« VorigeDoorgaan »
Juan retired, and so will I, until
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.
NOTES TO CANTO IX.
Note 1. Stanza i.
Humanity would rise, and thunder « Nay !" Query, Ney?-PRINTER'S DEVIL.
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 xlvü.
And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi. He was the “grande passion ” of the grande Catherine. See her Lives, under che bead of 5
Note 5. Stanza xlix.
Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess show
His parts of speech.
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.
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.
If this be true; for we must deem the mode
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.
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
And my internal spirit cut a caper:
To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
The stars, I own my telescope is dim ;
And, leaving land far out of sight, would skim
Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim, But still sea-worthy skiff; and she
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
“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?
Like Arno, in the summer, to a shallow,
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.
And then before sighs cease; for oft the one
Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun
Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done,
But Juan was not meant to die so soon.
We left him in the focus of such glory
Or ladies' fancies—rather transitory
Because December, with his breath so hoary,
ray, To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.
Middle-aged ladies even more than young :
Know little more of love than what is sung
In visions of those skies from whence love sprung.
I know no other reason, whatsoe'er
May chuse to tax me with ; which is not fair, Nor flattering to “ their temper or their taste,"
friend Jeffrey writes with such an air : However, I forgive him, and I trust He will forgive himself;—if not, I must,
Should so continue—'t is a point of honour ;
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.
Even shuffling Southey—that incarnate lie-
Whom he forsook to fill the laureate's sty:
Whether in Caledon or Italy,
The baser sides of literature and life,
By those who scour those double vales of strife.
The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knise,