The blood of all his line's Castilian lords
Boiled in his veins, and rather than descend
To stain his pedigree, a thousand swords
A thousand times of him had made an end;
At length perceiving the "foot" could not stand,
Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand.
Here was an honourable compromise,
A half-way house of diplomatic rest,
Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise;
And Juan now his willingness exprest,
To use all fit and proper courtesies,
Adding that this was commonest and best,
For through the South, the custom still commands
The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.
And he advanced, though with but a bad grace,
Though no more thorough bred* or fairer fingers
No lips e'er left their transitory trace;
On such as these the lip too fondly lingers,
And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace,
As you will see, if she you love shall bring hers In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger's An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers.
The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade
Baba retire, which he obey'd in style,
As if well used to the retreating trade;
And taking hints in good part all the while,
He whisper'd Juan not to be afraid,
And loooking on him with a sort of smile,
There is nothing perhaps more distinctive of birth than the hand: it is
almost the only sign of blood which aristocracy can generate.
Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction,
As good men wear who have done a virtuous action.
When he was gone, there was a sudden change:
I know not what might be the lady's thought,
But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult strange,
And into her clear cheek the blood was brought,
Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range
The verge of Heaven; and in her large eyes wrought
A mixture of sensations might be scann'd,
Of half voluptuousness, and half command.
Her form had all the softness of her sex,
Her features all the sweetness of the devil,
When he put on the cherub to perplex
Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil;
The sun himself was scarce more free from specks
Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil;
Yet somehow, there was something somewhere wanting,
As if she rather ordered than was granting.-
Something imperial, or imperious, threw
A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain
Was thrown as 'twere about the neck of you,-
And rapture's self will seem almost a pain
With aught which looks like despotism in view:
Our souls at least are free, and 'tis in vain
We would against them make the flesh obey-
The spirit in the end will have its way.
Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet,
Her very nod was not an inclination;
There was a self-will even in her small feet,
As though they were quite conscious of her stationThey trod as upon necks; and to complete
Her state, (it is the custom of her nation,)
A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign
She was a sultan's bride, (thank Heaven, not mine.)
"To hear and to obey" had been from birth
The law of all around her; to fulfil
All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth,
Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her will;
Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of earth:
Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood still;
Had she but been a Christian, I've a notion
We should have found out the "perpetual motion."
What'er she saw and coveted was brought;
Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed
It might be seen, with diligence was sought,
And when 'twas found straightway the bargain closed:
There was no end unto the things she bought,
Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused;
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardon'd all except her face.
Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught
Her eye in passing on his way to sale;
She order'd him directly to be bought,
And Baba, who had ne'er been known to fail
In any kind of mischief to be wrought,
Had his instructions where and how to deal:
She had no prudence, but he had : and this
Explains the garb which Juan took amiss.
His youth and features favour'd the disguise,
And, should you ask how she, a sultan's bride,
Could risk or compass such strange phantasies,
This I must leave sultanas to decide:
Emperors are only husbands in wives' eyes,
And kings and consorts oft are mystified,
As we may ascertain with due precision,
Some by experience, others by tradition.
But to the main point, where we have been tending :-
She now conceived all difficulties past,
And deem'd herself extremely condescending
When, being made her property at last,
Without more preface, in her blue eyes blending
Passion and power, a glance on him she cast,
And merely saying, "Christian, canst thou love!"
Conceived that phrase was quite enough to move.
And so it was, in proper time and place;
But Juan, who had still his mind o'erflowing
With Haidée's isle and soft lonian face,
Felt the warm blood which in his face was glowing, Rush back upon his heart, which fill'd apace,
And left his cheeks as pale as snowdrops blowing: These words went through his soul like Arab-spears, So that he spoke not, but burst into tears.、
She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears, For women shed and use them at their liking: But there is something when man's eye appears Wet, still more disagreeable and striking.
A woman's tear-drop melts, a man's half sears,
Like molten lead, as if you thrust a pike in
His heart to force it out, for (to be shorter)
To them 'tis a relief, to us a torture.
And she would have consoled, but knew not how; Having no equals, nothing which had e'er Infected her with sympathy till now,
And never having dreamt what 'twas to bear Aught of a serious sorrowing kind, although There might arise some pouting petty care To cross ber brow, she wonder'd how so near Her eyes another's eye could shed a tear.
But nature teaches more than power can spoil,
And, when a strong although a strange sensation,
Moves-female hearts are such a genial soil
For kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation,
They naturally pour "the wine and oil,"
Samaritans in every situation;
And thus Gulleyaz, though she knew not why,
Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye.
But tears must stop like all things else; and soon
Juan, who for an instant had been moved
To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone
Of one who dared to ask if " he had loved,"
Called back the stoic to his eyes, which shone
Bright with the very weakness he reproved;
And although sensitive to beauty, he
Felt most indignant still at not being free,
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