XXI. I know not why, but in that hour to-night, XXII. That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate As if their last day of a happy date With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone. Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none, His glance inquired of hers for some excuse For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse. XXIII. She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort And master'd by her wisdom or her pride. Juan would question further, but she press'd Some people prefer wine-'t is not amiss : I have tried both; so those who would a part take May chuse between the headache and the heartache. XXV. One of the two, according to your choice, Women or wine, you 'll have to undergo; Both maladies are taxes on our joys: But which to chuse I really hardly know; And if I had to give a casting voice, For both sides I could many reasons show, And then decide, without great wrong to either, It were much better to have both than neither. XXVI. Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other, With swimming looks of speechless tenderness, But almost sanctify the sweet excess Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart, Why did they not then die?-they had lived too long, Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart; Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong. The world was not for them, nor the world's art For beings passionate as Sappho's song: Love was born with them, in them, so intense, It was their very spirit-not a sense. XXVIII. They should have lived together deep in woods, Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes Called social, where all vice and hatred are: How lonely every freeborn creature broods! The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair; The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow Flock o'er their carrion, just as mortals do. XXIX. Now pillow'd, cheek to cheek, in loving sleep, A gentle slumber, but it was not deep, For ever and anon a something shook Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream Good to the soul which we no more can bind; Strange state of being! (for 't is still to be) Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see. XXXI. She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore, Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were XXXII. Anon-she was released, and then she stray'd 'T was white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasp'd, And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd. XXXIII. The dream changed in a cave she stood; its walls Of ages on its water-fretted halls, Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and Jurk; Her hair was dripping, and the very balls Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and murk The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught, Which froze to marble as it fell, she thought. XXXIV. And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet, Pale as the foam that froth'd on his dead brow, Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how sweet Were once her cares, how idle seem'd they now!) Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat Of his quench'd heart; and the sea-dirges low Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song, And that brief dream appear'd a life too long. XXXV. And gazing on the dead, she thought his face More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew- And starting, she awoke, and what to view! Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there? Tis-t is her father's-fix'd upon the pair! XXXVI. Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell, It was a moment of that awful kind-- Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek, And Haidee clung around him: « Juan, 't is- Of pleasure and of pain-even while I kiss Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be That doubt should mingle with my filial joy? Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy.» XXXIX. High and inscrutable the old man stood, Calm in his voice, and calm within his eyeNot always signs with him of calmest mood: He look'd upon her, but gave no reply; Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood Oft came and went, as there resolved to die; In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring. XLII. Lambro presented, and one instant more Had stopp'd this Canto, and Don Juan's breath, When Haidee 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 Your nature's firmness-know your daughter's too.» XLIII. A minute past, and she had been all tears, She drew up to her height, as if to show He gazed on her, and she on him; 't was strange In the large dark eye's mutual-darted flaine; If cause should be-a lioness, though tame: I said they were alike, their features and There was resemblance, such as true blood wears; XLVI. The father paused a moment, then withdrew Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill ; XLVII. «Let him disarm; or, by my father's head, Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew In vain she struggled in her father's grasp→ His arms were like a serpent's coil: then flew Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp, The file of pirates; save the foremost, who Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through. XLIX. LVI. The second had his cheek laid open; but L. And then they bound him where he fell, and bore Until they reach'd some galliots, placed in line; LI. The world is full of strange vicissitudes, And here was one exceedingly unpleasant: A gentleman so rich in the world's goods, Handsome and young, enjoying all the present, Just at the very time when he least broods On such a thing, is suddenly to sea sent, Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot move, And all because a lady fell in love. LII. Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic, Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea! Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic; For if my pure libations exceed three, I feel my heart become so sympathetic, That I must have recourse to black Bohea : LIII. Unless when qualified with thee, Cognac ! And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill? I leave Don Juan for the present safe Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded; Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half Of those with which his Haidee's bosom bounded? She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe, And then give way, subdued because surrounded; Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez, Where all is Eden, or a wilderness. LV. There the large olive rains its amber store In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit, Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er; But there too many a poison-tree has root, And midnight listens to the lion's roar, And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot, Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan, And as the soil is, so the heart of man. Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, And like the soil beneath it will bring forth: Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower : But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. LVII. Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray, Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder they display Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way; But, overwrought with passion and despair, The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore, Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own: Thus much she view'd an instant and no more, Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan; On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd. LIX. A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, LX. Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill, All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred LXI. The ruling passion, such as marble shows She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake, Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new, A strange sensation which she must partake Perforce, since whatsoever met her view Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache Lay at her heart, whose carliest beat still true Brought back the sense of pain without the cause, For, for a while, the furies made a pause. LXIII. Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; However dear or cherish'd in their day: And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Back to old thoughts, seem'd full of fearful meaning. At last a slave bethought her of a harp; The harper came, and tuned his instrument; At the first notes, irregular and sharp, On him her flashing eyes a moment bent, Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent, And he began a long low island song Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong. LXVI. Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of love, the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream Of what she was, and is, if ye could call To be so being; in a gushing stream The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain, Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain. LXVII. Short solace, vain relief!-thought came too quick, Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense; Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Though on all other things with looks intense She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence Avail'd for either; neither change of place, Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her Senses to sleep-the power seem'd gone for ever. LXIX. Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last, And they who watch'd her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes-the beautiful, the blackOh! to possess such lustre-and then lack! LXX. She died, but not alone; she held within Thus lived-thus died she; never more on her Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure, till they are laid By age in earth; her days and pleasures were Brief, but delightful-such as had not stay'd Long with her destiny: but she sleeps well By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell. LXXII. That isle is now all desolate and bare, Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away; And nothing outward tells of human clay : But many a Greek maid in a loving song Sighs o'er her name, and many an islander With her sire's story makes the night less long; Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her. If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrongA heavy price must all pay who thus err, In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, For, soon or late, Love is his own avenger. LXXIV. But let me change this theme, which grows too sad, I don't much like describing people mad, And as my Muse is a capricious elf, Wounded and fetter'd, « cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,» And when he did, he found himself at sea, The shores of Ilion lay beneath their lee- There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is All heroes who, if living still, would slay us. * LXXVII. High barrows, without marble or a name, A vast, untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain, And Ida in the distance, still the same, And old Scamander (if 't is he), remain; The situation seems still form'd for fame A hundred thousand men might fight again Troops of untended horses; here and there Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings bear; Don Juan, here permitted to emerge From his dull cabin, found himself a slave; Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge, O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's grave: Weak still with loss of blood, he scarce could urge A few brief questions; and the answers gave No very satisfactory information About his past or present situation. LXXX. He saw some fellow-captives, who appear'd In their vocation,-had not been attack'd, In sailing from Livorno, by the pirate, LXXXI. By one of these, the buffo of the party, Juan was told about their curious case; For, although destined to the Turkish mart, he Still kept his spirits up-at least his face; The little fellow really look'd quite hearty, And bore him with some gaiety and grace, Showing a much more reconciled demeanour Than did the prima donna and the tenor. LXXXII. In a few words he told their hapless story, Hail'd a strange brig; Corpo di Caio Mario! LXXXIII. << The prima donna, though a little old, Last carnival she made a deal of strife, LXXXIV. «And then there are the dancers; there's the Nini, And made at least five hundred good zecchini, «As for the figuranti, they are like The rest of all that tribe; with here and there There's one, though tall, and stiffer than a pike, Which might go far, but she don't dance with vigour; LXXXVI. « As for the men, they are a middling set; The musico is but a crack'd old basin, But, being qualified in one way yet, May the seraglio do to set his face in, And as a servant some preferment get; His singing I no further trust can place in : From all the pope 4 makes yearly, 't would perplex To find three perfect pipes of the third sex. LXXXVII. « The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation, And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow; But being the prima donna's near relation, Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow, They hired him, though to hear him you I'd believe An ass was practising recitative. LXXXVIII. << "T would not become myself to dwell upon My own merits, and though young-I see, sir-you << Our barytone I almost had forgot, A voice of no great compass, and not sweet, Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; In lovers' parts his passion more to breathe, Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth.>> XC. Here Raucocanti's eloquent recital Was interrupted by the pirate crew, Who came at stated moments to invite all The captives back to their sad births; cach threw A rueful glance upon the waves (which bright all, From the blue skies derived a double blue, Dancing all free and happy in the sun), And then went down the hatchway one by one. |