"Stop!" so I stopp'd.-But to return: that which HAIL, Muse! et cetera.-We left Juan sleeping, Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast, To feel the poison through her spirit creeping, Oh, love! what is it in this world of ours III. In her first passion woman loves her lover, I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ; But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted, Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers,) After a decent time must be gallanted; Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs Is that to which her heart is wholly granted; Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, But those who have ne'er end with only one. V. 'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign Of human frailty, folly, also crime, That love and marriage rarely can combine, Although they both are born in the same clime; Marriage from love, like vinegar from wineA sad, sour, sober beverage-by time Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavor Down to a very homely household savor. VI. There's something of antipathy, as 'twere, Between their present and their future state; A kind of flattery that's hardly fair Is used, until the truth arrives too lateYet what can people do, except despair? The same things change their names at such arate For instance-passion in a lover's glorious, But in a husband is pronounced uxorious. 1 VII. Men grow ashamed of being so very fond: They sometimes also get a little tired, (But that, of course, is rare,) and then despond: The same things cannot always be admired, Yet 'tis "so nominated in the bond," That both are tied till one shall have expired. Sad thought! to lose the spouse that was adorning Our days, and put one's servants into mourning. VIII. There's doubtless something in domestic doings There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss; IX. All tragedies are finish'd by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage; The future states of both are left to faith, For authors fear description might disparage The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath, [riage, And then both worlds would punish their miscarSo leaving each their priest and prayer-book ready, They say no more of Death or of the Lady. X. The only two that in my recollection Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, are, Dante and Milton, and of both the affection Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar Of fault or temper ruin'd the connexion,(Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to mar;) But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive. XI. Some persons say that Dante meant theology XII. Haidee and Juan were not married, but The blame on me, unless you wish they were; Then, if you'd have them wedded, please to shut The book which treats of this erroneous pair, Before the consequences grow too awful'Tis dangerous to read of loves unlawful. XIII. Yet they were happy,-happy in the illicit XIV. Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, For into a prime minister but change His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation; But he, more modest, took an humbler range Of life, and in an honester vocation Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey, And merely practised as a sea-attorney. XV. The good old gentleman had been detain'd XVI. Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan, Among his friends the Mainots; some he sold To his Tunis correspondents, save one man Toss'd overboard unsaleable, (being old ;) The rest-save here and there some richer one, Reserved for future ransom in the hold,Were link'd alike; as for the common people, he Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli. XVII. The merchandise was served in the same way, XVIII. A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw, Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens, He chose from several animals he saw A terrier too, which once had been a Briton's, Who dying on the coast of Ithica, The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance These to secure in this strong blowing weather, ́ He caged in one huge hamper altogether. XIX. Then having settled his marine affairs, Despatching single cruisers here and there, His vessel having need of some repairs, He shaped his course to where his daughter fair Continued still her hospitable cares: But that part of the coast being shoal and bare, And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile, His port lay on the other side o' the isle. XX. And there he went ashore without delay, . XXI. Arriving at the summit of a hill Which overlook'd the white walls of his home, He stopp'd.-What singular emotions fill Their bosoms who have been induced to roam! With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill With love for many, and with fears for some; All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost, And bring our hearts back to their starting-post. XXII. The approach of home to husbands and to sires, A female family's a serious matter; XXVIII. And as the spot where they appear he nears XXIX. And still more nearly to the place advancing, XXX. And further on a group of Grecian girls, The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Were strung together like a row of pearls; Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each too having Down her white neck long floating auburn curls(The least of which would set ten poets raving,) Their leader sang-and bounded to her song, With choral step and voice, the virgin throng. XXXI. And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays, Above them their dessert grew on its vine, XXXII. A band of children, round a snow-white ram, Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers XXXIII. Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses, XXXIV. Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales To a sedate gray circle of old smokers, Of secret treasures found in hidden vales, Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails, Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers, Of magic ladies, who, by one sole act, Transform'd their lords to beasts, (but that's a fact. You're wrong;-He was the mildest manner'd man Not that he was not sometimes rash or so, That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat; With such true breeding of a gentleman, You never could divine his real thought; No courtier could, and scarcely woman can Gird more deceit within a petticoat; Pity he loved adventurous life's variety He was so great a loss to good society But never in his real and serious mood; Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow, He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood; With him it never was a word and blow. His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood, But in his silence there was much to rue, And his one blow left little work for two. XLIX. For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say, If all the dead could now return to life, (Which God forbid !) or some, or a great many; For instance, if a husband or his wife, (Nuptial examples are as good as any,) No doubt whate'er might be their former strife, The present weather would be much more rainyTears shed into the grave of the connexion Would share most probably its resurrection. LI. He enter'd in the house, no more his home, Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying; LII. He enter'd in the house-his home no more, For without hearts there is no home-and felt The solitude of passing his own door Without a welcome; there he long had dwelt, There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er, There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt Over the innocence of that sweet child, His only shrine of feelings undefiled. LIII. He was a man of a strange temperament, With temperance in pleasure, as in food, LIV. The love of power, and rapid gain of gold, The wild seas and wild men with whom he cruised, LV. But something of the spirit of old Greece His predecessors in the Colchian days: LVI. Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime A pleasure in the gentle stream that flow'd Past him in crystals, and a joy in flowers, Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours. LVII. But whatsoe'er he had of love, reposed On that beloved daughter; she had been The only thing which kept his heart unclosed Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen, A lonely pure affection unopposed: There wanted but the loss of this to wean His feelings from all milk of human kindness, And turn him, like the Cyclops, mad with blindness LVIII. The cubless tigress in her jungle raging Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock; The ocean when its yeasty war is waging Is awful to the vessel near the rock: But violent things will sooner bear assuagingTheir fury being spent by its own shockThan the stern, single, deep, and worldless ire Of a strong human heart, and in a sire. LIX. It is hard, although a common case, To find our children running restive-they In whom our brightest days we would retrace, Our little selves reformed in finer clay; Just as old age is creeping on apace, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company-the gout or stone. LX. Yet a fine family is a fine thing, (Provided they don't come in after dinner:) 'Tis beautiful to see a matron bring Her children up, (if nursing them don't thin her;) Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling To the fireside, (a sight to touch a sinner:) A lady with her daughter or her nieces Shine like a guinea and seven shilling pieces. LXI. Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate, Before them, and fair slaves on every side; Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly, Mother-of-pearl and coral the less costly. LXII. The dinner made about a hundred dishes; Lamb and pistachio-nuts-in short, all meats, And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fisher Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets, Dress'd to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes; The beverage was various sherbets Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice, [use. Squeezed through the rind which makes it best for |