two, Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair, Had all the advantage too of not being air.

And when into the cavern Haidee stepp'd,
All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
That like an infant Juan sweetly slept;
And then she stopp'd,and stood as if in awe
(For sleep is awful), and on tiptoe crept
And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw,
Should reach his blood; then o'er him,
still as death,

Bent with hush'd lips that drank his scarcedrawn breath.

And thus, like to an angel o'er the dying Who die in righteousness, she lean'd; and

there

All tranquilly the shipwreck'd boy was

lying,

Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt,

Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault.

And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath, Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast, Droop'd as the willow when no winds can breathe,

Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at
rest,
Fair as the crowning rose of the whole
wreath,

Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest;
In short, he was a very pretty fellow,
Although his woes had turn'd him rather
yellow.

again,

pain

Had further sleep a further pleasure made;
For woman's face was never form'd in vain
For Juan, so that even when he pray'd
He turn'd from grisly saints, and martyrs
hairy,

To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary.

And thus upon his elbow he arose,
And look'd upon the lady in whose cheek
The pale- contended with the purple-rose,
As with an effort she began to speak;
Her eyes were eloquent, her words would
pose,

Although she told him, in good modern
Greek,

With an Ionian accent, low and sweet, That he was faint, and must not talk,but eat.

Now Juan could not understand a word,
Being no Grecian; but he had an ear,
And her voice was the warble of a bird,
So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear,
That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard;
The sort of sound we echo with a tear,
Without knowing why-an overpowering

tone, Whence Melody descends as from a throne.

And Juan gazed as one who is awoke
By a distant organ, doubting if he be
Not yet a dreamer, till the spell is broke
By the watchman, or some such reality,
Or by one's early valet's cursed knock;
At least it is a heavy sound to me,

At last her father's prows put out to sea,
For certain merchantmen upon the look,
Not as of yore to carry off an Io,
But three Ragusan vessels, bound for Scio.

Then came her freedom, for she had no mother,

So that, her father being at sea, she was
Free as a married woman, or such other
Female, as where she likes may freely pass,
Without even the incumbrance of a brother,
The freest she that ever gazed on glass:
I speak of Christian lands in this comparison,
Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in
garrison.

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.

It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast, With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore, Guarded by shoals and rocks as by an host, With here and there a creek, whose aspect

wore

A better welcome to the tempest-tost;
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.

And the small ripple spilt upon the beach Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champaigne, 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 woman, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;
The best of life is but intoxication:
Glory, the grape, love,gold,in these are sunk
The hopes of all men, and of every nation;
Without their sap, how branchless were
the trunk

Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion: