CLIII. And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream, Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was, by feeling A most prodigious appetite; the steam Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing Upon his senses, and the kindling beam Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, kneeling, To stir her viands, made him quite awake And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak. CLIV. But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton, And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on: But this occurs but seldom, between whiles, For some of these are rocks with scarce a hut on; Others are fair and fertile, among which This, though not large, was one of the most rich. CLV. I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking CLVI. For we all know that English people are Fed upon beef-I won't say much of beer, A pleasure-like all pleasures—rather dear; But to resume. The languid Juan raised As all his latter meals had been quite raw, A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike. CLVIII. He ate, and he was well supplied; and she, Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) And so she took the liberty to state, Rather by deeds than words, because the case Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace The sea-shore at this hour, must leave his plate, Unless he wish'd to die upon the place When at Seville in 1809, Lord Byron lodged in the house of two unmarried ladies; and in his diary he describes himself as having made earnest love to the younger of them, with the help of a dictionary. "For some time," he says, "I went on prosperously, both as a linguist and a lover, till at length, the lady took a fancy to a ring which I wore, and set her heart on my giving it to her, as a pledge of my sincerity. She snatch'd it, and refused another morsel, Saying, he had gorged enough to make a horse ill. CLX. Next they-he being naked, save a tatter'd Pair of scarce decent trowsers-went to work, And in the fire his recent rags they scatter'd, And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk, Or Greek-that is, although it not much matter'd, Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk,They furnish'd him, entire, except some stitches, With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches. CLXI. And then fair Haidée tried her tongue at speaking, But not a word could Juan comprehend, Although he listen'd so that the young Greek in Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end; And, as he interrupted not, went eking Her speech out to her protégé and friend, Till pausing at the last her breath to take, She saw he did not understand Romaic. CLXII. And then she had recourse to nods, and signs, A world of words, and things at which she guess'd. And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes, Turns oftener to the stars than to his book, CLXIV. 'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes-that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been ;* They smile so when one 's right, and when one wrong They smile still more, and then there intervene Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss;— I learn'd the little that I know by this: CLXV. That is, some words of Spanish, Turk, and Greek, I hate your poets, so read none of those. CLXVI. As for the ladies, I have nought to say, A wanderer from the British world of fashion,t Where I, like other "dogs, have had my day," Like other men, too, may have had my passion This, however, could not be;-any thing but the ring, I declared, was at her service, and much more than its value,but the ring itself I had made a vow never to give away.” "In 1813, I formed, in the fashionable world of London, an item, a fraction, the segment of a circle, the unit of a million, the nothing of something. I had been the lion of 1812."-Byron Diary, 1821. But that, like other things, has pass'd away, And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on: Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me But dreams of what has been, no more to be. CLXVII. Return we to Don Juan. He begun To hear new words, and to repeat them; but Some feelings, universal as the sun, Were such as could not in his breast be shut More than within the bosom of a nun: He was in love,-as you would be, no doubt, With a young benefactress,- -so was she, Just in the way we very often see. CLXVIII. And every day by daybreak-rather early CLXIX. And every morn his color freshlier came, Are oil and gunpowder; and some good lessons Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus, Without whom Venus will not long attack us. CLXX. While Venus fills the heart (without heart really Love, though good always, is not quite so good), Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli, For love must be sustain'd like flesh and blood,— While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly: Eggs, oysters, too, are amatory food; But who is their purveyor from above Heaven knows,-it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove. CLXXI. When Juan woke he found some good things ready, Besides her maid's, as pretty for their size; And repetition 's tiresome and unwise,— Well-Juan, after bathing in the sea, Came always back to coffee and Haidée. CLXXII. Both were so young, and one so innocent, That bathing pass'd for nothing; Juan seem'd To her, as 't were, the kind of being sent, Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd, A something to be loved, a creature meant To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd It was such pleasure to behold him, such To watch him slumbering, and to see him wake: To live with him for ever were too much; CLXXIV. And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidée Then came her freedom, for she had no mother, CLXXVI. Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk (For they must talk), and he had learnt to say So much as to propose to take a walk, For little had he wander'd since the day On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stalk, Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon, And saw the sun set opposite the moon. CLXXVII. It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast, And rarely ceased the haughty billow's roar, Save on the dead long summer days, which make The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake. CLXXVIII. And the small ripple spilt upon the beach Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain, Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after. CLXXIX. Man, being reasonable, must get drunk, CLXXX. Ring for your valet-bid him quickly bring But then the thought of parting made her The coast-I think it was the coast that I quake; He was her own, her ocean-treasure, cast Like a rich wreck-her first love, and her last. Was just describing-Yes, it was the coastLay at this period quiet as the sky, The sands untumbled, the blue waves untost, DON JUAN. LIX. LII.-LIVI He also stuff'd his money where he could The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign Were served out to the people, who begun LXIII. They counted thirty, crowded in a space Which left scarce room for motion or exertion; They did their best to modify their case, One half sate up, though numb'd with the immersion, While t 'other half were laid down in their place, Ague in its cold fit, they fill'd their boat, LXIV. 'Tis very certain the desire of life Prolongs it: this is obvious to physicians, wife, Survive through very desperate conditions, And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity. "T is said that persons living on annuities Are longer lived than others,-God knows why, And that's their mode of furnishing supply: LXVI. 'Tis thus with people in an open boat, More than can be believed, or even thought, LXVII. But man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey; Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, Your laboring people think beyond all question Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion. LXVIII. And thus it was with this our hapless crew; For on the third day there came on a calm, And though at first their strength it might renew, And, lying on their weariness like balm, Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue i Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm, And fell all ravenously on their provision, Instead of hoarding it with due precision. LXIX. The consequence was easily foreseen They ate up all they had, and drank their wine, In spite of all remonstrances, and then On what, in fact, next day were they to dine? They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish men! And carry them to shore; these hopes were fine, But as they had but one oar, and that brittle, It would have been more wise to save their victual. LXX. The fourth day came, but not a breath of air, And Ocean slumber'd like an unwean'd child: So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, LXXI. On the sixth day they fed upon his hide, With some remorse received (though first denied) LXXII. The seventh day, and no wind-the burning sun Blister'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the sea, They lay like carcasses; and hope was none, Save in the breeze that came not: savagely They glared upon each other-all was done, Water, and wine, and food,-and you might see The longings of the cannibal arise (Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes. LXXIII. At length one whisper'd his companion, who An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound; And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew, "T was but his own, suppress'd till now, he found: And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood, | And who should die to be his fellows' food. LXXIV. But ere they came to this, they that day shared LXXV. The lots were made, and mark'd, and mix'd, and handed, In silent horror, and their distribution Lull'd even the savage hunger which demanded, Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution; None in particular had sought or plann'd it, 'T was nature gnaw'd them to this resolution, By which none were permitted to be neuterAnd the lot fell on Juan's luckless tutor. LXXVI. He but requested to be bled to death: The surgeon had his instruments, and bled Pedrillo, and so gently ebb'd his breath, You hardly could perceive when he was dead. He died as born, a Catholic in faith, Like most in the belief in which they 're bred, And first a little crucifix he kiss'd, And then held out his jugular and wrist. LXXVII. The surgeon, as there was no other fee, Had his first choice of morsels for his pains; But being thirstiest at the moment, he Preferr❜d a draught from the fast-flowing veins: Part was divided, part thrown in the sea, And such things as the entrails and the brains Regaled two sharks, who follow'd o'er the billowThe sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo. LXXVIII. The sailors ate him, all save three or four, Who were not quite so fond of animal food; To these was added Juan, who, before Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could Feel now his appetite increased much more; 'T was not to be expected that he should, Even in extremity of their disaster, Dine with them on his pastor and his master. LXXIX. "T was better that he did not; for, in fact, The consequence was awful in the extreme; For they, who were most ravenous in the act, Went raging mad-Lord! how they did blaspheme! And foam, and roll, with strange convulsions rack'd, Drinking salt water like a mountain stream, Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing, And, with hyæna-laughter, died despairing. LXXX. Their numbers were much thinn'd by this infliction, And all the rest were thin enough, Heaven knows; And some of them had lost their recollection, Happier than they who still perceived their woes; But others ponder'd on a new dissection, As if not warn'd sufficiently by those Who had already perish'd, suffering madly, For having used their appetites so sadly. |