Of inspiration gathered from distress,
When all the heart-strings like wild horses pull
The heart asunder;—then, as more or less
Their speed abated or their strength grew dull,
She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees,
And bowed her throbbing head o’er trembling knees.
CVIII
Her face declined and was unseen; her hair
Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow,
Sweeping the marble underneath her chair,
Or rather sofa (for it was all pillow,
A low, soft ottoman), and black Despair
Stirred up and down her bosom like a billow,
Which rushes to some shore whose shingles check
Its farther course, but must receive its wreck.
CIX
Her head hung down, and her long hair in stooping
Concealed her features better than a veil;
And one hand o’er the ottoman lay drooping,
White, waxen, and as alabaster pale:
Would that I were a painter! to be grouping
All that a poet drags into detail!
Oh that my words were colours! but their tints
May serve perhaps as outlines or slight hints.
CX
Baba, who knew by experience when to talk
And when to hold his tongue, now held it till
This passion might blow o’er, nor dared to balk
Gulbeyaz’ taciturn or speaking will.
At length she rose up, and began to walk
Slowly along the room, but silent still,
And her brow cleared, but not her troubled eye;
The wind was down, but still the sea ran high.
CXI
She stopped, and raised her head to speak—but paused
And then moved on again with rapid pace;
Then slackened it, which is the march most caused
By deep emotion:—you may sometimes trace
A feeling in each footstep, as disclosed
By Sallust in his Catiline, who, chased
By all the demons of all passions, showed
Their work even by the way in which he trode.578
CXII
Gulbeyaz stopped and beckoned Baba:—“Slave!
Bring the two slaves!” she said in a low tone,
But one which Baba did not like to brave,
And yet he shuddered, and seemed rather prone
To prove reluctant, and begged leave to crave
(Though he well knew the meaning) to be shown
What slaves her Highness wished to indicate,
For fear of any error, like the late.
CXIII
“The Georgian and her paramour,” replied
The Imperial Bride—and added, “Let the boat
Be ready by the secret portal’s side:
You know the rest.” The words stuck in her throat,
Despite her injured love and fiery pride;
And of this Baba willingly took note,
And begged by every hair of Muhammad’s beard,
She would revoke the order he had heard.
CXIV
“To hear is to obey,” he said; “but still,
Sultana, think upon the consequence:
It is not that I shall not all fulfil
Your orders, even in their severest sense;
But such precipitation may end ill,
Even at your own imperative expense:
I do not mean destruction and exposure,
In case of any premature disclosure;
CXV
“But your own feelings. Even should all the rest
Be hidden by the rolling waves, which hide
Already many a once love-beaten breast
Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide—
You love this boyish, new, Seraglio guest,
And if this violent remedy be tried—
Excuse my freedom, when I here assure you,
That killing him is not the way to cure you.”
CXVI
“What dost thou know of Love or feeling?—Wretch!
Begone!” she cried, with kindling eyes—“and do
My bidding!” Baba vanished, for to stretch
His own remonstrance further he well knew
Might end in acting as his own “Jack Ketch;”
And though he wished extremely to get through
This awkward business without harm to others,
He still preferred his own neck to another’s.
CXVII
Away he went then upon his commission,
Growling and grumbling in good Turkish phrase
Against all women of whate’er condition,
Especially Sultanas and their ways;
Their obstinacy, pride, and indecision,
Their never knowing their own mind two days,
The trouble that they gave, their immorality,
Which made him daily bless his own neutrality.
CXVIII
And then he called his brethren to his aid,
And sent one on a summons to the pair,
That they must instantly be well arrayed,
And above all be combed even to a hair,
And brought before the Empress, who had made
Inquiries after them with kindest care:
At which Dudù looked strange, and Juan silly;
But go they must at once, and will I—nill I.
CXIX
And here I leave them at their preparation
For the imperial presence, wherein whether
Gulbeyaz showed them both commiseration,
Or got rid of the parties altogether,
Like other angry ladies of her nation—
Are things the turning of a hair or feather
May settle; but far be ’t from me to anticipate
In what way feminine caprice may dissipate.
CXX
I leave them for the present with good wishes,
Though doubts of their well doing, to arrange
Another part of History; for the dishes
Of this our banquet we must sometimes change;
And trusting Juan may escape the fishes,
(Although his situation now seems strange,
And scarce secure)—as such digressions are fair,
The Muse will take a little touch at warfare.
Canto VII579
I
O Love! O Glory! what are ye who fly
Around us ever, rarely to alight?
There’s not a meteor in the polar sky
Of such transcendent and more fleeting flight.
Chill, and chained to cold earth, we lift on high
Our eyes in search of either lovely light;
A thousand and a thousand colours they
Assume, then leave us on our freezing way.
II
And such as they are, such my present tale is,
A nondescript and ever-varying rhyme,
A versified Aurora Borealis,
Which flashes o’er a waste and icy clime.
When we know what all are, we must bewail us,
But ne’ertheless I hope it is no crime
To laugh at all things—for I wish to know
What, after all, are all things—but a show?
III
They accuse me—Me—the present writer of
The present poem—of—I know not what—
A tendency to under-rate and scoff
At human power and virtue, and all that;580
And this they say in language rather rough.
Good God! I
