V
And therefore will I leave off metaphysical
Discussion, which is neither here nor there:
If I agree that what is, is; then this I call
Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair;
The truth is, I’ve grown lately rather phthisical:860
I don’t know what the reason is—the air
Perhaps; but as I suffer from the shocks
Of illness, I grow much more orthodox.
VI
The first attack at once proved the Divinity
(But that I never doubted, nor the Devil);
The next, the Virgin’s mystical virginity;
The third, the usual Origin of Evil;
The fourth at once established the whole Trinity
On so uncontrovertible a level,
That I devoutly wished the three were four—
On purpose to believe so much the more.
VII
To our theme.—The man who has stood on the Acropolis,
And looked down over Attica; or he
Who has sailed where picturesque Constantinople is,
Or seen Timbuktu, or hath taken tea
In small-eyed China’s crockery-ware metropolis,
Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh,861
May not think much of London’s first appearance—
But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence!
VIII
Don Juan had got out on Shooter’s Hill;
Sunset the time, the place the same declivity
Which looks along that vale of Good and Ill
Where London streets ferment in full activity,
While everything around was calm and still,
Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he
Heard—and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum
Of cities, that boil over with their scum:—
IX
I say, Don Juan, wrapped in contemplation,
Walked on behind his carriage, o’er the summit,
And lost in wonder of so great a nation,
Gave way to ’t, since he could not overcome it.
“And here,” he cried, “is Freedom’s chosen station;
Here peals the People’s voice, nor can entomb it
Racks—prisons—inquisitions; Resurrection
Awaits it, each new meeting or election.
X
“Here are chaste wives, pure lives; here people pay
But what they please; and if that things be dear,
’Tis only that they love to throw away
Their cash, to show how much they have a-year.
Here laws are all inviolate—none lay
Traps for the traveller—every highway’s clear—
Here”—he was interrupted by a knife,
With—“Damn your eyes! your money or your life!”—
XI
These free-born sounds proceeded from four pads
In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter
Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads,
Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre,
In which the heedless gentleman who gads
Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter,
May find himself within that isle of riches
Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches.
XII
Juan, who did not understand a word
Of English, save their shibboleth, “God damn!”862
And even that he had so rarely heard,
He sometimes thought ’twas only their “Salām,”
Or “God be with you!”—and ’tis not absurd
To think so—for half English as I am
(To my misfortune), never can I say
I heard them wish “God with you,” save that way;—
XIII
Juan yet quickly understood their gesture,
And being somewhat choleric and sudden,
Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,
And fired it into one assailant’s pudding—
Who fell, as rolls an ox o’er in his pasture,
And roared out, as he writhed his native mud in,
Unto his nearest follower or henchman,
“Oh Jack! I’m floored by that ’ere bloody Frenchman!”
XIV
On which Jack and his train set off at speed,
And Juan’s suite, late scattered at a distance,
Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,
And offering, as usual, late assistance.
Juan, who saw the moon’s late minion863 bleed
As if his veins would pour out his existence,
Stood calling out for bandages and lint,
And wished he had been less hasty with his flint.
XV
“Perhaps,” thought he, “it is the country’s wont
To welcome foreigners in this way: now
I recollect some innkeepers who don’t
Differ, except in robbing with a bow,
In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front—
But what is to be done? I can’t allow
The fellow to lie groaning on the road:
So take him up—I’ll help you with the load.”
XVI
But ere they could perform this pious duty,
The dying man cried, “Hold! I’ve got my gruel!
Oh! for a glass of max!864 We’ve missed our booty;
Let me die where I am!” And as the fuel
Of Life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty
The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill
His breath—he from his swelling throat untied
A kerchief, crying, “Give Sal that!”—and died.
XVII
The cravat stained with bloody drops fell down
Before Don Juan’s feet: he could not tell
Exactly why it was before him thrown,
Nor what the meaning of the man’s farewell.
Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town,
A thorough varmint, and a real swell,
Full flash,865 all fancy, until fairly diddled,
His pockets first and then his body riddled.
XVIII
Don Juan, having done the best he could
In all the circumstances of the case,
As soon as “Crowner’s quest”866 allowed, pursued
His travels to the capital apace;—
Esteeming it a little hard he should
In twelve hours’ time, and very little space,
Have been obliged to slay a free-born native
In self-defence: this made him meditative.
XIX
He from the world had cut off a great man,
Who in his time had made heroic bustle.
Who in a row like Tom could lead the van,
Booze in the ken, or at the spellken hustle?
Who queer a flat?867 Who (spite of Bow-street’s ban)
On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle?
Who on a lark with black-eyed Sal (his blowing),
So prime—so swell—so nutty—and so knowing?868869
XX
But Tom’s no more—and so no more of Tom.
Heroes must die; and by God’s blessing ’tis
Not long before the most of them go home.
Hail! Thamis, hail! Upon thy verge it is
That Juan’s chariot, rolling like a drum
In thunder, holds the way it can’t well miss,
Through Kennington and all the other “tons,”
Which make us wish ourselves
