Part 23

Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other With swimming looks of speechless tenderness, Which mix’d all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother, All that the best can mingle and express When two pure hearts are pour’d in one another, And love too much, and yet can not love less; But almost sanctify the sweet excess By the immortal wish and power to bless.

Mix’d in each other’s arms, and heart in heart, Why did they not then die?—they had lived too long Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart; Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong; The world was not for them, nor the world’s art For beings passionate as Sappho’s song; Love was born with them, in them, so intense, It was their very spirit—not a sense.

They should have lived together deep in woods, Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes Call’d social, haunts of Hate, and Vice, and Care: How lonely every freeborn creature broods! The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair; The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow Flock o’er their carrion, just like men below.

Now pillow’d cheek to cheek, in loving sleep, Haidee and Juan their siesta took, A gentle slumber, but it was not deep, For ever and anon a something shook Juan, and shuddering o’er his frame would creep; And Haidee’s sweet lips murmur’d like a brook A wordless music, and her face so fair Stirr’d with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

Or as the stirring of a deep dear stream Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind Walks o’er it, was she shaken by the dream, The mystical usurper of the mind— O’erpowering us to be whate’er may seem Good to the soul which we no more can bind; Strange state of being! (for ’tis still to be) Senseless to feel, and with seal’d eyes to see.

She dream’d of being alone on the sea-shore, Chain’d to a rock; she knew not how, but stir She could not from the spot, and the loud roar Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her; And o’er her upper lip they seem’d to pour, Until she sobb’d for breath, and soon they were Foaming o’er her lone head, so fierce and high— Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.

Anon—she was released, and then she stray’d O’er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet, And stumbled almost every step she made; And something roll’d before her in a sheet, Which she must still pursue howe’er afraid: ’Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp’d to meet Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed, and grasp’d, And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp’d.

The dream changed:—in a cave she stood, its walls Were hung with marble icicles, the work Of ages on its water-fretted halls, Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk; Her hair was dripping, and the very balls Of her black eyes seem’d turn’d to tears, and mirk The sharp rocks look’d below each drop they caught, Which froze to marble as it fell,—she thought.

And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet, Pale as the foam that froth’d on his dead brow, Which she essay’d in vain to clear (how sweet Were once her cares, how idle seem’d they now!), Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat Of his quench’d heart; and the sea dirges low Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid’s song, And that brief dream appear’d a life too long.

And gazing on the dead, she thought his face Faded, or alter’d into something new— Like to her father’s features, till each trace— More like and like to Lambro’s aspect grew— With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace; And starting, she awoke, and what to view? O! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there? ’Tis—’tis her father’s—fix’d upon the pair!

Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell, With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see Him whom she deem’d a habitant where dwell The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be Perchance the death of one she loved too well: Dear as her father had been to Haidee, It was a moment of that awful kind— I have seen such—but must not call to mind.

Up Juan sprung to Haidee’s bitter shriek, And caught her falling, and from off the wall Snatch’d down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak Vengeance on him who was the cause of all: Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak, Smiled scornfully, and said, ‘Within my call, A thousand scimitars await the word; Put up, young man, put up your silly sword.’

And Haidee clung around him; ‘Juan, ’tis— ’Tis Lambro—’tis my father! Kneel with me— He will forgive us—yes—it must be—yes. O! dearest father, in this agony Of pleasure and of pain—even while I kiss Thy garment’s hem with transport, can it be That doubt should mingle with my filial joy? Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy.’

High and inscrutable the old man stood, Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye— Not always signs with him of calmest mood: He look’d upon her, but gave no reply; Then turn’d to Juan, in whose cheek the blood Oft came and went, as there resolved to die; In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring On the first foe whom Lambro’s call might bring.

‘Young man, your sword;’ so Lambro once more said: Juan replied, ‘Not while this arm is free.’ The old man’s cheek grew pale, but not with dread, And drawing from his belt a pistol, he Replied, ‘Your blood be then on your own head.’ Then look’d dose at the flint, as if to see ’Twas fresh—for he had lately used the lock— And next proceeded quietly to cock.

It has a strange quick jar upon the ear, That cocking of a pistol, when you know A moment more will bring the sight to bear Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so; A gentlemanly distance, not too near, If you have got a former friend for foe; But after being fired at once or twice, The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.

Lambro presented, and one instant more Had stopp’d this Canto, and Don Juan’s breath, When Haidee threw herself her boy before; Stern as her sire: ‘On me,’ she cried, ‘let death Descend—the fault is mine; this fatal shore He found—but sought not. I have pledged my faith; I love him—I will die with him: I knew Your nature’s firmness—know your daughter’s too.’

A minute past, and she had been all tears, And tenderness, and infancy; but now She stood as one who champion’d human fears— Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo’d the blow; And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers, She drew up to her height, as if to show A fairer mark; and with a fix’d eye scann’d Her father’s face—but never stopp’d his hand.

He gazed on her, and she on him; ’twas strange How like they look’d! the expression was the same; Serenely savage, with a little change In the large dark eye’s mutual-darted flame; For she, too, was as one who could avenge, If cause should be—a lioness, though tame. Her father’s blood before her father’s face Boil’d up, and proved her truly of his race.

I said they were alike, their features and Their stature, differing but in sex and years; Even to the delicacy of their hand There was resemblance, such as true blood wears; And now to see them, thus divided, stand In fix’d ferocity, when joyous tears And sweet sensations should have welcomed both, Show what the passions are in their full growth.

The father paused a moment, then withdrew His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still, And looking on her, as to look her through, ‘Not I,’ he said, ‘have sought this stranger’s ill; Not I have made this desolation: few Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill; But I must do my duty—how thou hast Done thine, the present vouches for the past.

‘Let him disarm; or, by my father’s head, His own shall roll before you like a ball!’ He raised his whistle, as the word he said, And blew; another answer’d to the call, And rushing in disorderly, though led, And arm’d from boot to turban, one and all, Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; He gave the word,—‘Arrest or slay the Frank.’

Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew His daughter; while compress’d within his clasp, ’Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew; In vain she struggled in her father’s grasp— His arms were like a serpent’s coil: then flew Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp, The file of pirates; save the foremost, who Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through.

The second had his cheek laid open; but The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took The blows upon his cutlass, and then put His own well in; so well, ere you could look, His man was floor’d, and helpless at his foot, With the blood running like a little brook From two smart sabre gashes, deep and red— One on the arm, the other on the head.

And then they bound him where he fell, and bore Juan from the apartment: with a sign Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore, Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine. They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar Until they reach’d some galliots, placed in line; On board of one of these, and under hatches, They stow’d him, with strict orders to the watches.

The world is full of strange vicissitudes, And here was one exceedingly unpleasant: A gentleman so rich in the world’s goods, Handsome and young, enjoying all the present, Just at the very time when he least broods On such a thing is suddenly to sea sent, Wounded and chain’d, so that he cannot move, And all because a lady fell in love.

Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic, Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea! Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic; For if my pure libations exceed three, I feel my heart become so sympathetic, That I must have recourse to black Bohea: ’Tis pity wine should be so deleterious, For tea and coffee leave us much more serious,

Unless when qualified with thee, Cogniac! Sweet Naiad of the Phlegethontic rill! Ah! why the liver wilt thou thus attack, And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill? I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack (In each sense of the word), whene’er I fill My mild and midnight beakers to the brim, Wakes me next morning with its synonym.