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The name of this Aurora I'll not mention,
Although I might, for she was nought to me
More than that patent work of God's invention,
A charming woman, whom we like to see.
But writing names would merit reprehension;
Yet if you like to find out this fair she,
At the next London or Parisian ball,

Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth!

LXXXV.

Laura, who knew it would not do at all

To meet the daylight after seven hours' sitting Among three thousand people at a ball,

To make her curtsy thought it right and fitting; The Count was at her elbow with her shawl,

Are you not sensible 'twas very wrong?

XCII.

"And are you really, truly, now a Turk ?
With any other woman did you wive?
Is't true they use their fingers for a fork?
Well, that's the prettiest shawl--as I'm alive!

You'll give it me? They say you eat no pork.
And how so many years did you contrive
To-Bless me! Did I ever? No, I never
Saw a man grown so yellow! How's your liver?

XCIII.

"Beppo, that beard of yours becomes you not; It shall be shaved before you're a day older: Why do you wear it? Oh! I had forgotPray, don't you think the weather here is colder?

How do I look? You shan't stir from this spot In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder Should find you out, and make the story known. How short your hair is! Lord! how grey it's grown!"

XCIV.

What answer Beppo made to these demands Is more than I know. He was cast away About where Troy stood once, and nothing stands;

Became a slave of course, and for his pay Had bread and bastinadoes, till some bands

Of pirates landing in a neighbouring bay, He join'd the rogues and prosper'd, and became A renegado of indifferent fame.

XCV.

But he grew rich, and with his riches grew so
Keen the desire to see his home again,
He thought himself in duty bound to do so,
And not be always thieving on the main;
Lonely he felt, at times, as Robin Crusoe,

And so he hired a vessel come from Spain, Bound for Corfu : she was a fine polacco, Mann'd with twelve hands, and laden with tobacco.

XCVI.

Himself, and much (Heaven knows how gotten!) cash,

He then embark'd, with risk of life and limb, And got clear off, although the attempt was rash,

him,

Finding he'd wherewithal to make them gay, With dinners, where he oft became the laugh of them,

For stories-but I don't believe the half of them. XCIX.

Whate'er his youth had suffer'd, his old age With wealth and talking made him some amends;

Though Laura sometimes puts him in a rage, I've heard the Count and he were always friends.

My pen is at the bottom of a page,

Which, being finish'd, here the story ends; 'Tis to be wish'd it had been sooner done, But stories somehow lengthen when begun.

Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er;
And in my tongue the thirst became
A something fierier than flame.

XII.

"We near'd the wild wood-'twas so wide,
I saw no bounds on either side;
'Twas studded with old sturdy trees,
That bent not to the roughest breeze
Which howls down from Siberia's waste,
And strips the forest in its haste;
But these were few and far between,
Set thick with shrubs more young and green,
Luxuriant with their annual leaves,
Ere strewn by those autumnal eves,
That nip the forest's foliage dead,
Discolour'd with a lifeless red,
Which stands thereon like stiffen'd gore,
Upon the slain when battle's o'er,
And some long winter's night hath shed
Its frosts o'er every tombless head,
So cold and stark the raven's beak
May peck unpierced each frozen cheek:
'Twas a wild waste of underwood,
And here and there a chestnut stood,
The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
But far apart-and well it were,
Or else a different lot were mine-

The boughs gave way, and did not tear
My limbs and I found strength to bear
My wounds, already scarr'd with cold-
My bonds forbade to loose my hold.
We rustled through the leaves like wind,
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
By night I heard them on the track,
Their troop came hard upon our back,
With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate and hunter's fire:
Where'er we flew they follow'd on,
Nor left us with the morning sun;
Behind I saw them, scarce a rood,
At daybreak winding through the wood,
And through the night had heard their feet
Their stealing, rustling step repeat.
Oh! how I wish'd for spear or sword,
At least to die amidst the horde,
And perish-if it must be so-
At bay, destroying many a foe.
When first my courser's race begun,
I wish'd the goal already won;
But now I doubted strength and speed.
Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed
Had nerved him like the mountain roe;
Nor faster falls the blinding snow
Which whelms the peasant near the door
Whose threshold he shall cross no more,
Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast,
Than through the forest-paths he pass'd,
Untired, untamed, and worse than wild;
All furious as a favour'd child
Balk'd of its wish; or fiercer still-
A woman piqued-who has her will.

And wore my feelings out before
I well could count their causes o'er:
And what with fury, fear, and wrath,
The tortures which beset my path,
Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress,
Thus bound in nature's nakedness;
Sprung from a race whose rising blood,
When stirred beyond its calmer mood,
And trodden hard upon, is like
The rattlesnake's, in act to strike,
What marvel if this worn-out trunk
Beneath its woes a moment sunk?
The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round,
I seem'd to sink upon the ground;
But err'd, for I was fastly bound.
My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore;
And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more:
The skies spun like a mighty wheel;
I saw the trees like drunkards reel,
And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes,
Which saw no further: he who dies
Can die no more than then I died.
O'ertortured by that ghastly ride,
I felt the blackness come and go,

And strove to wake; but could not make
My senses climb up from below:
I felt as on a plank at sea,
When all the waves that dash o'er thee
At the same time upheave and whelm,
And hurl thee towards a desert realm.
My undulating life was as

The fancied lights that flitting pass
Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when
Fever begins upon the brain;
But soon it pass'd, with little pain,
But a confusion worse than such:
I own that I should deem it much,
Dying to feel the same again ;
And yet I do suppose we must
Feel far more ere we turn to dust:
No matter; I have bared my brow
Full in Death's face-before-and now

XIV.

"My thoughts came back; where was I? cold,

And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse Life reassumed its lingering hold, And throb by throb-till grown a pang

Which for a moment could convulse, My blood reflow'd, though thick and chill; My ear with uncouth noises rang,

My heart began once more to thrill; My sight return'd, though dim, alas! And thicken'd, as it were, with glass. Methought the dash of waves was nigh; There was a gleam, too, of the sky Studded with stars ;-it is no dream; The wild horse swims the wilder stream! The bright, broad river's gushing tide Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, And we are half-way, struggling o'er To yon unknown and silent shore. The waters broke my hollow trance, And with a temporary strength

My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized,
My courser's broad breast proudly braves,
And dashes off the ascending waves,
And onward we advance !

We reach the slippery shore at length,
A haven I but little prized,