CLV.

I

say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking
That the old fable of the Minotaur-

From which our modern morals, rightly shrinking,
Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore
A cow's shape for a mask-was only (sinking
The allegory) a mere type, no more,
That Pasiphae promoted breeding cattle,
To make the Cretans bloodier in battle.

CLVI.

For we all know that English people are
Fed upon beef-I won't say much of beer,
Because 't is liquor only, and being far

From this my subject, has no business here;—
We know, too, they are very fond of war,

A pleasure-like all pleasures-rather dear;
So were the Cretans--from which I infer
That beef and battles both were owing to her.

CLVII.

But to resume. The languid Juan raised
His head upon his elbow, and he saw
A sight on which he had not lately gazed,

As all his latter meals had been quite raw,
Three or four things for which the Lord he praised,
And feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw,

He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like

A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike.

CLVIII.

He ate, and he was well supplied; and she,

Who watch'd him like a mother, would have fed Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead; But Zoe, being older than Haidee,

Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) That famish'd people must be slowly nursed, And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

CLIX.

And so she took the liberty to state,

Rather by deeds than words, because the case Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate

Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace The sea-shore at this hour, must leave his plate, Unless he wish'd to die upon the place— She snatch'd it, and refused another morsel, Saying, he had gorged enough to make a horse ill.

CLX.

Next they-he being naked, save a tatter'd
Pair of scarce decent trowsers-went to work;
And in the fire his recent rags they scatter'd,

And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk,
Or Greek—that is, although it not much matter'd,
Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk,-
They furnish'd him, entire except some stitches,
With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches.

CLXI.

And then fair Haidee tried her tongue at speaking,
But not a word could Juan comprehend,
Although he listen'd so that the young Greek in
Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end;
And, as he interrupted not, went eking

Her speech out to her protégé and friend,
Till, pausing at the last her breath to take,
She saw he did not understand Romaic.

CLXII:

And then she had recourse to nods, and signs,
And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye,
And read (the only book she could) the lines
Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy,
The answer eloquent, where the soul shines
And darts in one quick glance a long reply ;
And thus in every look she saw express'd

A world of words, and things at which she guess'd.

CLXIII.

And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes,

And words repeated after her, he took

A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise,

No doubt, less of her language than her look,

As he who studies fervently the skies

Turns oftener to the stars than to his book,

Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better

From Haidee's glance than any graven letter.

CLXIV.

'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes—that is, I mean,
When both the teacher and the taught are young,
As was the case, at least, where I have been ;
They smile so when one 's right, and when one 's wrong
They smile still more, and then there intervene

Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss ;

I learn'd the little that I know by this:

CLXV.

That is, some words of Spanish, Turk, and Greek;
Italian not at all, having no teachers;
Much English I cannot pretend to speak,

Learning that language chiefly from its preachers,
Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week
I study, also Blair, the highest reachers
Of eloquence in piety and prose-
I hate your poets, so read none of those.

CLXVI.

As for the ladies, I have nought to say,

A wanderer from the British world of fashion, Where I, like other "dogs, have had my day,"

Like other men too, may have had my passionBut that, like other things, has pass'd away :

And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on, Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me But dreams of what has been, no more to be.

CLXVII.

Return we to Don Juan. He begun

To hear new words, and to repeat them; but Some feelings, universal as the sun,

Were such as could not in his breast be shut
More than within the bosom of a nun:

He was in love—as you would be, no doubt,
With a young benefactress,- -so was she
Just in the way we very often see.

CLXVIII.

And every day by day-break-rather early
For Juan, who was somewhat fond of rest—
She came into the cave, but it was merely

To see her bird reposing in his nest :
And she would softly stir his locks so curly,

Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest, Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth, As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south.

CLXIX.

And every morn his colour freshlier came,
And every day help'd on his convalescence.
'T was well, because health in the human frame
Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence;
For health and idleness to passion's flame

Are oil and gunpowder; and some good lessons Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus, Without whom Venus will not long attack us.

CLXX.

While Venus fills the heart (without heart really Love, though good always, is not quite so good), Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli,

For love must be sustain'd like flesh and blood,While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly : Eggs, oysters too, are amatory food;

But who is their purveyor from above

Heaven knows, it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove.

CLXXI.

When Juan woke, he found some good things ready,
A bath, a breakfast, and the finest eyes
That ever made a youthful heart less steady,
Besides her maid's, as pretty for their size :
But I have spoken of all this already-

And repetition 's tiresome and unwise,—
Well-Juan, after bathing in the sea,
Came always back to coffee and Haidee.

CLXXII.

Both were so young, and one so innocent,
That bathing pass'd for nothing; Juan seem'd
To her, as 't were the kind of being sent

Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd,
A something to be loved, a creature meant
To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd
To render happy; all who joy would win
Must share it, happiness was born a twin.

CLXXIII.

It was such pleasure to behold him, such
Enlargement of existence to partake
Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch,

To watch his slumbering, and to see him wake,

To live with him for ever were too much;

But then the thought of parting make her quake:

He was her own, her ocean treasure, cast

Like a rich wreck-her first love and her last.

CLXXIV.

nook :

And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidee
Paid daily visits to her boy, and took
Such plentiful precautions, that still he
Remain'd unknown within his craggy
At last her father's prows put out to sea,
For certain merchantmen upon the look,
Not as of yore to carry off an Io,

But three Ragusan vessels, bound for Scio.

CLXXV.

Then came her freedom, for she had no mother,
So that, her father being at sea, she was
Free as a married woman, or such other

Female, as where she likes may freely pass,
Without even the incumbrance of a brother,
The freest she that ever gazed on glass :
I speak of christian lands in this comparison,
Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison.

CLXXVI.

Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk

(For they must talk), and he had learnt to say

So much as to propose to take a walk,

For little had he wander'd since the day

On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stalk,
Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,—
And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon,
And saw the sun set opposite the moon.

CLXXVII.

It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast,

With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore, Guarded by shoals and rocks as by a host,

With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore

A better welcome to the tempest-toss'd;

And rarely ceased the haughty billows' roar, Save on the dead long summer days, which make The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake.

CLXXVIII.

And the small ripple spilt upon the beach

Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain,— Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.

CLXXIX.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;

The best of life is but intoxication :

Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk

nation;

The hopes of all men, and of every
Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk
Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion:
But to return,-get very drunk; and when
You wake with head-ache, you shall see what then.