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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.'' 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 Phoebus 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,

I dream'd that Greece might still be free; 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 dayAnd 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 Thermopyla!
"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,

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 call——
How 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-
Were still, at least, our countrymen.
A tyrant; but our masters then

"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;
The Heracleidan blood might own.
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,

"Trust not for freedom to the FranksThey 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!

I see their glorious black eyes shine; Our virgins dance beneath the shade

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 steepWhere 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 mineDash down yon cup of Sarnian 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

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Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea, That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest 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 strike

That painting is no idol, 'tis too like.

Now, Christopher, after this, take thy crutch, and, with the help of Blackwood'sporter, John Lesley, crawl up the 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, 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 dew from thine own.

While Haidée and Juan were contemplating the glorious stillness of a

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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."

is spirited, and you will observe a This, Christopher, you must allow, 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 deplorable.

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 the Thane of Fife, ask him if there is first time you see your venison friend, 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

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

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.

And whirl'd her brain to madness; she

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The very instant, till the change that cast Hersweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes the beautiful, the black

Oh! to possess such lustre and then lack!"

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, favourite Sultana. Baba, the eunuch and Don Juan is purchased for the 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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Monsters, who costa no less monstrous sum.

"Their duty was for they were strong, and though

They look'd so little, did strong things at times

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;

It was as if their little looks could poison Or fascinate whome'er they fix'd their eyes

on."

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."

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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'

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