365

DOtf J0AN.

And fish, and soup, "by some side-dishes back’d,

Can give us either pain or pleasure, whoWould pique himself on intellects, whose useDepends so much upon the gastric juice ?

XXXIII.

The other evening (’twas on Friday last)—

This is a fact, and no poetic fable—

Just as my greatcoat was about me cast,

My hat and gloves still lying on the table,

I heard a shot—’twas eight o'clock scarce past—And, running out as fast as 1 was able,

I found the military commandant

Stretch’d in the street, and able scarce to pant.*

XXXIV.

Poor fellow! for some reason, surely bad,

They had slain him with five slugs: and left himthere

To perish on the pavement: so I hadHim borne into the house, and up the stair,

And stripp’d, and look'd to,—But why should I addMore circumstances? Vain was every care;

The man was gone : In some Italian quarrel,

Kill’d by five bullets from an old gun-barrel.f

XXXV.

I gaz’d upon him, for I knew him well;

And though I have seen many corpses, neverSaw one, whom such an accident befell,

So calm: though pierc'd through stomach, heart,and liver,

He seem’d to sleep—for you could scarcely tell(As he bled inwardly, no hideous riverOf gore divulged the cause) that he was dead :

So as I gaz'd on him, I thought or said—

XXXVI.

“ Can this he death ? Then what is life or death ?Speak!” but he spoke not: “ wake 1” but still hoslept:—

“But yesterday and who had mightier breath?

A thousand warriors by his word were keptIn awe: he said, as the centurion saith,

4 Go,’ and he goeth; ‘ come,’ and forth he stepp’d.The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb—And now nought left him but the muffled drum.”

XXXVII.

And they who waited once and-worshipp’d—theyWith their rough faces throng’d about the bed,To gaze once more on the commanding clay,Which for the last, though not the first, timebled:

And such an end t that he who many a dayHad fac'd Napoleon ’s foes until they fled—*

The foremost in the charge or in the sally,

Should now be butcher'd in a civic alley. ,

XXXVIII.

The scars of his old wounds were near his new,Those honourable scars which brought him fame;And horrid was the contrast to the view—

Put let me quit the theme; as such things claimPerhaps even more attention than is due^From me: I gaz’d (as oft I have gaz’d the same)4? try if i could wrench aught out of death,v 'hich should confirm, or shake, or make, a faith.

XXXIX.

But it was all a mystery. Here we are,

And there we go—but where? Five bits of lead,Or three, or two, or one, send very far!

And is this blood, then, form’d but to be shed?Can every element our elements mar ?

And air—earth—water—Are live—and we dead?We, whose minds comprehend all things? Nomore;

But let us to the story as before.

y xl.

The purchaser of Juan and acquaintanceBore off his bargains to a gilded boat.

Embark'd himself and them, and off they wentthence

As fast as oars could pull and water float;

They look’d like persons being led to sentence,V^ondering what next, till the caique wasbrought

Up in a little creek below a wallG'ertopp’d with cypresses, dark-green and tall.

XLI.

Here their conductor, tapping at the wicketOf a small iron door, ’twas open d, andHe led them onward, first through a low thicket.Flank'd by'largo groves, which tower'd on eitherhand:

They almost lost their way. and had to pick it—

For night was closing ere they came to land.

The eunuch made a sign to those on board,

Who row’d off, leaving them, without a word.

XLn.

As they were plodding on their winding way,Through orange bowers, and jasmine, and soforth:

(Of which I might have a good deal to say,

There being no such profusion, in the North,

Of oriental plants, “et cetera,”

But that of late your scribblers think it worthTheir while to rear old hotbeds in their works,Because our poet traveil’d ’mongst the Turks:)

XLIU.

As they were threading on their way, there cameImo Don Juan’s head a thought, which heWh sper’d to his companion:—’twas the sameWhich mght have then occurr’d to you or me.

“Methinks,”—said he,—“it would be no greatshame,

If we should strike a stroke to set us free;

Let’s knock that old black fellow on the head,

And march away—’twere easier done than said.”

XLIV.

“Yes,” said the other; “and when done, whatthen?

How get out ? How the devil got we in ?

And when we once were fairly out, and whenFrom Saint Bartholomew we sav’d our skin,To-morrow’d see us in some other den,

And worse off than we hitherto have been-Besides, I’m hungry, and just now would takeLike Esau, for my birthright a beef-steak. ’

, * The assassination alluded to took place on the 8th of December, 1820, in the streets of B_, not a

hundred paces from the residence of the writer. The circumstances were as described.

t There was found close by him an old gun barrel, sawn half off; it had just been discharged, andtos BtiU warm.