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Now pillowed cheek to cheek, in loving sleer, of pleasure and of pain,- even while I kiss
Haidee anal Juan their siesta took, --

Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be A gentle slumber, but it was not deep,

That doubt should mingle with my filial joy? For ever and anon a something shook

Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy." Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep; And Haidee's sweet lips murmured like a brook,

High and inscrutable the old man stood, A wordless music, and her face so fair

Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye, Stirred with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air. Not always signs with him of calmest mood :

He looked upon her, but gave no reply ; She dreamed of being alone on the sea-shore Then turned to Juan, in whose cheek the blood

Chained to a rock : she knew not how, but stir Oft came and went, as there resolved to die, She could not from the spot, and the loud roar | In arms, at least, he stood in act to spring Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening on the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring. her;

“Youngman, yoursword”; so Lambro once more And o'er her upper lip they seemed to pour Until she soubed for breath, and soon they were

they were Juan replied, “Not while this arm is free."

Juan Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high, - | The old mau's cheek grew pale, but not with dread, Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die. And drawing from his belt a pistol, he

Replied, “Your blood be then on yourown head." And wet and colil and lifeless at her feet,

Then looked close at the flint, as if to see Pale as the foam that frothed on his dead brow,

"; /'T was fresh, — for he had lately used the lock,

p . Which she cssayed in vain to clear, (how sweet

And next proceeded quictly to cock.
Werc once her cares, how idle seemed they now!)
Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat '

Lambro presented, and one instant more
Of his quenched heart; and the sea-dirges low! Had stopped this canto, and Don Juan's breath,
Rang in her sad cars like a mermaid's song, When Haidee threw herself her boy before :
And that brief drcam appeared a life too long. 1 Stern as hersire: “On me," she cried." let death
And gazing on the dead, she thought his face

Descend, - the fault is mine; this fatal shore Faded, or altered into something new, —

| He found, — but sought not. I have pledged Like to her father's features, till cach trace

my faith ; More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew,

I love him, — I will die with him : I know With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace ; 1

| Your nature's firmness, – know your daughter's And, starting, she awoke, and what to view ?

too." Opowers of heaven ! what dark eye mects she there? A minute past, and she had been all tears "Tis - 't is her father's— fixed upon the pair! And tenderness and infancy ; but now

She stood as one who championcd human fears, – Then shricking, she arose, and shricking fell,

Pale, statuc-like, and stern, she wooed the blow; With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to sec

And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers, Him whom she deemed a habitant where dwell

Slic drew up to her height, as if to show The ocean-buriel, risen from death to be

A fairer mark ; and with a fixed eye, scanned Perchance the death of one she lovel too well :

Her father's face, — but ucvcr stopped his hand. Dear as her father had been to Haidee, It was a moment of that awful kind,

The father paused a moment, then withdress I have seen such, — but must not call to mind. His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still,

And looking on her, as to look her throngh : Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek,

“Not 1,” he said, “lave sought this stranger's And caught her falling, and from off the wall Snatched down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak

Not I have made this desolation : few Vengeance on him who was the cause of all :

Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill ; Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak,

| But I must do my duty, - how thou hast Smiled scornfully, and said, “Within my call, Dana thine

call, Done thine, the present vouches for the past. A thousand scimitars await the word; Put up, young man, put up your silly sword." / "Let him disarm ; or, by my father's head,

1. His own shall roll before you like a ball ! " And Haidee clung around him : "Juan, 't is He raised his whistle, as the word he said,

'Tis Lambro,-'tis my father! Kneel with me,-! And blew ; another answered to the call, He will forgive us, -- yes, -it must be, - yes. And, rushing in disorilerly, though led, O dearest father, in this agony

| And armed from boot to turban, one and all,

my faith.

ill;.

Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; | New thoughts of life, for it seemed full of soul, He gave the woru, — " Arrest, or slay, the Frank.” She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

chat

Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake. His daughter ; while compressed within his Rather the dead, for life seemed something new, clası),

A strange sensation which she must partake *Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew;

Perforce, since whatsoever met her view In vain she struggled in her father's grasp, — Struck not her memory, though a heavy ache His arms were like a scrpent's coil : then llew

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true, Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp, | Brought back the sense of pain without the cause, The file of pirates ; save the foremost, who For, for a while, the furies made a pause. Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through.

She looked on many a face with vacant eye,

On many a token without knowing what; The second had his cheek laid open ; but

She saw them watch hier without asking why ; The third, a wary, cool, old sworiler, took

| And recked not who around her pillow sạt ; The blows upon his cutlass, and then put

Not speechless, though she spoke not ; not a sigh His own well in : so well, cre you could look,

Relieved her thoughts ; dull silence and quick His man was floored, and helpless, at his foot,

With the blood running, like a little brook, Were tried in vain by those who served ; she gave From two smart sabre-gashes, deep and red,

No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. One on the arm, the other on the head. And then they bound him where he fell, and bore

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not ; Juan from the apartment: with a sign,

Her father watchel, she turned her eyes away; Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore,

She recognized no being, and no spot, Where lay some ships which were to sail at ninc. I...

| However dear, or cherished in their day; They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar

** They changed from room to room, but all forgot, Until they reached some galliots, placeıl in line;

Gentle, but without memory, she lay; On board of one of these, and under hatches,

At length those eyes, which they would sain bo Theystowed him, with strict orders to the watches.

weaning

Back to old thoughts, waxed full of scarful mean. The last sight Haidee saw was Juan's gore,

And he himself o'ermastered anıl cut down : His blood was running on the very floor,

| And then a slave bethought her of a harp ; Where late he trod, her beautiful. hier own; 1 The harper came, and tunc lis instrument; Thus much the viewed an instant and no more, - | At the first notes, irregular and sharp,

Her struggles ceased withonc convulsive groan;! On hin her flashing eyes a moment bent, On lier sire's arm, which until now scarce held Then to the wall she turned, as if to warp Her, writhing, fell shc, like a cedar felled.

Her thoughts from sorrow, through her heart

re-sent; A vein lau burst, and her swcet lips' pure lycs | Anil he began a long low island-song Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.

o'cr; And her head droopeil, as when the lily lies Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall, O’ercharged with rain : her summoned hand. In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, maids bore

And sung of love; the fierce name struck through Their lady to her couch, with gushing cyes ; I all

or herbs and cordials they produced their store, Her recollection ; on her flashed the dream But she çlefied all means they could employ, Of what she was, and is, if ye could call Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy. To be so being; in a gushing stream

| The tears rushed forth from her o'ercloudcd brain, Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.

chill, With nothing livid, still her lips were red; Short solacc, vain relief !- thought came too She had no pulse, but death sceme, absent still ; quick,

No hideous sign proclaimed her surely dead ; And whirled her brain to madness ; she arose, Corruption came not, in each mind to kill | As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,

All hope ; to look upon her sweet face bred | And New at all she mct, as on her focs;

ing

But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, Purple the sails, and so perfuméd, that Although her paroxysm drew towards its The winds were love-sick with them; the oars close ;

were silver ; Hers was a frenzy which disdained to rave, which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made Even when they smote her, in the hope to save. The water, which they beat, to follow faster,

Asamorous of their strokes. For her own person, Yet she betrayed at times a gleam of sense ;

It beggared all description : she did lie Nothing could make her meet her father's face, In her pavilion (cloth of gold of tissue), Though on all other things with looks intense

| O'erpicturing that Venus, where we see, She gazed, but none she ever could retrace ;

The fancy out-work nature ; on each side her Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence

Stood pretty dimpled bɔys, like smiling Cupids, Availed for either ; neither change of place,

With divers-colored fans, whose wind did seem Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her

To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, Senses to sleep,- the power seemed gone forever. And what they undid, did. Twelve days and nights she withered thus; at last, AGRIPPA.

O, rare for Antony ! Without a groan or sigh or glance to show | Exo. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, A parting pang, the spirit from her past;

So many mermaids, tender d her i' the eyes, And they who watched her nearest could not And made their bends adornings : at the helm know

A seeming mermaid steers : the silken tackle The very instant, till the change that cast Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,

Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow,. That yarely frame the office. From the barge Glazed o'er her eyes, - the beautiful, the black, A strange invisible perfume hits the sense O, to possess such lustre, -- and then lack! Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast

Her people out upon her; and Antony, She died, but not alone ; she held within

Enthronéd i' the market-place, did sit alone, A second principle of life, which might

| Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, Have dawned a fair and sinless child of sin ;

;

le

Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, But closed its little being without light,

| And made a gap in nature. And went down to the grave unborn, wherein

AGR.

Rare Egyptian ! Blossom and bough lie withered with one

Exo. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, blight;

Invited her to supper : she replied, In vain the dews of heaven descend above

It should be better he became her guest; The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.

Which she entreated : our courteous Antony,

W
Thus lived, thus died she; nevermore on her, Whom ne'er the word of “No” woman heard

Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made speak,
Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, Being barbered ten times o'er, goes to the feast;

Which colder hearts endure till they are laid And, for his ordinary, pays his heart
By age in earth; her days and pleasures were For what his eyes eat only.
· Brief, but delightful, - such as had not stayed! AGR.

Royal wench! Long with her destiny ; but she sleeps well MECENAS. Now Antony must leave her utterly. By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell. ENO. Never ; he will not: That isle is now all desolate and bare,

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale

Her infinite variety : other women cloy Its dwellings down, its tenants passed away ;

The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry None but her own and father's grave is there,

Where most she satisfies : for vilest things And nothing outward tells of human clay;

Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair,

Bless her when she is riggish. No stone is there to show, no tongue to say,

SHAKESPEARE What was ; no dirge, except the hollow sea's, Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

GODIVA.

BYRON

CLEOPATRA.

Not only we, the latest seed of Time,

| New men, that in the flying of a wheel FROM "ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA."

Cry down the past; not only we, that prate ENOBARBUS. The barge she sat in, like a bur- of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, nished throne,

And loathed to see them overtaxed; but she Burned on the water : the poop was beaten gold; Did more, and underwent, and overcame,

ALFRED TENNYSON.

The woman of a thousand summers back, | Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity : Godiva, wife to that grim Earl who ruled | And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, In Coventry : for when he laid a tax

| The fatal byword of all years to come, Upon his town, and all the mothers brought Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Their children, clamoring, “If we pay, we Peeped - but his eyes, before they had their starve !"

will, . She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, About the hall, among his dogs, alone,

And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait His beard a foot before him, and his hair On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; A yard behind. She told him of their tears, And she, that knew not, passed : and all at once, And prayed him, “If they pay this tax, they With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless starve."

noon Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed, Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, “You would not let your little finger ache One after one : but even then she gained For such as these?— “But I would die,” said Her bower; whence re-issuing, robed and crowned, she.

To meet her lord, she took the tax away, He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul: And built herself an everlasting name. Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; 0, ay, ay, ay, you talk !” — “Alas !” she said, “But prove me what it is I would not do.” And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,

. THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. He answered, “ Ride you naked through the town, And I repeal it”; and nodding, as in scorn, THERE also was a Nun, a Prioress, He parted, with great strides among his dogs. That in her smiling was full simple and coy;

So left alone, the passions of her mina, Her greatest oath was but by Saint Eloy ; As winds from all the compass shift and blow, And she was cleped Madame Eglantine. Made war upon each other for an hour,

Full well she sang the service divine, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, Entuned in her nose full sweetly; And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all And French she spake full faire and fetisly, The hard condition ; but that she would loose After the school of Stratford at Bow, The people : therefore, as they loved her well, For French of Paris was to her unknowe. From then till noon no foot should pace the street, At meat was she well ytaught withall; No eye look down, she passing ; but that all She let no morsel from her lips fall, Should keep within, door shut and window barred. Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep ;

Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there well could she carry a morsel, and well keep, Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, That no drop neer fell upon her breast. The grim Earl's gift ; but ever at a breath In courtesie was set full much her lest. She lingered, looking like a summer moon Half dipt in cloud : anon she shook her head, | And certainly she was of great disport, And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; And full pleasant, and amiable of port, Unclad herself in haste ; adown the stair Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid And took much pains to imitate the air From pillar unto pillar, until she reached | Of court, and hold a stately manner, The gateway ; there she found her palfrey trapt And to be thoughten high of reverence. In purple blazoned with armorial gold. | But for to speaken of her conscience,

Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity : She was so charitable and so piteous, The deep air listened round her as she rode, She would weep if that she saw a mouse And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled ; The little wide-mouthed heads upon the spout Two small hounds had she that she fed Had cunning eyes to see : the barking cur With roasted flesh, and milk, and wasted bread, Made her cheek flame: her palfrey's footfall shot But sore she went if one of them were dead, Light horrors through her pulses: the blind Or if men smote it with a staff smarte : walls

She was all conscience and tender heart. Were full of chinks and holes ; and overhead | Full seemely her wimple pinched was; Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but she Her nose was strait; her eyes were grey as Not less through all bore up, till, last, she saw I glass, The white-flowered elder-thicket from the field Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red ; Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. But certainly she had a fair forehead.

It was almost a span broad I trow,

Nor maked him no spiced conscience, For certainly she was not undergrowne.

But Christ's lore and his Apostles twelve Full handsome was her cloak, as I was 'ware He taught, but first he followed it himselve.

CHAUCER. Of small coral about her arm she bare A pair of beads, gauded all with green ; And thereon hung a broach of gold full shene, On which was first ywritten a crowned A,

THE VICAR. And after, Amor vincit omnia.

SOME years ago, ere time and taste Another Nun also with her had she

Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, That was her chaplain, and of PRIESTS three.

When Darnel park was Darnel waste,

And roads as little known as scurvy, A good man there was of religion,

The man who lost his way between That was a poor PARSONE of a town ;

St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket
But rich he was in holy thought and work, | Was always shown across the green,
He was also a learned man, a clerk,

And guided to the parson's wicket.
That Christ's gospel truely would preach.
His parishens devoutly would he teach,

Back flew the bolt of lissom lath ;
Benigne he was and wondrous diligent,

Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, And in adversity full patient:

Led the lorn traveller up the path, And such he was yproved often times ;

Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle, Full loth were he to cursen for his tithes, And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray, But rather would he given, out of doubt, | Upon the parlor steps collected, Unto his poor parishioners about,

Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say, Of his offering, and eke of his substance ; “Our master knows you ; you 're expected." He could in little thing have suffisance.

Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown, Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder,

Up rose the doctor's “Winsome marrow"; But he nor felt nor thought of rain or thunder,

der, | The lady laid her knitting down, In sickness and in mischief to visit

Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow. The farthest in his parish, much and oft,

| Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff.

Pundit or papist, saint or sinner, This noble ensample to his sheep he gave.

He found a stable for his steed, That first he wrought, and afterward he taught,

augat, | And welcome for himself, and dinner. Out of the gospel he the words caught, And this figure he added yet thereto,

If, when he reached his journey's end, That if gold rust, what should iron do ?

And warmed himself in court or college, And if a priest be foul, on whom we trust, He had not gained an honest friend, No wonder if a common man do rust;

And twenty curious scraps of knowledge ; Well ought a priest ensample for to give, If he departed as he came, By his cleanness, how his sheep should live. With no new light on love or liquor, He set not his benefice to hire,

Good sooth, the traveller was to blame, Or left his sheep bewildered in the mire,

And not the vicarage or the vicar. And ran unto London, unto Saint Paul's,

| His talk was like a stream which runs To seeken him a chanterie for souls,

With rapid change from rocks to roses ; Or with a brotherhood to be withold : But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold,

It slipped from politics to puns ; So that the wolf ne made it not miscarry.

It passed from Mahomet to Moses; He was a shepherd and no mercenarie,

Beginning with the laws which keep

The planets in their radiant courses,
And though he holy were, and virtuous,

And ending with some precept deep
He was to sinful men not dispiteous,
Nor of his speech dangerous nor high,

For dressing eels or shoeing horses.
But in his teaching discrete and benigne. He was a shrewd and sound divine,
To draw his folk to heaven, with fairness,

Of loud dissent the mortal terror ;
By good ensample, was his business :

And when, by dint of page and line, But if were any person obstinate,

He 'stablished truth or startled error, Whether he were of high or low estate,

The Baptist found him far too deep,
Him would he reprove sharply for the nones, The Deist sighed with saving sorrow,
A better priest I trow that nowhere is.

And the lean Levite went to sleep
He waited after neither pomp ne reverence, | And dreamt of eating pork to-morrow.

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