LXXII. Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits, As going at full speed -no matter where its Direction be, so 'tis but in a hurry, And merely for the sake of its own merits; At the great end of travel-which is driving. LXXIII. They saw at Canterbury the cathedral ; Black Edward's helm, (1) and Becket's bloody stone, (2) Were pointed out as usual by the bedral, In the same quaint, uninterested tone:— There's glory again for you, gentle reader! All Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone, (3) Half-solved into those sodas or magnesias, Which form that bitter draught, the human species. (1) [On the tomb of the prince lies a whole length brass figure of him, his armour with a hood of mail, and a scull cap enriched with a coronet, which has been once studded with jewels, but only the collets now remain.] (2) [Becket was assassinated in the cathedral, in 1171.] (3) The French inscription on the Black Prince's monument is thus translated in the History of Kent: "Whoso thou be that passest by LXXIV. The effect on Juan was of course sublime : He breathed a thousand Cressys, as he saw That casque, which never stoop'd except to Time. Even the bold Churchman's tomb excited awe, Who died in the then great attempt to climb O'er kings, who now at least must talk of law Before they butcher. Little Leila gazed, And asked why such a structure had been raised: LXXV. And being told it was "God's house," she said The cruel Nazarenes, who had laid low The True Believers ;—and her infant brow Was bent with grief that Mahomet should resign A mosque so noble, flung like pearls to swine. "I little thought on the hour of death So long as I enjoyed breath, Great riches here I did possess, LXXVI. On! on! through meadows, managed like a garden, Countries of greater heat, but lesser suction, LXXVII. And when I think upon a pot of beer But I won't weep!—and so drive on, postilions! As the smart boys spurr'd fast in their career, Juan admired these highways of free millions; A country in all senses the most dear To foreigner or native, save some silly ones, Who"kick against the pricks" just at this juncture, And for their pains get only a fresh puncture. LXXVIII. What a delightful thing's a turnpike road! Air can accomplish, with his wide wings waving. LXXIX. Alas! how deeply painful is all payment! [purses. But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket: LXXX. So said the Florentine: ye monarchs, hearken O'er the high hill, which looks with pride or scorn Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill!(1) LXXXI. The sun went down, the smoke rose up, as from (1) ["Under his proud survey the city lies, And like a mist beneath a hill doth rise, Whose state and wealth, the business and the crowd, And is, to him who rightly things esteems, No other in effect than what it seems; Where, with like haste, tho' several ways they run, Some to undo, and some to be undone ; While luxury and wealth, like war and peace, Are each the other's ruin and increase." — DENHAM.] But Juan felt, though not approaching home, As one who, though he were not of the race, Revered the soil, of those true sons the mother, Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied t' other. (1) LXXXII. A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping LXXXIII. But Juan saw not this: each wreath of smoke Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper, LXXXIV. He paused and so will I; as doth a crew My gentle countrymen, we will renew (1) [India; America.] |