431

DON JUAN.

A paper kit© which flies 'twixt life and death;

A. shadow which the onward soul behind. throws;

And mine’s a bubble, not blown up for praise,just to play with, as an infant plays.

IX.

^he world is all before mo—or behind;

. For I have seen a portion of that same,

And quite enough for me to keep in mind;—

Of passions, too. I haveprov’d enough to blame,1° the great pleasure of our friends, mankind,-.'Who like to mix some slight alloy with fame;for I was rather famous in my time,u ntil i f a i r iy knock'd it up with rhyme.

*have brought this world about my years, and

rr, eke

^The other: that’s to say, the clergy—who,u Pen my head have bid their thunders break,

. pious libels, by no means a few.

And yet I can t help scribbling, once a week,

. Tiring old readers, nor discovering new.p youth I wrote because my mind was full,

And now because 1 feel it growiug dull.

Ai.

“why then publish?”—There are no rewards> Of fame or profit, when the world grows weary.i 8.sk, in turn,—Why do you play at cards ?

why drink? Why read?—To make some hourj. less dreary,

‘Occupies me to turn back regards. On what 1 ve seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery;£nd what I write, I cast upon the stream,

A ° swim or sink—I have had, at least, ray dream.

j XII.

^ink that were I certain of success,o * hardly could compose another line:

0 long I’ve battled either more or less,

That no defeat can drive me from the Nine.ais feeling tis not easy to express,i And yet 'tis not affected, I opine.n Play, there are two pleasures for your clioos-■j. ing—

ne one is winning, and the other losing.

Be • XrIT '

^ use b y 110 means deals in fiction:Q.^he gathers a repertory of facts,

course with some reserve and slight restric-j> tion,

Aim lnostl y s i n S s of human things and acts—ncl that’s one cause she meets with contradic-

Fn tion;

* 00 muc h truth, at first sight, ne’er attracts;Wit* ere ^ er °hjcct only what's called glory,lttl more ease, too, she’d tell a different story.

L xiv.

war, a tempest—surely there’s variety;

A v,?f?, a seasoning slight of lucubration;

A rc 8 ~eye view, too, of that wild Society;

If vn> k glance-thrown on men of every station.

Both • Ve nou 8ht else, here’s at least satiety,

And th 1U P erforma nce and in preparation;

though these lines should only line portman-Trad • teaus '

6 will be all the better for these Cantos.

xv.

The portion of this world which I, at present,

Have taken up. to fill the following sermon,

Is one of which there's no description recent:

The reason why, is easy to determine:

Although it seems both prominent and pleasant,There is a sameness in its gems and ermine,

A dull and family likeness through all ages',

Of no great promise for poetic pages.

XVI.

With much to excite, there’s little to exalt;

Nothing that speaks to all men and all times;

A sort of varnish over every fault;

A kind of common-place, even in their crimes;Factitious passions, wit without much salt,

A want of that true nature which sublimesWhate’er it shows with truth; a smooth monotonyOf character, in those at least who have got any.

XVIL

Sometimes, Indeed, like soldiers off parade,

They break their ranks, and gladly leave thedrill:

But then the roll-call draws them back afraid,

And they must be or seem what they were: stillDoubtless it is a brilliant masquerade;

But when of the first sight you have had yourfill,

It palls—at least it did so upon me,

This paradise of pleasure and ennui,

XVIII.

When we have made our love, and gam’d ourgaming,

Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, somethingmore;

With dandies din'd, heard senators declaiming ;

Seen beauties brought to market by the score,Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming ;

There’s little left but to be bored or bore.

Witness those ” ci-devant ?eunes hommts" whostem

The stream, nor leave the world which leaveththem.

xix. #

’Tis said—indeed a general complaint—

That no one has succeeded in describingThe monde , exactly as they ought to paint:

Some say that authors only snatch, by bribingThe porter, some slight scandals strange ana• quaint,

To furnish matter for their moral gibing;

And that their books have but one style in com-mon—

My lady’s prattle, filter’d through her woman.

xx.

But this can't well be true, just now; for writersAre grown of the beau monde a part potential:I’ve seen them balance even the scale withfighters,

Especially -when young, for that’s essential.

Why do their sketches fail them as inditersOf what they deem themselves most consequen-tial,

The real portrait of the highest tribe ?

’Tis that, in faet, there’s little to describe.