And Königsberg, the capital, whose vaunt,
Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper,
Has lately been the great Professor Kant.842
Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper
About philosophy, pursued his jaunt
To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions
Have princes who spur more than their postilions.
LXI
And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the like,
Until he reached the castellated Rhine:—
Ye glorious Gothic scenes! how much ye strike
All fantasies, not even excepting mine!
A grey wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,
Make my soul pass the equinoctial line
Between the present and past worlds, and hover
Upon their airy confines, half-seas-over.
LXII
But Juan posted on through Mannheim, Bonn,
Which Drachenfels843 frowns over like a spectre
Of the good feudal times for ever gone,
On which I have not time just now to lecture.
From thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne,
A city which presents to the inspector
Eleven thousand maiden heads of bone.
The greatest number flesh hath ever known.844
LXIII
From thence to Holland’s Hague and Helvoetsluys,
That water-land of Dutchmen and of ditches,
Where juniper expresses its best juice,
The poor man’s sparkling substitute for riches.
Senates and sages have condemned its use—
But to deny the mob a cordial, which is
Too often all the clothing, meat, or fuel,
Good government has left them, seems but cruel.
LXIV
Here he embarked, and with a flowing sail
Went bounding for the Island of the free,
Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale;
High dashed the spray, the bows dipped in the sea,
And sea-sick passengers turned somewhat pale;
But Juan, seasoned, as he well might be,
By former voyages, stood to watch the skiffs
Which passed, or catch the first glimpse of the cliffs.
LXV
At length they rose, like a white wall along
The blue sea’s border; and Don Juan felt—
What even young strangers feel a little strong
At the first sight of Albion’s chalky belt—
A kind of pride that he should be among
Those haughty shopkeepers, who sternly dealt
Their goods and edicts out from pole to pole,
And made the very billows pay them toll.
LXVI
I’ve no great cause to love that spot of earth,
Which holds what might have been the noblest nation;
But though I owe it little but my birth,
I feel a mixed regret and veneration
For its decaying fame and former worth.
Seven years (the usual term of transportation)
Of absence lay one’s old resentments level,
When a man’s country’s going to the devil.
LXVII
Alas! could she but fully, truly, know
How her great name is now throughout abhorred;
How eager all the Earth is for the blow
Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword;
How all the nations deem her their worst foe,
That worse than worst of foes, the once adored
False friend, who held out Freedom to Mankind,
And now would chain them—to the very mind;—
LXVIII
Would she be proud, or boast herself the free,
Who is but first of slaves? The nations are
In prison—but the gaoler, what is he?
No less a victim to the bolt and bar.
Is the poor privilege to turn the key
Upon the captive, Freedom? He’s as far
From the enjoyment of the earth and air
Who watches o’er the chain, as they who wear.
LXIX
Don Juan now saw Albion’s earliest beauties,
Thy cliffs, dear Dover! harbour, and hotel;
Thy custom-house, with all its delicate duties;
Thy waiters running mucks at every bell;
Thy packets, all whose passengers are booties
To those who upon land or water dwell;
And last, not least, to strangers uninstructed,
Thy long, long bills, whence nothing is deducted.
LXX
Juan, though careless, young, and magnifique,
And rich in rubles, diamonds, cash, and credit,
Who did not limit much his bills per week,
Yet stared at this a little, though he paid it—
(His Maggior Duomo, a smart, subtle Greek,
Before him summed the awful scroll and read it):
But, doubtless, as the air—though seldom sunny—
Is free, the respiration’s worth the money.
LXXI
On with the horses! Off to Canterbury!
Tramp, tramp o’er pebble, and splash, splash through puddle;
Hurrah! how swiftly speeds the post so merry!
Not like slow Germany, wherein they muddle
Along the road,845 as if they went to bury
Their fare; and also pause besides, to fuddle
With “schnapps”—sad dogs! whom “Hundsfot,” or “Verflucter,”846
Affect no more than lightning a conductor.847
LXXII
Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits,
Leavening his blood as cayenne doth a curry,
As going at full speed—no matter where its
Direction be, so ’tis but in a hurry,
And merely for the sake of its own merits;
For the less cause there is for all this flurry,
The greater is the pleasure in arriving
At the great end of travel—which is driving.
LXXIII
They saw at Canterbury the cathedral;
Black Edward’s helm, and Becket’s bloody stone,
Were pointed out as usual by the bedral,
In the same quaint, uninterested tone:—
There’s glory again for you, gentle reader! All
Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone,848
Half-solved into these sodas or magnesias,
Which form that bitter draught, the human species.
LXXIV
The effect on Juan was of course sublime:
He breathed a thousand Cressys, as he saw
That casque, which never stooped except to Time.
Even the bold Churchman’s tomb excited awe,
Who died in the then great attempt to climb
O’er Kings, who now at least must talk of Law
Before they butcher. Little Leila gazed,
And asked why such a structure had been raised:
LXXV
And being told it was “God’s House,” she said
He was well lodged, but only wondered how
He suffered Infidels in his homestead,
The cruel Nazarenes, who had laid low
His holy temples in the lands which bred
The True Believers;—and her infant brow
Was bent with grief that Muhammad should resign
A mosque so noble, flung like pearls to swine.
LXXVI
On! on! through meadows, managed like a garden,
A paradise of hops and high production;
For, after years of travel by
