Puslapio vaizdai
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The eye might doubt if it were well awake,
She was so like a vision; I might err,

But Shakspeare also says 'tis very silly
• To gild refined gold, or paint the lily."

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Haidée and Juan are amused, while at table, by dwarfs and dancing-girls, black eunuchs, and a poet, of whom I shall say nothing, Christopher, because I do not think the account is very good, but his song, I am persuaded, you will think is the very loftiest bachanalian ever penned-You will, indeed, although with a grumble, I know, allow this as if you were suffering a jerk of your rheumatism.

"The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece,
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,-
Where Delos rose, and Phœbus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

"The Scian and the Teian muse,

The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse;

Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' Islands of the Blest."
"The mountains look on Marathon-
And Marathon looks on the sea;

And musing there an hour alone,

But one arise, we come, we come!"
'Tis but the living who are dumb.
"In vain in vain: strike other chords;

Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble callHow answers each bold bacchanal ! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?

You have the letters Cadmus gave
Think ye he meant them for a slave?

"Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon's song divine :

He served but served Polycrates-
A tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrynen.

"The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades!

Oh! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!
Such chains as his were sure to bind.

" Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,

I dream'd that Greece might still be free; The Heracleidan blood might own.

For, standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.

"A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations; - all were his!
He counted them at break of day-
And when the sun set where were they?

"And where are they? and where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now-

The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?

"'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though link'd among a fetter'd race,

To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush for Greece a tear.

"Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylæ!
"What, silent still? and silent all ?
Ah! no; the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, "Let one living head,

"Trust not for freedom to the Franks-
They have a king who buys and sells;
In native swords, and native ranks,

The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
"Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade-
I see their glorious black eyes shine;

But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

"Place me on Sunium's marbled steep-
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!"

There is a little confusion in the narrative; or perhaps it is the hurry in which I am going over it, that make me not able to trace it so clearly as might do, through digressions. Lam bro arrived while the lovers were a dinner, and we are led to suppos that he witnesses their dalliance an revelling; but it would seem that thi was not the case, for we find Haidé and Juan left alone after the banquet

admiring the rosy twilight of the even ing sky.

- "Tour tale. The feast was over, the slaves gone,

The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired;

The Arab lore and poet's song were done, And every sound of revelry expired; The lady and her lover, left alone,

The rosy flood of twilight sky admired;

Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea,

That heavenliest hour of Heaven is wor

thiest thee!

"Ave Maria! blessed be the hour,

The time, the clime, the spot, where I so

oft

Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,

Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air,

And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer.

"Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer! Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love! Ave Maria! may our spirits dare

Look up to thine, and to thy Son's above! Ave Maria! oh that face so fair!

Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove

What though 'tis but a pictured image That painting is no idol, 'tis too like. Now, Christopher, after this, take thy crutch, and, with the help of Blackwood'sporter, John Lesley, crawlupthe new road along the Salisbury Craigs, on the first fine Sabbath evening, when all the west is still one broad glow of heavenly ruby; and the castle, in the middle of the view, appears like the crowned head of some great being, resting on his elbow in contemplation; repeat these verses, and I will venture to bet a plack to a bawbee, that from that hour all animosity against the wayward and unfortunate Byron will be for ever hushed in thy bosom. Even John himself will, by the mere sound of thy solemn voice of prayer, thenceforth forego the grudge that he has long borne his lordship for the many burdens he has made him bear, and, bear, melting into tears of tenderness, dry the big drops from his eyes with a corner of the same handkerchief which thou wilt apply to wipe the Ave Maria

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creep;

And Haidée's sweet lips murmur'd like a brook

A wordless music, and her face so fair Stirr'd with her dream as rose-leaves with the air;

"Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream, Within the Alpine hollow, when the wind

Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream,

The mystical usurper of the mindO'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem

Good to the soul which we no more can bind;

Strange state of being! (for 'tis still to be) Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to

see."

In this state, the ominous fancies of Haidée take at last the definite form of a regular dream, in which she sees Juan dead in a cavern. As she gazes on him, he seems to change into the resemblance of her father. Startled by the apparition, she awakes, and the first object that her eyes meet are those of the pirate sternly fixed upon herJuan is in the same moment roused by the shriek she gave. "Up Juan sprung to Haidée's bitter shriek, And caught her falling, and from off

the wall

Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak

Vengeance on him who was the cause of all: Then Lambro, who till now forbore to Smiled scornfully, and said, 'Within

strike

dew from thine own.

While Haidée and Juan were contemplating the glorious stillness of a

speak,

my coll.

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Juan replied, Not while this arm is free.'

The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with dread, And drawing from his belt a pistol, he Replied, Your blood be then on your own head.'

Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see 'Twas fresh, for he had lately used the lock, And next proceeded quietly to cock.

"It has a strange quick jar upon the ear, That cocking of a pistol, when you know A moment more will bring the sight to

bear

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"I said they were alike, their features and Their stature differing but in sex and years;

Even to the delicacy of their hands

There was resemblance, such as true blood wears;

And now to see them, thus divided, stand In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears, And sweet sensations, should have w lcomed both,

Show what the passions are in their full growth."

This, Christopher, you must allow, is spirited, and you will observe a curious mark of propinquity which the poet notices with respect to the hands of the father and daughter. The poet, I suspect, is indebted for the first hint of this to Ali Pashaw, who, by the bye, is the original of Lambro; for when his Lordship was introduced, with his squat friend, Cam, to that agreeablemannered tyrant, the vizier said that he knew he was the Magotos Anthropos by the smallness of his ears and hands.

Don Juan is dangerously wounded, and being seized by some of the pirate's sailors, is carried from the scene. The effect on poor Haidée is deplo

rable.

For several days she lay insensible, and, when she awoke from her trance, she was in such a state as Mlle. Nob

let is seen in the ballet of Nina. The first time you see your venison friend, the Thane of Fife, ask him if there is not some reason to suspect that Byron had her in his eye when he wrote the following description:

"Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth Her human clay is kindled; full of power

For good or evil, burning from its birth, The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour,

And like the soil beneath it will bring forth : Beauty and love were Haidée's mother's dower;

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How like they look'd! the expression was the same;

Serenely savage, with a little change

In the large dark eye's mutual darted flame;

For she too was as one who could avenge, If cause should be a lioness, though

tame:

Her father's blood before her fathers's face Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race.

Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way; But overwrought with passion and despair,

The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,

"Short solace, vain relief!-thought came too quick,

Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains."

And whirl'd her brain to madness; she

arose

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As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
And flew at all she met, as on her foes;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,
Although her paroxysm drew towards
its close:

Her's was a phrensy which disdain'd to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to

save.

"Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense;
Nothing could make her meet her fa-
ther's face,
Though on all other things with looks intense
She gazed, but none she ever could re-
trace;

Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
Availed for either; neither change of
place,

Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could
give her
Senses to sleep-the power seem'd gone
for ever.

"Twelve days and nights she wither'd
thus; at last,

Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show

" Her handmaids tended, but she heeded

A parting pang, the spirit from her past;
And they who watch'd her nearest could

not;

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And he begun a long low island song
Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.
"Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
In time to his old tune; he changed the
theme,

And sung of love; the fierce name struck
through all
Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream.
Of what she was, and is, if you could call
To be so, being; in a gushing stream
The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded
brain,

Like mountain mists at length dissolved in

rain.

VOL. X.

not know

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Don Juan in the meantime is carried aboard one of Lambro's vessels, where he is placed among a cargo of singers, who had been taken in going on from Leghorn to Sicily on a professional trip. The pirate destined them for the Constantinople slavemarket, where in due time they arrive, and Don Juan is purchased for the favourite Sultana. Baba, the eunuch who made the bargain, carries him to the palace where she resided.

"Baba led Juan onward room by room
Through glittering galleries, and o'er
marble floors,

Till a gigantic portal through the gloom,
Haughty and huge, along the distance

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Warriors thereon were battling furiously; Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd lies;

There captives led in triumph droop the eye,

Andin perspective many a squadron flies; It seems the work of times before the line Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantine. "This massy portal stood at the wide close Of a huge hall, and on its either side Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose,

Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied In mockery to the enormous gate which rose O'er them in almost pyramidic pride : The gate so splendid was in all its features, You never thought about those little creatures,

"Until you nearly trod on them, and then You started back in horror to survey The wond'rous hideousness of those small men,

Whose colour was not black, nor white,

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To ope this door, which they could really do, The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes;

And now and then with tough strings of the bow, As is the custom of those eastern climes, To give some rebel Pacha a cravat; For mutes are generally used for that. "They spoke by signs-that is, not spoke at all;

And looking like two incubi, they glared As Baba with his fingers made them fall Toheaving back the portal folds: it scared Juan a moment, as this pair so small With shrinking serpent optics on him

stared;

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Baba having opened the door, Juan is introduced into a magnificent room, where wealth had done wonders, taste not much.

" In this imperial hall, at distance lay Under a canopy, and there reclined Quite in a confidential queenly way,

A lady; Baba stopp'd, and kneeling sign'd To Juan, who though not much used to pray, Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his

mind

What all this meant: while Baba bow'd and bended His head, until the ceremony ended. " The lady rising up with such an air As Venus rose with from the wave, on them

Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem; And raising up an arm as moonlight fair, She sign'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem

Of her deep-purple robe, and speaking low Pointed to Juan, who remain'd below. Her presence was as lofty as her state; Her beauty of that overpowering kind, Whose force description only would abate:

I'd rather leave it much to your own mind,
Than lessen it by what I could relate
Of forms and features; it would strike
you blind

Could I do justice to the full detail;
So, luckily for both, my phrases fail."

"Something imperial, or imperious, threw A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain Was thrown as 'twere about the neck of

youAnd rapture's self will seem almost a pain With aught which looks like despotism in view;

Our souls at least are free, and 'tis in vain We would against them make the flesh obeyThe spirit in the end will have its way. " Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet;

Her very nod was not an inclination; These was a self-will even in her small feet, As though they were quite conscious of her station

They trode as upon necks; and to complete
Her state, (it is the custom of her nation,)
A poniard deck'd her girdle, as a sign
She was a sultan's bride, (thank Heaven,
not mine.")

She had seen Juan in the market, and had ordered him to be bought for her. The description of a seraglian love-making is touched with the author's gayest satire, but Juan, still quivering at the heart with the remem. brance of Haidée, is very coy to the Sul. tana, and actually bursts into tears wher she says to him,

"Christian, can'st thou love."

"She was a good deal shock'd; not shock' at tears,

For women shed and use them at thei liking;

But there is something when man's ey appears

Wet, still more disagreeable and striking

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