Selected Works of George Gordon, Lord Byron

     I
NOTHING so difficult as a beginning
  In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
  The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning;
  Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
Till our own weakness shows us what we are.

     II
But Time, which brings all beings to their level,
  And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
Man,--and, as we would hope,--perhaps the devil,
  That neither of their intellects are vast:
While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
  We know not this--the blood flows on too fast;
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.

     III
As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow,
  And wish'd that others held the same opinion;
They took it up when my days grew more mellow,
  And other minds acknowledged my dominion:
Now my sere fancy 'falls into the yellow
  Leaf,' and Imagination droops her pinion,
And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk
Turns what was once romantic to burlesque.

     IV
And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
  'T is that I may not weep; and if I weep,
'T is that our nature cannot always bring
  Itself to apathy, for we must steep
Our hearts first in the depths of Lethe's spring,
  Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep:
Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx;
A mortal mother would on Lethe fix.

     V
Some have accused me of a strange design
  Against the creed and morals of the land,
And trace it in this poem every line:
  I don't pretend that I quite understand
My own meaning when I would be very fine;
  But the fact is that I have nothing plann'd,
Unless it were to be a moment merry,
A novel word in my vocabulary.

     VI
To the kind reader of our sober clime
  This way of writing will appear exotic;
Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme,
  Who sang when chivalry was more Quixotic,
And revell'd in the fancies of the time,
  True knights, chaste dames, huge giants, kings despotic:
But all these, save the last, being obsolete,
I chose a modern subject as more meet.

     VII
How I have treated it, I do not know;
  Perhaps no better than they have treated me
Who have imputed such designs as show
  Not what they saw, but what they wish'd to see:
But if it gives them pleasure, be it so;
  This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free:
Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear,
And tells me to resume my story here.

     VIII
Young Juan and his lady-love were left
  To their own hearts' most sweet society;
Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft
  With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms; he
Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft,
  Though foe to love; and yet they could not be
Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring,
Before one charm or hope had taken wing.

     IX
Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their
  Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail;
The blank grey was not made to blast their hair,
  But like the climes that know nor snow nor hail
They were all summer: lightning might assail
  And shiver them to ashes, but to trail
A long and snake-like life of dull decay
Was not for them--they had too little day.

     X
They were alone once more; for them to be
  Thus was another Eden; they were never
Weary, unless when separate: the tree
  Cut from its forest root of years--the river
Damm'd from its fountain--the child from the knee
  And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever,--
Would wither less than these two torn apart;
Alas! there is no instinct like the heart--

     XI
The heart--which may be broken: happy they!
  Thrice fortunate! who of that fragile mould,
The precious porcelain of human clay,
  Break with the first fall: they can ne'er behold
The long year link'd with heavy day on day,
  And all which must be borne, and never told;
While life's strange principle will often lie
Deepest in those who long the most to die.

     XII
'Whom the gods love die young,' was said of yore,
  And many deaths do they escape by this:
The death of friends, and that which slays even more--
  The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is,
Except mere breath; and since the silent shore
  Awaits at last even those who longest miss
The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.

     XIII
Haidee and Juan thought not of the dead--
  The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made for them:
They found no fault with Time, save that he fled;
  They saw not in themselves aught to condemn:
Each was the other's mirror, and but read
  Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem,
And knew such brightness was but the reflection
Of their exchanging glances of affection.

     XIV
The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,
  The least glance better understood than words,
Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much;
  A language, too, but like to that of birds,
Known but to them, at least appearing such
  As but to lovers a true sense affords;
Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd
To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard,--

     XV
All these were theirs, for they were children still,
  And children still they should have ever been;
They were not made in the real world to fill
  A busy character in the dull scene,
But like two beings born from out a rill,
  A nymph and her beloved, all unseen
To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers,
And never know the weight of human hours.

     XVI
Moons changing had roll'd on, and changeless found
  Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys
As rarely they beheld throughout their round;
  And these were not of the vain kind which cloys,
For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound
  By the mere senses; and that which destroys
Most love, possession, unto them appear'd
A thing which each endearment more endear'd.

     XVII
Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful
  But theirs was love in which the mind delights
To lose itself when the old world grows dull,
  And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights,
Intrigues, adventures of the common school,
  Its petty passions, marriages, and flights,
Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet more,
Whose husband only knows her not a whore.

     XVIII
Hard words; harsh truth; a truth which many know.
  Enough.--The faithful and the fairy pair,
Who never found a single hour too slow,
  What was it made them thus exempt from care?
Young innate feelings all have felt below,
  Which perish in the rest, but in them were
Inherent--what we mortals call romantic,
And always envy, though we deem it frantic.

     XIX
This is in others a factitious state,
  An opium dream of too much youth and reading,
But was in them their nature or their fate:
  No novels e'er had set their young hearts bleeding,
For Haidee's knowledge was by no means great,
  And Juan was a boy of saintly breeding;
So that there was no reason for their loves
More than for those of nightingales or doves.

     XX
They gazed upon the sunset; 't is an hour
  Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
For it had made them what they were: the power
  Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies,
When happiness had been their only dower,
  And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties;
Charm'd with each other, all things charm'd that brought
The past still welcome as the present thought.

     XXI
I know not why, but in that hour to-night,
  Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came,
And swept, as 't were, across their hearts' delight,
  Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame,
When one is shook in sound, and one in sight;
  And thus some boding flash'd through either frame,
And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh,
While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye.

     XXII
That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate
  And follow far the disappearing sun,
As if their last day! of a happy date
  With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone;
Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate--
  He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none,
His glance inquired of hers for some excuse
For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse.

     XXIII
She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort
  Which makes not others smile; then turn'd aside:
Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,
  And master'd by her wisdom or her pride;
When Juan spoke, too--it might be in sport-
  Of this their mutual feeling, she replied-
'If it should be so,--but--it cannot be--
Or I at least shall not survive to see.'

     XXIV
Juan would question further, but she press'd
  His lip to hers, and silenced him with this,
And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast,
  Defying augury with that fond kiss;
And no doubt of all methods 't is the best:
  Some people prefer wine--'t is not amiss;
I have tried both; so those who would a part take
May choose between the headache and the heartache.

     XXV
One of the two, according to your choice,
  Woman or wine, you 'll have to undergo;
Both maladies are taxes on our joys:
  But which to choose, I really hardly know;
And if I had to give a casting voice,
  For both sides I could many reasons show,
And then decide, without great wrong to either,
It were much better to have both than neither.

     XXVI
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.

     XXVII
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.

     XXVIII
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.

     XXIX
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.

     XXX
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 't is still to be)
Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see.

     XXXI
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.

     XXXII
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:
  'T was 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.

     XXXIII
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.

     XXXIV
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.

     XXXV
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?
Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there?
'T is--'t is her father's--fix'd upon the pair!

     XXXVI
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.

     XXXVII
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.'

     XXXVIII
And Haidee clung around him; 'Juan, 't is--
  'T is Lambro--'t is my father! Kneel with me--
He will forgive us--yes--it must be--yes.
  Oh! 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.'

     XXXIX
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.

     XL
'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
'T was fresh--for he had lately used the lock--
And next proceeded quietly to cock.

     XLI
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.

     XLII
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.'

     XLIII
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.

     XLIV
He gazed on her, and she on him; 't was 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.

     XLV
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.

     XLVI
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.

     XLVII
'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.'

     XLVIII
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.

     XLIX
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.

     L
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.

     LI
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.

     LII
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:
'T is pity wine should be so deleterious,
For tea and coffee leave us much more serious,

     LIII
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.

     LIV
I leave Don Juan for the present, safe--
  Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded;
Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half
  Of those with which his Haidee's bosom bounded?
She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe,
  And then give way, subdued because surrounded;
Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez,
Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.

     LV
There the large olive rains its amber store
  In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit,
Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er;
  But there, too, many a poison-tree has root,
And midnight listens to the lion's roar,
  And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot,
Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan;
And as the soil is, so the heart of man.

     LVI
Africa is all the sun's, and as her earth
  Her human day is kindled; full of power
For good or evil, burning from its birth,
  The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour,
And like the soil beneath it will bring forth:
  Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower;
But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force,
Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

     LVII
Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,
  Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair,
Till slowly charged with thunder they display
  Terror to earth, and tempest to the air,
Had held till now her soft and milky way;
  But overwrought with passion and despair,
The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains.

     LVIII
The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
  And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
His blood was running on the very floor
  Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;
Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,--
  Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan;
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.

     LIX
A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes
  Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er;
And her head droop'd as when the lily lies
  O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids bore
Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;
  Of herbs and cordials they produced their store,
But she defied all means they could employ,
Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.

     LX
Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill--
  With nothing livid, still her lips were red;
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;
  No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead;
Corruption came not in each mind to kill
  All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul--
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

     LXI
The ruling passion, such as marble shows
  When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there,
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws
  O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,
  And ever-dying Gladiator's air,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.

     LXII
She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,
  Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
A strange sensation which she must partake
  Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache
  Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
For, for a while, the furies made a pause.

     LXIII
She look'd on many a face with vacant eye,
  On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why,
  And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh
  Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

     LXIV
Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;
  Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away;
She recognized no being, and no spot,
  However dear or cherish'd in their day;
They changed from room to room--but all forgot--
  Gentle, but without memory she lay;
At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning
Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning.

     LXV
And then a slave bethought her of a harp;
  The harper came, and tuned his instrument;
At the first notes, irregular and sharp,
  On him her flashing eyes a moment bent,
Then to the wall she turn'd as if to warp
  Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent;
And he begun a long low island song
Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.

     LXVI
Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
  In time to his old tune; he changed the theme,
And sung of love; the fierce name struck through all
  Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream
Of what she was, and is, if ye could call
  To be so being; in a gushing stream
The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain,
Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.

     LXVII
Short solace, vain relief!--thought came too quick,
  And whirl'd her brain to madness; she arose
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
  And flew at all she met, as on her foes;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,
  Although her paroxysm drew towards its dose;--
Hers was a phrensy which disdain'd to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.

     LXVIII
Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense;
  Nothing could make her meet her father's face,
Though on all other things with looks intense
  She gazed, but none she ever could retrace;
Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
  Avail'd for either; neither change of place,
Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her
Senses to sleep--the power seem'd gone for ever.

     LXIX
Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last,
  Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show
A parting pang, the spirit from her past:
  And they who watch'd her nearest could not know
The very instant, till the change that cast
  Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow,
Glazed o'er her eyes--the beautiful, the black--
Oh! to possess such lustre--and then lack!

     LXX
She died, but not alone; she held within
  A second principle of life, which might
Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin;
  But closed its little being without light,
And went down to the grave unborn, wherein
  Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one blight;
In vain the dews of Heaven descend above
The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.

     LXXI
Thus lived--thus died she; never more on her
  Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made
Through years or moons the inner weight to bear,
  Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By age in earth: her days and pleasures were
  Brief, but delightful--such as had not staid
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.

     LXXII
That isle is now all desolate and bare,
  Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away;
None but her own and father's grave is there,
  And nothing outward tells of human clay;
Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair,
  No stone is there to show, no tongue to say
What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's,
Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

     LXXIII
But many a Greek maid in a loving song
  Sighs o'er her name; and many an islander
With her sire's story makes the night less long;
  Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her:
If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong--
  A heavy price must all pay who thus err,
In some shape; let none think to fly the danger,
For soon or late Love is his own avenger.

     LXXIV
But let me change this theme which grows too sad,
  And lay this sheet of sorrows on the shelf;
I don't much like describing people mad,
  For fear of seeming rather touch'd myself--
Besides, I 've no more on this head to add;
  And as my Muse is a capricious elf,
We 'll put about, and try another tack
With Juan, left half-kill'd some stanzas back.