The eye might doubt if it were well awake, She was so like a vision; I might err, But Shakspeare also says 'tis very silly To gild refined gold, or paint the lily."" Haidée and Juan are amused, while at table, by dwarfs and dancing-girls, black eunuchs, and a poet, of whom I shall say nothing, Christopher, because I do not think the account is very good, but his song, I am persuaded, you will think is the very loftiest bachanalian ever penned-You will, indeed, although with a grumble, Í know, allow this as if you were suffering a jerk of your rheumatism.

« The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece, Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace,

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.

"The Scian and the Teian muse,

The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires' Islands of the Blest.'

"The mountains look on Marathon

And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone,

I dream'd that Greece might still be free; For, standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.

"A king sate on the rocky brow

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below,

And men in nations ;-all were his! He counted them at break of dayAnd when the sun set where were they? "And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now

The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?

""Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame,

Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush-for Greece a tear.
"Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush ?-Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopyla!
"What, silent still? and silent all?

Ah! no;-the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer,
"Let one living head,

But one arise,-we come, we come !"
'Tis but the living who are dumb.
"In vain in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call—
How answers each bold bacchanal !
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone
Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?

You have the letters Cadmus gave—
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
"Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!

It made Anacreon's song divine :

He served but served Polycrates-
A tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.

"The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades !

Oh! that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind!

Such chains as his were sure to bind.

"Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore; The Heracleidan blood might own. And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,

"Trust not for freedom to the Franks They have a king who buys and sells ; In native swords, and native ranks,

The only hope of courage dwells; But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad. "Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!

I see their glorious black eyes shine; Our virgins dance beneath the shade

But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. "Place me on Sunium's marbled steepWhere nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mineDash down yon cup of Samian wine!"

There is a little confusion in the narrative; or perhaps it is the hurry in which I am going over it, that makes me not able to trace it so clearly as I might do, through digressions. Lambro arrived while the lovers were at dinner, and we are led to suppose that he witnesses their dalliance and revelling; but it would seem that this was not the case, for we find Haidée and Juan left alone after the banquet,

admiring the rosy twilight of the evening sky.

"Tour tale. The feast was over, the slaves gone,

The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired;

The Arab lore and poet's song were done,

And every sound of revelry expired; The lady and her lover, left alone,

The rosy flood of twilight sky admired;

Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea, That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee!

"Ave Maria! blessed be the hour,

The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft

Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,

Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air,

And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer.

"Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer!

Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love! Ave Maria! may our spirits dare

Look up to thine, and to thy Son's above! Ave Maria! oh that face so fair!

Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove

What though 'tis but a pictured image strike

That painting is no idol, 'tis too like.

Now, Christopher, after this, take thy crutch, and, with the help of Blackwood'sporter, John Lesley, crawl up the new road along the Salisbury Craigs, on the first fine Sabbath evening, when all the west is still one broad glow of heavenly ruby; and the castle, in the middle of the view, appears like the crowned head of some great being, resting on his elbow in contemplation; repeat these verses, and I will venture to bet a plack to a bawbee, that from that hour all animosity against the wayward and unfortunate Byron will be for ever hushed in thy bosom. Even John himself will, by the mere sound of thy solemn voice of prayer, thenceforth forego the grudge that he has long borne his lordship for the many burdens he has made him bear, and, melting into tears of tenderness, dry the big drops from his eyes with a corner of the same handkerchief which thou wilt apply to wipe the Ave Maria dew from thine own.

While Haidée and Juan were contemplating the glorious stillness of a

In this state, the ominous fancies of Haidée take at last the definite form of a regular dream, in which she sees Juan dead in a cavern. As she gazes on him, he seems to change into the resemblance of her father. Startled by the apparition, she awakes, and the first object that her eyes meet are those of the pirate sternly fixed upon herJuan is in the same moment roused by the shriek she gave.

"Up Juan sprung to Haidée's bitter shriek, And caught her falling, and from off the wall

Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to

wreak

"I said they were alike, their features and Their stature differing but in sex and years;:

Even to the delicacy of their hands There was resemblance, such as true blood wears;

And now to see them, thus divided, stand In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears, And sweet sensations, should have welcomed both,

Show what the passions are in their full growth."

is spirited, and you will observe a This, Christopher, you must allow, curious mark of propinquity which the poet notices with respect to the hands of the father and daughter. The poet, I suspect, is indebted for the first hint of this to Ali Pashaw, who, by the bye, is the original of Lambro; for when his Lordship was introduced, with his squat friend, Cam, to that agreeablemannered tyrant, the vizier said that he knew he was the Magotos Anthropos by the smallness of his ears and hands.

and being seized by some of the piDon Juan is dangerously wounded, rate's sailors, is carried from the scene. The effect on poor Haidée is deplorable.

For several days she lay insensible, and, when she awoke from her trance,

she was in such a state as Mlle. Nob

let is seen in the ballet of Nina. The the Thane of Fife, ask him if there is first time you see your venison friend, not some reason to suspect that Byron had her in his eye when he wrote the following description:

"Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth Her human clay is kindled; full of

But her large dark eye show'd deep PasThough sleeping like a lion near a source. sion's force,

"Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,

Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair,

Till slowly charged with thunder they display

Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way; But overwrought with passion and de

spair,

The very instant, till the change that cast

Hersweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes the beautiful, the black

Oh! to possess such lustre and then lack!"

Don Juan in the meantime is carried aboard one of Lambro's vessels, where he is placed among a cargo of singers, who had been taken in going on from Leghorn to Sicily on a professional trip. The pirate destined them for the Constantinople slavemarket, where in due time they arrive, favourite Sultana. Baba, the eunuch and Don Juan is purchased for the who made the bargain, carries him to the palace where she resided.

"Baba led Juan onward room by room

Through glittering galleries, and o'er marble floors,

Till a gigantic portal through the gloom, Haughty and huge, along the distance

Monsters, who costa no less monstrous sum.

"Their duty was for they were strong, and though

They look'd so little, did strong things at times

To ope this door, which they could really do, The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes;

And now and then with tough strings of the bow,

As is the custom of those eastern climes, To give some rebel Pacha a cravat; For mutes are generally used for that. "They spoke by signs that is, not spoke at all;

And looking like two incubi, they glared As Baba with his fingers made them fall Toheaving back the portal folds: it scared Juan a moment, as this pair so small With shrinking serpent optics on him stared;

It was as if their little looks could poison Or fascinate whome'er they fix'd their eyes

on."

Baba having opened the door, Juan is introduced into a magnificent room, where wealth had done wonders, taste not much.

"In this imperial hall, at distance lay

Under a canopy, and there reclined Quite in a confidential queenly way,

A lady; Baba stopp'd, and kneeling sign'd To Juan, who though not much used to pray, Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind

They trode as upon necks; and to complete

Her state, (it is the custom of her nation,) She was a sultan's bride, (thank Heaven, A poniard deck'd her girdle, as a sign not mine.")

She had seen Juan in the market, and had ordered him to be bought for her.

The description of a seraglian love-making is touched with the author's gayest satire, but Juan, still quivering at the heart with the remembrance of Haidée, is very coy to the Sultana, and actually bursts into tears when she says to him,

"Christian, can'st thou love." "She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears,

For women shed and use them at their

liking; But there is something when man's eye

appears

Wet, still more disagreeable and striking: