The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 62

Could not at first expound what was amiss.

LXXV.

At length she said, that in a slumber sound She dreamed a dream, of walking in a wood-- A "wood obscure," like that where Dante found[354]

Himself in at the age when all grow good;[gz]

Life's half-way house, where dames with virtue crowned Run much less risk of lovers turning rude; And that this wood was full of pleasant fruits, And trees of goodly growth and spreading roots;

LXXVI.

And in the midst a golden apple grew,-- A most prodigious pippin--but it hung Rather too high and distant; that she threw Her glances on it, and then, longing, flung Stones and whatever she could pick up, to Bring down the fruit, which still perversely clung To its own bough, and dangled yet in sight, But always at a most provoking height;[ha]

LXXVII.

That on a sudden, when she least had hope, It fell down of its own accord before Her feet; that her first movement was to stoop And pick it up, and bite it to the core; That just as her young lip began to ope[hb]

Upon the golden fruit the vision bore, A bee flew out, and stung her to the heart, And so--she woke with a great scream and start.

LXXVIII.

All this she told with some confusion and Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand To expound their vain and visionary gleams.

I've known some odd ones which seemed really planned Prophetically, or that which one deems A "strange coincidence," to use a phrase By which such things are settled now-a-days.[355]

LXXIX.

The damsels, who had thoughts of some great harm, Began, as is the consequence of fear, To scold a little at the false alarm That broke for nothing on their sleeping ear.

The matron, too, was wroth to leave her warm Bed for the dream she had been obliged to hear, And chafed at poor Dudu, who only sighed, And said, that she was sorry she had cried.

Lx.x.x.

"I've heard of stories of a c.o.c.k and bull; But visions of an apple and a bee, To take us from our natural rest, and pull The whole Oda from their beds at half-past three, Would make us think the moon is at its full.

You surely are unwell, child! we must see, To-morrow, what his Highness's physician Will say to this hysteric of a vision.

Lx.x.xI.

"And poor Juanna, too, the child's first night Within these walls, to be broke in upon With such a clamour--I had thought it right That the young stranger should not lie alone, And, as the quietest of all, she might With you, Dudu, a good night's rest have known: But now I must transfer her to the charge Of Lolah--though her couch is not so large."

Lx.x.xII.

Lolah's eyes sparkled at the proposition; But poor Dudu, with large drops in her own, Resulting from the scolding or the vision, Implored that present pardon might be shown For this first fault, and that on no condition (She added in a soft and piteous tone) Juanna should be taken from her, and Her future dreams should be all kept in hand.

Lx.x.xIII.

She promised never more to have a dream, At least to dream so loudly as just now; She wondered at herself how she could scream-- 'T was foolish, nervous, as she must allow, A fond hallucination, and a theme For laughter--but she felt her spirits low, And begged they would excuse her; she'd get over This weakness in a few hours, and recover.

Lx.x.xIV.

And here Juanna kindly interposed, And said she felt herself extremely well Where she then was, as her sound sleep disclosed, When all around rang like a tocsin bell; She did not find herself the least disposed To quit her gentle partner, and to dwell Apart from one who had no sin to show, Save that of dreaming once "mal-a-propos."

Lx.x.xV.

As thus Juanna spoke, Dudu turned round And hid her face within Juanna's breast: Her neck alone was seen, but that was found The colour of a budding rose's crest.[hc]

I can't tell why she blushed, nor can expound The mystery of this rupture of their test; All that I know is, that the facts I state Are true as Truth has ever been of late,

Lx.x.xVI.

And so good night to them,--or, if you will, Good morrow--for the c.o.c.k had crown, and light Began to clothe each Asiatic hill, And the mosque crescent struggled into sight Of the long caravan, which in the chill Of dewy dawn wound slowly round each height That stretches to the stony belt, which girds Asia, where Kaff looks down upon the Kurds.[356]

Lx.x.xVII.

With the first ray, or rather grey of morn, Gulbeyaz rose from restlessness; and pale As Pa.s.sion rises, with its bosom worn, Arrayed herself with mantle, gem, and veil.

The Nightingale that sings with the deep thorn, Which fable places in her breast of wail, Is lighter far of heart and voice than those Whose headlong pa.s.sions form their proper woes.

Lx.x.xVIII.

And that's the moral of this composition, If people would but see its real drift;-- But _that_ they will not do without suspicion, Because all gentle readers have the gift Of closing 'gainst the light their orbs of vision: While gentle writers also love to lift Their voices 'gainst each other, which is natural, The numbers are too great for them to flatter all.

Lx.x.xIX.

Rose the Sultana from a bed of splendour, Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried[357]

Aloud because his feelings were too tender To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side,-- So beautiful that Art could little mend her, Though pale with conflicts between Love and Pride;-- So agitated was she with her error, She did not even look into the mirror.

XC.

Also arose about the self-same time, Perhaps a little later, her great Lord, Master of thirty kingdoms so sublime, And of a wife by whom he was abhorred; A thing of much less import in that clime-- At least to those of incomes which afford The filling up their whole connubial cargo-- Than where two wives are under an embargo.

XCI.

He did not think much on the matter, nor Indeed on any other: as a man He liked to have a handsome paramour At hand, as one may like to have a fan, And therefore of Circa.s.sians had good store, As an amus.e.m.e.nt after the Divan; Though an unusual fit of love, or duty, Had made him lately bask in his bride's beauty.

XCII.

And now he rose; and after due ablutions Exacted by the customs of the East, And prayers and other pious evolutions, He drank six cups of coffee at the least, And then withdrew to hear about the Russians, Whose victories had recently increased In Catherine's reign, whom Glory still adores, As greatest of all sovereigns and w----s.

XCIII.

But oh, thou grand legitimate Alexander![hd][358]

Her son's son, let not this last phrase offend Thine ear, if it should reach--and now rhymes wander Almost as far as Petersburgh, and lend A dreadful impulse to each loud meander Of murmuring Liberty's wide waves, which blend Their roar even with the Baltic's--so you be Your father's son, 't is quite enough for me.

XCIV.

To call men love-begotten, or proclaim[he]

Their mothers as the antipodes of Timon, That hater of Mankind, would be a shame, A libel, or whate'er you please to rhyme on: But people's ancestors are History's game;[hf]

And if one Lady's slip could leave a crime on All generations, I should like to know What pedigree the best would have to show?[359]

XCV.

Had Catherine and the Sultan understood Their own true interests, which Kings rarely know, Until 't is taught by lessons rather rude, There was a way to end their strife, although Perhaps precarious, had they but thought good, Without the aid of Prince or Plenipo: She to dismiss her guards and he his Harem, And for their other matters, meet and share 'em.

XCVI.