The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 128

Lord Henry, who had now discussed his chocolate, Also the m.u.f.fin whereof he complained, Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate, At which he marvelled, since it had not rained; Then asked her Grace what news were of the Duke of late?

_Her_ Grace replied, _his_ Grace was rather pained With some slight, light, hereditary twinges Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.

x.x.xV.

Then Henry turned to Juan, and addressed A few words of condolence on his state: "You look," quoth he, "as if you had had your rest Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late."

"What Friar?" said Juan; and he did his best To put the question with an air sedate, Or careless; but the effort was not valid To hinder him from growing still more pallid.

x.x.xVI.

"Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar?

The Spirit of these walls?"--"In truth not I."

"Why Fame--but Fame you know's sometimes a liar-- Tells an odd story, of which by and by: Whether with time the Spectre has grown shyer, Or that our Sires had a more gifted eye For such sights, though the tale is half believed, The Friar of late has not been oft perceived.

x.x.xVII.

"The last time was----"--"I pray," said Adeline-- (Who watched the changes of Don Juan's brow, And from its context thought she could divine Connections stronger than he chose to avow With this same legend)--"if you but design To jest, you'll choose some other theme just now, Because the present tale has oft been told, And is not much improved by growing old."

x.x.xVIII.

"Jest!" quoth Milor; "why, Adeline, you know That we ourselves--'twas in the honey moon Saw----"--"Well, no matter, 'twas so long ago; But, come, I'll set your story to a tune."

Graceful as Dian when she draws her bow, She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled soon As touched, and plaintively began to play The air of "'Twas a Friar of Orders Gray."[nz]

x.x.xIX.

"But add the words," cried Henry, "which you made; For Adeline is half a poetess,"

Turning round to the rest, he smiling said.

Of course the others could not but express In courtesy their wish to see displayed By one _three_ talents, for there were no less-- The voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once, Could hardly be united by a dunce.

XL.

After some fascinating hesitation,-- The charming of these charmers, who seem bound, I can't tell why, to this dissimulation,-- Fair Adeline, with eyes fixed on the ground At first, then kindling into animation, Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound, And sang with much simplicity,--a merit Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it.

1.

Beware! beware! of the Black Friar, Who sitteth by Norman stone, For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air, And his ma.s.s of the days that are gone.

When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville, Made Norman Church his prey, And expelled the friars, one friar still Would not be driven away.

2.

Though he came in his might, with King Henry's right, To turn church lands to lay, With sword in hand, and torch to light Their walls, if they said nay; A monk remained, unchased, unchained, And he did not seem formed of clay, For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the church, Though he is not seen by day.

3.

And whether for good, or whether for ill, It is not mine to say; But still with the house of Amundeville He abideth night and day.

By the marriage-bed of their lords, 'tis said, He flits on the bridal eve; And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of Death[oa]

He comes--but not to grieve.

4.

When an heir is born, he's heard to mourn, And when aught is to befall That ancient line, in the pale moonshine He walks from hall to hall.

His form you may trace, but not his face, 'Tis shadowed by his cowl; But his eyes may be seen from the folds between, And they seem of a parted soul.

5.

But beware! beware! of the Black Friar, He still retains his sway, For he is yet the Church's heir, Whoever may be the lay.

Amundeville is Lord by day, But the monk is Lord by night; Nor wine nor wa.s.sail could raise a va.s.sal To question that Friar's right.

6.

Say nought to him as he walks the Hall, And he'll say nought to you; He sweeps along in his dusky pall, As o'er the gra.s.s the dew.

Then grammercy! for the Black Friar; Heaven sain him! fair or foul,-- And whatsoe'er may be his prayer, Let ours be for his soul.

XLI.

The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wires Died from the touch that kindled them to sound; And the pause followed, which when song expires Pervades a moment those who listen round; And then of course the circle much admires, Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound, The tones, the feeling, and the execution, To the performer's diffident confusion.

XLII.

Fair Adeline, though in a careless way, As if she rated such accomplishment As the mere pastime of an idle day, Pursued an instant for her own content, Would now and then as 'twere _without_ display, Yet _with_ display in fact, at times relent To such performances with haughty smile, To show she _could_, if it were worth her while.

XLIII.

Now this (but we will whisper it aside) Was--pardon the pedantic ill.u.s.tration-- Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride, As did the Cynic on some like occasion; Deeming the sage would be much mortified, Or thrown into a philosophic pa.s.sion, For a spoilt carpet--but the "Attic Bee"

Was much consoled by his own repartee.[783]

XLIV.

Thus Adeline would throw into the shade (By doing easily, whene'er she chose, What dilettanti do with vast parade) Their sort of _half profession_; for it grows To something like this when too oft displayed; And that it is so, everybody knows, Who have heard Miss That or This, or Lady T'other, Show off--to please their company or mother.

XLV.

Oh! the long evenings of duets and trios!

The admirations and the speculations; The "Mamma Mia's!" and the "Amor Mio's!"

The "Tanti palpiti's" on such occasions: The "Lasciami's," and quavering "Addio's,"

Amongst our own most musical of nations!

With "Tu mi chamas's" from Portingale,[784]

To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail.[785]

XLVI.

In Babylon's _bravuras_--as the Home- Heart-Ballads of Green Erin or Grey Highlands, That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam O'er far Atlantic continents or islands, The calentures[786] of music which o'ercome All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands, No more to be beheld but in such visions-- Was Adeline well versed, as compositions.

XLVII.

She also had a twilight tinge of "_Blue_,"

Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote, Made epigrams occasionally too Upon her friends, as everybody ought.

But still from that sublimer azure hue,[787]

So much the present dye, she was remote; Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet, And what was worse, was not ashamed to show it.