Don Juan (Byron)

thumb|right|I hope it is no crimeTo laugh at all things — for I wish to knowWhat, after all, are all things — but a show? Don Juan (1818–1824) is a long, digressive satiric poem by Lord Byron, based on the legend of Don Juan, which Byron reverses, portraying Juan not as a womaniser but someone easily seduced by women. It is a variation on the epic form. Unlike the more tortured early romantic works by Byron, exemplified by Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Don Juan has a more humorous, satirical bent. Modern critics generally consider it to be Byron's masterpiece. The poem was never completed upon Byron's death in 1824. Quotes Dedication Bob Southey! You're a poet—Poet-laureate,And representative of all the race,Although 'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory atLast,—yours has lately been a common case;And now, my Epic Renegade! what are ye at?With all the Lakers, in and out of place?A nest of tuneful persons, to my eyeLike "four and twenty Blackbirds in a pye." Stanza 1 And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing,But like a hawk encumber'd with his hood,—Explaining metaphysics to the nation—I wish he would explain his explanation. Stanza 2 And Wordsworth, in a rather long Excursion(I think the quarto holds five hundred pages),Has given a sample from the vasty versionOf his new system to perplex the sages;'Tis poetry—at least by his assertion,And may appear so when the dog-star rages—And he who understands it would be ableTo add a story to the Tower of Babel. Stanza 4 You're shabby fellows—true—but poets still,And duly seated on the immortal hill. Stanza 6 Your bays may hide the baldness of your brows—Perhaps some virtuous blushes. Stanza 7 Scott, Rogers, Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe will try'Gainst you the question with posterity. Stanza 7 For me, who, wandering with pedestrian Muses,Contend not with you on the winged steed,I wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses,The fame you envy and the skill you need. Stanza 8 If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues,Milton appeal'd to the Avenger, Time,If Time, the Avenger, execrates his wrongs,And makes the word 'Miltonic' mean 'sublime,'He deign'd not to belie his soul in songsNor turn his very talent to a crime;He did not loathe the Sire to laud the Son,But closed the tyrant-hater he begun. Stanza 10 Would he adore a sultan? he obeyThe intellectual eunuch Castlereagh? Stanza 11 Canto I (1818) I want a hero: an uncommon want, When every year and month sends forth a new one, Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The age discovers he is not the true one; Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan— We all have seen him, in the pantomime, Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time. Stanza 1 Brave men were living before Agamemnon. Stanza 5; compare: "Vixerunt fortes ante Agamemnona / Multi", Horace, Odes, iv, 9, 25 Most epic poets plunge "in medias res"(Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road). Stanza 6 My way is to begin with the beginning. Stanza 7 In Seville was he born, a pleasant city,Famous for oranges and women. Stanza 8 His father's name was Jóse—Don, of course,—A true Hidalgo, free from every stainOf Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his sourceThrough the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain. Stanza 9 Her favourite science was the mathematical,Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity,Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all,Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity;In short, in all things she was fairly what I callA prodigy. Stanza 12 She knew the Latin—that is, "the Lord's prayer,"And Greek—the alphabet—I'm nearly sure. Stanza 13 'Tis strange—the Hebrew noun which means 'I am,'The English always used to govern d--n. Stanza 14 In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her,Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar! Stanza 17 Perfect she was, but as perfection isInsipid in this naughty world of ours,Where our first parents never learn'd to kissTill they were exiled from their earlier bowers,Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss(I wonder how they got through the twelve hours),Don Jóse, like a lineal son of Eve,Went plucking various fruit without her leave. Stanza 18 Now Donna Inez had, with all her merit,A great opinion of her own good qualities;Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it,And such, indeed, she was in her moralities;But then she had a devil of a spirit,And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities. Stanza 20 Fans turn into falchions in fair hands. Stanza 21 But — Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual,Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all? Stanza 22 I loathe that low vice—curiosity. Stanza 23 A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,And mischief-making monkey from his birth. Stanza 25 Don Jóse and the Donna Inez ledFor some time an unhappy sort of life,Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead. Stanza 26 Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection. Stanza 31 The languages, especially the dead, The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, The arts, at least all such as could be said To be the most remote from common use, In all these he was much and deeply read. Stanza 40 But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one Beginning with "Formosum Pastor Corydon." Stanza 42 The darkness of her Oriental eye Accorded with her Moorish origin (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by; In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin); When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly, Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain, Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain. She married (I forget the pedigree) With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down His blood less noble than such blood should be; At such alliances his sires would frown, In that point so precise in each degree That they bred in and in, as might be shown, Marrying their cousins—nay, their aunts, and nieces, Which always spoils the breed, if it increases. This heathenish cross restored the breed again, Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh; For from a root the ugliest in Old Spain Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh; The sons no more were short, the daughters plain. Stanzas 56, 57, 58 SheWas married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three. Stanza 59 Her eye (I’m very fond of handsome eyes)Was large and dark, suppressing half its fireUntil she spoke, then through its soft disguiseFlash’d an expression more of pride than ire,And love than either; and there would ariseA something in them which was not desire,But would have been, perhaps, but for the soulWhich struggled through and chasten’d down the whole. Stanza 60 Her glossy hair was cluster’d o’er a browBright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth;Her eyebrow’s shape was like th’ aerial bow,Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,Mounting at times to a transparent glow,As if her veins ran lightning. Stanza 61 She, in sooth,Possess'd an air and grace by no means common:Her stature tall — I hate a dumpy woman. Stanza 61 That indecent sun, Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay, But will keep baking, broiling, burning on. Stanza 63; compare: Joseph Jay Deiss, The Great Infidel, pt. 3 ch. 8 The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone. Stanza 63 What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,Is much more common where the climate's sultry. Stanza 63 Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,For jealousy dislikes the world to know it. Stanza 65 A quiet conscience makes one so serene! Stanza 83 thumb|right|Christians have burnt each other, quite persuadedThat all the Apostles would have done as they did. Christians have burnt each other, quite persuadedThat all the Apostles would have done as they did. Stanza 83 He thought about himself, and the whole earthOf man the wonderful, and of the stars,And how the deuce they ever could have birth;And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars,How many miles the moon might have in girth,Of air-balloons, and of the many barsTo perfect knowledge of the boundless skies;—And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes. Stanza 92 'Twas strange that one so young should thus concernHis brain about the action of the sky;If you think 'twas philosophy that this did,I can't help thinking puberty assisted. Stanza 93 The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon:The devil's in the moon for mischief; theyWho call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soonTheir nomenclature; there is not a day,The longest, not the twenty-first of June,Sees half the business in a wicked wayOn which three single hours of moonshine smile—And then she looks so modest all the while. Stanza 113 But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?Not that remorse did not oppose temptation;A little still she strove, and much repentedAnd whispering "I will ne'er consent"—consented. Stanza 117; compare: "Having a thousand tongues t'allure him, / And but one to bid him go."—Raleigh, Dulcina. Attributed to Brydges, who edited Raleigh's poems 'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creepFrom leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on highThe rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. Stanza 122 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest barkBay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home;'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will markOur coming, and look brighter when we come;'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark,Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the humOf bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,The lisp of children, and their earliest words. Stanza 123 Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapesIn Bacchanal profusion reel to earth,Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapesFrom civic revelry to rural mirth;Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps,Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth,Sweet is revenge—especially to women,Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. Stanza 124; compare: Juvenal, Satires, XIII, 191, and Browne, Christian Morals, pt. III, sec. xii 'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels,By blood or ink; 'tis sweet to put an endTo strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,Particularly with a tiresome friend:Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;Dear is the helpless creature we defendAgainst the world; and dear the schoolboy spotWe ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. Stanza 126 But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,Is first and passionate love—it stands alone,Like Adam's recollection of his fall;The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd—all's known—And life yields nothing further to recallWorthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,No doubt in fable, as the unforgivenFire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven. Stanza 127 thumb|right|Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure. Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure. Stanza 133 And truant husband should return, and say, "My dear, I was the first who came away." Stanza 141 She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; paleShe lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears,Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil,Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appearsHer streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail,To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprearsIts snow through all;—her soft lips lie apart,And louder than her breathing beats her heart. Stanza 158 But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnawsSo much as when we call our old debts inAt sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil. Stanza 167 His speech was a fine sample, on the whole,Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole." Stanza 174 Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,'Tis woman's whole existence; man may rangeThe court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart;Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchangePride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart,And few there are whom these cannot estrange;Men have all these resources, we but one,To love again, and be again undone. Stanza 194 My heart is feminine, nor can forget—To all, except one image, madly blind;So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole,As vibrates my fond heart to my fix’d soul. Stanza 196 A panoramic view of hell's in training,After the style of Virgil and of Homer,So that my name of Epic's no misnomer. Stanza 200 If ever I should condescend to prose,I'll write poetical commandments, whichShall supersede beyond all doubt all thoseThat went before; in these I shall enrichMy text with many things that no one knows,And carry precept to the highest pitch:I'll call the work "Longinus o'er a Bottle,Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle." Stanza 204 Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope;Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey;Because the first is crazed beyond all hope,The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy:With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope,And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy:Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, norCommit—flirtation with the muse of Moore. Stanza 205 I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies;Should captains the remark, or critics, make,They also lie too—under a mistake. Stanza 208 My grandmother's review—the British. Stanza 209 I was most ready to return a blow,And would not brook at all this sort of thingIn my hot youth, when George the Third was king. Stanza 212 The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, The copious use of claret is forbid too, So for a good old-gentlemanly vice I think I must take up with avarice. Stanza 216; compare: "That disease / Of which all old men sicken,—avarice", Thomas Middleton, The Roaring Girl (1611), Act i, Scene 1 What is the end of fame? 'tis but to fillA certain portion of uncertain paper:Some liken it to climbing up a hill,Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour;For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,And bards burn what they call their ‘midnight taper,’To have, when the original is dust,A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. Stanza 218 Canto II (1819) Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,It mends their morals, never mind the pain. Stanza 1 Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails. Stanza 4 I can’t but say it is an awkward sightTo see one’s native land receding throughThe growing waters; it unmans one quite,Especially when life is rather new: Stanza 12 The best of remedies is a beef-steakAgainst sea-sickness: try it, sir, beforeYou sneer, and I assure you this is true,For I have found it answer—so may you. Stanza 13 At leaving even the most unpleasant peopleAnd places, one keeps looking at the steeple. Stanza 14 There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calmsAs rum and true religion. Stanza 34 Some hoisted out the boats; and there was oneThat begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution,Who told him to be damn'd—in his confusion. Stanza 44 'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went downOver the waste of waters; like a veil,Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frownOf one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. Stanza 49 Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell—Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,As eager to anticipate their grave;And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,Like one who grapples with his enemy,And strives to strangle him before he die. Stanza 52 A solitary shriek, the bubbling cryOf some strong swimmer in his agony. Stanza 53 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 constructionBears vegetables, in a grumbling way,Your labouring people think beyond all question,Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion. Stanza 67 thumb|Till taught by painMen really know not what good water's worth. Till taught by painMen really know not what good water's worth;If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your berth,Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,You'd wish yourself where Truth is—in a well. Stanza 84 If this be true, indeed,Some Christians have a comfortable creed. Stanza 86 He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont,As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did. Stanza 105 Like a lovely treeShe grew to womanhood, and between whilesRejected several suitors, just to learnHow to accept a better in his turn. Stanza 128 thumb|And thus like to an angel o'er the dyingWho die in righteousness, she lean'd. And thus like to an angel o'er the dyingWho die in righteousness, she lean'd. Stanza 144 For the nightShows stars and women in a better light. Stanza 152 That Pasiphaë promoted breeding cattle,To make the Cretans bloodier in battle.For we all know that English people areFed upon beef—I won't say much of beer,Because 'tis liquor only, and being farFrom this my subject, has no business here;We know, too, they are very fond of war,A pleasure—like all pleasures—rather dear;So were the Cretans—from which I inferThat beef and battles both were owing to her. Stanzas 155 and 156 That famish’d people must be slowly nurst,And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst. Stanza 158 thumb|For the nightShows stars and women in a better light. 'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongueBy 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's wrongThey smile still more. Stanza 164 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. Stanza 170 All who joy would winMust share it,—happiness was born a twin. Stanza 172 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 woreA better welcome to the tempest-tost;And rarely ceased the haughty billow's roar,Save on the dead long summer days, which makeThe outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake. Stanza 177 Few things surpass old wine; and they may preachWho please,—the more because they preach in vain,—Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,Sermons and soda water the day after. Stanza 178 Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;The best of life is but intoxication:Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunkThe hopes of all men, and of every nation;Without their sap, how branchless were the trunkOf life’s strange tree, so fruitful on occasion:But to return,—Get very drunk; and whenYou wake with headache, you shall see what then. Stanza 179 And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry,And dolphin's leap, and little billow crostBy some low rock or shelve, that made it fretAgainst the boundary it scarcely wet. Stanza 182 It was the cooling hour, just when the roundedRed sun sinks down behind the azure hill,Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded,Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,With the far mountain-crescent half surroundedOn one side, and the deep sea calm and chillUpon the other, and the rosy sky,With one star sparkling through it like an eye. Stanza 183 They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glowSpread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;They gazed upon the glittering sea below,Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low,And saw each other's dark eyes darting lightInto each other—and, beholding this,Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss. Stanza 185 A long, long kiss,—a kiss of youth and love. Stanza 186 Alas! they were so young, so beautiful,So lonely, loving, helpless. Stanza 192 And thus they form a group that's quite antique,Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek. Stanza 194 thumb|Alas, the love of women! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing. An infant when it gazes on a light,A child the moment when it drains the breast,A devotee when soars the Host in sight,An Arab with a stranger for a guest,A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,A miser filling his most hoarded chest,Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reapingAs they who watch o’er what they love while sleeping. Stanza 196 Alas, the love of women! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing; For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring To them but mockeries of the past alone, And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. Stanza 199 I hate inconstancy—I loathe, detest,Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal madeOf such quicksilver clay that in his breastNo permanent foundation can be laid. Stanza 209 Canto III (1821) Hail, Muse! et cetera. Stanza 1; compare: Cummings, "My sweet old etcetera" Oh, Love! what is it in this world of oursWhich makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, whyWith 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 cherishAre laid within our bosoms but to perish. Stanza 2 In her first passion woman loves her lover: In all the others, all she loves is love. Stanza 3; compare: "Dans les premières passions les femmes aiment l'amant, et dans les autres elles aiment l'amour", Francis, Duc de La Rochefoucauld, Maxim 471 'Tis melancholy, and a fearful signOf 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 timeIs sharpen'd from its high celestial flavourDown to a very homely household savour. Stanza 5 Romances paint at full length people's wooings,But only give a bust of marriages;For no one cares for matrimonial cooings,There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss:Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,He would have written sonnets all his life? Stanza 8 All tragedies are finish'd by a death,All comedies are ended by a marriage;The future states of both are left to faith. Stanza 9 Wives in their husbands’ absences grow subtler,And daughters sometimes run off with the butler. Stanza 22 And as the spot where they appear he nears,Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling,He hears—alas! no music of the spheres,But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling! Stanza 28 A pipe, too, and a drum, and shortly after,A most unoriental roar of laughter. Stanza 28 Dreading that climax of all human ills,The inflammation of his weekly bills. Stanza 35 He was the mildest-mannered manThat ever scuttled ship or cut a throat:With such true breeding of a gentleman,You never could divine his real thought. Stanza 41 He enter'd in the house—his home no more,For without hearts there is no home; and feltThe solitude of passing his own doorWithout a welcome. Stanza 52 The cubless tigress in her jungle ragingIs dreadful to the shepherd and the flock;The ocean when its yeasty war is wagingIs awful to the vessel near the rock;But violent things will sooner bear assuaging,Their fury being spent by its own shock,Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ireOf a strong human heart, and in a sire. Stanza 58 Just as old age is creeping on apace,And clouds come o’er the sunset of our day,They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,But in good company—the gout or stone. Stanza 59 Yet a fine family is a fine thing(Provided they don't come in after dinner);'Tis beautiful to see a matron bringHer children up (if nursing them don't thin her). Stanza 60 A lady with her daughters or her niecesShines like a guinea and seven-shilling pieces. Stanza 60 Her overpowering presence made you feelIt would not be idolatry to kneel. Stanza 74 But Shakespeare also says, 'tis very silly"To gild refinèd gold, or paint the lily." Stanza 76 Even good men like to make the public stare. Stanza 81 But now being lifted into high society,And having pick'd up several odds and endsOf free thoughts in his travels for variety,He deem'd, being in a lone isle, among friends,That, without any danger of a riot, heMight for long lying make himself amends;And, singing as he sung in his warm youth,Agree to a short armistice with truth. Stanza 83 thumb|Eternal summer gilds them yet,But all, except their sun, is set. The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!Where burning Sappho loved and sung,Where grew the arts of war and peace,Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!Eternal summer gilds them yet,But all, except their sun, is set. The Isles of Greece, Stanza 1 The mountains look on Marathon —And Marathon looks on the sea;And musing there an hour alone,I dream'd that Greece might still be free. The Isles of Greece, Stanza 3 A king sate on the rocky browWhich looks o'er sea-born Salamis;And ships, by thousands, lay below,And men in nations;—all were his!He counted them at break of day—And when the sun set where were they? The Isles of Greece, Stanza 4 And where are they? and where art thou,My country? On thy voiceless shoreThe heroic lay is tuneless now —The heroic bosom beats no more!And must thy lyre, so long divine,Degenerate into hands like mine? The Isles of Greece, Stanza 5 For what is left the poet here?For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear. The Isles of Greece, Stanza 6 Earth! render back from out thy breastA remnant of our Spartan dead!Of the three hundred grant but three,To make a new Thermopylae! The Isles of Greece, Stanza 7 Fill high the cup with Samian wine! The Isles of Greece, Stanza 9 You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?Of two such lessons, why forgetThe nobler and the manlier one?You have the letters Cadmus gave —Think ye he meant them for a slave? The Isles of Greece, Stanza 10 Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,Where nothing, save the waves and I,May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;There, swan-like, let me sing and die:A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine —Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! The Isles of Greece, Stanza 16 But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, producesThat which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. Stanza 88 Milton's the prince of poets—so we say;A little heavy, but no less divine. Stanza 91 A drowsy frowzy poem, call'd the "Excursion",Writ in a manner which is my aversion. Stanza 94 We learn from Horace, "Homer sometimes sleeps;"We feel without him: Wordsworth sometimes wakes. Stanza 98 Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer!Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love! Stanza 103 Some kinder casuists are pleased to say,In nameless print—that I have no devotion;But set those persons down with me to pray,And you shall see who has the properest notionOf getting into heaven the shortest way;My altars are the mountains and the ocean,Earth, air, stars,—all that springs from the great Whole,Who hath produced, and will receive the soul. Stanza 104 Oh, Hesperus! thou bringest all good things—Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer;Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings,Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest;Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast. Stanza 107; compare: Sappho, frag. Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns. Stanza 108 Canto IV (1821) thumb|Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end. Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end. Stanza 1 While Youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel. Stanza 2 But as the torrent widens towards the Ocean, We ponder deeply on each past emotion. Stanza 2 Now my sere Fancy "falls into the yellow Leaf," and Imagination droops her pinion, And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk Turns what was once romantic to burlesque. Stanza 3; compare: "My way of life / Is fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf", Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act v, Scene 3 And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep. Stanza 4 Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx; A mortal mother would on Lethe fix. Stanza 4 Some have accused me of a strange design Against the creed and morals of the land, And trace it in this poem every line: I don't pretend that I quite understand My own meaning when I would be very fine; But the fact is that I have nothing planned, Unless it were to be a moment merry — A novel word in my vocabulary. Stanza 5 The precious porcelain of human clay. Stanza 11; compare: "This is the porcelain clay of humankind", Dryden, Don Sebastian, Act i, Scene 1 Perhaps the early graveWhich men weep over may be meant to save. Stanza 12 'Whom the gods love die young,' was said of yore,And many deaths do they escape by this. Stanza 12; compare: Menander, [Epigramatic] Sentences, 425 and The Double Deceiver, frag. 4; "The good die first, / And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust / Burn to the socket", William Wordsworth, The Excursion, Book i And her face so fairStirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air. Stanza 29; compare: "All her innocent thoughts / Like rose-leaves scatter'd", John Wilson, On the Death of a Child (1812) It has a strange quick jar upon the ear,That cocking of a pistol, when you knowA moment more will bring the sight to bearUpon your person, twelve yards off, or so. Stanza 41 But after being fired at once or twice,The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice. Stanza 41 Even to the delicacy of their handThere was resemblance, such as true blood wears. Stanza 45 The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;In fact, he had no singing education,An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow. Stanza 87 These two hated with a hateFound only on the stage. Stanza 93 "Arcades ambo," id est—blackguards both. Stanza 93 With eyes that look’d into the very soul—Bright—and as black and burning as a coal. Stanza 94 I've stood upon Achilles' tomb,And heard Troy doubted; time will doubt of Rome. Stanza 101 Oh! "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"As someone somewhere sings about the sky. Stanza 110 Canto V (1821) When amatory poets sing their lovesIn liquid lines mellifluously bland,And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves,They little think what mischief is in hand. Stanza 1 I have a passion for the name of "Mary",For once it was a magic sound to me;And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,Where I beheld what never was to be. Stanza 4 There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine. Stanza 5 Men are the sport of circumstances, whenThe circumstances seem the sport of men. Stanza 14 A lady in the case. Stanza 19 And one by one in turn, some grand mistakeCasts off its bright skin yearly like the snake. Stanza 21 ’Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures;And all are to be sold, if you considerTheir passions, and are dext’rous; some by featuresAre bought up, others by a warlike leader,Some by a place—as tend their years or natures;The most by ready cash—but all have prices,From crowns to kicks, according to their vices. Stanza 27 And is this blood, then, form'd but to be shed?Can every element our elements mar?And air—earth—water—fire live—and we dead?We, whose minds comprehend all things? Stanza 39 And nearer as they came, a genial savourOf certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus,Things which in hungry mortals’ eyes find favour. Stanza 47 And put himself upon his good behaviour. Stanza 47 No Method's more sure at moments to take hold Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow More tender, as we every day behold, Than that all-softening, overpowering knell, The tocsin of the soul — the dinner-bell. Stanza 49 Yet smelt roast-meat, beheld a huge fire shine,And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared. Stanza 50 And gazed around them to the left and rightWith the prophetic eye of appetite. Stanza 50 But every fool describes in these bright daysHis wondrous journey to some foreign court,And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise—Death to his publisher, to him ’tis sport. Stanza 52 Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon,So costly were they; carpets, every stitchOf workmanship so rare, they make you wishYou could glide o'er them like a golden fish. Stanza 65; compare: William Plomer, "Mews Flat Mona", st. 6 "You fool! I tell you no one means you harm.""So much the better," Juan said, "for them." Stanza 82 Her yearsWere ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;But there are forms which Time to touch forbears,And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things. Stanza 98 They form'd a very nymph-like looking crew,Which might have call'd Diana's chorus "cousin,"As far as outward show may correspond;I won't be bail for anything beyond. Stanza 99 "Not to admire is all the art I know(Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech)To make men happy, or to keep them so"(So take it in the very words of Creech)—Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago;And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teachFrom his translation; but had none admired,Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired? Stanza 100; compare: Pope, First Book of the Epistles of Horace, Ep. I, l. 1 Not to admire is all the art I know. Stanza 101 For through the South the custom still commandsThe gentleman to kiss the lady’s hands. Stanza 105 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. Stanza 113 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 appearsWet, still more disagreeable and striking. Stanza 118 Why don't they knead two virtuous souls for lifeInto that moral centaur, man and wife? Stanza 158 Canto VI (1823) There is a tide in the affairs of womenWhich, taken at the flood, leads—God knows where. Stanza 2; compare: Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act iv, Scene 3 Heroic, stoic Cato, the sententious,Who lent his lady to his friend Hortensius. Stanza 7 Polygamy may well be held in dread,Not only as a sin, but as a bore:Most wise men, with one moderate woman wed,Will scarcely find philosophy for more. Stanza 12 I love the sex, and sometimes would reverseThe tyrant's wish, "that mankind only hadOne neck, which he with one fell stroke might pierce:"My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad,And much more tender on the whole than fierce;It being (not now, but only while a lad)That womankind had but one rosy mouth,To kiss them all at once from North to South. Stanza 27 But she was a soft landscape of mild earth,Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet,Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth. Stanza 53 I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women,And pity lovers rather more than seamen. Stanza 53 Our ultimate existence? what's our present?Are questions answerless, and yet incessant. Stanza 63 A lady of "a certain age," which meansCertainly aged. Stanza 69 A "strange coincidence," to use a phraseBy which such things are settled nowadays. Stanza 78 And her brow clear’d, but not her troubled eye;The wind was down, but still the sea ran high. Stanza 110 Canto VII (1823) But ne'ertheless I hope it is no crimeTo laugh at all things — for I wish to knowWhat, after all, are all things — but a show? Stanza 2 Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas!Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent,That he himself felt only "like a youthPicking up shells by the great ocean — Truth." Stanza 5 Ecclesiastes said, "that all is vanity" — Most modern preachers say the same, or show it By their examples of true Christianity: In short, all know, or very soon may know it. Stanza 6 "Let there be light! said God, and there was light!""Let there be blood!" says man, and there's a sea! Stanza 41 For every thing seem'd resting on his nod,As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,Who were accustom'd, as a sort of god,To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem),With all the pomp of power, it was a doubtHow power could condescend to do without. Stanza 74 Here pause we for the present — as even thenThat awful pause, dividing life from death,Struck for an instant on the hearts of men,Thousands of whom were drawing their last breath!A moment — and all will be life again!The march! the charge! the shouts of either faith!Hurra! and Allah! and — one moment more,The death-cry drowning in the battle's roar. Stanza 87 Canto VIII (1823) The army, like a lion from his den,March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay, —A human Hydra, issuing from its fenTo breathe destruction on its winding way,Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vainImmediately in others grew again. Stanza 3 The drying up a single tear has moreOf honest fame than shedding seas of gore. Stanza 3 Not so Leonidas and Washington,Whose every battle-field is holy ground,Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone. Stanza 5 And one enormous shout of "Allah!" roseIn the same moment, loud as even the roarOf war's most mortal engines, to their foesHurling defiance: city, stream, and shoreResounded "Allah!" and the clouds which closeWith thick'ning canopy the conflict o'er,Vibrate to the Eternal name. Hark! throughAll sounds it pierceth "Allah! Allah Hu!" Stanza 8 "Carnage" (so Wordsworth tells you) "is God's daughter." Stanza 9 thumb|Gaunt famine never shall approach the throne — Though Ireland starve, great George weighs twenty stone. Thrice happy he whose name has been well speltIn the despatch: I knew a man whose lossWas printed Grove, although his name was Grose. Stanza 18 ’Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,For one would not retreat, nor t’other flinch. Stanza 77 The truly brave,When they behold the brave oppress’d with odds,Are touch’d with a desire to shield and save;—A mixture of wild beasts and demigodsAre they—now furious as the sweeping wave,Now moved with pity: even as sometimes nodsThe rugged tree unto the summer wind,Compassion breathes along the savage mind. Stanza 106 Gaunt famine never shall approach the throne — Though Ireland starve, great George weighs twenty stone. Stanza 126 Canto IX (1823) Oh, Wellington! (or "Villainton"—for FameSounds the heroic syllables both ways.) Stanza 1 Call'd "Saviour of the Nations"—not yet saved,And "Europe's Liberator"—still enslaved. Stanza 5 Never had mortal man such opportunity,Except Napoleon, or abused it more. Stanza 9 At least he pays no rent, and has best rightTo be the first of what we used to call'Gentlemen farmer' — a race worn out quite,Since lately there have been no rents at all,And 'gentlemen' are in a piteous plight,And 'farmers' can't raise Ceres from her fall. Stanza 32 These quench'd a moment her ambition's thirst —So Arab deserts drink in summer's rain:In vain! — As fall the dews on quenchless sands,Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands! Stanza 59 What a strange thing is man! and what a strangerIs woman! What a whirlwind is her head,And what a whirlpool full of depth and dangerIs all the rest about her! Stanza 64 Though modest, on his unembarrass'd browNature had written "gentleman." Stanza 83 Canto X (1823) When Newton saw an apple fall, he foundIn that slight startle from his contemplationA mode of proving that the earth turn'd roundIn a most natural whirl, called "gravitation." Stanza 1 And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter. Stanza 24 O for a forty-parson power to chantThy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh for a hymnLoud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,Not practise! Stanza 34 This is the way physicians mend or end us,Secundum artem: but although we sneerIn health—when ill, we call them to attend us,Without the least propensity to jeer. Stanza 42 That water-land of Dutchmen and of ditches. Stanza 63 Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket. Stanza 79 A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eyeCould reach, with here and there a sail just skippingIn sight, then lost amidst the forestryOf masts; a wilderness of steeples peepingOn tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crownOn a fool’s head—and there is London Town! Stanza 82 Canto XI (1823) When Bishop Berkeley said 'there was no matter,'And proved it — 'twas no matter what he said. Stanza 1; compare: "What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind", T. H. Key (once Head Master of University College School), reported by F. J. Furnivall But Tom's no more—and so no more of Tom. Stanza 20 And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis butThe truth in masquerade. Stanza 37 In the great world, — which, being interpreted,Meaneth the west or worst end of a city,And about twice two thousand people bredBy no means to be very wise or witty,But to sit up while others lie in bed,And look down on the universe with pity, — Juan, as an inveterate patrician,Was well received by persons of condition. Stanza 45 Even I—albeit I'm sure I did not know it,Nor sought of foolscap subjects to be king—Was reckon'd a considerable time,The grand Napoleon of the realms of rhyme. Stanza 55 But Juan was my Moscow, and FalieroMy Leipsic, and my Mount Saint Jean seems Cain. Stanza 56 John Keats, who was kill'd off by one critique,Just as he really promised something great,If not intelligible, without GreekContrived to talk about the gods of late,Much as they might have been supposed to speak.Poor fellow! His was an untoward fate.'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article. Stanza 60 Nought's permanent among the human race,Except the Whigs not getting into place. Stanza 82 Be hypocritical, be cautious, beNot what you seem, but always what you see. Stanza 86 Canto XII (1823) O Gold! Why call we misers miserable?Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall;Theirs is the best bower anchor, the chain cableWhich holds fast other pleasures great and small.Ye who but see the saving man at table,And scorn his temperate board, as none at all,And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing,Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring. Stanza 3 Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. Stanza 6 Why call the miser miserable? asI said before: the frugal life is his,Which in a saint or cynic ever wasThe theme of praise: a hermit would not missCanonization for the self-same cause,And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities?Because, you'll say, nought calls for such a trial; —Then there's more merit in his self-denial. Stanza 7 But whether all, or each, or none of theseMay be the hoarder's principle of action,The fool will call such mania a disease: —What is his own? Go — look at each transaction,Wars, revels, loves — do these bring men more easeThan the mere plodding through each "vulgar fraction"?Or do they benefit mankind? Lean miser!Let spendthrifts' heirs enquire of yours — who's wiser? Stanza 11 How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chestsContaining ingots, bags of dollars, coins(Not of old victors, all whose heads and crestsWeigh not the thin ore where their visage shines,But) of fine unclipt gold, where dully restsSome likeness, which the glittering cirque confines,Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp:—Yes! ready money is Aladdin's lamp. Stanza 12 "Love rules the camp, the court, the grove,"—"for loveIs heaven, and heaven is love." Stanza 13 And hold up to the sun my little taper. Stanza 21 Some are soon bagg'd, and some reject three dozen.'Tis fine to see them scattering refusalsAnd wild dismay o'er every angry cousin(Friends of the party), who begin accusals,Such as — "Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosenPoor Frederick, why did she accord perusalsTo his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I pray,Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day?" Stanza 34 And these vicissitudes tell best in youth;For when they happen at a riper age,People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth,And wonder Providence is not more sage.Adversity is the first path to truth:He who hath proved war, storm, or woman’s rage,Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty,Hath won the experience which is deem’d so weighty. Stanza 50 For talk six times with the same single lady,And you may get the wedding dresses ready. Stanza 59 Such is your cold coquette, who can’t say "No,"And won’t say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ingOn a lee-shore, till it begins to blow—Then sees your heart wreck’d, with an inward scoffing. Stanza 63 Merely innocent flirtation,Not quite adultery, but adulteration. Stanza 63 A Prince, ...With fascination in his very bow. Stanza 84 A finish'd gentleman from top to toe. Stanza 84 Canto XIII (1823) Beauteous, even where beauties most abound. Stanza 2 An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue,Is no great matter, so 'tis in request,'Tis nonsense to dispute about a hue —The kindest may be taken as a test.The fair sex should be always fair; and no man,Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman. Stanza 3 Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. Stanza 6 Rough Johnson, the great moralist, profess'd,Right honestly, "he liked an honest hater!" Stanza 7 Of all tales 'tis the saddest,—and more sad, Because it makes us smile. Stanza 9 Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country; — seldom since that day Has Spain had heroes. Stanza 11 However, ’tis expedient to be wary:Indifference certes don’t produce distress;And rash enthusiasm in good societyWere nothing but a moral inebriety. Stanza 35 I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor. Stanza 36 The English winter — ending in July,To recommence in August. Stanza 42 The mellow autumn came, and with it cameThe promised party, to enjoy its sweets.The corn is cut, the manor full of game;The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beatsIn russet jacket:—lynx-like is his aim;Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!And ah, ye poachers!—’Tis no sport for peasants. Stanza 75 thumb|Society is smooth'd to that excess,That manners hardly differ more than dress. If all these seem a heterogeneous massTo be assembled at a country seat,Yet think, a specimen of every classIs better than a humdrum tete-a-tete.The days of Comedy are gone, alas!When Congreve's fool could vie with Molière's bête:Society is smooth'd to that excess,That manners hardly differ more than dress. Stanza 94 Society is now one polish'd horde,Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored. Stanza 95 All human history attestsThat happiness for man—the hungry sinner!—Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. Stanza 99 All human history attestsThat happiness for man — the hungry sinner! —Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. Stanza 99; compare: "For a man seldom thinks with more earnestness of anything than he does of his dinner", Piozzi, Anecdotes of Samuel Johnson, p. 149 And such is victory, and such is Man!At least nine tenths of what we call so; —GodMay have another name for half we scanAs human beings, or his ways are odd." Stanza 104 Canto XIV (1823) Death, so call’d, is a thing which makes men weep,And yet a third of life is pass’d in sleep. Stanza 3 The world is all before me — or behind; For I have seen a portion of that same. Stanza 9; compare: Milton, Paradise Lost, bk. 12, l. 646 Alas! worlds fall — and woman, since she fell'dThe world (as, since that history less politeThan true, hath been a creed so strictly held)Has not yet given up the practice quite.Poor thing of usages! coerced, compell'd,Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right,Condemn'd to child-bed, as men for their sinsHave shaving too entail'd upon their chins, —A daily plague, which in the aggregateMay average on the whole with parturition. Stanzas 23, 24 I for one venerate a petticoat. Stanza 26 He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,Who, after a long chase o’er hills, dales, bushes,And what not, though he rode beyond all price,Ask’d next day, ‘If men ever hunted twice?’ Stanza 35 He ne’er presumed to make an error clearer;—In short, there never was a better hearer. Stanza 37 And then he danced;—all foreigners excelThe serious Angles in the eloquenceOf pantomime;—he danced, I say, right well,With emphasis, and also with good sense—A thing in footing indispensable;He danced without theatrical pretence,Not like a ballet-master in the vanOf his drill’d nymphs, but like a gentleman. Stanza 38 Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast, Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so," Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do, Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, And solace your slight lapse 'gainst bonos mores, With a long memorandum of old stories. Stanza 50 And whether coldness, pride, or virtue dignify A woman, so she's good, what does it signify? Stanza 57 There was no great disparity of years,Though much in temper; but they never clash'd:They moved like stars united in their spheres,Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,Where mingled and yet separate appearsThe river from the lake, all bluely dash'dThrough the serene and placid glassy deep,Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep. Stanza 87 'Tis strange, — but true; for truth is always strange;Stranger than fiction.' Stanza 101 Canto XV (1824) All present life is but an interjection,An "Oh!" or "Ah!" of joy or misery,Or a "Ha! ha!" or "Bah!"—a yawn, or "Pooh!"Of which perhaps the latter is most true. Stanza 1 There's music in the sighing of a reed;There's music in the gushing of a rill;There's music in all things, if men had ears:Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. Stanza 5 The Devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice. Stanza 13 A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. Stanza 43 She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew,As seeking not to know it; silent, lone,As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew,And kept her heart serene within its zone.There was awe in the homage which she drew;Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throneApart from the surrounding world, and strongIn its own strength — most strange in one so young! Stanza 47 But if a writer should be quite consistent,How could he possibly show things existent? Stanza 87 'Tis wonderful what fable will not do!'Tis said it makes reality more bearable:But what's reality? Who has its clue?Philosophy? No: she too much rejects.Religion? Yes; but which of all her sects? Stanza 89 Between two worlds life hovers like a star,'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.How little do we know that which we are!How less what we may be! Stanza 99 Canto XVI (1824) The antique Persians taught three useful things —To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth. Stanza 1; compare: Charles T. Davis, "To a Real Boy" The worlds beyond this world's perplexing wasteHad more of her existence, for in herThere was a depth of feeling to embraceThoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as space. Stanza 48 Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace. Stanza 49 The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with. Stanza 81 Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest. Stanza 97 Canto XVII (1824) But not to go too far, I hold it law,That where their education, harsh or mild,Trangresses the great bounds of love or awe,The sufferers — be't in heart or intellect —Whate'er the cause, are orphans in effect. Stanza 2 Great Galileo was debarr'd the SunBecause he fix'd it; and, to stop his talking,How Earth could round the solar orbit run,Found his own legs embargo'd from mere walking:The man was well-nigh dead, ere men begunTo think his skull had not some need of caulking;But now, it seems, he's right — his notion just:No doubt a consolation to his dust. Stanza 8 Epigraphs Difficile est proprie comnumia dicere.    Hor., Epist. ad Pison. Ed. 1819 (cantos 1 and 2) "Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more Cakes and Ale?"—"Yes, by St. Ann; and Ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too."    Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, or What You Will'' Ed. 1823 (cantos 6, 7 and 8) External links Don Juan (Byron, versions) Don Juan (poem) Category:Poetry