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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396077" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Don Juan: Canto The Sixteenth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">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">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">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>'Tis 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">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>'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as <br>The sceptics who would not believe Columbus. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he <br>Quiets at once with 'quia impossibile.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all; <br>Believe:--if 'tis improbable you must, <br>And if it is impossible, you shall: <br>'Tis 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">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">The dinner and the soiree 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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">'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">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">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">'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">(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">'Jest!' quoth Milor; 'why, Adeline, you know <br>That we ourselves - 'twas in the honey-moon-- <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 ''Twas a Friar of Orders Gray.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'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">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">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">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">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, 'tis said, <br>He flits on the bridal eve; <br>And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death <br>He comes - but not to grieve. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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>'Tis 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">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">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">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">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 'twere 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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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 rimes.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twere 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">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">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">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">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 'twas 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">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">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">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">The cost would be a trifle - an 'old song,' <br>Set to some thousands ('tis 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">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">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">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">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">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>'Tis 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">Her black, bright, downcast, yet espiegle 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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">He was 'free to confess' (whence comes this phrase? <br>Is't English? No--'tis 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">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">Sooner 'come lace 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">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">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">But I'm too late, and therefore must make play. <br>'Twas 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 'twas 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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">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">'Twas 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">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">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">Though this was most expedient on the whole, <br>And usual--Juan, when he cast a glance <br>On Adeline while playing her grand role, <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">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--'tis 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">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">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">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">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">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">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">True, she said little - 'twas the rest that broke <br>Forth into universal epigram; <br>But then 'twas 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">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">'Tis 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">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">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">Who would not sigh Ai ai Tan Kuuerheian <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">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">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">And not in vain he listen'd;--Hush! what's that? <br>I see--I see--Ah, no!--'tis not--yet 'tis--<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">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">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 tete-a-tete. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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">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 rhima, 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">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 burned high, <br>For he had two, both tolerably bright, <br>And in the doorway, darkening darkness, stood <br>The sable Friar in his solemn hood. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Between two worlds life hovers like a star,<br>'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.<br>How little do we know that which we are!<br>How less what we may be! The eternal surge<br>Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar<br>Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge,<br>Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves<br>Of empires heave but like some passing waves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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">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>Followed, 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 stopped, menaced, then retired, until <br>He reached the ancient wall, then stood stone still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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>Checkered with all the tracery of the hall. <br>He shuddered, as no doubt the bravest cowers<br>When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal. <br>How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity <br>Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But still the shade remained, 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 showed he had been fair-haired.<br>A red lip with two rows of pearls beneath<br>Gleamed forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud<br>The moon peeped, just escaped from a grey cloud.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Juan, puzzled but still curious, thrust<br>His other arm forth. Wonder upon wonder!<br>It pressed 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">The ghost, if ghost it were, seemed a sweet soul<br>As ever lurked 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 revealed, alas, that ere they should, <br>In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk, <br>The phantom of her frolic Grace - Fita-Fulke!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q>
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<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=396077" data-title="Don Juan: Canto The Sixteenth de Byron" data-description="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 wit..."></div>
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