The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 127

And Juan, on retiring for the night, Felt restless, and perplexed, and compromised: He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright Than Adeline (such is advice) advised; If he had known exactly his own plight, He probably would have philosophised: A great resource to all, and ne'er denied Till wanted; therefore Juan only sighed.

XIII.

He sighed;--the next resource is the full moon, Where all sighs are deposited; and now It happened luckily, the chaste orb shone As clear as such a climate will allow; And Juan's mind was in the proper tone To hail her with the apostrophe--"O thou!"

Of amatory egotism the _Tuism_,[777]

Which further to explain would be a truism.

XIV.

But Lover, Poet, or Astronomer-- Shepherd, or swain--whoever may behold, Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her; Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err); Deep secrets to her rolling light are told; The Ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways, And also hearts--if there be truth in lays.

XV.

Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed For contemplation rather than his pillow: The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed, Let in the rippling sound of the lake's billow, With all the mystery by midnight caused: Below his window waved (of course) willow; And he stood gazing out on the cascade That flashed and after darkened in the shade.

XVI.

Upon his table or his toilet,[778]--_which_ Of these is not exactly ascertained,-- (I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch Of nicety, where a fact is to be gained,) A lamp burned high, while he leant from a niche, Where many a Gothic ornament remained, In chiselled stone and painted gla.s.s, and all That Time has left our fathers of their Hall.

XVII.

Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw His chamber door wide open[779]--and went forth Into a gallery of a sombre hue, Long, furnished with old pictures of great worth, Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too, As doubtless should be people of high birth; But by dim lights the portraits of the dead Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread.

XVIII.

The forms of the grim Knight and pictured Saint Look living in the moon; and as you turn Backward and forward to the echoes faint Of your own footsteps--voices from the Urn Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern, As if to ask how you can dare to keep A vigil there, where all but Death should sleep.

XIX.

And the pale smile of Beauties in the grave, The charms of other days, in starlight gleams, Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams On ours, or spars within some dusky cave,[780]

But Death is imaged in their shadowy beams.

A picture is the past; even ere its frame Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same.

XX.

As Juan mused on Mutability, Or on his Mistress--terms synonymous-- No sound except the echo of his sigh Or step ran sadly through that antique house; When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh, A supernatural agent--or a mouse, Whose little nibbling rustle will embarra.s.s Most people as it plays along the arras.

XXI.

It was no mouse--but lo! a monk, arrayed[781]

In cowl and beads, and dusky garb, appeared, Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard; His garments only a slight murmur made; He moved as shadowy as the Sisters weird,[782]

But slowly; and as he pa.s.sed Juan by, Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye.

XXII.

Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint Of such a Spirit in these halls of old, But thought, like most men, that there was nothing in 't Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold, Coined from surviving Superst.i.tion's mint, Which pa.s.ses ghosts in currency like gold, But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper.

And did he see this? or was it a vapour?

XXIII.

Once, twice, thrice pa.s.sed, repa.s.sed--the thing of air, Or earth beneath, or Heaven, or t' other place; And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair Twine like a knot of snakes around his face; He taxed his tongue for words, which were not granted, To ask the reverend person what he wanted.

XXIV.

The third time, after a still longer pause, The shadow pa.s.sed away--but where? the hall Was long, and thus far there was no great cause To think his vanis.h.i.+ng unnatural: Doors there were many, through which, by the laws Of physics, bodies whether short or tall Might come or go; but Juan could not state Through which the Spectre seemed to evaporate.

XXV.

He stood--how long he knew not, but it seemed An age--expectant, powerless, with his eyes Strained on the spot where first the figure gleamed Then by degrees recalled his energies, And would have pa.s.sed the whole off as a dream, But could not wake; he was, he did surmise, Waking already, and returned at length Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength.

XXVI.

All there was as he left it: still his taper Burned, and not _blue_, as modest tapers use, Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour; He rubbed his eyes, and they did not refuse Their office: he took up an old newspaper; The paper was right easy to peruse; He read an article the King attacking, And a long eulogy of "Patent Blacking."

XXVII.

This savoured of this world; but his hand shook: He shut his door, and after having read A paragraph, I think about Horne Tooke, Undressed, and rather slowly went to bed.

There, couched all snugly on his pillow's nook, With what he had seen his phantasy he fed; And though it was no opiate, slumber crept Upon him by degrees, and so he slept.

XXVIII.

He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed, Pondered upon his visitant or vision, And whether it ought not to be disclosed, At risk of being quizzed for superst.i.tion.

The more he thought, the more his mind was posed: In the mean time, his valet, whose precision Was great, because his master brooked no less, Knocked to inform him it was time to dress.

XXIX.

He dressed; and like young people he was wont To take some trouble with his toilet, but This morning rather spent less time upon 't; Aside his very mirror soon was put; His curls fell negligently o'er his front, His clothes were not curbed to their usual cut, His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side.

x.x.x.

And when he walked down into the Saloon, He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea, Which he perhaps had not discovered soon, Had it not happened scalding hot to be, Which made him have recourse unto his spoon; So much _distrait_ he was, that all could see That something was the matter--Adeline The first--but _what_ she could not well divine.

x.x.xI.

She looked, and saw him pale, and turned as pale Herself; then hastily looked down, and muttered Something, but what's not stated in my tale.

Lord Henry said, his m.u.f.fin was ill b.u.t.tered; The d.u.c.h.ess of Fitz-Fulke played with her veil, And looked at Juan hard, but nothing uttered.

Aurora Raby with her large dark eyes Surveyed him with a kind of calm surprise.

x.x.xII.

But seeing him all cold and silent still, And everybody wondering more or less, Fair Adeline inquired, "If he were ill?"

He started, and said, "Yes--no--rather--yes."

The family physician had great skill, And being present, now began to express His readiness to feel his pulse and tell The cause, but Juan said, he was "quite well."

x.x.xIII.

"Quite well; yes,--no."--These answers were mysterious, And yet his looks appeared to sanction both, However they might savour of delirious; Something like illness of a sudden growth Weighed on his spirit, though by no means serious: But for the rest, as he himself seemed both To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted It was not the physician that he wanted.

x.x.xIV.