The Works of Lord Byron Volume IV Part 33

No Chemistry for them unfolds her gases, No Metaphysics are let loose in lectures, No Circulating Library ama.s.ses Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures Upon the living manners, as they pa.s.s us; No Exhibition glares with annual pictures; They stare not on the stars from out their attics, Nor deal (thank G.o.d for that!) in Mathematics.[231]

LXXIX.

Why I thank G.o.d for that is no great matter, I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose, And as, perhaps, they would not highly flatter, I'll keep them for my life (to come) in prose; I fear I have a little turn for Satire, And yet methinks the older that one grows Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though Laughter Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after.

Lx.x.x.[232]

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!

Ye happy mixtures of more happy days!

In these sad centuries of sin and slaughter, Abominable Man no more allays His thirst with such pure beverage. No matter, I love you both, and both shall have my praise: Oh, for old Saturn's reign of sugar-candy!--- Meantime I drink to your return in brandy.

Lx.x.xI.

Our Laura's Turk still kept his eyes upon her, Less in the Mussulman than Christian way, Which seems to say, "Madam, I do you honour, And while I please to stare, you'll please to stay."

Could staring win a woman, this had won her, But Laura could not thus be led astray; She had stood fire too long and well, to boggle Even at this Stranger's most outlandish ogle.

Lx.x.xII.

The morning now was on the point of breaking, A turn of time at which I would advise Ladies who have been dancing, or partaking In any other kind of exercise, To make their preparations for forsaking The ball-room ere the Sun begins to rise, Because when once the lamps and candles fail, His blushes make them look a little pale.

Lx.x.xIII.

I've seen some b.a.l.l.s and revels in my time, And stayed them over for some silly reason, And then I looked (I hope it was no crime) To see what lady best stood out the season; And though I've seen some thousands in their prime Lovely and pleasing, and who still may please on, I never saw but one (the stars withdrawn) Whose bloom could after dancing dare the Dawn.

Lx.x.xIV.

The name of this Aurora I'll not mention, Although I might, for she was nought to me More than that patent work of G.o.d's invention, A charming woman, whom we like to see; But writing names would merit reprehension, Yet if you like to find out this fair _She,_ At the next London or Parisian ball You still may mark her cheek, out-blooming all.

Lx.x.xV.

Laura, who knew it would not do at all To meet the daylight after seven hours' sitting Among three thousand people at a ball, To make her curtsey thought it right and fitting; The Count was at her elbow with her shawl, And they the room were on the point of quitting, When lo! those cursed Gondoliers had got Just in the very place where they _should not._

Lx.x.xVI.

In this they're like our coachmen, and the cause Is much the same--the crowd, and pulling, hauling, With blasphemies enough to break their jaws, They make a never intermitted bawling.

At home, our Bow-street gem'men keep the laws, And here a sentry stands within your calling; But for all that, there is a deal of swearing, And nauseous words past mentioning or bearing.

Lx.x.xVII.

The Count and Laura found their boat at last, And homeward floated o'er the silent tide, Discussing all the dances gone and past; The dancers and their dresses, too, beside; Some little scandals eke; but all aghast (As to their palace-stairs the rowers glide) Sate Laura by the side of her adorer,[bq]

When lo! the Mussulman was there before her!

Lx.x.xVIII.

"Sir," said the Count, with brow exceeding grave, "Your unexpected presence here will make It necessary for myself to crave Its import? But perhaps 'tis a mistake; I hope it is so; and, at once to waive All compliment, I hope so for _your_ sake; You understand my meaning, or you _shall._"

"Sir," (quoth the Turk) "'tis no mistake at all:

Lx.x.xIX.

"That Lady is _my wife!_" Much wonder paints The lady's changing cheek, as well it might; But where an Englishwoman sometimes faints, Italian females don't do so outright; They only call a little on their Saints, And then come to themselves, almost, or quite; Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and sprinkling faces, And cutting stays, as usual in such cases.

XC.

She said,--what could she say? Why, not a word; But the Count courteously invited in The Stranger, much appeased by what he heard: "Such things, perhaps, we'd best discuss within,"

Said he; "don't let us make ourselves absurd In public, by a scene, nor raise a din, For then the chief and only satisfaction Will be much quizzing on the whole transaction."

XCI.

They entered, and for Coffee called--it came, A beverage for Turks and Christians both, Although the way they make it's not the same.

Now Laura, much recovered, or less loth To speak, cries "Beppo! what's your pagan name?

Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth!

And how came you to keep away so long?

Are you not sensible 'twas very wrong?

XCII.

"And are you _really, truly,_ now a Turk?

With any other women did you wive?

Is't true they use their fingers for a fork?

Well, that's the prettiest Shawl--as I'm alive!

You'll give it me? They say you eat no pork.

And how so many years did you contrive To--Bless me! did I ever? No, I never Saw a man grown so yellow! How's your liver?

XCIII.

"Beppo! that beard of yours becomes you not; It shall be shaved before you're a day older: Why do you wear it? Oh! I had forgot-- Pray don't you think the weather here is colder?

How do I look? You shan't stir from this spot In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder Should find you out, and make the story known.

How short your hair is! Lord! how grey it's grown!"

XCIV.

What answer Beppo made to these demands Is more than I know. He was cast away About where Troy stood once, and nothing stands; Became a slave of course, and for his pay Had bread and bastinadoes, till some bands Of pirates landing in a neighbouring bay, He joined the rogues and prospered, and became A renegade of indifferent fame.

XCV.

But he grew rich, and with his riches grew so Keen the desire to see his home again, He thought himself in duty bound to do so, And not be always thieving on the main; Lonely he felt, at times, as Robin Crusoe, And so he hired a vessel come from Spain, Bound for Corfu: she was a fine polacca, Manned with twelve hands, and laden with tobacco.

XCVI.

Himself, and much (heaven knows how gotten!) cash, He then embarked, with risk of life and limb, And got clear off, although the attempt was rash; _He_ said that _Providence_ protected him-- For my part, I say nothing--lest we clash In our opinions:--well--the ship was trim, Set sail, and kept her reckoning fairly on, Except three days of calm when off Cape Bonn.[233]

XCVII.

They reached the Island, he transferred his lading, And self and live stock to another bottom, And pa.s.sed for a true Turkey-merchant, trading With goods of various names--but I've forgot 'em.

However, he got off by this evading, Or else the people would perhaps have shot him; And thus at Venice landed to reclaim His wife, religion, house, and Christian name.

XCVIII.