With this o'erwhelming world, where all must err: But she was yet but ten years old, and therefore Was tranquil, though she knew not why or wherefore. LIII.

Don Juan loved her, and she loved him, as
Nor brother, father, sister, daughter love.
I cannot tell exactly what it was;

He was not yet quite old enough to prove
Parental feelings, and the other class,

Call'd brotherly affection, could not move His bosom-for he never had a sister:

Ah! if he had, how much he would have miss'd her! LIV.

And still less was it sensual; for besides

That he was not an ancient debauchée, (Who like sour fruit to stir their veins' salt tides, As acids rouse a dormant alkali,) Although ('twill happen as our planet guides)

His youth was not the chastest that might be, There was the purest Platonism at bottom Of all his feelings-only he forgot 'em.

LV.

Just now there was no peril of temptation; He loved the infant orphan he had saved, As patriots (now and then) may love a nation; His pride too felt that she was not enslaved, Owing to him;-as also her salvation,

LIX.

Let not this seem an anti-climax :-"Oh! [clayMy guard! my old guard!" exclaim'd that god of Think of the Thunderer's falling down below

Carotid-artery-cutting Castlereagh !

Alas! that glory should be chill'd by snow!

But, should we wish to warm us on our way Through Poland, there is Kosciusko's name Might scatter fire through ice, like Hecla's flame.

LX.

From Poland they came on through Prussia proper.
And Konigsberg the capital, whose vaunt,
Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper,
Has lately been the great Professor Kant.
Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper
About philosophy, pursued his jaunt
To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions
Have princes who spur more than their postillions.

LXI.

And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the like,
Until he reached the castellated Rhine :-
Ye glorious Gothic seenes! how much ye strike
All phantasies, not even excepting mine:

A gray wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,

Make my soul pass the equinoctial line Between the present and past worlds, and hover Upon their airy confine, half-seas-over.

LXII.

But Juan posted on through Manheim, Bonn,
Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre
Of the goud feudal times for ever gone,
On which I have not time just now to lecture.

The little Turk refused to be converted.

LVI.

'Twas strange enough she should retain the impression [slaughter; Through such a scene of change, and dread, and But, though three bishops told her the transgression, She show'd a great dislike to holy water: She also had no passion for confession;

Perhaps she had nothing to confess;-no matter Whate'er the cause, the church made little of itShe still held out that Mahomet was a prophet. LVII.

In fact, the only Christian she could bear

Was Juan, whom she seem'd to have selected In place of what her home and friends once were. He naturally loved what he protected; And thus they form'd a rather curious pair: A guardian green in years, a ward connected In neither clime, time, blood, with her defender; And yet this want of ties made theirs more tender.

A city which presents to the inspector Eleven thousand maidenheads of bone, The greatest number flesh hath ever known.8

LXIII.

From thence to Holland's Hague and Helvoetsluy That water land of Dutchmen and of ditches, Where Juniper expresses its best juice

The poor man's sparkling substitute for riches. Senates and sages have condemn'd its useBut to deny the mob a cordial which is Too often all the clothing, meat, or fuel, Good government has left them, seems but cruel.

LXIV.

Here he embark'd, and, with a flowing sail,
Went bounding for the island of the free,
Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale
High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in the sea
And sea-sick passengers turn'd somewhat pale:
But Juan, season'd, as he well might be
By former voyages, stood to watch the skiffs
Which pass'd, or catch the first glimpse of the cliff's
LXV.

At length they rose, like a white wall along
The blue sea's border; and Don Juan felt-
What even young strangers feel a little strong
At the first sight of Albion's chalky belt-

Those haughty shopkeepers, who sternly dealt Their goods and edicts out from pole to pole. And made the very billows pay them toll

LXXX.
So said the Florentine: ye monarchs, hearken
To your instructor. Juan now was borne,
Just as the day began to wane and darken,

O'er the high hill which looks with pride or scorn Toward the great city :-ye who have a spark in

Your veins of cockney spirit, smile or mourn,
According as you take things well or ill-
Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill!

LXXXI.

The sun went down, the smoke rose up, as from
A half-unquench'd volcano, o'er a space
Which well beseem'd the "Devil's drawing-room,"
As some have qualified that wondrous place.
But Juan felt, though not approaching home,

As one who, though he were not of the race, Revered the soil, of those true sons the mother, Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied t' other.

LXXXII.

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye

Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amid the forestry

Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe, through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head-and there is London town!

LXXXIII.

But Juan saw not this: each wreath of smoke
Appear'd to him but as the magic vapor
Of some alchymic furnace, from whence broke
The wealth of worlds, (a wealth of tax and paper ;)
The gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke

Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper,
Were nothing but the natural atmosphere-
Extremely wholesome, though but rarely clear.

LXXXIV.

He paused-and so will I-as doth a crew Before they give their broadside. By and by, My gentle countrymen, we will renew

Our old acquaintance, and at least I'll try To tell you truths you will not take as true, Because they are so,-a male Mrs. Fry, With a soft besom will I sweep your halls, And brush a web or two from off the walls.

LXXXV.

Oh, Mrs. Fry! why go to Newgate? Why
Preach to poor rogues? And wherefore not begin
With Carlton, or with other houses? Try

Your hand at harden'd and imperial sin.
To mend the people's an absurdity,

A jargon, a mere philanthropic din, Unless you make their betters better:-Fie! I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry.

LXXXVI.

Teach them the decencies of good threescore:
Cure them of tours, Hussar and Highland dresses:
Tell them that youth once gone returns no more;
That hired huzzas redeem no land's distresses:

Tell them Sir William Curtis is a bore,

Too dull even for the dullest of excesses

The witless Falstaff of a hoary Hal,

A fool whose bells have ceased to ring at all,—

LXXXVII.

Tell them, though it may be perhaps too late,
On life's worn confine, jaded, bloated, sated,
To set up vain pretences of being great,

'Tis not so to be good; and be it stated,
The worthiest kings have ever loved least state;
And tell them-but you won't, and I have prated
Just now enough; but by and by I'll prattle
Like Roland's horn in Roncesvalles' battle.

CANTO XI.

I.

WHEN Bishop Berkley said "there was no matter,"
And proved it-'twas no matter what he said:
They say his system 'tis in vain to batter,

Too subtle for the airiest human head;
And yet who can believe it? I would shatter,
Gladly, all matters down to stone or lead,
Or adamant, to find the world a spirit,
And wear my head, denying that I wear it.

II.

What a sublime discovery 'twas, to make the
Universe universal egotism!

That all's ideal-all ourselves? I'll stake the

World (be it what you will) that that's no schism. Oh, doubt!-if thou be'st doubt, for which some take But which I doubt extremely-thou sole prism [thee, Of the truth's rays, spoil not my draught of spirit! Heaven's brandy-though our brain can hardly bear it.

III.

For, ever and anon comes indigestion,

(Not the most "dainty Ariel,") and perplexes Our soarings with another sort of question:

And that which, after all, my spirit vexes
Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on,
Without confusion of the sorts and sexes,

Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder,
The world, which at the worst's a glorious blunder-
IV.

If it be chance; or if it be according

To the old text, still better! lest it should Turn out so, we'll say nothing 'gainst the wording As several people think such hazards rude: They're right; our days are too brief for affording Space to dispute what no one ever could Decide, and every body one day will Know very clearly-or at least lie still.

V.

And therefore will I leave off metaphysical Discussions, which is neither here and there: If I agree that what is, is-then this I call

Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair. The truth is, I've grown lately rather phthisical, I don't know what the reason is the air Perhaps; but as I suffer from the shocks Of illness, I grow 11uch more orthodox.

And wish'd he'd been less hasty with his flint.

XV.

"Perhaps," thought he, "it is the country's wont To welcome foreigners in this way: now

I recollect some innkeepers who don't
Differ, except in robbing with a bow,
In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front.
But what is to be done? I can't allow
The fellow to lie groaning on the road:
So take him up; I'll help you with the load."

XVI.

But, ere they could perform this pious duty,

The dying man cried, "Hold! I've got my gruel! Oh! for a glass of max' We've miss'd our booty; Let me die where I am." And, as the fuel Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty

The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew His breath, he from his swelling throat untied [ A kerchief, crying, "Give Sal that!"-and died.

XVII

The cravat, stain'd with bloody drops, fell down
Before Don Juan's feet: he could not tell
Exactly why it was before him thrown,
Nor what the meaning of the man's farewell
Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town,
A thorough varmint, and a real swell,
Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled-

XI.

These freeborn sounds proceeded from four pads, In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads,

Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre, In which the heedless gentleman who gads Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter, May find himself, within that isle of riches, Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches.

XII.

Juan, who did not understand a word

Of English, save their shiboleth, "God damn!" And even that he had so rarely heard,

He sometimes thought 'twas only their "salam," Or "God be with you,"-and 'tis not absurd To think so; for, half English as I am,

(To my misfortune,) never can I say

XVIII.

Don Juan, having done the best he could
In all the circumstances of the case,
As soon as "crowner's quest" allow'd, pursued
His travels to the capital apace;
Esteeming it a little hard he should

In twelve hours' time, a very little space,
Have been obliged to slay a freeborn native
In self-defence: this made him meditative.

XIX.

He from the world had cut off a great man,
Who in his time had made heroic bustle.
Who in a row like Tom could lead the van,

Booze in the ken, or at the spellken hustle? Who queer a flat? Who (spite of Bow-street's ban) On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle? Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal, (his blowing,)