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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,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.
This was the mode of Cyrus-best of kings-
A mode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings;

Horses they ride without remorse or ruth;

At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,,
But draw the long bow better now than ever
II.

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,
Of all the muses that I recollect,

Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws
In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.

III.

And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats
From any thing, this Epic will contain

A wilderness of the most rare conceits,
Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain.
"Tis true, there be some bitters with the sweets,

Yet mix'd so slightly that you can't complain,
But wonder they so few are, since my tale is
"De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis."

IV.

But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.

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,
Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;
Men whose historical superiority

Is always greatest at a miracle.

But Saint Augustine has the great priority,
Who bids all men believe the impossible,
Because 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he
Quiets at once with "quia impossibile."

VI.

And therefore, mortals, cavil not all;
Believe:-if 'tis improbable you must;
And if it is impossible, you shall:

'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
The banqueters had dropp'd off one by one-
The song was silent, and the dance expired:
The last thin petticoats were vanish'd, gone,
Like fleecy clouds into the sky retired,
And nothing brighter gleam'd through the saloon
Than dying tapers-and the peeping moon.

IX.

The evaporation of a joyous day

Is like the last glass of champagne, without
The foam which made its virgin bumper gay;
Or like a system coupled with a doubt;
Or like a soda-bottle, when its spray

Has sparkled and let half its spiret out,
Or like a billow left by storms behind,
Without the animation of the wind;

X.

Or like an opiate which brings troubled rest,
Or none; or like-like nothing that I know
Except itself;-such is the human breast;
A thing, of which similitudes can show
No real likeness,-like the old Tyrian vest
Dyed purple, none at present can tell how,
If from a shell-fish or from cochineal.1
So perish every tyrant's robe piecemeal.

XI.

But next to dressing for a rout or ball,
Undressing is a wo; our robe-de-chambre
May sit like that of Nessus, and recall

Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber
Titus exclaim'd, "I've lost a day!" Of all

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;
He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright
Than Adeline (such is advice) advised;
If he had known exactly his own plight,
He probably would have philosophized;
A great resource to all, and ne'er denied
Till wanted; therefore Juan only sigh'd.

XIII.

He sigh'd;-rhe next resource is the full moon,
Where all sighs are deposited; and now,
It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone
As clear as such a climate will allow;
And Juan's mind was in the proper tone

To hail her with the apostrophe-" Oh, thou! ”
Of amatory egotism the tuism,

Which further to explain would be a truism.

XIV.

But lover, poet, or astronomer,

Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold,
Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her: [cold
Great thoughts we catch from thence, (besides a
Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err;)

Deep secrets to her rolling light are told;
The ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways,
And also hearts, if there be truth in lays.

XV.

Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed
For contemplation rather than his pillow;
The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed,

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
Of nicety, where a fact is to be gain'd)

A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche,
Where many a Gothic ornament remain'd,
In chisell'd stone, and painted glass, and all
That time has left our fathers of their hall.

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
In cowl and beads and dusky garb, appear'd,
Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, İ
With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard;
His garments only a slight murmur made;

He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird,
But slowly; and as he pass'd Juan by,
Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye.

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
An age-expectant, powerless, with his eyes
Strain'd on the spot where first the figure gloam'd;
Then by degrees recall'd his energies,

And would have pass'd the whole off as a dream,
But could not wake; he was, he did surmise,
Waking already, and return'd at length
Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength.

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-
He shut his door, and after having read
A paragraph, I think about Horne Tooke,
Undress'd, and rather slowly went to bed.
There, couch'd all snugly on his pillow's nook,
With what he'd seen his phantasy he fed,
And though it was no opiate, slumber crept
Upon him by degrees, and so he slept.

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“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,
Also the muffin, whereof he complain'd,
Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate,

At which he marvell'd, since it had not rain'd;
Then ask'd her grace what news were of the duke of
Her grace replied, his grace was rather pain'd [late?
With some slight, light, hereditary twinges
Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.

"Oh! have you not heard of the Black Friar?
The spirit of these walls?"-"In truth pc I."
Why fame-but fame you know sometime's a liar-
Tells an odd story, of which by and by:
Whether with time the spectre has grown shyer,
Or that our sires had a more gifted eye
For such sights, though the tale is half believed,
The friar of late has not been oft perceived.

XXXVII.

"The last time was-" "I pray," said Adeline-
(Who watch'd the changes of Don Juan's brow,
And from its context thought she could divine
Connexions stronger than he chose to avow
With this same legend,)—" if you but design
To jest, you'll choose some other theme just now,
Because the present tale has oft been told,
And is not much improved by growing old."

XXXVIII.

"Jest!" quoth Milor, "Why, Adeline, you know
That we ourselves-'twas in the honey-moon-
Saw-"
-" "Well, no matter, 'twas so long ago;
But come, I'll set your story to a tune."
Graceful as Dian when she draws her bow,
She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled
As touch'd, and plaintively began to play
The air of ""Twas a Friar of Orders Gray."

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,
For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air,
And his mass of the days that are gone.
When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville,
Made Norman Church his prey,
And expell'd the friars, one friar still
Would not be driven away.

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Though he came in his might, with King Henry's Now this (but we will whisper it aside)

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L.

I have not heard she was at all poetic,

LVII.

[Guide," But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur,-
The friend of artists, if not arts,-the owner,

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
Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay
To bear on what appear'd to her the subject
Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day.
Perhaps she merely had the simple project

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,
The company prepared to separate:
Some to their several pastimes, or to none;
Some wondering 'twas so early, some so late.
There was a goodly match, too, to be run

Between some grayhounds on my lord's estate,
And a young racehorse of old pedigree,
Match'd for the spring, whom several went to see.

LVI.

There was a picture-dealer, who had brought
A special Titian, warranted original,
So precious that it was not to be bought,

Though princes the possessor were besieging all.
The king himself had cheapen'd it, but thought
The civil list (he deigns to accept, obliging all
His subjects by his gracious acceptation)
Too scanty, in these times of low taxation.

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.

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There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,
Ready for jail, their place of convalescence;
There was a country girl in a close cap

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,
Therefore the present piece of natural history
I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt,
And merely state, though not for the consistory,
Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout
The constable, beneath a warrant's banner,
Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor.
LXIII.

Now justices of peace must judge all pieces
Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game
And morals of the country from caprices

Of those who've not a license for the same;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,
Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:
Preserving partridges and petty wenches
Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.

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