With her then, as in humble duty bound,
Juan retired, and so will I, until
My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground.
We have just lit on a "heaven-kissing hill,"
So lofty that I feel my brain turn round,
And all my fancies whirling like a mill;
Which is a signal to my nerves and brain
To take a quiet ride in some green lane.


Note 1. Stanza i.

Humanity would rise, and thunder "Nay!"


Note 2. Stanza vi.

And send the sentinel before your gate

A slice or two from your luxurious meals.

"I at this time got a post, being for fatigue, with four others.-We were sent to break biscuit, and make a mess for Lord Wellington's hounds. I was very hungry, and thought it a good job at the time, as we got our own fill while we broke the biscuit, -a thing I had not got for some days. When thus engaged, the Prodigal Son was never once out of my mind; and I sighed, as I fed the dogs, over my humble situation and my ruined hopes."—Journal of a Soldier of the 71st Regiment during the war in Spain.

Note 3. Stanza xxxiii.

Because he could no more digest his dinner.

He was killed in a conspiracy, after his temper had been exasperated, by his extreme costivity, to a degree of insanity.

Note 4. Stanza xlvii.

And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi.

He was the "grande passion" of the grande Catherine.-See her Lives, under the bead of "Lanskoi."

Note 5. Stanza xlix.

Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess show

His parts of speech.

This was written long before the suicide of that person.

Note 6. Stanza Ixiii.

Your "fortune” was in a fair way "to swell

A man," as Giles says.

"His fortune swells him, it is rank, he's married."-Sir Giles Overreach; MASSINGER.-See A New Way to Pay Old Debts.



WHEN Newton saw an apple fall, he found

In that slight startle from his contemplation-
'T is said (for I'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation)——
A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round
In a most natural whirl, call'd "gravitation;"
And thus is the sole mortal who could grapple,
Since Adam, with a fáll, or with an apple.


Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,

If this be true; for we must deem the mode

In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose,

Through the then unpaved stars, the turnpike road, A thing to counterbalance human woes;

For, ever since, immortal man hath glow'd With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.


And wherefore this exordium ?-Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper:

And though so much inferior, as I know,

To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye,
I wish to do as much by poesy.


In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim ;
But at the least I've shunn'd the common shore,
And, leaving land far out of sight, would skim
The ocean of eternity: the roar

Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,
But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float
Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.


We left our hero Juan in the bloom
Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush ;
And far be it from my Muses to presume
(For I have more than one Muse at a push)
To follow him beyond the drawing-room :

It is enough that fortune found him flush
Of youth and vigour, beauty, and those things,
Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.


But soon they grow again, and leave their nest.
"Oh!" saith the Psalmist, "that I had a dove's
Pinions to flee away and be at rest!"

And who that recollects young years and loves,—
Though hoary now, and with a withering breast,
And palsied fancy, which no longer roves

Beyond its dimm'd eye's sphere, but would much rather Sigh like his son, than cough like his grandfather?


But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno, in the summer, to a shallow,

So narrow as to shame their wintry brink,

Which threatens inundations deep and yellow!

Such difference doth a few months make. You'd think
Grief a rich field which never would lie fallow;
No more it doth, its ploughs but change their boys,
Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys.


But coughs will come when sighs depart—and now
And then before sighs cease; for oft the one
Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow
Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun

Of life reach ten o'clock: and, while a glow,
Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done,
O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure for clay,
Thousands blaze, love, hope, die-how happy they!

But Juan was not meant to die so soon.

We left him in the focus of such glory


may he won by favour of the moon,

Or ladies' fancies-rather transitory

Perhaps but who would scorn the month of June,


Because December, with his breath so hoary, Must come? Much rather should he court the To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.



Besides, he had some qualities which fix

Middle-aged ladies even more than


The former know what 's what; while new-fledged chicks Know little more of love than what is sung

In rhymes, or dream'd (for fancy will play tricks)

In visions of those skies from whence love sprung. Some reckon women by their suns or years—

I rather think the moon should date the years.


And why? because she 's changeable and chaste.
I know no other reason, whatsoe'er
Suspicious people, who find fault in haste,

May chuse to tax me with; which is not fair,
Nor flattering to "their temper or their taste,"
As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air :
However, I forgive him, and I trust
He will forgive himself;-if not, I must.


Old enemies who have become new friends

Should so continue 't is a point of honour; And I know nothing which could make amends For a return to hatred: I would shun her Like garlick, howsoever she extends

Her hundred arms and legs, and fain outrun her. Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foesConverted foes should scorn to join with those.


This were the worst desertion; renegadoes,
Even shuffling Southey-that incarnate lie—
Would scarcely join again the "reformadoes,'
Whom he forsook to fill the laureate's sty:
And honest men, from Iceland to Barbadoes,
Whether in Caledon or Italy,

Should not veer round with every breath, nor seize,
To pain, the moment when you cease to please.


The lawyer and the critic but behold

The baser sides of literature and life,

And nought remains unseen, but much untold.
By those who scour those double vales of strife.

While common men grow ignorantly old,

The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife,
Dissecting the whole inside of a question,
And with it all the process of digestion.

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