought Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel

wrought. And such was she, the lady of the cave: Her dress was very different from the

Spanish, Simpler, and yet of colors not so grave; For, as you know, the Spanish women

banish Bright hues when out of doors, and yet,

while wave Around them (what I hope will never

vanish) The basquina and the mantilla, they Seem at the same time mystical and gay. Birt with our damsel this was not the Her dress was many-color'd, finely

The coast-I think it was the coast that I Was just describing-Yes, it was the coast

(St. 181 Lay at this period quiet as the sky, The sands untumbled, the blue waves

untost, And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's

cry, And dolphin's leap, and little billow

crost By some low rock or shelve, that made

it fret Against the boundary it scarcely wet. And forth they wander'd, her sire being

gone, As I have said, upon an expedition ; And mother, brother, guardian, she had

none, Save Zoe, who, although with due preShe waited on her lady with the sun, Thought daily service was her only




mission, Bringing warm water, wreathing her

long tresses, And asking now and then for cast-off


Such kisses as belong to early days, Where heart, and soul, and sense, in

concert move, And the blood's lava, and the pulse a

blaze, Each kiss a heart-quake,-for a kiss's

strength, I think it must be reckon'd by its length.

It was the cooling hour, just when the

rounded Red sun sinks down behind the azure

hill, Which then seems as if the whole earth

it bounded, Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim,

and still, With the far mountain-crescent half

surrounded On one side, and the deep sea calm

and chill, Upon the other, and the rosy sky, With one star sparkling through it like

an eye. And thus they wander'd forth, and hand

in hand, Over the shining pebbles and the shells, Glided along the smooth and harden'd

sand, And in the worn and wild receptacles Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it

were plannid, In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and

cells, They turn'd to rest; and, each clasp'd

by an arm, Yielded to the deep twilight's purple


By length I mean duration; theirs en

dured Heaven knows how long-no doubt

they never reckon'd; And if they had, they could not have

secured The sum of their sensations to a second; They had not spoken; but they felt al

lured, As if their souls and lips each other

beckon'd, Which, being join’d, like swarming bees

they clungTheir hearts the flowers from whence

the honey sprung. They were alone, but not alone as they Who shut in chambers think it lone.

liness ; The silent ocean, and the starlight bay, The twilight glow, which momently

grew less, The voiceless sands, and dropping caves,

that lay Around them, made them to each other

press, As if there were no life beneath the sky Save theirs, and that their life could

never die.

They look'd up to the sky, whose float

ing glow Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and

bright; They gazed upon the glittering sea be

low, Whence the broad moon rose circling

into sight; They heard the waves splash, and the

wind so low, And saw each other's dark eyes darting

light Into each other-and, beholding this, Their lips drew near, and clung into a

They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone

beach, They felt no terrors from the night ;

they were All in all to each other; though their

speech Was broken words, they thought a

language there, And all the burning tongues the passions

teach Found in one sigh the best interpreter Of nature's oracle-first love,--that all Which Eve has left her daughters since

her fall.

kiss ;

A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and

love, And beauty, all concentrating like rays Into one focus, kindled from above ;

Alas! the love of women ! it is known

To be a lovely and a fearful thing ; For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, And if it is lost, life hath no more to


Fine truths; even Conscience, too, has

a tough job To make us understand each good old

maxim, So good- I wonder Castlereagh don't tax


as real

To the: but mockeries of the past alone, And their revenge is as the tiger's

spring, Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, Torture is theirs, what they inflict they

feel. They are right; for man, to man so oft

unjust, Is always so to women; one sole bond Awaits them, treachery is all their trust; Taught to conceal, their bursting

hearts despond Over their idol, till some wealthier lust Buys them in marriage--and what

rests beyond ? A thankless husband, next a faithless

lover, Then dressing, nursing, praying, and

all's over. Some take a lover, some take drams or

prayers, Some mind their household, others

dissipation, Some run away, and but exchange their

cares, Losing the advantage of a virtuous

station; Few changes e'er can better their affairs,

Theirs being an unnatural situation, From the dull palace to the dirty hovel : Some play the devil, and then write a

novel. Haidée was Nature's bride, and knew

not this: Haidée was Passion's child, born

where the sun Showers triple light, and scorches even

the kiss Of his gazelle-eyed daughters ; she was Made but to love, to feel that she was

his Who was her chosen : what was said or

done Elsewhere was nothing. She had nought

to fear, Hope, care, nor love beyond,-her heart

beat here. And oh! that quickening of the heart,

that beat! How much it costs us ! yet each rising

throb Is in its cause as its effect so sweet,

That wisdom, ever on the watch to rob Joy of its alchemy, and to repeat

And now 't was done on the lone shore

were plighted Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial

torches, shed Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted; Ocean their witness, and the cave

their bed, By their own feelings hallow'd and

united, Their priest was Solitude, and they

were wed: And they were happy, for to their young

eyes Each was an angel, and earth paradise. Oh, Lovel of whom great Cæsar was the

suitor, Titus the master, Antony the slave, Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor, Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in

whose grave All those may leap who rather would be

neuter(Leucadia's rock still overlooks the

wave)-Oh, Love ! thou art the very god of evil, For, after all, we cannot call thee devil. Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state

precarious, And jestest with the brows of might

iest men : Cæsar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius, Have much employ'd the muse of his

tory's pen : Their lives and fortunes were extremely

various, Such worthies Time will never see

again; Yet to these four in three things the

same luck holds, They all were heroes, conquerors, and

cuckolds. Thou mak’st philosophers; there's Epi

And Aristippus, a material crew! Who to immoral courses would allure us

By theories quite practicable too ; If only from the devil they would insure

us, How pleasant were the maxim (not

quite new),



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