Smooth'd even the Simplon's steep, and by God's blessing, [kissing.'

With youth and health, all kisses are 'heaven

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' ('Tis Pope's phrase) a great longing, though a rash one.

For one especial person out of many,

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 lions' 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 Catharine (we must say thus much for Catharine),

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 or grey
(The last, if they have soul, are quite as good,
Or better, as the best examples say:
Napoleon's, Mary's (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,

It is to speculate on handsome faces, Especially when such lead to high places, LXXXIII.

Juan, who found himself, he knew not how,
A general object of attention, made
His answers with a very graceful bow,
As if born for the ministerial trade.
Though modest, on his unembarrass'd brow
Nature had written 'gentleman.' He said
Little, but to the purpose; and his manner
Flung hovering graces o'er him like a banner.
LXXXIV.

An order from her Majesty consign'd

Our young lieutenant to the genial care Of those in office: all the world look'd kind (As it will look sometimes with the first stare, Which youth would not act ill to keep in mind), As also did Miss Protosoff then there, Named, from her mystic office, 'l'Eprouveuse,' A term inexplicable to the Muse.

LXXXV.

With her then, as in humble duty bound,
Juan retired-and so will I, until
My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground.
We have just lit on a 'heaven-kissing hill,'
So lofty that I feel my brain turn round,

And all my fancies whirling like a mill;
Which is a signal to my nerves and brain,
To take a quiet ride in some green lane.

VII.

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno, in the summer, to a shallow,

So narrow as to shame their wintry brink,
Which threatens inundations deep and yellow!
Such difference do a few months make. You'd
think

Grief a rich field that never would lie fallow:
No more it doth; its ploughs but change their boys,
Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys.

VIII.

But coughs will come when sighs depart, and now And then before sighs cease; for oft the one Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow

Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun Of life reach'd ten o'clock: and while a glow, Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done, O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure for clay,

Thousands blaze, love, hope, die-how happy they!

IX.

But Juan was not meant to die so soon.
We left him in the focus of such glory
As may be won by favour of the moon

Or ladies fancies-rather transitory,
Perhaps; but who would scorn the month of June,
Because December, with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

X.

Besides, he had some qualities which fix

Middle-aged ladies even more than young: The former know what's what; while new-fledged Know little more of love than what is sung [chicks In rhymes, or dreamt (for fancy will play tricks)

In visions of those skies from whence love sprung.
Some reckon women by their suns or years:
I rather think the moon should date the dears.
XI.

And why? Because she's changeable and chaste.
I know no other reason, whatsoe'er
Suspicious people, who find fault in haste,

May choose to tax me with; which is not fair,
Nor flattering to their temper or their taste,'
As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air:
However, I forgive him, and I trust
He will forgive himself;-if not, I must.
XII.

Old enemies who have become new friends,
Should so continue-'tis a point of honour:
And I know nothing which could make amends
For a return to hatred: I would shun her
Like garlic, howsoever she extends

Her hundred arms and legs, and fain outrun her. Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foesConverted foes should scorn to join with those.

XIX.

And though, as you remember, in a fit

Of wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and curly, I rail'd at Scots, to show my wrath and wit, Which must be own'd, was sensitive and surly, Yet 'tis in vain such sallies to permit

They cannot quench young feelings fresh and early:

I'scotch'd, not kill'd,' the Scotchman in my blood,
And love the land of mountain and of flood.'
XX.

Don Juan who was real, or ideal—

For both are much the same, since what men think

Exists when the once thinkers are less real

Than what they thought, for mind can never sink,

And 'gainst the body makes a strong appeal,
And yet 'tis very puzzling on the brink

Of what is call'd eternity, to stare,

And know no more of what is here, than there ;

XXI.

Don Juan grew a very polish'd Russian

How we won't mention, why we need not say: Few youthful minds can stand the strong concussion

Of any slight temptation in their way;
But his just now were spread as is a cushion

Smooth'd for a monarch's seat of honour; gay Damsels, and dances, revels, ready money, Made ice seem paradise, and winter sunny.

XXII.

The favour of the Empress was agreeable;
And though the duty wax'd a little hard,
Young people at his time of life should be able
To come off handsomely in that regard.
He was now growing up like a green tree, able
For love, war, or ambition, which reward
Their luckier votaries, till old age's tedium
Make some prefer the circulating medium.
XXIII.

About this time, as might have been anticipated,
Seduced by youth, and dangerous examples,
Don Juan grew, I fear, a little dissipated;

Which is a sad thing, and not only tramples On our fresh feelings, but-as being participated With all kinds of incorrigible samples Of frail humanity-must make us selfish, And shut our souls up in us, like a shell-fish. XXIV.

This we pass over. We will also pass

The usual progress of intrigues between Unequal matches, such as are, alas,

A young lieutenant's with a not old queen, But one who is not so youthful as she was In all the royalty of sweet seventeen. Sovereigns may sway materials, but not matter; And wrinkles, the d-d democrats, won't flatter.

XXV.

With his Agrarian laws, the high estate

Of him who feasts, and fights, and roars, and revels,

To one small grass-grown patch (which must await
Corruption for its crop), with the poor devils
Who never had a foot of land till now-
Death's a reformer, all men must allow.
XXVI.

He lived (not Death, but Juan) in a hurry

Of waste, and haste, and glare, and gloss, and glitter,

In this gay clime of bearskins, black and furryWhich (though I hate to say a thing that's bitter)

Peep out sometimes, when things are in a flurry,
Through all the 'purple and fine linen,' fitter
For Babylon's than Russia's royal harlot-
And neutralizę her outward show of scarlet.

Tiberius Gracchus, being tribune of the people.

great

Gracchus of all mortality, who levels,

rian laws; by which all persons possessing more than a certain number of acres were to be deprived of the surplus for the benefit of the poor citizens.

Where his assets were waxing rather few, He had brought his spending to a handsome anchor,

Replied that she was glad to see him through Those pleasures after which wild youth will hanker;

As the sole sign of man's being in his senses
Is, learning to reduce his past expenses.

XXXII

She also recommended him to God,

And no less to God's Son, as well as Mother; Warn'd him against Greek worship, which looks odd

In Catholic eyes; but told him, too, to smother Outward dislike, which don't look well abroad: Inform'd him that he had a little brother Born in a second wedlock; and, above All, praised the Empress's maternal love.

XXXIII.

She could not too much give her approbation Unto an empress, who preferr'd young men, Whose age, and, what was better still, whose nation And climate, stopp'd all scandal (now and then): At home it might have given her some vexation; But where thermometers sink down to ten, Or five, or one, or zero, she could never Believe that virtue thaw'd before the river.'

XXXIV.

Oh for a forty-parson power* to chant

Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh for a hymn Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt, Not practise! Oh for trump of cherubim, Or the ear-trumpet of my good old aunt,

Who, though her spectacles at last grew dim, Drew quiet consolation through its hint, When she could no more read the pious print.

XXXV.

She was no hypocrite, at least, poor soul!
But went to heaven in as sincere a way
As anybody on the elected roll,

Which portions out, upon the judgment-day,
Heaven's freeholds, in a sort of doomsday scroll,
Such as the conqueror William did repay
His knights with; lotting others' properties
Into some sixty thousand new knights' fees.

XXXVI.

I can't complain, whose ancestors are there, Erneis, Radulphus-eight-and-forty manors (If that my memory doth not greatly err)

Were their reward for following Billy's banners; And though I can't help thinking 'twas scarce fair To strip the Saxons of their hydest like tanners; Yet, as they founded churches with the produce, You'll deem, no doubt, they put it to a good use.

* A metaphor taken from the 'forty-horse power' of a steam-engine. That mad wag, the Rev. S. S., sitting by a brother clergyman at dinner, observed afterwards that his dull neighbour had a 'twelve-parson power' of conversation.

Hyde.' I believe a hyde of land to be a legitimate word, and, as such, subject to the tax of a quibble.

XXXVII.

The gentle Juan flourish'd, though at times
He felt like other plants, call'd sensitive,
Which shrink from: touch, as monarchs do from
rhymes,

Save such as Southey can afford to give.
Perhaps he long'd, in bitter frosts, for climes

In which the Neva's ice would cease to live
Before May-day: perhaps, despite his duty,
In royalty's vast arms he sigh'd for beauty:

XXXVIII.

Perhaps but, sans perhaps, we need not seck
For causes young or old; the canker-worm
Will feed upon the fairest, freshest cheek,
As well as further drain the wither'd form:
Care, like a housekeeper, brings every week
His bills in; and, however we may storm,
They must be paid: though six days smoothly run,
The seventh will bring blue devils or a dun.
XXXIX.

I don't know how it was, but he grew sick :
The Empress was alarm'd; and her physician
(The same who physick'd Peter) found the tick
Of his fierce pulse betoken a condition
Which augur'd of the dead, however quick
Itself, and show'd a feverish disposition;
At which the whole court was extremely troubled,
The sovereign shock'd, and all his medicines
doubled.