The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 18

IV.

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; The King commands us, and the Doctor quacks us, The Priest instructs, and so our life exhales, A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame, Fighting, devotion, dust,--perhaps a name.

V.

I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz-- A pretty town, I recollect it well-- 'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is, (Or was, before Peru learned to rebel), And such sweet girls![97]--I mean, such graceful ladies, Their very walk would make your bosom swell; I can't describe it, though so much it strike, Nor liken it--I never saw the like:[az]

VI.

An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb New broke, a camelopard, a gazelle, No--none of these will do;--and then their garb, Their veil and petticoat--Alas! to dwell Upon such things would very near absorb A canto--then their feet and ankles,--well, Thank Heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready, (And so, my sober Muse--come, let's be steady--

VII.

Chaste Muse!--well,--if you must, you must)--the veil Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand, While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale, Flashes into the heart:--All sunny land Of Love! when I forget you, may I fail To----say my prayers--but never was there planned A dress through which the eyes give such a volley, Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli.[98]

VIII.

But to our tale: the Donna Inez sent Her son to Cadiz only to embark; To stay there had not answered her intent, But why?--we leave the reader in the dark-- 'T was for a voyage the young man was meant, As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark, To wean him from the wickedness of earth, And send him like a Dove of Promise forth.

IX.

Don Juan bade his valet pack his things According to direction, then received A lecture and some money: for four springs He was to travel; and though Inez grieved (As every kind of parting has its stings), She hoped he would improve--perhaps believed: A letter, too, she gave (he never read it) Of good advice--and two or three of credit.

X.

In the mean time, to pa.s.s her hours away, Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school For naughty children, who would rather play (Like truant rogues) the devil, or the fool; Infants of three years old were taught that day, Dunces were whipped, or set upon a stool: The great success of Juan's education Spurred her to teach another generation.[ba]

XI.

Juan embarked--the ship got under way, The wind was fair, the water pa.s.sing rough; A devil of a sea rolls in that bay, As I, who've crossed it oft, know well enough; And, standing on the deck, the dashing spray Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough: And there he stood to take, and take again, His first--perhaps his last--farewell of Spain.

XII.

I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new: I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white,[99]

But almost every other country's blue, When gazing on them, mystified by distance, We enter on our nautical existence.

XIII.

So Juan stood, bewildered on the deck: The wind sung, cordage strained, and sailors swore, And the ship creaked, the town became a speck, From which away so fair and fast they bore.

The best of remedies is a beef-steak Against sea-sickness: try it, Sir, before You sneer, and I a.s.sure you this is true, For I have found it answer--so may you.

XIV.

Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern, Beheld his native Spain receding far: First partings form a lesson hard to learn, Even nations feel this when they go to war; There is a sort of unexpressed concern, A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar, At leaving even the most unpleasant people And places--one keeps looking at the steeple.

XV.

But Juan had got many things to leave, His mother, and a mistress, and no wife, So that he had much better cause to grieve Than many persons more advanced in life: And if we now and then a sigh must heave At quitting even those we quit in strife, No doubt we weep for those the heart endears-- That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears.

XVI.

So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion: I'd weep,--but mine is not a weeping Muse, And such light griefs are not a thing to die on; Young men should travel, if but to amuse Themselves; and the next time their servants tie on Behind their carriages their new portmanteau, Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

XVII.

And Juan wept, and much he sighed and thought, While his salt tears dropped into the salt sea, "Sweets to the sweet;" (I like so much to quote; You must excuse this extract,--'t is where she, The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought Flowers to the grave;) and, sobbing often, he Reflected on his present situation, And seriously resolved on reformation.

XVIII.

"Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell!" he cried, "Perhaps I may revisit thee no more, But die, as many an exiled heart hath died, Of its own thirst to see again thy sh.o.r.e: Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide!

Farewell, my mother! and, since all is o'er, Farewell, too, dearest Julia!--(here he drew Her letter out again, and read it through.)

XIX.

"And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear-- But that's impossible, and cannot be-- Sooner shall this blue Ocean melt to air, Sooner shall Earth resolve itself to sea, Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair!

Or think of anything, excepting thee; A mind diseased no remedy can physic-- (Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick.)

XX.

"Sooner shall Heaven kiss earth--(here he fell sicker) Oh, Julia! what is every other woe?-- (For G.o.d's sake let me have a gla.s.s of liquor; Pedro, Battista, help me down below.) Julia, my love!--(you rascal, Pedro, quicker)-- Oh, Julia!--(this curst vessel pitches so)-- Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!"

(Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)

XXI.

He felt that chilling heaviness of heart, Or rather stomach, which, alas! attends, Beyond the best apothecary's art, The loss of Love, the treachery of friends, Or death of those we dote on, when a part Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends: No doubt he would have been much more pathetic, But the sea acted as a strong emetic.

XXII.

Love's a capricious power: I've known it hold Out through a fever caused by its own heat, But be much puzzled by a cough and cold, And find a quinsy very hard to treat; Against all n.o.ble maladies he's bold, But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.

XXIII.

But worst of all is nausea, or a pain About the lower region of the bowels; Love, who heroically breathes a vein,[100]

Shrinks from the application of hot towels, And purgatives are dangerous to his reign, Sea-sickness death: his love was perfect, how else[bb]

Could Juan's pa.s.sion, while the billows roar, Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?

XXIV.

The ship, called the most holy "Trinidada,"[101]

Was steering duly for the port Leghorn; For there the Spanish family Moncada Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born: They were relations, and for them he had a Letter of introduction, which the morn Of his departure had been sent him by His Spanish friends for those in Italy.

XXV.

His suite consisted of three servants and A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo, Who several languages did understand, But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow And, rocking in his hammock, longed for land, His headache being increased by every billow; And the waves oozing through the port-hole made His berth a little damp, and him afraid.

XXVI.

'T was not without some reason, for the wind Increased at night, until it blew a gale; And though 't was not much to a naval mind, Some landsmen would have looked a little pale, For sailors are, in fact, a different kind: At sunset they began to take in sail, For the sky showed it would come on to blow, And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so.