The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 23

Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair-- Her cl.u.s.tering hair, whose longer locks were rolled In braids behind; and though her stature were Even of the highest for a female mould, They nearly reached her heel; and in her air There was a something which bespoke command, As one who was a Lady in the land.

CXVII.

Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes Were black as Death, their lashes the same hue, Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies Deepest attraction; for when to the view Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies, Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew; 'T is as the snake late coiled, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength.

CXVIII.

Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dye Like twilight rosy still with the set sun; Short upper lip--sweet lips! that make us sigh Ever to have seen such; for she was one[bh]

Fit for the model of a statuary (A race of mere impostors, when all's done-- I've seen much finer women, ripe and real, Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal).[bi][148]

CXIX.

I'll tell you why I say so, for 't is just One should not rail without a decent cause: There was an Irish lady,[149] to whose bust I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was A frequent model; and if e'er she must Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws, They will destroy a face which mortal thought Ne'er compa.s.sed, nor less mortal chisel wrought.

CXX.

And such was she, the lady of the cave: Her dress was very different from the Spanish, Simpler, and yet of colours not so grave; For, as you know, the Spanish women banish Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while wave Around them (what I hope will never vanish) The basquina and the mantilla, they Seem at the same time mystical and gay.[150]

CXXI.

But with our damsel this was not the case: Her dress was many-coloured, finely spun; Her locks curled negligently round her face, But through them gold and gems profusely shone: Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace Flowed in her veil, and many a precious stone Flashed on her little hand; but, what was shocking, Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking.

CXXII.

The other female's dress was not unlike, But of inferior materials: she Had not so many ornaments to strike, Her hair had silver only, bound to be Her dowry; and her veil, in form alike, Was coa.r.s.er; and her air, though firm, less free; Her hair was thicker, but less long; her eyes As black, but quicker, and of smaller size.

CXXIII.

And these two tended him, and cheered him both With food and raiment, and those soft attentions, Which are--as I must own--of female growth, And have ten thousand delicate inventions: They made a most superior mess of broth, A thing which poesy but seldom mentions, But the best dish that e'er was cooked since Homer's Achilles ordered dinner for new comers.[151]

CXXIV.

I'll tell you who they were, this female pair, Lest they should seem Princesses in disguise; Besides, I hate all mystery, and that air Of clap-trap, which your recent poets prize; And so, in short, the girls they really were They shall appear before your curious eyes, Mistress and maid; the first was only daughter Of an old man, who lived upon the water.

CXXV.

A fisherman he had been in his youth, And still a sort of fisherman was he; But other speculations were, in sooth, Added to his connection with the sea, Perhaps not so respectable, in truth: A little smuggling, and some piracy, Left him, at last, the sole of many masters Of an ill-gotten million of piastres.

CXXVI.

A fisher, therefore, was he,--though of men, Like Peter the Apostle, and he fished For wandering merchant-vessels, now and then, And sometimes caught as many as he wished; The cargoes he confiscated, and gain He sought in the slave-market too, and dished Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade, By which, no doubt, a good deal may be made.

CXXVII.

He was a Greek, and on his isle had built (One of the wild and smaller Cyclades) A very handsome house from out his guilt, And there he lived exceedingly at ease; Heaven knows what cash he got, or blood he spilt, A sad old fellow was he, if you please; But this I know, it was a s.p.a.cious building, Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding.

CXXVIII.

He had an only daughter, called Haidee, The greatest heiress of the Eastern Isles; Besides, so very beautiful was she, Her dowry was as nothing to her smiles: Still in her teens, and like a lovely tree She grew to womanhood, and between whiles Rejected several suitors, just to learn How to accept a better in his turn.

CXXIX.

And walking out upon the beach, below The cliff, towards sunset, on that day she found, Insensible,--not dead, but nearly so,-- Don Juan, almost famished, and half drowned; But being naked, she was shocked, you know, Yet deemed herself in common pity bound, As far as in her lay, "to take him in, A stranger" dying--with so white a skin.

Cx.x.x.

But taking him into her father's house Was not exactly the best way to save, But like conveying to the cat the mouse, Or people in a trance into their grave; Because the good old man had so much "????"[Greek: "nous"], Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave, He would have hospitably cured the stranger, And sold him instantly when out of danger.

Cx.x.xI.

And therefore, with her maid, she thought it best (A virgin always on her maid relies) To place him in the cave for present rest: And when, at last, he opened his black eyes, Their charity increased about their guest; And their compa.s.sion grew to such a size, It opened half the turnpike-gates to Heaven-- (St. Paul says, 't is the toll which must be given).

Cx.x.xII.

They made a fire,--but such a fire as they Upon the moment could contrive with such Materials as were cast up round the bay,-- Some broken planks, and oars, that to the touch Were nearly tinder, since, so long they lay, A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch; But, by G.o.d's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty, That there was fuel to have furnished twenty.

Cx.x.xIII.

He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse,[bj]

For Haidee stripped her sables off to make His couch; and, that he might be more at ease, And warm, in case by chance he should awake, They also gave a petticoat apiece, She and her maid,--and promised by daybreak To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish.

Cx.x.xIV.

And thus they left him to his lone repose: Juan slept like a top, or like the dead, Who sleep at last, perhaps (G.o.d only knows), Just for the present; and in his lulled head Not even a vision of his former woes Throbbed in accursed dreams, which sometimes spread[bk]

Unwelcome visions of our former years, Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears.

Cx.x.xV.

Young Juan slept all dreamless:--but the maid, Who smoothed his pillow, as she left the den Looked back upon him, and a moment stayed, And turned, believing that he called again.

He slumbered; yet she thought, at least she said (The heart will slip, even as the tongue and pen), He had p.r.o.nounced her name--but she forgot That at this moment Juan knew it not.

Cx.x.xVI.

And pensive to her father's house she went, Enjoining silence strict to Zoe, who Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant, She being wiser by a year or two: A year or two's an age when rightly spent, And Zoe spent hers, as most women do, In gaining all that useful sort of knowledge Which is acquired in Nature's good old college.

Cx.x.xVII.

The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering still Fast in his cave, and nothing clashed upon His rest; the rushing of the neighbouring rill, And the young beams of the excluded Sun, Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill; And need he had of slumber yet, for none Had suffered more--his hardships were comparative[bl]

To those related in my grand-dad's "Narrative."[152]

Cx.x.xVIII.

Not so Haidee: she sadly tossed and tumbled, And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er, Dreamed of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she stumbled, And handsome corpses strewed upon the sh.o.r.e; And woke her maid so early that she grumbled, And called her father's old slaves up, who swore In several oaths--Armenian, Turk, and Greek-- They knew not what to think of such a freak.

Cx.x.xIX.

But up she got, and up she made them get, With some pretence about the Sun, that makes Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set; And 't is, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are wet With mist, and every bird with him awakes, And night is flung off like a mourning suit Worn for a husband,--or some other brute.[bm]