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And then they bound him where he fell, and bore Juan from the apartment: with a sign

Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore, Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine. (1) They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar

Until they reach'd some galliots, placed in line; On board of one of these, and under hatches, They stow'd him, with strict orders to the watches.


The world is full of strange vicissitudes,
And here was one exceedingly unpleasant:
A gentleman so rich in the world's goods,
Handsome and young, enjoying all the present,
Just at the very time when he least broods
On such a thing is suddenly to sea sent,
Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot move,
And all because a lady fell in love.


Here I must leave him, for I

grow pathetic,

Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea!
Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic;
For if my pure libations exceed three,

I feel my heart become so sympathetic,
That I must have recourse to black Bohea:
'Tis pity wine should be so deleterious,
For tea and coffee leave us much more serious,

(1) [MS. —“ Till further orders should his doom assign."]


Unless when qualified with thee, Cogniac!
Sweet Naïad of the Phlegethontic rill!
Ah! why the liver wilt thou thus attack, (1)
And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill? (?)
I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack
(In each sense of the word), when'er I fill
My mild and midnight beakers to the brim,
Wakes me next morning with its synonym.


I leave Don Juan for the present, safe-
Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded;
Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half

Of those with which his Haidée's bosom bounded! She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe,

And then give way, subdued because surrounded; Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez, Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.

(1) [MS.- "But thou, sweet fury of the fiery rill! Makest on the liver a still worse attack;

Besides, thy price is something dearer still."]

(2) ["I have been considering what can be the reason why I always wake at a certain hour in the morning, and always in very bad spirits — I may say, in actual despair and despondency, in all respects, even of that which pleased me over night. In about an hour or two this goes off, and I compose either to sleep again, or, at least, to quiet. In England, five years ago, I had the same kind of hypochondria, but accompanied with so violent a thirst, that I have drunk as many as thirteen bottles of soda. water in one night, after going to bed, and been still thirsty. At present I have not the thirst, but the depression of spirits is no less violent. What is it? - liver? I suppose that it is all hypochondria.”—B. Diary, 1821.]


There the large olive rains its amber store

In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit, Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er ;(1)

But there, too, many a poison-tree has root, And midnight listens to the lion's roar,

And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot, Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan; And as the soil is, so the heart of man.


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; But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. (2)

(1) ["At Fez, the houses of the great and wealthy have, withinside, spacious courts, adorned with sumptuous galleries, founts of the finest marble, and fish-ponds, shaded with orange, lemon, pomegranate, and fig trees, abounding with fruit, and ornamented with roses, hyacinths, jasmine, violets, and other odoriferous flowers, emitting a delectable fragrance; so that it is justly called a paradise."-JACKSON's Morocco.]

(2) [MS.-"Beauty and passion were the natural dower
Of Haidée's mother, but her climate's force
Lay at her heart, though sleeping at the source."



"But in her large eye lay deep passion's force,
Like to a lion sleeping by a source."

"But in her large eye lay deep passion's force,
As sleeps a lion by a river's source."]


Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,

Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder they display 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, Even as the Simoom (1) sweeps the blasted plains.


The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
His blood was running on the very floor

Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;
Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,
Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan;
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.


A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes (2) Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er ; (3) And her head droop'd as when the lily lies [bore O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids

(1) [The suffocating blast of the Desert. See antè, Vol. IX. p. 159.] (2) [MS."The blood gush'd from her lips, and ears, and eyes: Those eyes, so beautiful-beheld no more."]

(3) This is no very uncommon effect of the violence of conflicting and different passions. The Doge Francis Foscari, ón his deposition in 1457, hearing the bells of St. Mark announce the election of his successor, "mourut subitement d'une hémorragie causée par une veine qui s'éclata dans sa poitrine," (see Sismondi and Daru, vols. i. and ii.; see also antè,

Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, But she defied all means they could employ, Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.


Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill-
With nothing livid, still her lips were red;
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;
No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead;
Corruption came not in each mind to kill

All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul—
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.


The ruling passion, such as marble shows
When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there,
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair;(1)

Vol. XII. p. 211.) at the age of eighty years, when "Who would have thought the old man had so much blood in him?" Before I was sixteen years of age, I was witness to a melancholy instance of the same effect of mixed passions upon a young person, who, however, did not die in consequence, at that time, but fell a victim some years afterwards to a seizure of the same kind, arising from causes intimately connected with agitation of mind.

(1) [See antè, Vol. VIII. pp. 213. 295. The view of the Venus of Medicis instantly suggests the lines in the "Seasons,"

With wild surprise,

As if to marble struck, devoid of sense,

A stupid moment motionless she stood:

So stands the statue that enchants the world."- HOBHOUSE.]

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