XXI
Through Groves, so called as being void of trees,
(Like lucus from no light); through prospects named
Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to please,
Nor much to climb; through little boxes framed
Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease,
With “To be let,” upon their doors proclaimed;
Through “Rows” most modestly called “Paradise,”870
Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice;—871
XXII
Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a whirl
Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion;
Here taverns wooing to a pint of “purl,”872
There mails fast flying off like a delusion;
There barbers’ blocks with periwigs in curl
In windows; here the lamplighter’s infusion
Slowly distilled into the glimmering glass
(For in those days we had not got to gas—);873874
XXIII
Through this, and much, and more, is the approach
Of travellers to mighty Babylon:
Whether they come by horse, or chaise, or coach,
With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one.
I could say more, but do not choose to encroach
Upon the Guide-book’s privilege. The Sun
Had set some time, and night was on the ridge
Of twilight, as the party crossed the bridge.
XXIV
That’s rather fine, the gentle sound of Thamis—
Who vindicates a moment, too, his stream—
Though hardly heard through multifarious “damme’s:”
The lamps of Westminster’s more regular gleam,
The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where Fame is
A spectral resident—whose pallid beam
In shape of moonshine hovers o’er the pile—
Make this a sacred part of Albion’s isle.
XXV
The Druids’ groves are gone—so much the better:
Stonehenge is not—but what the devil is it?—
But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter,
That madmen may not bite you on a visit;
The Bench too seats or suits full many a debtor;
The Mansion House,875 too (though some people quiz it),
To me appears a stiff yet grand erection;
But then the Abbey’s worth the whole collection.
XXVI
The line of lights,876 too, up to Charing Cross,
Pall Mall, and so forth, have a coruscation
Like gold as in comparison to dross,
Matched with the Continent’s illumination,
Whose cities Night by no means deigns to gloss.
The French were not yet a lamp-lighting nation,
And when they grew so—on their new-found lantern,
Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn.877
XXVII
A row of Gentlemen along the streets
Suspended may illuminate mankind,
As also bonfires made of country seats;
But the old way is best for the purblind:
The other looks like phosphorus on sheets,
A sort of ignis fatuus to the mind,
Which, though ’tis certain to perplex and frighten,
Must burn more mildly ere it can enlighten.
XXVIII
But London’s so well lit, that if Diogenes
Could recommence to hunt his honest man,
And found him not amidst the various progenies
Of this enormous City’s spreading span,
’Twere not for want of lamps to aid his dodging his
Yet undiscovered treasure. What I can,
I’ve done to find the same throughout Life’s journey,
But see the World is only one attorney.
XXIX
Over the stones still rattling, up Pall Mall,
Through crowds and carriages, but waxing thinner
As thundered knockers broke the long sealed spell
Of doors ’gainst duns, and to an early dinner
Admitted a small party as night fell—
Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner,
Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels,
St. James’s Palace, and St. James’s “Hells.”878
XXX
They reached the hotel: forth streamed from the front door879
A tide of well-clad waiters, and around
The mob stood, and as usual several score
Of those pedestrian Paphians who abound
In decent London when the daylight’s o’er;
Commodious but immoral, they are found
Useful, like Malthus, in promoting marriage.—
But Juan now is stepping from his carriage
XXXI
Into one of the sweetest of hotels,880881
Especially for foreigners—and mostly
For those whom favour or whom Fortune swells,
And cannot find a bill’s small items costly.
There many an envoy either dwelt or dwells
(The den of many a diplomatic lost lie),
Until to some conspicuous square they pass,
And blazon o’er the door their names in brass.
XXXII
Juan, whose was a delicate commission,
Private, though publicly important, bore
No title to point out with due precision
The exact affair on which he was sent o’er.
’Twas merely known, that on a secret mission
A foreigner of rank had graced our shore,
Young, handsome, and accomplished, who was said
(In whispers) to have turned his Sovereign’s head.
XXXIII
Some rumour also of some strange adventures
Had gone before him, and his wars and loves;
And as romantic heads are pretty painters,
And, above all, an Englishwoman’s roves882
Into the excursive, breaking the indentures
Of sober reason, wheresoe’er it moves,
He found himself extremely in the fashion,
Which serves our thinking people for a passion.
XXXIV
I don’t mean that they are passionless, but quite
The contrary; but then ’tis in the head;
Yet as the consequences are as bright
As if they acted with the heart instead,
What after all can signify the site
Of ladies’ lucubrations? So they lead
In safety to the place for which you start,
What matters if the road be head or heart?
XXXV
Juan presented in the proper place,
To proper placemen, every Russ credential;
And was received with all the due grimace
By those who govern in the mood potential,
Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth face,
Thought (what in state affairs is most essential),
That they as easily might do the youngster,
As hawks may pounce upon a woodland songster.
XXXVI
They erred, as agèd men will do; but by
And by we’ll talk of that; and if we don’t,
’Twill be because our notion is not high
Of politicians and their double front,
Who live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie:—
Now what I love in women is, they won’t
Or can’t do otherwise than lie—but do it
So well, the very Truth seems falsehood to it.
XXXVII
And, after
