CCXV.

The liver is the lazaret of bile,

But very rarely executes its function,
For the first passion stays there such a while,
That all the rest creep in and form a junction,
Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil,

Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction, So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail, Like earthquakes from the hidden fire call'd "central." (1)

CCXVI.

In the mean time, without proceeding more
In this anatomy, I've finish'd now
Two hundred and odd stanzas as before,
That being about the number I'll allow
Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four;
And, laying down my pen, I make my bow,
Leaving Don Juan and Haidée to plead
For them and theirs with all who deign to read. (2)

(1) [The Canto concludes with some ironical eulogies on constancy, its rarity, and its value, winding up with some caustic sarcasms; from the whole tenor of which, we are led to conclude that Lord Byron has no higher an opinion of men, nor of women, than that profane wit, who said, that when there were but two brothers on the earth, one of them killed the other; and that when Eve had only Adam

"Elle aima mieux pour s'en faire conter,

Prester l'oreille aux fleurettes du diable,

Que d'estre femme et ne pas coqueter."- COLTON.]

(2) ["You say that one-half is very good: you are wrong; for, if it were, it would be the finest poem in existence. Where is the poetry of which one-half is good? Is it the Æneid? is it Milton's? is it Dryden's? is it any one's except Pope's and Goldsmith's, of which all is good? and yet these two last are the poets your pond poets would explode. But if one-half of these two Cantos be good in your opinion, what the devil would you have more? No-no; no poetry is generally good-only by fits and starts -and you are lucky to get a sparkle here and there. You might as well want a midnight all stars, as rhyme all perfect."-Lord B. to Mr. Murray.]

DON JUAN.

CANTO THE THIRD. (1)

(1) [Lord Byron began to compose Canto III. in October, 1819; but the outcry raised by the publication of Cantos I. and II. annoyed him so much, that he for a time laid the work aside, and afterwards proceeded in it only by fits and starts. Mr. Moore, who visited him while Canto III. was in progress says "So sensitive, indeed, in addition to his usual abundance of this quality,—did he, at length, grow on the subject, that when Mr. W. Bankes, who succeeded me as his visiter, happened to tell him, one day, that he had heard a Mr. Saunders (or some such name), then resident at Venice, declare that, in his opinion, 'Don Juan was all Grub-street,' such an effect had this disparaging speech upon his mind (though coming from a person who, as he himself would have it, was nothing but a d-d salt-fish seller"), that, for some time after, by his own confession to Mr. Bankes, he could not bring himself to write another line of the Poem; and one morning, opening a drawer where the neglected manuscript lay, he said to his friend, Look here- this is all Mr. Saunders's Grub street."" Cantos III. IV. and V. were published together in August, 1821,-still without the name either of author or bookseller. -E]

289

DON JUAN.

CANTO THE THIRD.

HAIL, Muse! et cetera.

I.

We left Juan sleeping,

Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast,

And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping,
And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest
To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,
Or know who rested there, a foe to rest,
Had soil'd the current of her sinless years,
And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears!

II.

Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours
Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why
With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers,
And made thy best interpreter a sigh?

As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,
And place them on their breast-but place to die-
Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish
Are laid within our bosoms but to perish. (1)

(1) [This, we must allow, is pretty enough, and not at all objectionable in a moral point of view. We fear, however, that we cannot say as much for what follows: marrying is no joke, and therefore not a fit subject to

III.

In her first passion woman loves her lover,
In all the others all she loves is love,
Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over,
And fits her loosely-like an easy glove,
As you may find, whene’er
like to prove
One man alone at first her heart can move;
She then prefers him in the plural number,
Not finding that the additions much encumber.

IV.

you

I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ;

her:

But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted— (Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers) — After a decent time must be gallanted; Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs

Is that to which her heart is wholly granted; Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, But those who have ne'er end with only one. (1)

V.

'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign

Of human frailty, folly, also crime,

That love and marriage rarely can combine,
Although they both are born in the same clime;
Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine—
A sad, sour, sober beverage-by time
Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour
Down to a very homely household savour.

joke about; besides, for a married man to be merry on that score, is very like trying to overcome the toothach by a laugh. — HOGG.]

(1) [These two lines are a versification of a saying of Montaigne.]