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To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation Of every despotism in every nation.

XXV.

It is not that I adulate the people:

Without me, there are demagogues enough, And infidels, to pull down every steeple,

And set up in their stead some proper stuff. Whether they may sow scepticism to reap hell, As is the Christian dogma rather rough,

I do not know;-I wish men to be free
As much from mobs as kings-from you as me.
XXVI.

The consequence is, being of no party,

I shall offend all parties:-never mind! My words, at least, are more sincere and hearty Than if I sought to sail before the wind.

He who has nought to gain can have smail art: he
Who neither wishes to be bound nor bind,
May still expatiate freely, as will I,
Nor give my voice to Slavery's jackall cry.

XXVII.

That's an appropriate simile, that jackall;— I've heard them in the Ephesian ruins howl (5) By night, as do that mercenary pack all,

Power's base purveyors, who for pickings prowl, And scent the prey their masters would attack all. However, the poor jackalls are less foul (As being the brave lion's keen providers) Than human insects, catering for spiders.

XXVIII.

Raise but an arm! 't will brush their web away,
And, without that, their poison and their claws
Are useless. Mind, good people! what I say-
(Or rather peoples)-go on without pause!
The web of these tarantulas each day

Increases, till you shall make common cause:
None, save the Spanish fly and Attic bee,
As yet are strongly stinging to be free.

XXIX.

Don Juan, who had shone in the late slaughter,
Was left upon his way with the despatch,
Where blood was talk'd of as we would of water;
And carcasses, that lay as thick as thatch
O'er silenced cities, merely served to flatter

Fair Catherine's pastime-who look'd on the match
Between these nations as a main of cocks,
Wherein she liked her own to stand like rocks.

XXX.

And there in a kibitka he roll'd on

(A cursed sort of carriage without springs, Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole bone), Pondering on glory, chivalry, and kings, And orders, and on all that he had done

And wishing that post-horses had the wings

prospect of a poet's glory. "I will some day or other,' he used to say, when a boy, 'raise a troop-the men of which shall be dressed in black, and ride on black horses. They shall be called 'Byron's Blacks,' and you will hear of their performing prodigies of valour." Moore.-P. E.

(5) In Greece I never saw or heard these animals; but among the ruins of Ephesus I have heard them by hundreds. [See antè, p. 271.-P. E.]

Of Pegasus, or at the least post-chaises
Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways is.
XXXI.

At every jolt-and there were many-still
He turn'd his eyes upon his little charge,
As if he wish'd that she should fare less ill
Than he, in these sad highways left at large
To ruts, and flints, and lovely Nature's skill,
Who is no paviour, nor admits a barge
On her canals, where God takes sea and land,
Fishery and farm, both into his own hand.

XXXII.

At least he pays no rent, and has best right
To be the first of what we used to call
"Gentlemen farmers"--a race worn out quite,

Since lately there have been no rents at all,
And "gentlemen" are in a piteous plight,

And "farmers" can't raise Ceres from her fall: She fell with Bonaparte-What strange thoughts Arise, when we see emperors fall with oats!

XXXIII.

But Juan turn'd his eyes on the sweet child
Whom he had saved from slaughter-what a trophy!
Oh! ye who build up monuments, defiled

With gore, like Nadir Shah, that costive sophy, Who, after leaving Hindostan a wild,

And scarce to the Mogul a cup of coffee
To soothe his woes withal, was slain, the sinner!
Because he could no more digest his dinner ;-(1)
XXXIV.

Oh ye! or we! or he or she! reflect,

That one life saved, especially if young Or pretty, is a thing to recollect

Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung From the manure of human clay, though deck'd With all the praises ever said or sung: (2) Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within Your heart joins chorus, Fame is but a din.

XXXV.

Oh! ye great authors luminous, voluminous!

Ye twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes! Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers, illumine us! Whether you're paid by government in bribes, To prove the public debt is not consuming us

Or, roughly treading on the "courtier's kibes" With clownish heel, (3) your popular circulation Feeds you by printing half the realm's starvation;

XXXVI.

Oh, ye great authors!" Apropos de bottes,"
I have forgotten what I meant to say,
As sometimes have been greater sages' lots;-
"T was something calculated to allay
All wrath in barracks, palaces, or cots:

Certes it would have been but thrown away, And that's one comfort for my lost advice, Although no doubt it was beyond all price.

(1) He was killed in a conspiracy, after his temper had been exasperated by his extreme costivity to a degree of insanity.

(2) "One virtuous or a mere good-natured deed

Does all desert in sciences exceed." Sheffield.-L. E.

XXXVII.

But let it go:-it will one day be found
With other relics of "a former world,"
When this world shall be former, underground,

Thrown topsy-turvy, twisted, crisp'd, and curl'd,
Baked, fried, or burnt, turn'd inside-out, or drown'd,
Like all the worlds before, which have been hurl'd]
First out of, and then back again to, chaos,
The superstratum which will overlay us.
XXXVIII.

So Cuvier says;-and then shall come again
Unto the new creation, rising out
From our old crash, some mystic ancient strain
Of things destroy'd and left in airy doubt:
Like to the notions we now entertain

Of Titans, giants, fellows of about
Some hundred feet in height, not to say miles,
And mammoths, and your winged crocodiles.

XXXIX.

Think if then George the Fourth should be dug up!
How the new worldlings of the then new East
Will wonder where such animals could sup!
(For they themselves will be but of the least:
Even worlds miscarry, when too oft they pup,
And every new creation hath decreased
In size, from overworking the material-
Men are but maggots of some huge Earth's burial)

XL.

How will to these young people, just thrast out From some fresh paradise, and set to plough, And dig, and sweat, and turn themselves about, And plant, and reap, and spin, and grind, and saw, Till all the arts at length are brought about,

Especially of war and taxing,-how,

I say, will these great relics, when they see'em, Look like the monsters of a new museum!

XLI.

But I am apt to grow too metaphysical:
"The time is out of joint,"(4)—and so am I;
I quite forget this poem's merely quizzical,
And deviate into matters rather dry.

I ne'er decide what I shall say, and this I call
Much too poetical: men should know why
They write, and for what end; but, note or text,
I never know the word which will come next.
XLII.

So on I ramble, now and then narrating,

Now pondering:-it is time we should narrate. I left Don Juan with his horses baitingNow we'll get o'er the ground at a great rate. I shall not be particular in stating

His journey, we've so many tours of late: Suppose him then at Petersburgh; suppose That pleasant capital of painted snows;

XLIII.

Suppose him in a handsome uniform:

A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume,

(3) "The age is grown so picked, that the toe of the pet sant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his bibe Hamlet.-L. E.

(4) "The time is out of joint:-O cursed spite!

That ever I was born to set it right." Hamlet.-LL

Waving, like sails new-shiver'd in a storm,
Over a cock'd-hat in a crowded room,
And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn Gorme, (1)
Of yellow kerseymere we may presume,
White stockings drawn uncurdled as new milk
O'er limbs whose symmetry set off the silk;

XLIV.

Suppose him sword by side, and hat in hand,
Made up by youth, fame, and an army tailor-
That great enchanter, at whose rod's command
Beauty springs forth, and Nature's self turns paler,
Seeing how Art can make her work more grand
(When she don't pin men's limbs in like a gaoler),—
Behold him placed as if upon a pillar! He
Seems Love turn'd a lieutenant of artillery!

XLV.

His bandage slipp'd down into a cravat;
His wings subdued to epaulettes; his quiver
Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at

His side as a small-sword, but sharp as ever;
His bow converted into a cock'd-hat;

But still so like, that Psyche were more clever Than some wives (who make blunders no less stupid), If she had not mistaken him for Cupid.

XLVI.

The courtiers stared, the ladies whisper'd, and
The empress smiled: the reigning favourite frown'd-
I quite forget which of them was in hand
Just then; as they are rather numerous found,
Who took by turns that difficult command

Since first her majesty was singly crown'd:
But they were mostly nervous six-foot fellows,
All fit to make a Patagonian jealous.

XLVII.

Juan was none of these, but slight and slim,
Blushing and beardless; and yet ne'ertheless
There was a something in his turn of limb,

And still more in his eye, which seem'd to express, That though he look'd one of the seraphim,

There lurk'd a man beneath the spirit's dress.
Besides, the empress sometimes liked a boy,
And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.(2)

XLVIII.

No wonder then that Yermoloff, or Momonoff,
Or Scherbatoff, or any other off
Or on, might dread her majesty had not room enough
Within her bosom (which was not too tough)
For a new flame; a thought to cast of gloom enough
Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough,
Of him who, in the language of his station,
Then held that "high official situation."

(1) "A yellow-coloured crystal, denominated from a hill in Inverness-shire, where it is found. This has been generally called the Scottish topaz: but it now gives place to another crystal of a far harder quality, found near Invercauld." Jamieson.-L. E.

(2) He was the grande passion of the grande Catherine. See her Lives, under the head of "Lanskoi."-["Lanskoi was a youth of as fine and interesting a figure as the imagination can paint. Of all Catherine's favourites, he was the man whom she loved the most. His education having been neglected, she took the care of his improvement upon herself. In 1784, he was attacked with a fever, and perished, in the

XLIX.

O, gentle ladies! should you seek to know
The import of this diplomatic phrase,
Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess (3) show
His parts of speech; and in the strange displays
Of that odd string of words, all in a row,

Which none divine, and every one obeys, Perhaps you may pick out some queer no meaning, Of that weak wordy harvest the sole gleaning.

L.

I think I can explain myself without

That sad inexplicable beast of preyThat Sphinx, whose words would ever be a doubt, Did not his deeds unriddle them each dayThat monstrous hieroglyphic-that long spout Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh! And here 1 must an anecdote relate, But luckily of no great length or weight.

LI.

An English lady ask'd of an Italian,

What were the actual and official duties
Of the strange thing some women set a value on,
Which hovers oft about some married beauties,
Called "cavalier servente?" (4) a Pygmalion

Whose statues warm (I fear, alas! too true 'tis) Beneath his art. The dame, press'd to disclose them, Said "Lady, I beseech you to suppose them."

LII.

And thus I supplicate your supposition,
And mildest matron-like interpretation

Of the imperial favourite's condition.

'Twas a high place, the highest in the nation In fact, if not in rank; and the suspicion Of any one's attaining to his station,

No doubt gave pain, where each new pair of shoulders, If rather broad, made stocks rise and their holders.

LIII.

Juan, I said, was a most beauteous boy,

And had retain'd his boyish look beyond The usual hirsute seasons which destroy,

With beards and whiskers, and the like, the fond Parisian aspect which upset old Troy

And founded Doctors' Commons:-I have conn'd The history of divorces, which, though chequer'd, Calls Ilion's the first damages on record.

LIV.

And Catherine, who loved all things (save her lord,
Who was gone to his place), and pass'd for much
Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorr'd)
Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch

flower of his age, in the arms of her majesty. When he was no more, Catherine gave herself up to the most poignant grief, and remained three months without going out of her palace of Tzarskoselo. She afterwards raised a superb monument to his memory, in the gardens of that imperial seat. Lanskoi's fortune was estimated at three million rubles. He bequeathed it to the empress, who returned it to the sisters of that fa. vourite, reserving only to herself the right of purchasing tha pictures, medals, and library." Tooke.-L. E.

(3) This was written long before the suicide of that person.

(4) See antè, p. 310.-P. E.

Of sentiment; and he she most adored

Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such
A lover as had cost her many a tear,
And yet but made a middling grenadier.
LV.

O thou "teterrima causa" of all "belli”—(1)
Thou gate of life and death-thou nondescript!
Whence is our exit and our entrance, well I

May pause in pondering how all souls are dipp'd In thy perennial fountain:-how man fell, I

Know not, since knowledge saw her branches stripp'd Of her first fruit; but how he falls and rises Since, thou hast settled beyond all surmises.

LVI.

Some call thee "the worst cause of war," but I
Maintain thou art the best: for after all
From thee we come, to thee we go, and why
To get at thee not batter down a wall,
Or waste a world? since no one can deny

Thou dost replenish worlds both great and small :
With, or without thee, all things at a stand
Are, or would be, thou sea of life's dry land!
LVII.

Catherine, who was the grand epitome

Of that great cause of war, or peace, or what
You please (it causes all the things which be,
So you may take your choice of this or that)—
Catherine, I say, was very glad to see

The handsome herald, on whose plumage sat
Victory; and, pausing as she saw him kneel
With his despatch, forgot to break the seal.(2)
LVIII.

Then recollecting the whole empress, nor

Forgetting quite the woman (which composed At least three parts of this great whole), she tore The letter open with an air which posed The court, that watch'd each look her visage wore, Until a royal smile at length disclosed Fair weather for the day. Though rather spacious, Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious.(3)

LIX.

Great joy was hers, or rather joys: the first
Was a ta'en city, thirty thousand slain.
Glory and triumph o'er her aspect burst,

As an East Indian sunrise on the main.
These quench'd a moment her ambition's thirst-
So Arab deserts drink in summer's rain:
In vain!-As fall the dews on quenchless sands,
Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

(1) Hor. Sat. lib. i. sat. iii,-L. E.

(2) "The union of debauchery and ferocity which characterised Catherine are admirably depicted in her manner of feeding her ambition with the perusal of the dispatch, and gratifying her rising passion with the contemplation of Juan; who, in spite of the jealousy and murmurings of rival expectants and candidates, is fairly installed into the 'high official situation' of Catherine's favourite." Campbell.-L. E.

(3) "Catherine had been handsome in her youth, and she preserved a gracefulness and majesty to the last period of her life. She was of a moderate stature, but well propor tioned; and, as she carried her head very high, she appeared rather tall. She had an open front, an aquiline nose, an agreeable mouth, and her chin, though long, was not misshapen. Her hair was auburn, her eyebrows black and

LX.

Her next amusement was more fanciful;

She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who thres Into a Russian couplet rather dull

The whole gazette of thousands whom he slew. Her third was feminine enough to annul

The shudder which runs naturally through Our veins, when things call'd sovereigns think it best To kill, and generals turn it into jest.

LXI.

The two first feelings ran their course complete, And lighted first her eye, and then her mouth: The whole court look'd immediately most sweet, Like flowers well water'd after a long drouth: But when on the lieutenant at her feet

Her majesty, who liked to gaze on youth Almost as much as on a new despatch, Glanced mildly, all the world was on the watch.

LXII.

Though somewhat large, exuberant, and truculent, When wroth-while pleased, she was as finea figure As those who like things rosy, ripe, and succulent, Would wish to look on, while they are in vigour. She could repay each amatory look you lent

With interest, and in turn was wont with rigor To exact of Cupid's bills the full amount At sight, nor would permit you to discount.

LXIII.

With her the latter, though at times convenient,
Was not so necessary; for they tell
That she was handsome, and, though fierce, lock
And always used her favourites too well.
If once beyond her boudoir's precincts in ye wat
Your "fortune" was in a fair way "to swel
A man
" (as Giles (5) says); for though she w
Nations, she liked man as an individual. [widowi
LXIV.
What a strange thing is man! and what a stranger
Is woman! What a whirlwind is her head,
And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger
Is all the rest about her! Whether wed,
Or widow, maid or mother, she can change her
Mind like the wind: whatever she has said
Or done is light to what she'll say or do;-
The oldest thing on record, and yet new!
LXV.

Oh Catherine! (for of all interjections,

To thee both oh! and ah! belong of right In love and war) how odd are the connections Of human thoughts, which jostle in their flight! rather thick, and her blue eyes had a gentleness which was often affected, but oftener still a mixture of pride. Her physiognomy was not deficient in expression; but this er pression never discovered what was passing in the sou Catherine, or rather it served her the better to disguise it" Tooke.-L. E.

(4) "Suwarrow is as singular for the brevity of his style as for the rapidity of his conquests. On the taking Tour tourkaya, in Bulgaria, he actually wrote no more to the es press than two lines of Russ poetry:'Slawo Bogon, Slawo bowam, Glory to God, glory to you, Tourtourkaya aviala, ia tam.

Tourtourkaya is taken, here am I.'" Tooke.-L.E. (5) "His fortune swells him, it is rank; he's married." Sir Giles Overreach; Massinger's New Way to pay Debts.

Just now yours were cut out in different sections: First Ismail's capture caught your fancy quite; Next of new knights, the fresh and glorious batch; And thirdly he who brought you the despatch! LXVI.

Shakspeare talks of "the herald Mercury

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;" (1) And some such visions cross'd her majesty, While her young herald knelt before her still. Tis very true the hill seem'd rather high For a lieutenant to climb up; but skill [blessing Smooth'd even the Simplon's steep, and by God's With youth and health all kisses are "heaven-kissing."

LXVII.

Her majesty look'd down, the youth look'd up-
And so they fell in love;-she with his face,
His grace, his God-knows-what: for Cupid's cup
With the first draught intoxicates apace,
A quintessential laudanum or "black drop,"

Which makes one drunk at once, without the base Expedient of full bumpers; for the eye

In love drinks all life's fountains (save tears) dry.
LXVIII.

He, on the other hand, if not in love,
Fell into that no less imperious passion,
Self-love-which, when some sort of thing above
Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion,
Or duchess, princess, empress, "deigns to prove" (2)
('Tis Pope's phrase) a great longing, though a
For one especial person out of many, [rash one,
Makes us believe ourselves as good as any.

LXIX.

Besides, he was of that delighted age

Which makes all female ages equal-when

We don't much care with whom we may engage, As bold as Daniel in the lion's den,

So that we can our native sun assuage

In the next ocean, which may flow just then, To make a twilight in, just as Sol's heat is Quench'd in the lap of the salt sea, or Thetis.

LXX.

And Catherine (we must say thus much for Catherine),
Though bold and bloody, was the kind of thing
Whose temporary passion was quite flattering,
Because each lover look'd a sort of king,
Made up upon an amatory pattern,

A royal husband in all save the ring-
Which, being the damn'dest part of matrimony,
Seem'd taking out the sting to leave the honey.

LXXI.

And when you add to this, her womanhood

In its meridian, her blue eyes (3) or grey(The last, if they have soul, are quite as good, Or better, as the best examples say:

(1) Hamlet, act iii. sc. iv.-L. E.

(2) "Not Cæsar's empress would I deign to prove: No! make me mistress to the man I love." Pope: Eloisa.-L. E. (3) "Several persons who lived at the court affirm that

Napoleon's, Mary's (4) (queen of Scotland), should
Lend to that colour a transcendent ray;
And Pallas also sanctions the same hue,
Too wise to look through optics black or blue)-
LXXII.

Her sweet smile, and her then majestic figure,
Her plumpness, her imperial condescension;
Her preference of a boy to men much bigger
(Fellows whom Messalina's self would pension),
Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigour,
With other extras, which we need not mention,-
All these, or any one of these, explain
Enough to make a stripling very vain.

LXXIII.

And that's enough, for love is vanity,
Selfish in its beginning as its end,
Except where 'tis a mere insanity,

A maddening spirit which would strive to blend Itself with beauty's frail inanity,

On which the passion's self seems to depend: And hence some heathenish philosophers Make love the main-spring of the universe.

LXXIV.

Besides Platonic love, besides the love

Of God, the love of sentiment, the loving Of faithful pairs-(I needs must rhyme with dove, That good old steam-boat which keeps verses moving 'Gainst reason-Reason ne'er was hand-and-glove

With rhyme, but always lean'd less to improving The sound than sense)-besides all these pretences To love, there are those things which words name

senses;

LXXV.

Those movements, those improvements in our bodies
Which make all bodies anxious to get out
Of their own sand-pits, to mix with a goddess,
For such all women are at first no doubt.
How beautiful that moment! and how odd is
That fever which precedes the languid rout
Of our sensations! What a curious way
The whole thing is of clothing souls in clay!

LXXVI.

The noblest kind of love is love Platonical,

To end or to begin with; the next grand Is that which may be christen'd love canonica!, Because the clergy take the thing in hand; The third sort to be noted in our chronicle As flourishing in every Christian land, Is, when chaste matrons to their other ties Add what may be call'd marriage in disguise.

LXXVII.

Well, we won't analyse-our story must
Tell for itself: the sovereign was smitten,
Juan much flatter'd by her love, or lust; (5)—
I cannot stop to alter words once written,

Catherine had very blue eyes, and not grey, as M. Rulhières has stated." Tooke.-L. E.

(4) See antè, p. 671.—P. E.

(5) "Lust, through certain strainers well refined, Is gentle love, and charms all womankind."

Pope.-L. E.

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