<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116901" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Canto the Sixteenth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I<br>The antique Persians taught three useful things,<br> To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.<br>This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings --<br> A mode adopted since by modern youth.<br>Bows have they, generally with two strings;<br> Horses they ride without remorse or ruth;<br>At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,<br>But draw the long bow better now than ever.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> II<br>The cause of this effect, or this defect, --<br> "For this effect defective comes by cause," --<br>Is what I have not leisure to inspect;<br> But this I must say in my own applause,<br>Of all the Muses that I recollect,<br> Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws<br>In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction<br>The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> III<br>And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats<br> From any thing, this epic will contain<br>A wilderness of the most rare conceits,<br> Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain.<br>'T is true there be some bitters with the sweets,<br> Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't complain,<br>But wonder they so few are, since my tale is<br>"De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> IV<br>But of all truths which she has told, the most<br> True is that which she is about to tell.<br>I said it was a story of a ghost --<br> What then? I only know it so befell.<br>Have you explored the limits of the coast,<br> Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell?<br>'T is time to strike such puny doubters dumb as<br>The sceptics who would not believe Columbus.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> V<br>Some people would impose now with authority,<br> Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;<br>Men whose historical superiority<br> Is always greatest at a miracle.<br>But Saint Augustine has the great priority,<br> Who bids all men believe the impossible,<br>Because 't is so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he<br>Quiets at once with "quia impossibile."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> VI<br>And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all;<br> Believe: -- if 't is improbable you must,<br>And if it is impossible, you shall:<br> 'T is always best to take things upon trust.<br>I do not speak profanely, to recall<br> Those holier mysteries which the wise and just<br>Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted,<br>As all truths must, the more they are disputed:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> VII<br>I merely mean to say what Johnson said,<br> That in the course of some six thousand years,<br>All nations have believed that from the dead<br> A visitant at intervals appears;<br>And what is strangest upon this strange head,<br> Is, that whatever bar the reason rears<br>'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger still<br>In its behalf, let those deny who will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> VIII<br>The dinner and the soirée too were done,<br> The supper too discuss'd, the dames admired,<br>The banqueteers had dropp'd off one by one --<br> The song was silent, and the dance expired:<br>The last thin petticoats were vanish'd, gone<br> Like fleecy Clouds into the sky retired,<br>And nothing brighter gleam'd through the saloon<br>Than dying tapers -- and the peeping moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> IX<br>The evaporation of a joyous day<br> Is like the last glass of champagne, without<br>The foam which made its virgin bumper gay;<br> Or like a system coupled with a doubt;<br>Or like a soda bottle when its spray<br> Has sparkled and let half its spirit out;<br>Or like a billow left by storms behind,<br>Without the animation of the wind;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> X<br>Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest,<br> Or none; or like -- like nothing that I know<br>Except itself; -- such is the human breast;<br> A thing, of which similitudes can show<br>No real likeness, -- like the old Tyrian vest<br> Dyed purple, none at present can tell how,<br>If from a shell-fish or from cochineal.<br>So perish every tyrant's robe piece-meal!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XI<br>But next to dressing for a rout or ball,<br> Undressing is a woe; our robe de chambre<br>May sit like that of Nessus, and recall<br> Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber.<br>Titus exclaim'd, "I've lost a day!" Of all<br> The nights and days most people can remember<br>(I have had of both, some not to be disdain'd),<br>I wish they 'd state how many they have gain'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XII<br>And Juan, on retiring for the night,<br> Felt restless, and perplex'd, and compromised:<br>He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright<br> Than Adeline (such is advice) advised;<br>If he had known exactly his own plight,<br> He probably would have philosophised:<br>A great resource to all, and ne'er denied<br>Till wanted; therefore Juan only sigh'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XIII<br>He sigh'd; -- the next resource is the full moon,<br> Where all sighs are deposited; and now<br>It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone<br> As clear as such a climate will allow;<br>And Juan's mind was in the proper tone<br> To hail her with the apostrophe -- "O thou!"<br>Of amatory egotism the Tuism,<br>Which further to explain would be a truism.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XIV<br>But lover, poet, or astronomer,<br> Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold,<br>Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her:<br> Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold<br>Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err);<br> Deep secrets to her rolling light are told;<br>The ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways,<br>And also hearts, if there be truth in lays.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XV<br>Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed<br> For contemplation rather than his pillow:<br>The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed,<br> Let in the rippling sound of the lake's billow,<br>With all the mystery by midnight caused;<br> Below his window waved (of course) a willow;<br>And he stood gazing out on the cascade<br>That flash'd and after darken'd in the shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XVI<br>Upon his table or his toilet, -- which<br> Of these is not exactly ascertain'd<br>(I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch<br> Of nicety, where a fact is to be gain'd), --<br>A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche,<br> Where many a Gothic ornament remain'd,<br>In chisell'd stone and painted glass, and all<br>That time has left our fathers of their hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XVII<br>Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw<br> His chamber door wide open -- and went forth<br>Into a gallery, of a sombre hue,<br> Long, furnish'd with old pictures of great worth,<br>Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too,<br> As doubtless should be people of high birth.<br>But by dim lights the portraits of the dead<br>Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XVIII<br>The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint<br> Look living in the moon; and as you turn<br>Backward and forward to the echoes faint<br> Of your own footsteps -- voices from the urn<br>Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint<br> Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern,<br>As if to ask how you can dare to keep<br>A vigil there, where all but death should sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XIX<br>And the pale smile of beauties in the grave,<br> The charms of other days, in starlight gleams,<br>Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave<br> Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams<br>On ours, or spars within some dusky cave,<br> But death is imaged in their shadowy beams.<br>A picture is the past; even ere its frame<br>Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XX<br>As Juan mused on mutability,<br> Or on his mistress -- terms synonymous --<br>No sound except the echo of his sigh<br> Or step ran sadly through that antique house;<br>When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh,<br> A supernatural agent -- or a mouse,<br>Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass<br>Most people as it plays along the arras.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXI<br>It was no mouse, but lo! a monk, array'd<br> In cowl and beads and dusky garb, appear'd,<br>Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade,<br> With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard;<br>His garments only a slight murmur made;<br> He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird,<br>But slowly; and as he pass'd Juan by,<br>Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXII<br>Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint<br> Of such a spirit in these halls of old,<br>But thought, like most men, there was nothing in 't<br> Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold,<br>Coin'd from surviving superstition's mint,<br> Which passes ghosts in currency like gold,<br>But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper.<br>And did he see this? or was it a vapour?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXIII<br>Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd -- the thing of air,<br> Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t' other place;<br>And Juan gazed upon it with a stare,<br> Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base<br>As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair<br> Twine like a knot of snakes around his face;<br>He tax'd his tongue for words, which were not granted,<br>To ask the reverend person what he wanted.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXIV<br>The third time, after a still longer pause,<br> The shadow pass'd away -- but where? the hall<br>Was long, and thus far there was no great cause<br> To think his vanishing unnatural:<br>Doors there were many, through which, by the laws<br> Of physics, bodies whether short or tall<br>Might come or go; but Juan could not state<br>Through which the spectre seem'd to evaporate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXV<br>He stood -- how long he knew not, but it seem'd<br> An age -- expectant, powerless, with his eyes<br>Strain'd on the spot where first the figure gleam'd;<br> Then by degrees recall'd his energies,<br>And would have pass'd the whole off as a dream,<br> But could not wake; he was, he did surmise,<br>Waking already, and return'd at length<br>Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXVI<br>All there was as he left it: still his taper<br> Burnt, and not blue, as modest tapers use,<br>Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour;<br> He rubb'd his eyes, and they did not refuse<br>Their office; he took up an old newspaper;<br> The paper was right easy to peruse;<br>He read an article the king attacking,<br>And a long eulogy of "patent blacking."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXVII<br>This savour'd of this world; but his hand shook --<br> He shut his door, and after having read<br>A paragraph, I think about Horne Tooke,<br> Undrest, and rather slowly went to bed.<br>There, couch'd all snugly on his pillow's nook,<br> With what he had seen his phantasy he fed;<br>And though it was no opiate, slumber crept<br>Upon him by degrees, and so he slept.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXVIII<br>He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed,<br> Ponder'd upon his visitant or vision,<br>And whether it ought not to be disclosed,<br> At risk of being quizz'd for superstition.<br>The more he thought, the more his mind was posed:<br> In the mean time, his valet, whose precision<br>Was great, because his master brook'd no less,<br>Knock'd to inform him it was time to dress.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXIX<br>He dress'd; and like young people he was wont<br> To take some trouble with his toilet, but<br>This morning rather spent less time upon 't;<br> Aside his very mirror soon was put;<br>His curls fell negligently o'er his front,<br> His clothes were not curb'd to their usual cut,<br>His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied<br>Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXX<br>And when he walk'd down into the saloon,<br> He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea,<br>Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon,<br> Had it not happen'd scalding hot to be,<br>Which made him have recourse unto his spoon;<br> So much distrait he was, that all could see<br>That something was the matter -- Adeline<br>The first -- but what she could not well divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXI<br>She look'd, and saw him pale, and turn'd as pale<br> Herself; then hastily look'd down, and mutter'd<br>Something, but what's not stated in my tale.<br> Lord Henry said his muffin was ill butter'd;<br>The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke play'd with her veil,<br> And look'd at Juan hard, but nothing utter'd.<br>Aurora Raby with her large dark eyes<br>Survey'd him with a kind of calm surprise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXII<br>But seeing him all cold and silent still,<br> And everybody wondering more or less,<br>Fair Adeline enquired, "If he were ill?"<br> He started, and said, "Yes -- no -- rather -- yes."<br>The family physician had great skill,<br> And being present, now began to express<br>His readiness to feel his pulse and tell<br>The cause, but Juan said, "He was quite well."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXIII<br>"Quite well; yes, -- no." -- These answers were mysterious,<br> And yet his looks appear'd to sanction both,<br>However they might savour of delirious;<br> Something like illness of a sudden growth<br>Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no means serious:<br> But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth<br>To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted<br>It was not the physician that he wanted.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXIV<br>Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his chocolate,<br> Also the muffin whereof he complain'd,<br>Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate,<br> At which he marvell'd, since it had not rain'd;<br>Then ask'd her Grace what news were of the duke of late?<br> Her Grace replied, his Grace was rather pain'd<br>With some slight, light, hereditary twinges<br>Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXV<br>Then Henry turn'd to Juan, and address'd<br> A few words of condolence on his state:<br>"You look," quoth he, "as if you had had your rest<br> Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late."<br>"What friar?" said Juan; and he did his best<br> To put the question with an air sedate,<br>Or careless; but the effort was not valid<br>To hinder him from growing still more pallid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXVI<br>"Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar?<br> The spirit of these walls?" -- "In truth not I."<br>"Why Fame -- but Fame you know's sometimes a liar --<br> Tells an odd story, of which by and by:<br>Whether with time the spectre has grown shyer,<br> Or that our sires had a more gifted eye<br>For such sights, though the tale is half believed,<br>The friar of late has not been oft perceived.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXVII<br>"The last time was -- " -- "I pray," said Adeline --<br> (Who watch'd the changes of Don Juan's brow,<br>And from its context thought she could divine<br> Connexions stronger then he chose to avow<br>With this same legend) -- "if you but design<br> To jest, you'll choose some other theme just now,<br>Because the present tale has oft been told,<br>And is not much improved by growing old."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXVIII<br>"Jest!" quoth Milor; "why, Adeline, you know<br> That we ourselves -- 't was in the honey-moon --<br>"Saw --" -- "Well, no matter. t was so long ago;<br> But, come, I'll set your story to a tune."<br>Graceful as Dian, when she draws her bow,<br> She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled soon<br>As touch'd, and plaintively began to play<br>The air of "'T was a Friar of Orders Gray."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XXXIX<br>"But add the words," cried Henry, "which you made;<br> For Adeline is half a poetess,"<br>Turning round to the rest, he smiling said.<br> Of course the others could not but express<br>In courtesy their wish to see display'd<br> By one three talents, for there were no less --<br>The voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once<br>Could hardly be united by a dunce.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XL<br>After some fascinating hesitation, --<br> The charming of these charmers, who seem bound,<br>I can't tell why, to this dissimulation, --<br> Fair Adeline, with eyes fix'd on the ground<br>At first, then kindling into animation,<br> Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound,<br>And sang with much simplicity, -- a merit<br>Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 1<br> Beware! beware! of the Black Friar,<br> Who sitteth by Norman stone,<br> For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air,<br> And his mass of the days that are gone.<br> When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville,<br> Made Norman Church his prey,<br> And expell'd the friars, one friar still<br> Would not be driven away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 2<br> Though he came in his might, with King Henry's right,<br> To turn church lands to lay,<br> With sword in hand, and torch to light<br> Their walls, if they said nay;<br> A monk remain'd, unchased, unchain'd,<br> And he did not seem form'd of clay,<br> For he 's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the church,<br> Though he is not seen by day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 3<br> And whether for good, or whether for ill,<br> It is not mine to say;<br> But still with the house of Amundeville<br> He abideth night and day.<br> By the marriage-bed of their lords, 't is said,<br> He flits on the bridal eve;<br> And 't is held as faith, to their bed of death<br> He comes -- but not to grieve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 4<br> When an heir is born, he's heard to mourn,<br> And when aught is to befall<br> That ancient line, in the "we moonshine<br> He walks from hall to hall.<br> His form you may trace, but not his face,<br> 'T is shadow'd by his cowl;<br> But his eyes may be seen from the folds between,<br> And they seem of a parted soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 5<br> But beware! beware! of the Black Friar,<br> He still retains his sway,<br> For he is yet the church's heir<br> Whoever may be the lay.<br> Amundeville is lord by day,<br> But the monk is lord by night;<br> Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal<br> To question that friar's right.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 6<br> Say nought to him as he walks the hall,<br> And he'll say nought to you;<br> He sweeps along in his dusky pall,<br> As o'er the grass the dew.<br> Then grammercy! for the Black Friar;<br> Heaven sain him, fair or foul!<br> And whatsoe'er may be his prayer,<br> Let ours be for his soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLI<br>The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wires<br> Died from the touch that kindled them to sound;<br>And the pause follow'd, which when song expires<br> Pervades a moment those who listen round;<br>And then of course the circle much admires,<br> Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound,<br>The tones, the feeling, and the execution,<br>To the performer's diffident confusion.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLII<br>Fair Adeline, though in a careless way,<br> As if she rated such accomplishment<br>As the mere pastime of an idle day,<br> Pursued an instant for her own content,<br>Would now and then as 't were without display,<br> Yet with display in fact, at times relent<br>To such performances with haughty smile,<br>To show she could, if it were worth her while.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLIII<br>Now this (but we will whisper it aside)<br> Was -- pardon the pedantic illustration --<br>Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride,<br> As did the Cynic on some like occasion;<br>Deeming the sage would be much mortified,<br> Or thrown into a philosophic passion,<br>For a spoil'd carpet -- but the "Attic Bee"<br>Was much consoled by his own repartee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLIV<br>Thus Adeline would throw into the shade<br> (By doing easily, whene'er she chose,<br>What dilettanti do with vast parade)<br> Their sort of half profession; for it grows<br>To something like this when too oft display'd;<br> And that it is so everybody knows<br>Who have heard Miss That or This, or Lady T'other,<br>Show off -- to please their company or mother.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLV<br>Oh! the long evenings of duets and trios!<br> The admirations and the speculations;<br>The "Mamma Mia's!" and the "Amor Mio's!"<br> The "Tanti palpiti's" on such occasions:<br>The "Lasciami's," and quavering "Addio's!"<br> Amongst our own most musical of nations;<br>With "Tu mi chamas's" from Portingale,<br>To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLVI<br>In Babylon's bravuras -- as the home<br> Heart-ballads of Green Erin or Gray Highlands,<br>That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam<br> O'er far Atlantic continents or islands,<br>The calentures of music which o'ercome<br> All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands,<br>No more to be beheld but in such visions --<br>Was Adeline well versed, as compositions.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLVII<br>She also had a twilight tinge of "Blue,"<br> Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote,<br>Made epigrams occasionally too<br> Upon her friends, as everybody ought.<br>But still from that sublimer azure hue,<br> So much the present dye, she was remote;<br>Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet,<br>And what was worse, was not ashamed to show it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLVIII<br>Aurora -- since we are touching upon taste,<br> Which now-a-days is the thermometer<br>By whose degrees all characters are class'd --<br> Was more Shakspearian, if I do not err.<br>The worlds beyond this world's perplexing waste<br> Had more of her existence, for in her<br>There was a depth of feeling to embrace<br>Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Space.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XLIX<br>Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace,<br> The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind,<br>If she had any, was upon her face,<br> And that was of a fascinating kind.<br>A little turn for mischief you might trace<br> Also thereon, -- but that's not much; we find<br>Few females without some such gentle leaven,<br>For fear we should suppose us quite in heaven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> L<br>I have not heard she was at all poetic,<br> Though once she was seen reading the Bath Guide,<br>And Hayley's Triumphs, which she deem'd pathetic,<br> Because she said her temper had been tried<br>So much, the bard had really been prophetic<br> Of what she had gone through with -- since a bride.<br>But of all verse, what most ensured her praise<br>Were sonnets to herself, or bouts rimés.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LI<br>'T were difficult to say what was the object<br> Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay<br>To bear on what appear'd to her the subject<br> Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day.<br>Perhaps she merely had the simple project<br> To laugh him out of his supposed dismay;<br>Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it,<br>Though why I cannot say -- at least this minute.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LII<br>But so far the immediate effect<br> Was to restore him to his self-propriety,<br>A thing quite necessary to the elect,<br> Who wish to take the tone of their society:<br>In which you cannot be too circumspect,<br> Whether the mode be persiflage or piety,<br>But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy,<br>On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LIII<br>And therefore Juan now began to rally<br> His spirits, and without more explanation<br>To jest upon such themes in many a sally.<br> Her Grace, too, also seized the same occasion,<br>With various similar remarks to tally,<br> But wish'd for a still more detail'd narration<br>Of this same mystic friar's curious doings,<br>About the present family's deaths and wooings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LIV<br>Of these few could say more than has been said;<br> They pass'd as such things do, for superstition<br>With some, while others, who had more in dread<br> The theme, half credited the strange tradition;<br>And much was talk'd on all sides on that head:<br> But Juan, when cross-question'd on the vision,<br>Which some supposed (though he had not avow'd it)<br>Had stirr'd him, answer'd in a way to cloud it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LV<br>And then, the mid-day having worn to one,<br> The company prepared to separate;<br>Some to their several pastimes, or to none,<br> Some wondering 't was so early, some so late.<br>There was a goodly match too, to be run<br> Between some greyhounds on my lord's estate,<br>And a young race-horse of old pedigree<br>Match'd for the spring, whom several went to see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LVI<br>There was a picture-dealer who had brought<br> A special Titian, warranted original,<br>So precious that it was not to be bought,<br> Though princes the possessor were besieging all.<br>The king himself had cheapen'd it, but thought<br> The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all<br>His subjects by his gracious acceptation)<br>Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LVII<br>But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur, --<br> The friend of artists, if not arts, -- the owner,<br>With motives the most classical and pure,<br> So that he would have been the very donor,<br>Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer,<br> So much he deem'd his patronage an honour,<br>Had brought the capo d'opera, not for sale,<br>But for his judgment -- never known to fail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LVIII<br>There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic<br> Bricklayer of Babel, call'd an architect,<br>Brought to survey these grey walls, which though so thick,<br> Might have from time acquired some slight defect;<br>Who after rummaging the Abbey through thick<br> And thin, produced a plan whereby to erect<br>New buildings of correctest conformation,<br>And throw down old -- which he call'd restoration.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LIX<br>The cost would be a trifle -- an "old song,"<br> Set to some thousands ('t is the usual burden<br>Of that same tune, when people hum it long) --<br> The price would speedily repay its worth in<br>An edifice no less sublime than strong,<br> By which Lord Henry's good taste would go forth in<br>Its glory, through all ages shining sunny,<br>For Gothic daring shown in English money.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LX<br>There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage<br> Lord Henry wish'd to raise for a new purchase;<br>Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage,<br> And one on tithes, which sure are Discord's torches,<br>Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage,<br> "Untying" squires "to fight against the churches;"<br>There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and ploughman,<br>For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXI<br>There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,<br> Ready for gaol, their place of convalescence;<br>There was a country girl in a close cap<br> And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since --<br>Since -- since -- in youth, I had the sad mishap --<br> But luckily I have paid few parish fees since):<br>That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigour,<br>Presents the problem of a double figure.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXII<br>A reel within a bottle is a mystery,<br> One can't tell how it e'er got in or out;<br>Therefore the present piece of natural history<br> I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt;<br>And merely state, though not for the consistory,<br> Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout<br>The constable, beneath a warrant's banner,<br>Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXIII<br>Now justices of peace must judge all pieces<br> Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game<br>And morals of the country from caprices<br> Of those who have not a license for the same;<br>And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,<br> Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:<br>Preserving partridges and pretty wenches<br>Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXIV<br>The present culprit was extremely pale,<br> Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red<br>By nature, as in higher dames less hale<br> 'T is white, at least when they just rise from bed.<br>Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail,<br> Poor soul! for she was country born and bred,<br>And knew no better in her immorality<br>Than to wax white -- for blushes are for quality.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXV<br>Her black, bright, downcast, yet espiègle eye,<br> Had gather'd a large tear into its corner,<br>Which the poor thing at times essay'd to dry,<br> For she was not a sentimental mourner<br>Parading all her sensibility,<br> Nor insolent enough to scorn the scorner,<br>But stood in trembling, patient tribulation,<br>To be call'd up for her examination.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXVI<br>Of course these groups were scatter'd here and there,<br> Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent.<br>The lawyers in the study; and in air<br> The prize pig, ploughman, poachers; the men sent<br>From town, viz., architect and dealer, were<br> Both busy (as a general in his tent<br>Writing despatches) in their several stations,<br>Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXVII<br>But this poor girl was left in the great hall,<br> While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail,<br>Discuss'd (he hated beer yclept the "small")<br> A mighty mug of moral double ale.<br>She waited until justice could recall<br> Its kind attentions to their proper pale,<br>To name a thing in nomenclature rather<br>Perplexing for most virgins -- a child's father.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXVIII<br>You see here was enough of occupation<br> For the Lord Henry, link'd with dogs and horses.<br>There was much bustle too, and preparation<br> Below stairs on the score of second courses;<br>Because, as suits their rank and situation,<br> Those who in counties have great land resources<br>Have "Public days," when all men may carouse,<br>Though not exactly what's call'd "open house."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXIX<br>But once a week or fortnight, uninvited<br> (Thus we translate a general invitation),<br>All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted,<br> May drop in without cards, and take their station<br>At the full board, and sit alike delighted<br> With fashionable wines and conversation;<br>And, as the isthmus of the grand connection,<br>Talk o'er themselves the past and next election.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXX<br>Lord Henry was a great electioneerer,<br> Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit;<br>But county contests cost him rather dearer,<br> Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit<br>Had English influence in the self-same sphere here;<br> His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrabbit,<br>Was member for the "other interest" (meaning<br>The same self-interest, with a different leaning).</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXI<br>Courteous and cautious therefore in his county,<br> He was all things to all men, and dispensed<br>To some civility, to others bounty,<br> And promises to all -- which last commenced<br>To gather to a somewhat large amount, he<br> Not calculating how much they condensed;<br>But what with keeping some, and breaking others,<br>His word had the same value as another's.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXII<br>A friend to freedom and freeholders -- yet<br> No less a friend to government -- he held,<br>That he exactly the just medium hit<br> 'Twixt place and patriotism -- albeit compell'd,<br>Such was his sovereign's pleasure (though unfit,<br> He added modestly, when rebels rail'd),<br>To hold some sinecures he wish'd abolish'd,<br>But that with them all law would be demolish'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXIII<br>He was "free to confess" (whence comes this phrase?<br> Is 't English? No -- 't is only parliamentary)<br>That innovation's spirit now-a-days<br> Had made more progress than for the last century.<br>He would not tread a factious path to praise,<br> Though for the public weal disposed to venture high;<br>As for his place, he could but say this of it,<br>That the fatigue was greater than the profit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXIV<br>Heaven, and his friends, knew that a private life<br> Had ever been his sole and whole ambition;<br>But could he quit his king in times of strife,<br> Which threaten'd the whole country with perdition?<br>When demagogues would with a butcher's knife<br> Cut through and through (oh! damnable incision!)<br>The Gordian or the Geordi-an knot, whose strings<br>Have tied together commons, lords, and kings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXV<br>Sooner "come Place into the civil list<br> And champion him to the utmost" -- he would keep it,<br>Till duly disappointed or dismiss'd:<br> Profit he care not for, let others reap it;<br>But should the day come when place ceased to exist,<br> The country would have far more cause to weep it:<br>For how could it go on? Explain who can!<br>He gloried in the name of Englishman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXVI<br>He was as independent -- ay, much more --<br> Than those who were not paid for independence,<br>As common soldiers, or a common -- shore,<br> Have in their several arts or parts ascendance<br>O'er the irregulars in lust or gore,<br> Who do not give professional attendance.<br>Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager<br>To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXVII<br>All this (save the last stanza) Henry said,<br> And thought. I say no more -- I've said too much;<br>For all of us have either heard or read --<br> Off -- or upon the hustings -- some slight such<br>Hints from the independent heart or head<br> Of the official candidate. I'll touch<br>No more on this -- the dinner-bell hath rung,<br>And grace is said; the grace I should have sung --</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXVIII<br>But I'm too late, and therefore must make play.<br> 'T was a great banquet, such as Albion old<br>Was wont to boast -- as if a glutton's tray<br> Were something very glorious to behold.<br>But 't was a public feast and public day, --<br> Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold,<br>Great plenty, much formality, small cheer,<br>And every body out of their own sphere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXIX<br>The squires familiarly formal, and<br> My lords and ladies proudly condescending;<br>The very servants puzzling how to hand<br> Their plates -- without it might be too much bending<br>From their high places by the sideboard's stand --<br> Yet, like their masters, fearful of offending.<br>For any deviation from the graces<br>Might cost both man and master too -- their places.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXX<br>There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen,<br> Whose hounds ne'er err'd, nor greyhounds deign'd to lurch;<br>Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, seen<br> Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search<br>Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen.<br> There were some massy members of the church,<br>Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches,<br>And several who sung fewer psalms than catches.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXI<br>There were some country wags too -- and, alas!<br> Some exiles from the town, who had been driven<br>To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass,<br> And rise at nine in lieu of long eleven.<br>And lo! upon that day it came to pass,<br> I sate next that o'erwhelming son of heaven,<br>The very powerful parson, Peter Pith,<br>The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXII<br>I knew him in his livelier London days,<br> A brilliant diner out, though but a curate;<br>And not a joke he cut but earn'd its praise,<br> Until preferment, coming at a sure rate<br>(O Providence! how wondrous are thy ways!<br> Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurate?),<br>Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o'er Lincoln,<br>A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXIII<br>His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes;<br> But both were thrown away amongst the fens;<br>For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks.<br> No longer ready ears and short-hand pens<br>Imbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax:<br> The poor priest was reduced to common sense,<br>Or to coarse efforts very loud and long,<br>To hammer a horse laugh from the thick throng.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXIV<br>There is a difference, says the song, "between<br> A beggar and a queen," or was (of late<br>The latter worse used of the two we've seen --<br> But we'll say nothing of affairs of state);<br>A difference "'twixt a bishop and a dean,"<br> A difference between crockery ware and plate,<br>As between English beef and Spartan broth --<br>And yet great heroes have been bred by both.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXV<br>But of all nature's discrepancies, none<br> Upon the whole is greater than the difference<br>Beheld between the country and the town,<br> Of which the latter merits every preference<br>From those who have few resources of their own,<br> And only think, or act, or feel, with reference<br>To some small plan of interest or ambition --<br>Both which are limited to no condition.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXVI<br>But en avant! The light loves languish o'er<br> Long banquets and too many guests, although<br>A slight repast makes people love much more,<br> Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know<br>Even from our grammar upwards, friends of yore<br> With vivifying Venus, who doth owe<br>To these the invention of champagne and truffles:<br>Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXVII<br>Dully past o'er the dinner of the day;<br> And Juan took his place, he knew not where,<br>Confused, in the confusion, and distrait,<br> And sitting as if nail'd upon his chair:<br>Though knives and forks clank'd round as in a fray,<br> He seem'd unconscious of all passing there,<br>Till some one, with a groan, exprest a wish<br>(Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXVIII<br>On which, at the third asking of the bans,<br> He started; and perceiving smiles around<br>Broadening to grins, he colour'd more than once,<br> And hastily -- as nothing can confound<br>A wise man more than laughter from a dunce --<br> Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound,<br>And with such hurry, that ere he could curb it<br>He had paid his neighbour's prayer with half a turbot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> LXXXIX<br>This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd,<br> The supplicator being an amateur;<br>But others, who were left with scarce a third,<br> Were angry -- as they well might, to be sure.<br>They wonder'd how a young man so absurd<br> Lord Henry at his table should endure;<br>And this, and his not knowing how much oats<br>Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XC<br>They little knew, or might have sympathised,<br> That he the night before had seen a ghost,<br>A prologue which but slightly harmonised<br> With the substantial company engross'd<br>By matter, and so much materialised,<br> That one scarce knew at what to marvel most<br>Of two things -- how (the question rather odd is)<br>Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCI<br>But what confused him more than smile or stare<br> From all the 'squires and 'squiresses around,<br>Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air,<br> Especially as he had been renown'd<br>For some vivacity among the fair,<br> Even in the country circle's narrow bound<br>(For little things upon my lord's estate<br>Were good small talk for others still less great) --</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCII<br>Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his,<br> And something like a smile upon her cheek.<br>Now this he really rather took amiss:<br> In those who rarely smile, their smiles bespeak<br>A strong external motive; and in this<br> Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique<br>Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles<br>Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCIII<br>'T was a mere quiet smile of contemplation,<br> Indicative of some surprise and pity;<br>And Juan grew carnation with vexation,<br> Which was not very wise, and still less witty,<br>Since he had gain'd at least her observation,<br> A most important outwork of the city --<br>As Juan should have known, had not his senses<br>By last night's ghost been driven from their defences.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCIV<br>But what was bad, she did not blush in turn,<br> Nor seem embarrass'd -- quite the contrary;<br>Her aspect was as usual, still -- not stern --<br> And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye,<br>Yet grew a little pale -- with what? concern?<br> I know not; but her colour ne'er was high --<br>Though sometimes faintly flush'd -- and always clear,<br>As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCV<br>But Adeline was occupied by fame<br> This day; and watching, witching, condescending<br>To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game,<br> And dignity with courtesy so blending,<br>As all must blend whose part it is to aim<br> (Especially as the sixth year is ending)<br>At their lord's, son's, or similar connection's<br>Safe conduct through the rocks of re-elections.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCVI<br>Though this was most expedient on the whole,<br> And usual -- Juan, when he cast a glance<br>On Adeline while playing her grand rôle,<br> Which she went through as though it were a dance,<br>Betraying only now and then her soul<br> By a look scarce perceptibly askance<br>(Of weariness or scorn), began to feel<br>Some doubt how much of Adeline was real;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCVII<br>So well she acted all and every part<br> By turns -- with that vivacious versatility,<br>Which many people take for want of heart.<br> They err -- 't is merely what is call'd mobility,<br>A thing of temperament and not of art,<br> Though seeming so, from its supposed facility;<br>And false -- though true; for surely they're sincerest<br>Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCVIII<br>This makes your actors, artists, and romancers,<br> Heroes sometimes, though seldom -- sages never;<br>But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers,<br> Little that's great, but much of what is clever;<br>Most orators, but very few financiers,<br> Though all Exchequer chancellors endeavour,<br>Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours,<br>And grow quite figurative with their figures.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> XCIX<br>The poets of arithmetic are they<br> Who, though they prove not two and two to be<br>Five, as they might do in a modest way,<br> Have plainly made it out that four are three,<br>Judging by what they take, and what they pay.<br> The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea,<br>That most unliquidating liquid, leaves<br>The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> C<br>While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces,<br> The fair Fitz-Fulke seem'd very much at ease;<br>Though too well bred to quiz men to their faces,<br> Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize<br>The ridicules of people in all places --<br> That honey of your fashionable bees --<br>And store it up for mischievous enjoyment;<br>And this at present was her kind employment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CI<br>However, the day closed, as days must close;<br> The evening also waned -- and coffee came.<br>Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose,<br> And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame,<br>Retired: with most unfashionable bows<br> Their docile esquires also did the same,<br>Delighted with their dinner and their host,<br>But with the Lady Adeline the most.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CII<br>Some praised her beauty; others her great grace;<br> The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity<br>Was obvious in each feature of her face,<br> Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity.<br>Yes; she was truly worthy her high place!<br> No one could envy her deserved prosperity.<br>And then her dress -- what beautiful simplicity<br>Draperied her form with curious felicity!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CIII<br>Meanwhile Sweet Adeline deserved their praises,<br> By an impartial indemnification<br>For all her past exertion and soft phrases,<br> In a most edifying conversation,<br>Which turn'd upon their late guests' miens and faces,<br> And families, even to the last relation;<br>Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses,<br>And truculent distortion of their tresses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CIV<br>True, she said little -- 't was the rest that broke<br> Forth into universal epigram;<br>But then 't was to the purpose what she spoke:<br> Like Addison's "faint praise," so wont to damn,<br>Her own but served to set off every joke,<br> As music chimes in with a melodrame.<br>How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!<br>I ask but this of mine, to -- not defend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CV<br>There were but two exceptions to this keen<br> Skirmish of wits o'er the departed; one<br>Aurora, with her pure and placid mien;<br> And Juan, too, in general behind none<br>In gay remark on what he had heard or seen,<br> Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone:<br>In vain he heard the others rail or rally,<br>He would not join them in a single sally.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CVI<br>'T is true he saw Aurora look as though<br> She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook<br>Its motive for that charity we owe<br> But seldom pay the absent, nor would look<br>Farther -- it might or might not be so.<br> But Juan, sitting silent in his nook,<br>Observing little in his reverie,<br>Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CVII<br>The ghost at least had done him this much good,<br> In making him as silent as a ghost,<br>If in the circumstances which ensued<br> He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most.<br>And certainly Aurora had renew'd<br> In him some feelings he had lately lost,<br>Or harden'd; feelings which, perhaps ideal,<br>Are so divine, that I must deem them real: --</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CVIII<br>The love of higher things and better days;<br> The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance<br>Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways;<br> The moments when we gather from a glance<br>More joy than from all future pride or praise,<br> Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance<br>The heart in an existence of its own,<br>Of which another's bosom is the zone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CIX<br>Who would not sigh Ai ai Tan Kytherheian<br> That hath a memory, or that had a heart?<br>Alas! her star must fade like that of Dian:<br> Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart.<br>Anacreon only had the soul to tie an<br> Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart<br>Of Eros: but though thou hast play'd us many tricks,<br>Still we respect thee, "Alma Venus Genetrix!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CX<br>And full of sentiments, sublime as billows<br> Heaving between this world and worlds beyond,<br>Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows<br> Arrived, retired to his; but to despond<br>Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows<br> Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond<br>Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,<br>And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXI<br>The night was as before: he was undrest,<br> Saving his night-gown, which is an undress;<br>Completely sans culotte, and without vest;<br> In short, he hardly could be clothed with less:<br>But apprehensive of his spectral guest,<br> He sate with feelings awkward to express<br>(By those who have not had such visitations),<br>Expectant of the ghost's fresh operations.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXII<br>And not in vain he listen'd; -- Hush! what's that?<br> I see -- I see -- Ah, no! -- 't is not -- yet 't is --<br>Ye powers! it is the -- the -- the -- Pooh! the cat!<br> The devil may take that stealthy pace of his!<br>So like a spiritual pit-a-pat,<br> Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss,<br>Gliding the first time to a rendezvous,<br>And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXIII<br>Again -- what is 't? The wind? No, no -- this time<br> It is the sable friar as before,<br>With awful footsteps regular as rhyme,<br> Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more.<br>Again through shadows of the night sublime,<br> When deep sleep fell on men, and the world wore<br>The starry darkness round her like a girdle<br>Spangled with gems -- the monk made his blood curdle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXIV<br>A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass,<br> Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter,<br>Like showers which on the midnight gusts will pass,<br> Sounding like very supernatural water,<br>Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd, alas!<br> For immaterialism's a serious matter;<br>So that even those whose faith is the most great<br>In souls immortal, shun them tête-à-tête.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXV<br>Were his eyes open? -- Yes! and his mouth too.<br> Surprise has this effect -- to make one dumb,<br>Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips through<br> As wide as if a long speech were to come.<br>Nigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew,<br> Tremendous to a mortal tympanum:<br>His eyes were open, and (as was before<br>Stated) his mouth. What open'd next? -- the door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXVI<br>It open'd with a most infernal creak,<br> Like that of hell. "Lasciate ogni speranza<br>Voi che entrate!" The hinge seem'd to speak,<br> Dreadful as Dante's rima, or this stanza;<br>Or -- but all words upon such themes are weak:<br> A single shade's sufficient to entrance<br>Hero -- for what is substance to a spirit?<br>Or how is 't matter trembles to come near it?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXVII<br>The door flew wide, -- not swiftly, but, as fly<br> The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight, --<br>And then swung back; nor close -- but stood awry,<br> Half letting in long shadows on the light,<br>Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high,<br> For he had two, both tolerably bright,<br>And in the door-way, darkening darkness, stood<br>The sable friar in his solemn hood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXVIII<br>Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken<br> The night before; but being sick of shaking,<br>He first inclined to think he had been mistaken;<br> And then to be ashamed of such mistaking;<br>His own internal ghost began to awaken<br> Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking --<br>Hinting that soul and body on the whole<br>Were odds against a disembodied soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXIX<br>And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce,<br> And he arose, advanced -- the shade retreated;<br>But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,<br> Follow'd, his veins no longer cold, but heated,<br>Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce,<br> At whatsoever risk of being defeated:<br>The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until<br>He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXX<br>Juan put forth one arm -- Eternal powers!<br> It touched no soul, nor body, but the wall,<br>On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers,<br> Chequer'd with all the tracery of the hall;<br>He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers<br> When he can't tell what 't is that doth appal.<br>How odd, a single hobgoblin's non-entity<br>Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXXI<br>But still the shade remain'd: the blue eyes glared,<br> And rather variably for stony death:<br>Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared,<br> The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath.<br>A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd;<br> A red lip, with two rows of pearls beneath,<br>Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud<br>The moon peep'd, just escaped from a grey cloud.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXXII<br>And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust<br> His other arm forth -- Wonder upon wonder!<br>It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust,<br> Which beat as if there was a warm heart under.<br>He found, as people on most trials must,<br> That he had made at first a silly blunder,<br>And that in his confusion he had caught<br>Only the wall, instead of what he sought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> CXXIII<br>The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweet soul<br> As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood:<br>A dimpled chin, a neck of ivory, stole<br> Forth into something much like flesh and blood;<br>Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl,<br> And they reveal'd -- alas! that e'er they should!<br>In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk,<br>The phantom of her frolic Grace -- Fitz-Fulke!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a> from <i>Don Juan</i><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116901" data-title="Canto the Sixteenth de Byron" data-description="I/The antique Persians taught three useful things,/ To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth./This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings --/ A mode adopted since by modern youth./Bows have they, generally with two strings;/ Horses they ride wi..."></div> </div> </div>

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