Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Byron

  XXV

  One of the two, according to your choice,

  Woman or wine, you’ll have to undergo;

  Both maladies are taxes on our joys:

  But which to choose, I really hardly know;

  And if I had to give a casting voice,

  For both sides I could many reasons show,

  And then decide, without great wrong to either,

  It were much better to have both than neither.

  XXVI

  Juan and Haidée gazed upon each other

  With swimming looks of speechless tenderness,

  Which mix’d all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother,

  All that the best can mingle and express

  When two pure hearts are pour’d in one another,

  And love too much, and yet can not love less;

  But almost sanctify the sweet excess

  By the immortal wish and power to bless.

  XXVII

  Mix’d in each other’s arms, and heart in heart,

  Why did they not then die? — they had lived too long

  Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart;

  Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong;

  The world was not for them, nor the world’s art

  For beings passionate as Sappho’s song;

  Love was born with them, in them, so intense,

  It was their very spirit — not a sense.

  XXVIII

  They should have lived together deep in woods,

  Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were

  Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes

  Call’d social, haunts of Hate, and Vice, and Care:

  How lonely every freeborn creature broods!

  The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair;

  The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow

  Flock o’er their carrion, just like men below.

  XXIX

  Now pillow’d cheek to cheek, in loving sleep,

  Haidée and Juan their siesta took,

  A gentle slumber, but it was not deep,

  For ever and anon a something shook

  Juan, and shuddering o’er his frame would creep;

  And Haidée’s sweet lips murmur’d like a brook

  A wordless music, and her face so fair

  Stirr’d with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

  XXX

  Or as the stirring of a deep dear stream

  Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind

  Walks o’er it, was she shaken by the dream,

  The mystical usurper of the mind —

  O’erpowering us to be whate’er may seem

  Good to the soul which we no more can bind;

  Strange state of being! (for ‘t is still to be)

  Senseless to feel, and with seal’d eyes to see.

  XXXI

  She dream’d of being alone on the sea-shore,

  Chain’d to a rock; she knew not how, but stir

  She could not from the spot, and the loud roar

  Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her;

  And o’er her upper lip they seem’d to pour,

  Until she sobb’d for breath, and soon they were

  Foaming o’er her lone head, so fierce and high

  Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.

  XXXII

  Anon — she was released, and then she stray’d

  O’er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet,

  And stumbled almost every step she made;

  And something roll’d before her in a sheet,

  Which she must still pursue howe’er afraid:

  ’T was white and indistinct, nor stopp’d to meet

  Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed, and grasp’d,

  And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp’d.

  XXXIII

  The dream changed; in a cave she stood, its walls

  Were hung with marble icicles, the work

  Of ages on its water-fretted halls,

  Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk;

  Her hair was dripping, and the very balls

  Of her black eyes seem’d turn’d to tears, and mirk

  The sharp rocks look’d below each drop they caught,

  Which froze to marble as it fell, she thought.

  XXXIV

  And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet,

  Pale as the foam that froth’d on his dead brow,

  Which she essay’d in vain to clear (how sweet

  Were once her cares, how idle seem’d they now!),

  Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat

  Of his quench’d heart; and the sea dirges low

  Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid’s song,

  And that brief dream appear’d a life too long.

  XXXV

  And gazing on the dead, she thought his face

  Faded, or alter’d into something new —

  Like to her father’s features, till each trace —

  More like and like to Lambro’s aspect grew —

  With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace;

  And starting, she awoke, and what to view?

  Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there?

  ‘T is — ‘t is her father’s — fix’d upon the pair!

  XXXVI

  Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell,

  With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see

  Him whom she deem’d a habitant where dwell

  The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be

  Perchance the death of one she loved too well:

  Dear as her father had been to Haidée,

  It was a moment of that awful kind —

  I have seen such — but must not call to mind.

  XXXVII

  Up Juan sprung to Haidée’s bitter shriek,

  And caught her falling, and from off the wall

  Snatch’d down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak

  Vengeance on him who was the cause of all:

  Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak,

  Smiled scornfully, and said, “Within my call,

  A thousand scimitars await the word;

  Put up, young man, put up your silly sword.”

  XXXVIII

  And Haidée clung around him; “Juan, ‘t is —

  ’T is Lambro — ‘t is my father! Kneel with me —

  He will forgive us — yes — it must be — yes.

  Oh! dearest father, in this agony

  Of pleasure and of pain — even while I kiss

  Thy garment’s hem with transport, can it be

  That doubt should mingle with my filial joy?

  Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy.”

  XXXIX

  High and inscrutable the old man stood,

  Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye —

  Not always signs with him of calmest mood:

  He look’d upon her, but gave no reply;

  Then turn’d to Juan, in whose cheek the blood

  Oft came and went, as there resolved to die;

  In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring

  On the first foe whom Lambro’s call might bring.

  XL

  “Young man, your sword;” so Lambro once more said:

  Juan replied, “Not while this arm is free.”

  The old man’s cheek grew pale, but not with dread,

  And drawing from his belt a pistol, he

  Replied, “Your blood be then on your own head.”

  Then look’d close at the flint, as if to see

  ‘T was fresh — for he had lately used the lock —

  And next proceeded quietly to cock.

  XLI

  It has a strange quick jar upon the ear,

  That cocking of
a pistol, when you know

  A moment more will bring the sight to bear

  Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so;

  A gentlemanly distance, not too near,

  If you have got a former friend for foe;

  But after being fired at once or twice,

  The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.

  XLII

  Lambro presented, and one instant more

  Had stopp’d this Canto, and Don Juan’s breath,

  When Haidée threw herself her boy before;

  Stern as her sire: “On me,” she cried, “let death

  Descend — the fault is mine; this fatal shore

  He found — but sought not. I have pledged my faith;

  I love him — I will die with him: I knew

  Your nature’s firmness — know your daughter’s too.”

  XLIII

  A minute past, and she had been all tears,

  And tenderness, and infancy; but now

  She stood as one who champion’d human fears —

  Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo’d the blow;

  And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers,

  She drew up to her height, as if to show

  A fairer mark; and with a fix’d eye scann’d

  Her father’s face — but never stopp’d his hand.

  XLIV

  He gazed on her, and she on him; ‘t was strange

  How like they look’d! the expression was the same;

  Serenely savage, with a little change

  In the large dark eye’s mutual-darted flame;

  For she, too, was as one who could avenge,

  If cause should be — a lioness, though tame.

  Her father’s blood before her father’s face

  Boil’d up, and proved her truly of his race.

  XLV

  I said they were alike, their features and

  Their stature, differing but in sex and years;

  Even to the delicacy of their hand

  There was resemblance, such as true blood wears;

  And now to see them, thus divided, stand

  In fix’d ferocity, when joyous tears

  And sweet sensations should have welcomed both,

  Show what the passions are in their full growth.

  XLVI

  The father paused a moment, then withdrew

  His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still,

  And looking on her, as to look her through,

  ”Not I,” he said, “have sought this stranger’s ill;

  Not I have made this desolation: few

  Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill;

  But I must do my duty — how thou hast

  Done thine, the present vouches for the past.

  XLVII

  “Let him disarm; or, by my father’s head,

  His own shall roll before you like a ball!”

  He raised his whistle, as the word he said,

  And blew; another answer’d to the call,

  And rushing in disorderly, though led,

  And arm’d from boot to turban, one and all,

  Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank;

  He gave the word, — “Arrest or slay the Frank.”

  XLVIII

  Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew

  His daughter; while compress’d within his clasp,

  ‘Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew;

  In vain she struggled in her father’s grasp —

  His arms were like a serpent’s coil: then flew

  Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp,

  The file of pirates; save the foremost, who

  Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through.

  XLIX

  The second had his cheek laid open; but

  The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took

  The blows upon his cutlass, and then put

  His own well in; so well, ere you could look,

  His man was floor’d, and helpless at his foot,

  With the blood running like a little brook

  From two smart sabre gashes, deep and red —

  One on the arm, the other on the head.

  L

  And then they bound him where he fell, and bore

  Juan from the apartment: with a sign

  Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore,

  Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine.

  They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar

  Until they reach’d some galliots, placed in line;

  On board of one of these, and under hatches,

  They stow’d him, with strict orders to the watches.

  LI

  The world is full of strange vicissitudes,

  And here was one exceedingly unpleasant:

  A gentleman so rich in the world’s goods,

  Handsome and young, enjoying all the present,

  Just at the very time when he least broods

  On such a thing is suddenly to sea sent,

  Wounded and chain’d, so that he cannot move,

  And all because a lady fell in love.

  LII

  Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic,

  Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea!

  Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic;

  For if my pure libations exceed three,

  I feel my heart become so sympathetic,

  That I must have recourse to black Bohea:

  ‘T is pity wine should be so deleterious,

  For tea and coffee leave us much more serious,

  LIII

  Unless when qualified with thee, Cogniac!

  Sweet Naiad of the Phlegethontic rill!

  Ah! why the liver wilt thou thus attack,

  And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill?

  I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack

  (In each sense of the word), whene’er I fill

  My mild and midnight beakers to the brim,

  Wakes me next morning with its synonym.

  LIV

  I leave Don Juan for the present, safe —

  Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded;

  Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half

  Of those with which his Haidée’s bosom bounded?

  She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe,

  And then give way, subdued because surrounded;

  Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez,

  Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.

  LV

  There the large olive rains its amber store

  In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit,

  Gush from the earth until the land runs o’er;

  But there, too, many a poison-tree has root,

  And midnight listens to the lion’s roar,

  And long, long deserts scorch the camel’s foot,

  Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan;

  And as the soil is, so the heart of man.

  LVI

  Afric is all the sun’s, and as her earth

  Her human day is kindled; full of power

  For good or evil, burning from its birth,

  The Moorish blood partakes the planet’s hour,

  And like the soil beneath it will bring forth:

  Beauty and love were Haidée’s mother’s dower;

  But her large dark eye show’d deep Passion’s force,

  Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

  LVII

  Her daughter, temper’d with a milder ray,

  Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair,

  Till slowly charged with thunder they display

  Terror to earth, and tempest to the air,

  Had held till now her soft and milky way;

  But overwrought with passion and despair,


  The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,

  Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains.

  LVIII

  The last sight which she saw was Juan’s gore,

  And he himself o’ermaster’d and cut down;

  His blood was running on the very floor

  Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;

  Thus much she view’d an instant and no more, —

  Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan;

  On her sire’s arm, which until now scarce held

  Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell’d.

  LIX

  A vein had burst, and her sweet lips’ pure dyes

  Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o’er;

  And her head droop’d as when the lily lies

  O’ercharged with rain: her summon’d handmaids bore

  Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;

  Of herbs and cordials they produced their store,

  But she defied all means they could employ,

  Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.

  LX

  Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill —

  With nothing livid, still her lips were red;

  She had no pulse, but death seem’d absent still;

  No hideous sign proclaim’d her surely dead;

  Corruption came not in each mind to kill

  All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred

  New thoughts of life, for it seem’d full of soul —

  She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

  LXI

  The ruling passion, such as marble shows

  When exquisitely chisell’d, still lay there,

  But fix’d as marble’s unchanged aspect throws

  O’er the fair Venus, but for ever fair;

  O’er the Laocoon’s all eternal throes,

  And ever-dying Gladiator’s air,

  Their energy like life forms all their fame,

  Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.

  LXII

  She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,

  Rather the dead, for life seem’d something new,

  A strange sensation which she must partake

  Perforce, since whatsoever met her view

  Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache

  Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true

  Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,

  For, for a while, the furies made a pause.

  LXIII

  She look’d on many a face with vacant eye,

  On many a token without knowing what;

  She saw them watch her without asking why,

  And reck’d not who around her pillow sat;

  Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh

  Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat

  Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave