721 CANTO XVI. I. I merely mean to say what Johnson said, That in the course of some six thousand years, All nations have believed that from the dead A visitant at intervals appears; And what is strangest upon this strange head, Is that whatever bar the reason rears 'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger still In its behalf, let those deny who will. VIII. THE antique Persians taught three useful things,-The dinner and the soirée too were done, Horses they ride without remorse or ruth; At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,, The cause of this effect, or this defect, "For this effect defective comes by cause,' Is what I have not leisure to inspect; But this I must say in my own applause, Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws III. And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats A wilderness of the most rare conceits, Yet mix'd so slightly that you can't complain, IV. But of all truths which she has told, the most I said it was a story of a ghost What then? I only know it so befell. Have you explored the limits of the coast Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell? 'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as The skeptics who would not believe Columbus. V. Some people would impose now with authority, Is always greatest at a miracle. But Saint Augustine has the great priority, VI. And therefore, mortals, cavil not all; 'Tis always best to take things upon trust. I do not speak profanely to recall Those holier mysteries, which the wise and just Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, As all truths must, the more they are disputed. The supper too discuss'd, the dames admired IX. The evaporation of a joyous day Is like the last glass of champagne, without Has sparkled and let half its spiret out, X. Or like an opiate which brings troubled rest, XI. But next to dressing for a rout or ball, Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber The nights and days most people can remember, (I have had of both some not to be disdain'd,) I wish they'd state how many they have gain'd. XII. And Juan, on retiring for the night, Felt restless and perplex'd, and compromised; XIII. He sigh'd;-rhe next resource is the full moon, To hail her with the apostrophe-" Oh, thou! ” Which further to explain would be a truism. XIV. But lover, poet, or astronomer, Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold, Deep secrets to her rolling light are told; XV. Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed Le in the rippling sonnd of the lake's billow, With all the mystery by midnight caused; Below his window waved (of course) a willow; And he stood gazing out on the cascade That flash'd and after darken'd in the shade. XVI. Upon his table or his toilet-which Of these is not exactly ascertain’d (I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche, XVII. Then as the night was clear though cold, he threw His chamber-door wide open-and went forth Into a gallery of a sombre hue, Long, furnish'd with old pictures of great worth Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too, As doubtless should be people of high birth. But by dim lights the portraits of the dead Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread. XVIII. The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint Look living in the moon; and as you turn Backward and forward to the echoes faint Of your own footsteps-voices from the urn Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint Start from the frames which fence their aspects As if to ask how you can dare to keep [stern, A vigil there, where all but death should sleep. XIX. And the pale smile of beauties in the grave, The charms of other days, in starlight gleams Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams On ours, or spars within some dusky cave, But death is imaged in their shadowy beams. A picture is the past; even ere its frame Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same. XX. As Juan mused on mutability, Or on his mistress-terms synonymousNo sound except the echo of his sigh Or step ran sadly through that antique house, When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh, A supernatural agent-or a mouse, Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass Most people, as it plays along the arrass. XXI. It was no mouse, but lo! a monk, array'd He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, XXII. Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint Of such a spirit in these halls of old, But thought, like most men, there was nothing in't Beyond the rumor which such spots unfold, Coin'd from surviving superstition's mint, Which passes ghosts in currency like gold, But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper And did he see this? or was it a vapor? XXIII. Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd-the thing of air, Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t' other place; And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair Twine like a lot of snakes around his face; He tax'd his tongue for words which were not granted To ask the reverend person what he wanted. XXIV. The third time, after a still longer pause, The shadow pass'd away-but where? the hall Was long, and thus far there was no great cause To think his vanishing unnatural: Doors there were many, through which, by the law Of physics, bodies, whether short or tall, Might come or go; but Juan could not state Through which the spectre seem'd to evaporate. XXV. He stood, how long he knew not, but it seem'd And would have pass'd the whole off as a dream, XXVI. All there was as he left it; still his taper Burnt, and not blue, as modern taper's use, Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapor; He rubb'd his eyes, and they did not refuse Their office; he took up an old newspaper; The paper was right easy to peruse: He read an article the king attacking, And a long eulogy of "Patent Blacking." XXVII. This savor'd of this world; but his hand shook- “Quite well; yes, no."-These answers were mysterious, And yet his looks appeared to sanction both, However they might savor of delirious; Something like illness of a sudden growth Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no means serious: But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted, it was not the physician that he wanted. XXXIV. Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his chocalate, At which he marvell'd, since it had not rain'd; "Oh! have you not heard of the Black Friar? XXXVII. "The last time was-" "I pray," said Adeline- XXXVIII. "Jest!" quoth Milor, "Why, Adeline, you know XXXIX. [soon "But add the words," cried Henry, "which you For Adeline is half a poetess, [made; Turning round to the rest, he smiling said. Of course the others could not but express In courtesy their wish to see display'd By one three talents, for there were no lessThe voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once Could hardly be united by a dunce. XL. After some fascinating hesitation,— The charming of these charmers, who seem bound I can't tell why, to this dissimulationFair Adeline, with eyes fix'd on the ground At first, then kindling into animation, Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound, And sang with much simplicity, -a merit Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it. 1. Beware! beware! of the Black Friar, Who sitteth by Norman stone, L. I have not heard she was at all poetic, LVII. [Guide," But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,- Though once she was seen reading the "Bath And "Hayley's Triumphs," which she deem'd pa-With motives the most classical and pure, thetic Because, she said, her temper had been tried So much, the bard had really been prophetic Of what she had gone through with-since a bride. But of all verse what most insured her praise Were sonnets to herself, or "bouts rimés." LI. 'Twere difficult to say what was the object To laugh him out of his supposed dismay; Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it, Though why I cannot say-at least this minute. LII. But so far the immediate effect Was to restore him to his self-propriety, A thing quite necessary to the elect, Who wish to take the tone of their society; In which you cannot be too circumspect, Whether the mode be persiflage or piety, But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy, On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy. LIII. And therefore Juan now began to rally His spirits, and, without more explanation, To jest upon such themes in many a sally. Her grace, too, also seized the same occasion, With various similar remarks to tally, But wish'd for a still more detail'd narration Of this same mystic friar's curious doings, About the present family's deaths and wooings. LIV. Of these few could say more than has been said; They pass'd, as such things do, for superstition With some, while others, who had more in dread The theme, half credited the strange tradition, And much was talk'd on all sides on that head; But Juan, when cross-question'd on the vision, Which some supposed (though he had not avow'd it) Had stirr'd him, answer'd in a way to cloud it. LV. And then, the midday having worn to one, Between some grayhounds on my lord's estate, LVI. There was a picture-dealer, who had brought Though princes the possessor were besieging all. So that he would have been the very donor Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer, So much he deem'd his patronage an honor, Had brought the capo d'opéra, not for sale, But for his judgment,-never known to fail. There were two poachers caught in a steel trap, And scarlet cloak, (I hate the sight to see, sinceSince-since-in youth I had the sad mishap But luckily I've paid few parish fees since.) That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigor, Presents the problem of a double figure. LXII. A reel within a bottle is a mystery, One can't tell how it e'er got in or out, Now justices of peace must judge all pieces Of those who've not a license for the same; |