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Coffee

Coffee is
Secrat of
Every day
For morning
Eneargy...

To day id'not
Take cofee
Come with haadache...
And sleep;

My body also lazy..
The coffee making
Somthig
For me...

I want to avoid
Coffee
You also try
To avoid coffee
For your feautere
Health...

Take black tea
Is better with good....! ! !

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Better Be Good To Me

(m. chapman, n. chinn, h. knight)
Producer: carter
Albums: private dancer (84), simply the best (91),
The collected recordings (94)
Grammy award: best rock vocal performance, female (85)
A prisoner of your love
Entangled in your web
Hot whispers in the night
Im captured by your spell
Oh yes Im touched by this show of emotion
Should I be fractured by your lack of devotion
Should i, should i?
You better be good to me
Thats how its gotta be now
Cause I dont have no use
For what you losely call the truth
You better be good to me
I think its also right
That we dont need to fight
We stand face to face
And you present your case
And I know you keep telling me that you love me
And I really do wanna believe
But did you think Id just accept you in blind faith
Oh sure babe, anything to please you
You better be good to me
Thats how its gotta be now
Cause I dont have the time
For your over loaded lines
You better be good to me
And I really dont see why its so hard to be good to me
And I dont understand whats your plan that you cant be good to me
What I cant feel I surely cannot see, why cant you be good to me
And if its not real I do not wish to see, why cant you be good to me

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Sonnet 96: Thought, With Good Cause

Thought, with good cause thou lik'st so well the Night,
Since kind or chance gives both one livery,
Both sadly black, both blackly darken'd be,
Night barr'd from sun, thou from thy own sunlight;

Silence in both displays his sullen might,
Slow Heaviness in both holds one degree--
That full of doubts, thou of perplexity;
Thy tears express Night's native moisture right.

In both a mazeful solitariness:
In Night of sprites the ghastly powers to stir,
In thee, or sprites or sprited ghastliness.

But, but (alas) Night's side the odds hath fur,
For that at length yet doth invite some rest,
Thou though still tir'd, yet still do'st it detest.

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Passtime with good company

1 Pastime with good company
2 I love and shall unto I die.
3 Grudge whoso will, but none deny,
4 So God be pleased, this live will I.
5 For my pastance
6 Hunt, sing, and dance.
7 My heart is set
8 All godely sport
9 To my comfort.
10 Who shall me let?

11 Youth will have needs daliance,
12 Of good or ill some pastance.
13 Company me thinketh then best
14 All thoftes and fantasies to digest.
15 For idleness
16 Is chief mistress
17 Of vices all.
18 Than who can say
19 But "pass the day"
20 Is best of all?

21 Company with honesty
22 Is virtue, and vice to flee.
23 Company is good or ill
24 But every man hath his free will.
25 The best ensue,
26 The worst eschew,
27 My mind shall be.
28 Virtue to use,
29 Vice to refuse,
30 I shall use me.

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I Better Be Good

If I ain't cool
My daddy gonna send me
To Military School
If I ain't nice
My girlie gonna freeze me
With cold shoulder ice
If I'm real late
My teacher gonna use me
For alligator bait
So, I better be good
I better be good
If I jump on the gas
The cops are gonna jump
All over my back
If I smoke too much
Doctor says he's gonna
Put my lungs in a crutch
If I'm caught without my pants
Consuelo's dad is gonna shoot
Until he sees me dance
So, I better be good
I had better be good
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - Uh, uh, uh, uh
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
You better be nice tonight
If I spray it on the seat
Lady gonna tie a big knot
In the meat
If I spewey too fast
Lover's gonna stick
My Wrangler in a cast
If zipper grabs skin
I'll know I had it out
When I shoulda kept it in
Ow.
I better be good
I better be good
I better be good
Ooh.
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - Uh, uh, uh, uh
Nice, nice, nice
I'd better be nice tonight - yeah
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice

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A Day Gone By

What are you feared off literally?
Why are you raged or rattled mentally?
Has any one injured you fatally?
You fear about life is unfounded totally

Nothing comes up unusually
Sun makes day and comes up with good rally
Day move on and life comes to full swing
We all play part in circus ring

Why do we care where from wind blows?
Why do we naturally remain perturbed over river’s flow?
Nothing is going to stop with our concern
It may die out soon with their natural turn

You give loud call at hills
It may respond well with thrills
It is same what you bear in mind
Same way it will come back to find

Roads may be made zigzag way
But they may take you not away
Your final destiny is passing through design
You will have to reconcile and resign

Yesterday may remain as day gone by
Today may come as an opportunity to try
Love to like it and accept whatever be the outcome
Enjoy till last and endorse it with welcome

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If a Prevention With Good Health Began

To those who oppose,
A national health care be imposed...
To insure the ones exposed without it now.
Are kept without it now!
With efforts they avow.

And the millions who are not covered,
With a suffering done to them...
Known and discovered.
Cures of truth are not fed to them.
When this should be available.
Free of debated questions,
With no end.
But common sense for them,
Has long been dropped as an option.

Too many support,
Insitutions that thrive on death.
Institutions wishing to keep fear and illnesses kept,
To market diseases.
And increase the greeding of wealth.

If a prevention with good health began...
As an intention,
These mammoth implementing producing plants,
Would have to close.
To blow those snots with upturned noses.

And those in the know do not want to take that chance.
Since Opportunities to feed on the weaknesses of people...
Is the only way to keep them and those golf balls on course!

'Fore! '

The well being publicly mention to supply expert opinion!
Nothing more to suspect.
But a whole lot less can be expected.

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On Loan With Good Credit and Leased

I don't think you understand,
From which environment I've come.
You may have visions of changing seasons.
With dressed up turkeys and talking trees.
Dancing sugarplums and snowmen smoking on pipes.
And snowflakes smiling as they drift through the breeze.

Not a reindeer flew off any project building I lived in.
And I remembered waiting to see this!
And the gunshots heard?
Weren't from chestnuts roasting in an open fire.
And the frost nipping on our noses then...
Jack had nothing to do with that.
A lack of money to pay the oil bill...
Delivered many realities.

When we played in the snow...
And returned to heat our hands on exposed radiators,
Whistling from steam...
We went to our respective homes,
To make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
IF the bread was there.

I don't think you understand,
From which environment I've come.
You may have visions of changing seasons.
With dressed up turkeys and talking trees.
Dancing sugarplums and snowmen smoking on pipes.
And snowflakes smiling as they drift through the breeze.

However...
I did grow up with many folks with those fantasies.
The same ones now finding it difficult,
To believe.
And accept.
Life!
As it is!
Knowing they've already had that life.
As it was wished to be!
On loan with good credit and leased.

Now many are forced to pay those debts.
And disgraced in places where truth is faced!
Hoping to find a good excuse to escape,
From the close hold of too much reality!

'Can you please loosen your hold a bit?
I don't intend to get too familiar with this! '

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Robin

Robin and Robin!
Come to my cabin.
We can play in
With fuss and fun.

You can fly being gay
And catch insect prey.
As you like you play:
I won’t be in the way.

A beauty is your tail.
How ably you waggle!
When in air you sail
You are not fragile.

When you sing a song,
By your tail you clang.
You hold it upright,
Swing it down to spread

And gather it up
Like a drum beat,
Much in a rhythm
To your crooning rhyme.

Black in white is good.
White in black is good.
You’re black and white
And are superbly bright.

Chest and dorsal are black.
Ventral is velvet white.
Wings too bear white
You are white by black.

Koel like is Latha;
You are my Asha,
With look seductive
And voice captive.

You are nice to sing..
You’re nicer by wing.
Love, can you spring?
I love you, Robin.

With me, you are free.
Anytime you can flee.
I make you happy
When you are with me.

Don’t feel it a sin
To be with me in.
You will have fun,
Which is your win

Robin and Robin!
Come to my cabin.
I’ll play a tune.
You rest and preen.
28.04.2001, Pmdi

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Breaking Unbreakable Bars

Yes it's true I choose
To dream an impossible dream
To fight an unbeatable foe
To go back to that valley of sorrow
Where all brave fear and dare not to go

To change,
An unchangable wrong
For Love that burns as a star
To fight when I'm so tired so weary
To break unbreakable bars

For this is my plan to follow that love
No matter how hopeless no matter how hard
To fight for the right things without question or pause
To fight that evil
For love there is no greater cause

Also because I know that
For love to be true
One must quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm at last laid to rest

But for right now, my family
And I hope I dont die
Before this dream comes true
The dream that I don't deny
The dream of being loved by you

So I write about these things
The toughest things
That I ever had to do
Hoping that maybe this last thought
Might get through

What you won't let go of
No one can take from you

So I've decided to speak
Of the worst of the Hells
That I been through
Because in order to stop the abuse
It also meant that I'd lose you

Also I know that your world will be
A better place because of this
Than for the man scorned, covered with horrible scars
For I still fight with courage
To break unbreakable bars

It is for them, My family
I want them to know
The contents of my heart
These are the words that let me show
The expressions, as a form of art

And when I think
Back into the times of abuse
Attempting to understand why
When I remember the violence and sins
Truly, Truly I hear loves spirit cry

So no matter how hopeless
No matter how far
I know the weakness of abuses bars
For it is truth and change,
Love, that burns as a star

So no matter how hopless
No matter how hard
No matter how weary
No matter how scarred
Love is breaking unbreakable bars

And the truth is
And I wish I could find a better way
That these word could be wrote
To talk to them, tell them about the death grip abuse
Has at our throats

So should I live or should I die
I love you so much
I'm not ever not going to try
I love you so much
I refuse to say good-by

I'll not quit with this dream so close, so true
It's for love
I know unbreakable bars will break into

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The Sensation Captain

No nobler captain ever trod
Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD,
So good - so wise - so brave, he!
But still, as all his friends would own,
He had one folly - one alone -
This Captain in the Navy.

I do not think I ever knew
A man so wholly given to
Creating a sensation,
Or p'raps I should in justice say -
To what in an Adelphi play
Is known as "situation."

He passed his time designing traps
To flurry unsuspicious chaps -
The taste was his innately;
He couldn't walk into a room
Without ejaculating "Boom!"
Which startled ladies greatly.

He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,
Not, you will understand, in joke,
As some assume disguises;
He did it, actuated by
A simple love of mystery
And fondness for surprises.

I need not say he loved a maid -
His eloquence threw into shade
All others who adored her.
The maid, though pleased at first, I know,
Found, after several years or so,
Her startling lover bored her.

So, when his orders came to sail,
She did not faint or scream or wail,
Or with her tears anoint him:
She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye,"
With laughter dancing in her eye -
Which seemed to disappoint him.

But ere he went aboard his boat,
He placed around her little throat
A ribbon, blue and yellow,
On which he hung a double-tooth -
A simple token this, in sooth -
'Twas all he had, poor fellow!

"I often wonder," he would say,
When very, very far away,
"If ANGELINA wears it?
A plan has entered in my head:
I will pretend that I am dead,
And see how ANGY bears it."

The news he made a messmate tell.
His ANGELINA bore it well,
No sign gave she of crazing;
But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,
His ANGELINA stood the shock
With fortitude amazing.

She said, "Some one I must elect
Poor ANGELINA to protect
From all who wish to harm her.
Since worthy CAPTAIN TODD is dead,
I rather feel inclined to wed
A comfortable farmer."

A comfortable farmer came
(BASSANIO TYLER was his name),
Who had no end of treasure.
He said, "My noble gal, be mine!"
The noble gal did not decline,
But simply said, "With pleasure."

When this was told to CAPTAIN TODD,
At first he thought it rather odd,
And felt some perturbation;
But very long he did not grieve,
He thought he could a way perceive
To SUCH a situation!

"I'll not reveal myself," said he,
"Till they are both in the Ecclesiastical arena;
Then suddenly I will appear,
And paralysing them with fear,
Demand my ANGELINA!"

At length arrived the wedding day;
Accoutred in the usual way
Appeared the bridal body;
The worthy clergyman began,
When in the gallant Captain ran
And cried, "Behold your TODDY!"

The bridegroom, p'raps, was terrified,
And also possibly the bride -
The bridesmaids WERE affrighted;
But ANGELINA, noble soul,
Contrived her feelings to control,
And really seemed delighted.

"My bride!" said gallant CAPTAIN TODD,
"She's mine, uninteresting clod!
My own, my darling charmer!"
"Oh dear," said she, "you're just too late -
I'm married to, I beg to state,
This comfortable farmer!"

"Indeed," the farmer said, "she's mine:
You've been and cut it far too fine!"
"I see," said TODD, "I'm beaten."
And so he went to sea once more,
"Sensation" he for aye forswore,
And married on her native shore
A lady whom he'd met before -
A lovely Otaheitan.

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Sideways

Step inside the reason why we look together then we find
Come inside the worlds a ball we rise above it as we fall
Everybodys open air so love me love me -- love me where?
A million things and one to fly (say) lifes a witch and then you smile
Took a trip inside
Your heart has seen much better days
Before we hit the high heres to you
Sideways
The moon is warm the rivers high and love, forever never dies
Check inside yourself and see that life is what you want to be
Took a ride inside
Your heart has seen much better days
And before we hit the right one heres to you, sideways
Heres looking at you sideways
Sideways
Dreaming of you sideways
Sideways
Had a dream where everybody looked like someone else
The farthest I could get from was the closest to myself
Tonite Ill dream tomorrows going to be that better day
And in the morning Ill remember you, sideways
Sideways
Sideways
Heres looking at you sideways
Sideways
Im dreaming of you sideways
Gonna give it to you sideways

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Bad Girls

(good things, good things
That bad girls do)
Bra top, tank top
Doesnt really matter cause theyre all so hot
Im going loco in puerto rico
Dark hair, tanned skin
Skating on the beach, playin innocent
They drive me crazy in miami
They know, how to, make me
Want it, crave it, need it
I love how they tease me
Its the good things that bad girls do
That makes me want to sweat, feel them wet
All over my body
Its the good things that bad girls do
Each city day or night
Theyre so fine
Im going out my mind
(good thing, good things
That bad girls do)
Nice smile, so wild
Every girl wants to get her party on
They break all the rules, in cancun
So sweet, you need
You constantly pinch yourself to believe
The games that they play, down in l.a.
They know, how to, make me
Want it, crave it, need it
I love how they work it
Its the good things that bad girls do
That makes me want to sweat, feel them wet
All over my body
Its the good things that bad girls do
Each city day or night
Theyre so fine
Im going out my mind
London city and madrid got some bad girls
Mexico and brazil got some bad girls
Dublin city and djakarta got some bad girls
Stockhlom city and berlin got some bad girls
Kuala lumpur and miami got some bad girls
Gotta really really love those bad girls
Got a thing got a thing for the bad girls
And the things they do
(good thing, good thing
That bad girls do)
Its the good things that bad girls do
That makes me want to sweat, feel them wet
All over my body
Its the good things that bad girls do
Each city day or night
Theyre so fine
Im going out my mind
They know, how to, make me
Want it, crave it, need it
I love how they tease me
Its the good things that bad girls do
That makes me want to sweat, feel them wet
All over my body
Its the good things that bad girls do
Each city day or night
Theyre so fine
Im going out my mind

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Black Friday or Condemnation Day

It is darkest and black historical day
It has to be condemned as black Friday
Many people and clergies have come out in open protest
The preachers and defender of religion have called it as bad test

Any religion can never be against women
That is for all good reason can not be the best interest
If females are to be brought up with care
With full sympathy and education everywhere

That may make them to understand of the basic values
Of religion and culture and also of their dues
What one can expect under the hegemony?
Of male domination not advocated by an almighty

Never in history has it been condemned
Whole of the country (Pakistan) has raised voice and damned
The clergies and others have supported the women education
The women are asset and honor in relation

The sentiments are hurt and country is united
No where women are harassed and subjected
To such cruelty on the name of old customs
It is in no way appreciated and spoke of wisdom

Malal Yousuf Zia* may go down in history as pioneer
Women's champion and stalwart for ages to remember
It is her role that has bought honor to the women
It is nice gesture and united feeling with good omen

Let us all pray for her recovery and well being
The fanatics have threatened death again and bent upon ruining
The moderate people are helpless with such blind approach
Let good counsel prevail and mad rush is avoided as such

Let this Friday go as special mass prayer day
Let people march over in protest and pray
For protection and their honorable elevation
It will then be real and fair equation

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Black Friday..Condemnation Day

It is darkest and black historical day
It has to be condemned as black Friday
Many people and clergies have come out in open protest
The preachers and defender of religion have called it as bad test

Any religion can never be against women
That is for all good reason can not be the best interest
If females are to be brought up with care
With full sympathy and education everywhere

That may make them to understand of the basic values
Of religion and culture and also of their dues
What one can expect under the hegemony?
Of male domination not advocated by an almighty

Never in history has it been condemned
Whole of the country (Pakistan) has raised voice and damned
The clergies and others have supported the women education
The women are asset and honor in relation

The sentiments are hurt and country is united
No where women are harassed and subjected
To such cruelty on the name of old customs
It is in no way appreciated and spoke of wisdom

Malal Yousuf Zia* may go down in history as pioneer
Women's champion and stalwart for ages to remember
It is her role that has bought honor to the women
It is nice gesture and united feeling with good omen

Let us all pray for her recovery and well being
The fanatics have threatened death again and bent upon ruining
The moderate people are helpless with such blind approach
Let good counsel prevail and mad rush is avoided as such

Let this Friday go as special mass prayer day
Let people march over in protest and pray
For protection and their honorable elevation
It will then be real and fair equation

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A day to start with....

Why our day starts with beautiful music in ear?
Why it doesn’t fail even for single day in year?
Cuckoo airs melody at an appointed hour
Whole atmosphere echoes it with good odor

All birds have special character
We may find them usually in every sector
They have their own specialty to serve the mankind
Each one holds prominence and has specialty of its kind

Cuckoo is only one bird with melodious voice
We exclaim and appreciate without any choice
She airs lovely music in air when breeze is cool
Arrival of sun shine with her song may alert even fool

It is pleasant to hear her voice with music
It generates thrill and creates good magic
God might have gifted it to one in million
Music with beauty is considered as real union

Cuckoo is black but considered as melody queen
Everybody may listen to and seems to be very keen
Pigeon may be called peace ambassador
Cuckoo too may be called God's messenger

It is early definitely some signal in the morning
Telling the world about impeding danger and stern warning
You be sweet to all” and remain close to heart
Jump to brisk but later on turn it to good start

Nature is very kind to human being
It doesn’t differentiate between poor and king
Its flow is uniform and even in all the direction
Seasons too follow the suit with equal action

In every action you may witness complete harmony
It may not be possible with us or in fact with many
It is tragedy and must be looked as not good sign
We must love to live with peace and feel fine

If birds don’t ignore the nature then why do we?
Why we remove the trees and make them refugee
We loose the shed and they loose the home
We know nothing and aimlessly roam


Nature never deserts us and offer fine place
How easily we can forget and replace?
We can act thankless and invite the wrath
It is one step away from loosing faith

Had there been any other option for us to follow?
We could have made the land to go barren and allow
Complete destruction of natural property to pave the way
For other things to come up and permanently stay

No body can save us from possible fall out
It will be no retreat but invitation to drought
Complete extermination of mankind without battles fought
What do we seek in reality? Survival or rout?

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Amy Lowell

Spring Day

Bath

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus
in the air.

The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water
in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water
into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.

Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance,
and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger
sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot, and the planes of light
in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water,
the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost
too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day.
I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots.

The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is
a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.


Breakfast Table

In the fresh-washed sunlight, the breakfast table is decked and white.
It offers itself in flat surrender, tendering tastes, and smells,
and colours, and metals, and grains, and the white cloth falls over its side,
draped and wide. Wheels of white glitter in the silver coffee-pot,
hot and spinning like catherine-wheels, they whirl, and twirl - and my eyes
begin to smart, the little white, dazzling wheels prick them like darts.
Placid and peaceful, the rolls of bread spread themselves in the sun to bask.
A stack of butter-pats, pyramidal, shout orange through the white, scream,
flutter, call: 'Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!' Coffee steam rises in a stream,
clouds the silver tea-service with mist, and twists up into the sunlight,
revolved, involuted, suspiring higher and higher, fluting in a thin spiral
up the high blue sky. A crow flies by and croaks at the coffee steam.
The day is new and fair with good smells in the air.


Walk

Over the street the white clouds meet, and sheer away without touching.

On the sidewalks, boys are playing marbles. Glass marbles,
with amber and blue hearts, roll together and part with a sweet
clashing noise. The boys strike them with black and red striped agates.
The glass marbles spit crimson when they are hit, and slip into the gutters
under rushing brown water. I smell tulips and narcissus in the air,
but there are no flowers anywhere, only white dust whipping up the street,
and a girl with a gay Spring hat and blowing skirts. The dust and the wind
flirt at her ankles and her neat, high-heeled patent leather shoes. Tap, tap,
the little heels pat the pavement, and the wind rustles among the flowers
on her hat.

A water-cart crawls slowly on the other side of the way. It is green and gay
with new paint, and rumbles contentedly, sprinkling clear water over
the white dust. Clear zigzagging water, which smells of tulips and narcissus.

The thickening branches make a pink `grisaille' against the blue sky.

Whoop! The clouds go dashing at each other and sheer away just in time.
Whoop! And a man's hat careers down the street in front of the white dust,
leaps into the branches of a tree, veers away and trundles ahead of the wind,
jarring the sunlight into spokes of rose-colour and green.

A motor-car cuts a swathe through the bright air, sharp-beaked, irresistible,
shouting to the wind to make way. A glare of dust and sunshine
tosses together behind it, and settles down. The sky is quiet and high,
and the morning is fair with fresh-washed air.


Midday and Afternoon

Swirl of crowded streets. Shock and recoil of traffic. The stock-still
brick facade of an old church, against which the waves of people
lurch and withdraw. Flare of sunshine down side-streets. Eddies of light
in the windows of chemists' shops, with their blue, gold, purple jars,
darting colours far into the crowd. Loud bangs and tremors,
murmurings out of high windows, whirring of machine belts,
blurring of horses and motors. A quick spin and shudder of brakes
on an electric car, and the jar of a church-bell knocking against
the metal blue of the sky. I am a piece of the town, a bit of blown dust,
thrust along with the crowd. Proud to feel the pavement under me,
reeling with feet. Feet tripping, skipping, lagging, dragging,
plodding doggedly, or springing up and advancing on firm elastic insteps.
A boy is selling papers, I smell them clean and new from the press.
They are fresh like the air, and pungent as tulips and narcissus.

The blue sky pales to lemon, and great tongues of gold blind the shop-windows,
putting out their contents in a flood of flame.


Night and Sleep

The day takes her ease in slippered yellow. Electric signs gleam out
along the shop fronts, following each other. They grow, and grow,
and blow into patterns of fire-flowers as the sky fades. Trades scream
in spots of light at the unruffled night. Twinkle, jab, snap, that means
a new play; and over the way: plop, drop, quiver, is the sidelong
sliver of a watchmaker's sign with its length on another street.
A gigantic mug of beer effervesces to the atmosphere over a tall building,
but the sky is high and has her own stars, why should she heed ours?

I leave the city with speed. Wheels whirl to take me back to my trees
and my quietness. The breeze which blows with me is fresh-washed and clean,
it has come but recently from the high sky. There are no flowers
in bloom yet, but the earth of my garden smells of tulips and narcissus.

My room is tranquil and friendly. Out of the window I can see
the distant city, a band of twinkling gems, little flower-heads with no stems.
I cannot see the beer-glass, nor the letters of the restaurants and shops
I passed, now the signs blur and all together make the city,
glowing on a night of fine weather, like a garden stirring and blowing
for the Spring.

The night is fresh-washed and fair and there is a whiff of flowers in the air.

Wrap me close, sheets of lavender. Pour your blue and purple dreams
into my ears. The breeze whispers at the shutters and mutters
queer tales of old days, and cobbled streets, and youths leaping their horses
down marble stairways. Pale blue lavender, you are the colour of the sky
when it is fresh-washed and fair . . . I smell the stars . . . they are like
tulips and narcissus . . . I smell them in the air.

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Patrick White

One Star In The Dirty Window

for the occupiers of Wall Street

One star in the window and that’s enough to see me through the darkness for another night. Trying to weave a flying carpet out of a snakepit. Toxic wavelengths of mind. Poison arrowheads that make it worse to be wounded than killed outright. And all over Perth tonight I imagine there are bruised hearts like mine and yours turning cyanotically blue from having drunk from the same tainted wellsprings of life like fish that have no choice. The apples of October have been laced with the razorblades of Halloween by the psychopathic tree that hands them out like treats to the children in the doorway of an upright coffin. And the leaves are burning up in a fever of arsenic. Spiders work the loom like the strings of the system that hooks us by our gills in its seine nets until the great wild seas of our awareness and the dangerous freedom to look for new ungovernable continents within us so we can flee the corporate corruption of this one is reduced to the neurotic dimensions of a fish farm. If you are poor. If you’re worried about how to pay the rent this month. If it’s winter and there are harpies and sprites and ghouls threatening to turn the gas, the lights, the elements of life off like trolls under the bridge your money built to bilk you until it collapses from lack of repair. If you don’t how you’re going to manage to buy your kid a birthday present this year and you’re even more afraid of Christmas. If you’re poor and your prospects are as bleak as this deserted street tonight now all the ladys-in-waiting, princes, jesters, and warring kings have called it a night and emptied their street court like a bar. If you’re chronically tortured by the rags of dignity with the blood of a lost cause upon them like something that cost your mother and father their lives to fight for. And you’re ashamed of the straitjacket you’ve been forced to wear in order to have some overseer raise a spoon to your lips three exact times of the day like banking hours and GST cheques. If you smoulder with rage like a underground cedar fire burning in your roots like fuses of lightning afraid to explode. If you’re poor. If the weight of the world is on your back heavier than any cross the spiritual spin doctors of the complicit church and their political henchmen encourage you to carry like a virtue all the way to a fabricated heaven on the installment plan, but you can’t bear the load as a volunteer stretcher-bearer anymore, carrying your own corpse to the grave, while they rave in the wealth of what they have deprived you of here and now. If you’re poor. If you feel like a subliminal archetype of guilt in the collective unconscious of a society of quisling theosophists and weight-concscious c.e.o.’s sitting down to salads of money they eat out of the skulls of the children they’ve starved to death. If you don’t make enough money in Oregon to appeal to hypocritic oaths that sit on decisive committees to see if your son is worthy of a kidney transplant. An education. Piano lessons. A future that isn’t always an echo worse than the voices we heard yesterday protesting to the vampires that without a free blood bank they didn’t stand a chance of surviving the contributions they’re expected to make at night. If you’re poor in a chilly apartment in Perth tonight and you’re being eaten alive by the eggs that have been laid on your forehead like the living host to sustain the young of the killer bees that have sewn their nettles in the honey of life like the military-industrial complex of the hive. If you’re poor and you don’t get one year’s free subscription to satellite radio on the bus you have to take to work every morning surrounded by ads for the latest Ford-150 pick up truck ready to do a man’s work at the dropp of a hard hat and then go hunting in the country, and the new black paint is trying to imitate the skin of a naked woman, because your sex life depends on what you drive, and the sumptuary laws of the lies you’re allowed to wear like a Roman triumph are too stringent to get the dirt out of the dowdy greens and browns of your serfdom long enough to get laid by the calendar girls who sit like mermaids on a brand new truck, but have never sung to you. If you’re the poor wretch sitting in the doorway of the Bank of Nova Scotia across Foster Street in the small hours of the morning like a bird that gets to pick the parasites off the back of the hippopotamus that keeps rolling over on you in your sleep. For a fee. To hold up your end of a symbiotic relationship whereby you’re expected to eat shit and call it your daily bread. Eat humiliation, a ration of rat meat, and call it a just portion. Eat your education like bitter food for thought when you see how the fascistic ignorance of antediluvian fat men and their gold-digging wives are dignified by the juke-box of the news as if the point of view of a maggot on how to turn base metal into a gold butterfly it will never become were worthy of the same air time they give to eagles. One hundred news outlets with the same six slug lines like the top hits of the day. Catastrophe du jour. With rescued puppy stories for the trimmings. Eat information like the news. It’s Chinese food of the mind. Not very filling. With a fortune-cookie and a fat tape worm of better things to come wrapped around your bowels like the noose of a downed powerline that spared the cost of the rope to lynch you by your large intestine. If you’re poor and you’re always the falling leaf and never the apple. If you’re poor and it’s always autumn to judge by the banks of junkmail and bills that are swept up on your doorsill at all times of the year. If you’re poor and you’re punished for being out on the streets after curfew for having dropped through the cracks of your caste by a neocon leper colony privatized by the messianic lobbyists of free enterprise with one finger on the scales of equal opportunity because there isn’t a feather’s worth of good in them when they go before the jackal god of death and their grubby hearts are found wanting. If you’re poor and you’re listening to the North Carolina state legislature discussing your extermination in the civic minded tones of the Pied Piper of Hamlin and you’re eating your self-respect like the plague rat of why the rich suffer. Because in their creationist myth your womb is the enemy of the state. And you the infectious carrier of the pestilence. If you’re poor and sitting by the window on a warped floor behind the heritage field stones of an upstairs ghetto apartment in Perth feeling like the second coming of the Irish potato famine with no where to emigrate this time to be third in line below the Scotch and English on the food chain. If you’re poor. Tattoo this on your forehead like an Egyptian destiny you and your eyes will live to see fulfilled. It’s not your fault. Even if you’ve given up. Even if you’re gaping like zero, like absolute nothing, between two hissing sibilants of a serpentine medical symbol unravelling. And the dragon’s lost its wings. And the physician doesn’t care enough to heal himself because he’s lost his faith in oaths. Or dangerous hope has given way to futile despair and they’re both siblings of the absurd. It’s not your fault that you were born into a society where even the mirages in this desert of stars are bundled and sold like real estate. That illusions and diseases apply for patents of ownership. That even the constellations have become the work of surveyors not shepherds on a hillside and the poor are being foreclosed and evicted from the signs of the zodiac because they can’t pay the rent or the mortgage on the house they were born into. Or the hydro on the stars. Even if your spinal cord tinkles like the burnt out filament of a dead lightbulb and the shining’s gone out. It’s not your fault if the universe that was airlifted to you at birth as your portion of life with nothing missing was intercepted and sold at prices that eat their own on the black market of free enterprise for the poor, or they couldn’t afford it, and socialism for the rich because they couldn’t survive without you. You might be like the sea in the lowest place of all but all things flow like rivers down into you. And the depth of the valley of shadows and death you’re walking through alone is a function of the height of the mountain that digs it like a grave it will be buried in. When all the grains of sand like stars come together they make a sea of waves where life thrives in the here and now spontaneously not a pyramid for the sake of a single capstone whose happy afterlife is founded on quicksand.
Saw a huge spiderweb once under a streetlamp at Carleton University thirty-six years ago. Six spiders, their abdomens obese as lightbulbs, six tumours ripening on the panicked cells and neural networks of more frenzied insects drawn to the light out of the dark than their webs were meant to accommodate. The webs were ripping under the weight of the horrified fruits of their gluttony stuck in the powerlines like kites and running shoes and treacherous parachutes. The dew spangled veils of the morning were being torn off like consumerist dream catchers to entice the mob to the artificial radiance of the light that drove them crazy. But the spiders were too satiate to move. And they were being pulled down along with their prey under the massive superflux of their immensely successful catastrophe. Pleonaxia. The disease of more and more and more. And all the insects had to do because the conglomerate spiders were too immobilized by the obscenity of their gigantism to stick an ice-pick in the back of Trotsky’s neck in Cuba was to keep a cool enough head to extricate themselves puppet string by puppet string, spinal cord by spinal cord, straitjacket by straitjacket, wing by wing from the web. But most were paralyzed by their own fear waiting for the fatal moment of the ruinous agenda to come like a budget cutting knife to end their nightmare. And after all these years that terrible insight still provides me with blood-freezing metaphors into the present economic system that preys upon the poor by beading the foodchain with black thoraxes as if they were the ninety-nine names of God and it were a rosary we could all say our novinas on pleading for more lifeboats and happier lifelines than the rigging of this ship of state that’s going down with all of us aboard as the captains of industry jump like rats in Genoa back into the year 1348 when there were corpses galore to feed on.
If you’re poor. Come to the revolution but leave your guillotine at home. Come to the revolution but leave Lenin in Geneva. Come to the revolution like Wat Tyler but don’t believe the promises of the king. Come to the revolution like Spartacus but don’t put your faith in pirates to provide you with the means of escape. Come to the revolution like Toussaint L’Ouverture in Haiti but first drive the fer de lance out of your sugar-cane so that no innocent bystanders get bit as an off-handed matter of population control. Come to the revolution like Aung San Suu Kyi ready to sit down in the teahouses of Burma to pry the fingers of the junta off the throats of the people like the petals of a flower whose time has come to let go. Come to the revolution like Ghandi walking all the way to the sea to turn the pillars of British imperialism to salt without all the fire and brimstone of Sodom and Gomorrah. Come like him to the revolution as a leader who knew how to follow his people. Come to the revolution like Helen Keller who stood up to the Rupert Murdochs of the age who were more in need of signage than she was on behalf of the rights of the working people and declared Oh, ridiculous Brooklyn Eagle! What an ungallant bird it is! Socially blind and deaf, it defends a system that’s intolerable. The Eagle and I are at war. Come to the revolution like Nelson Mandela to an international rugby match in the uniform of a Springbok scrum half to show that over-rated hatred can’t make a comeback over the jubilation of people in play with one another in time enough to win. Come to the revolution like Victor Jara and the Chilean art brigades and bring that guitar and that voice he left us that you’ve been wanting to play for decades with a compassionate feel for the sorrows of others right down to the tips of your social democratic fingerprints as if you weren’t born too late to celebrate a lost cause with a Cinderella story right out the social pages of the mid-sixties into the front page slug lines of msnbc news today. And remember it’s better to sing sincerely than well when you’ve got Bob Dylan for a voice coach. Come to the revolution like Tuwakal Karman of Yemen like the first coffee flower of the Arab Spring to raise her voice against Ali Abdullah Saleh in the name of human rights and freedom of expression. Come to the revolution like Martin Luther to the church door in Wittenburg and post your thirty-three articles of protest but don’t think because you throw inkwells at the devil that’s the same as writing your name in blood on the marble of Wall Street or a war memorial for the dead of Vietnam. Come like George Washington to the American Revolution ready to lay your power down as a sign of complete victory over what satisfies the industrial complexity of the generals’ hearts. Come like Barack Obama to the wellsprings of a cleaner watershed than that which flowed like the corrupt ditches of the tainted bloodstreams of Eden like the four rivers of the running sores of the trickle down economics of the political food chain that ran before him for office by putting a carrot in front of a donkey and all your eggs in one basket in front of a rampaging elephant. Come to the revolution like Emmeline Pankhurst to a hunger strike in a game of cat and mouse with the government who’ll catch you and let you go to fatten you up and keep you from being force fed before they arrest you again for throwing your weight around like Emily Davison at the king’s horse in the name of wanting to run like a candidate at the same race track without the handicap of not being able to vote. Come to the revolution like Dolores Jiminez y Muro with a political plan to give Emiliano Zapata a Mexican classroom of political reform worth dying for. If you’re poor, as Kurt Cobain said, come as you are. And if Jesus doesn’t want you for a sunbeam then come as a cloud. Come as a mountain. Come as a full eclipse of the moon or a loveletter that someone sent back or come as seven come eleven and trust in your luck when the dice are not loaded like skulls with no eyes against you.

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VIRGINIA'S STORY...by Talile Ali

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.
My grand mom followed them there a couple of years later.
They had six children.
They had two boys named James and Felton.
They were the oldest.

They also had four girls named Elizabeth, Virginia, Viola, and Harriet.

My dad, James had to go fight in Spain.
He got drafted.
It was in the Spanish American War.
They had to dope him up to make him fight.
When he came back home he was not right.
He would have bad dreams and scream out at night.

He started drinking a lot

He drank himself to death when I was young.
He died when I was three in 1933 when he was thirty something.
It was the Great Depression!

When my daddy died, my grand mom and my mom already lived in Detroit.

My mom had a factory job.
My grand mom got a job working for some Jewish people across Woodward.
Black people couldn't go across Woodward back then.
Only Jewish people and white people could go over there.

That was the good neighborhood.

The Jewish people my grand mom worked for lived on that side of Woodward.
Those Jews had lots of money
The Jews also had children who had big heads.
They called them mongoloid head kids.


The good thing is that we got to go to the Fox theater with them, because my grand mom worked for Jewish people.

Black people could go over there if they were working for white people
We got to see Ponochio, White Christmas, Cinderella, and a lot of things there.
We got to eat good, too.
Cabbage and Corned Beef, Lamb and fish.
All types of stuff like that.

What ever was left over, Grandma Wooten got to take home.

People would laugh at her for working with those big headed mongoloid kids.
But she didn't care.
She had a good job and got to have a lot of good stuff because of it.
Those big head kids were smart, too.

They just had big heads.

While my grand mom was working for the Jewish family, my mom was working for the factory, making nuts.
It was an airplane factory.
The men made the wings.
The women made the nuts.

When I was 8 years old, my mom use to go out with this man who would pay her to have relations with her.

We use to listen at the door and look thru the key hole at them to see what the were doing.
He didn't have a real thing.
He had this thing he had to turn on and it would get hard and he would try to have relations with my mom.
We would laugh and giggle cause he could never get it to do what he wanted.
He would never have relations with her with that thing.
He would always take her out on the town and stuff and pay her even though his thing didn't work.

When I was 8, we went to church one time and the preacher asked 'Does anybody have any questions? '

So I asked 'Why do all of those hurricanes come out of Africa and hit all of the people in the United States? '
My Grandma turned around and slapped me
Later on she told me that I was not suppose to asked that kind of question.
I just wanted to know how Africa could be so rich
They had all of that gold, and diamonds, and oil

And the white folks just come over there and take it

Leaving them all poor
How did that happen?
What was god thinking of when he let that happen?
But I never got that question answered

My grandmother made me stay in my room overnight, too.

The only thing is I never did asked any more questions
I asked them to myself
I didn't ask anyone else tho
I was just quiet
When I had kids i wanted them to ask questions

I never hit any of them for asking any questions

They could swear or anything
I just wanted them to feel free to ask things and find out about them
Not like how I felt
I just wanted to know things
But, I probably never will know they answer to all of my questions

I probably will be dead before I get any of those answers.

Later on, during WWII, my mom got a job at the USO dancing for tickets with the service men.
She was one of those flapper girls.
A dime -a- dance girl!
Thats what they called them in the movies.
She had this real nice black hat with wings on it.
She got a lot of tickets for all of that dancing!

She had lots of money.

After the war, my mom worked in a restaurant.
It was a Jewish restaurant.
Thats all there ever was.
They (the Jews) were the only ones who had money and businesses.
They knew how to save their money.

She worked and got tips.

When I was a kid, I don't remember the first school I went to.
All I know is I went across the street and two blocks down to go there.
I lived on Russell, before you get to Caniff.
I didn't get to go anywhere much then.
None of us did.
My mom didn't want us around the factory workers down the street.

My grand mom use to walk us across the bridge to Canada to this big market to get produce and shop.
It was really big and we bought a lot of stuff.
We use to have a big red wagon that we would bring all of this stuff home in.
She use to have us walk so that we would have strong legs.
I was about seven.

I had special shoes made because I had something wrong with my legs and my flat arches.

I still got flat arches.
So that's why grand mom use to have me made square toe shoes.
I wore those kind of shoes till I was thirty years old.
People made fun of me, but I didn't mind.

My friend, name Virginia Green, live down the alley.

Her mother had fourteen kids!
She lived down the street.
All of the kids use to run down the alley.
We had to play in the yard.
She was afraid of the factory on the alley down from us.
All of the smoke coming out of it and the workers coming in and out.
She thought something bad would happen.

Virginia Greens family were Jehovah Witnesses

They all had to pray every morning
The girls had to get the Kids ready in the morning.
The Mom had home schooled them.
My friend didn't go to school until she went to Northern
I use to see her on the bus once in a while after that.

I stopped seeing her on the bus when we moved on East Grand Boulevard.

There was a riot back then.
That's when my grandma got stabbed on her way from work.
She was getting off of the bus when it happened.
They stabbed her in the stomach and grabbed her purse, too.
She was getting of the bus going to Hudson's.

And the bus driver couldn't do a thing.

We didn't know anything about it
The white person who did it got away.
A lot of white people were stabbing black people back then.
It was a race riot!

They took her to emergency to get stitches.

We didn't find out till the next day
It kept her out of work for six week.
She was hurt really bad.
The rioters didn't burn any buildings or nothing.
They just robbed people, broke in the windows and took their stuff.

It was a race riot.

People were out of work and crazy.
My mom got something out of that Fur store on Broadway.
A lot of people took furs out of that fur store on Broadway.
We didn't get to go outside without an adult until I was ten!
My mom would take us outside when she got home from work and grand mom went to work
The lady that lived upstairs from us didn't like the noise from kids anyway
She kept complaining 'Stop all of that noise down there? '

We lived there til I got married.

I didn't get to go out on my own until I began High School.
Not until I got to go to Norther high school.
The kids didn't make fun of me then, because other kids were wearing them, too.
Then I got a pair of them other kind of shoes, buster brown like shoes.
Oxfords!
They had two colors on them!

I have a picture of me wearing those shoes in the year book.

I was in the Library Club.
I would sit at the desk and help people check out the books
Got paid twelve dollars a week for doing it.
In Modern Dance we danced and stretched and all of that stuff.
Then we would have to go on the stage at the end of the semester.

We would get some awards.

Chemistry I didn't like to well.
Had to cut up things and stuff like that.
Frogs...Eeeeeh! !
In Swimming I just would swim.
We got medals and stuff.
I don't know how I passed German!

'Sprechan Zie Deutche? '

I don't know what it means.
Same goes for French.
The French teacher would collect all of the books so that we couldn't look in them.
Then we would get the test.
She would give each of us a special question that she wrote out in her own hand.

Nobody had the same question, so they could not cheat.

In 1948, there were a lot of German teachers in Northern high school.
Everybody couldn't understand why all of the teachers were German after we had just fought the war with them.
That didn't make no sense at all.
But all of the teachers were German.

When I was 14, I went skiing with the German class
We went to some mountain up north, I don't remember it's name
And they served hot chocolate
Hot chocolate keeps you real warm when it's cold outside

It's the only thing that keeps you real warm like that
The German teacher was a real good skier
I was scared
I was afraid that I would fall on my face
I didn't, but I was always afraid
All of those German speaking people
I couldn't understand a word they were saying.

That hot chocolate was the only thing I liked about skiing.

Grand ma Wooten spoke a lot of German
She use to teach German when she lived in Canada
She learned the German because she was part German and part English
But I couldn't remember all of that German then
It was long ago and I didn't have anyone to speak it to
Not until High School

There use to be a Cunninghams drug store across the street.

We use to eat over there with the German teachers.
They made good coffee over at Cunninghams.
Good banana splits, too.
They charged 10 cents for a big mug of coffee.
Go good with a piece a pie for a quarter.
Big piece of pie, too.

Hot chocolate was a nickel.

Milk came in a little glass bottle.
There was cream on the top of the milk.
You could shake it up and drink it all mixed together.
Or you could drink the cream of first and then drink the milk.
Taste good either way.

I met your dad (Mohammed) in 1947.

We lived down the street from him.
He got over here by working in the engine room on boats
When he got here in the US, he jump ship in New York and came to Detroit
He lived in a big apartment building with all of his Indian friends
It was the first time I saw a steam iron.
One of the Indian Ladies had a Steam Ironing board!

Just like they use in the dry cleaners.

She did the ironing for all of the Indian men there
She showed me how to iron with it
You press down and steam would come out.
They also had this grill thing.
You make sandwiches on it.

Like that George Foreman thing, except for families

They also had big pots.
It was a big coffee maker.
Another Indian woman had a black and white TV in their restaurant.
That was the restaurant Mohammed took over after Jathia got sick and he lost his job.

I started dating Mohammed right before I graduated.

We got to go out alone.
Then we started going to the movies at the show.
The Holbrooke on Holbrook and the Fox downtown.
They didn't let black folks in the Fox.
But since I was with Mohammed, they let me in.
That was in 1949.

Mohammed was working at Hudson Motors before we got married.

Me and Mohammed went everywhere together in 48
We were really going together in 50
We got married in 51
When Eron was born, It was cold
It was June, but it was raining

The wind was blowing

I was on Hasting
I was on Russell
Then I went to Hastings when I got out of the hospital
It was daytime, morning
It was about 6 something
He weighed only 6 pounds too

I had a mid wife help

By the time the ambulance got there I had had the baby
The doctor gave me a slip to go to the hospital the next week
You know to go to the hospital for your six month check up
Six week check up!
He lost his job at Hudson Motors when he was hospitalized for ulcers
When he got better, he took over the restaurant
But he lost it when one of the kids got sick

It was either Big Eron or Jathia who got sick

Mohammed also took me to the Pakistani club for meetings.
They had a lot of card games at the club.
They use to make a lot of money down there.
Drinking coffee, playing cards, praying and making money.
One day we didn't have any money, and the next day we did.

When I got married, grandma moved to Hamtramck.

Mom and Harriet moved in with her friend.
Viola moved in with her boyfriend.
My brothers were still in the war.
James was in Korea and Felton was in the Paratroopers.
When there was and emergency, Felton would have to paratroop the things they needed to them.
Like at the hospitals and in battle and stuff like that.

Mohammed was working at Hudson Motor company when we got married.

We had three kids during that time.
We rented a restaurant from a friend of Mohammed's later.
I went to work at Cunninghams in Imperial City.
Then Mohammed went to work at Ford.
Then Jathia got sick real bad.

Ford didn't like that Mohammed had to pray seven times a day.
He also had to work in the restaurant when he was done there
So he got sick.
They let him go after he had to leave when Jathia got sick.
She got hooping cough real bad.

We were only renting the restaurant, so we lost it so that we could take care of Jathia.

When Jathia was born
I just went to the hospital and had her
I was in the house on Holbrook
When I had got out of the hospital
We had already moved to 18th street

But the boy down stairs had hooping cough

She was in Herman Kieffer for three month
I had to look at her thru the glass
Thats why you have to be careful with babies
Make sure they wash their hands and stuff

They can get germs on the baby and make them sick

Since he couldn't find any work, we had to go to welfare to get some help.
Jathia was sick for eight months with hooping cough.
She was a baby.
The next year I had Audrey, we lived on eighteenth street then.

When Audrey was born, we lived on Clinton

It was a nice day
I had to go the hospital
That was her due day
But I thought I was going to have her on Jathia's birth day
But I ended up having her two days before

I took her home right after she was born

She didn't get sick or nothing
The next year I had Talile.
It was cold
We were getting ready for thanksgiving then
We were decorating for Christmas
And putting turkeys up in the window

We put up black and orange lights

We didn't turn them on till thanksgiving
I started feeling pains on the fourteenth
You don't know when you were born?
I was having pain, pain, pain!
Talile was born in the morning
I think it was 8 or 9
The was weighing him and testing him

They had me walking up and down the hall way
They were telling us about when we get out what times we have to go to the hospital
They did that for three days
Then we went home

Kennedy was president when we moved to Clinton.

Mohammed couldn't find any work in Detroit for a while.
So Mohammed went to New York to work at CBS as a maintainance and letter delivery worker.
When Abdul was born.
It was cold
I was on Clinton
I was on the other part

After I had him I had a cyst on the breast

They had me put hot water bottles on them
So they could take the puss out
But it burst out
I was paining
They gave me some medicine
Some antibiotics

I couldn't nurse Dewey

I had to give him a bottle
After a month, i could nurse him better
It was the same one I had cancer in
When I got home
I kept having pains in my stomach

Thats when they took me back to the hospital

Thats when they found the Gaul Stones
After they took them out
Thats when I felt better
Thats when my momma and my grand mama were coming over to watch all of you
Thats because Mohammed was going to work

Cause I was in the hospital for two weeks

Thats where I got that big cut on my stomach
Then they sewed it up
Those Gaul Stones.


I went to work at Cunninghams for four months.

Mohammed didn't want us to be on welfare.
So Mohammed would send his check home so I could pay the rent and utilities.
Mohammed was at CBS when the Beatles performed on Ed Sullivan
Mohammed came home a little while afterwards
Then Kennedy got Killed
Then Johnson became president
Mrs. Adele was watching the kids while we were working.
We had to pay rent to the government.

The government owned all of those houses in that neighborhood.
Thats why they never fixed them up.
Some are still standing today because the government owns them.
That's why they could order everybody to move when they were building La Fayette Park, because they owned most of all the homes.

I quit my job when Mohammed came back from New York.

Mohammed came back because someone got him a job at Receiving Hospital downtown.
Mohammed sold incense to make money to pay the medical bills.
He had to because there wasn't any blue cross or nothing to pay the medical bills.
When he went to General Motors he had insurance to pay the medical bills.
He still kept selling incense, because he had clients who liked him buying them from him.

There was this crazy man.

Pedophile man.
He was this nutty man
I think he was catholic too
He would get these little girl about five or six years old
He would kill them on the way to mass

Then he would clean them up
Dress them up like little dolls
People had to start taking their children to church
They didn't know who was doing it
He would dress them up like little dolls
Probably because his mom liked little dolls

By having the police out there undercover

I don't know how they caught him
BUT THEY CAUGHT HIM!
He would get the girls, kill them, clean them up, then wrap them up in blankets.
They found him after he had killed six girls.
They found him working at a church.
St. Something.

It was three or four blocks away from us in a good neighborhood on the other side of Chene.

We lived upstairs from Mrs. Adele.
She had two daughters, one who's name is Sarah, and a son named Sonny, who was in the service.
We lived across the street from Duffield Elementary School.
All of the Kids went to that school.

Talile and Eron went around the corner to the store

This weirdo was telling people that we were his kids
But the store man knew us
So he called Daddy and the police
He got them outside and tried to cut Talile ear off
But the police and their Daddy showed up
And he was arrested.

It was mothers day
I had cooked a dinner and all, turkey and stuff
And then I had to go to the hospital and have Umor
Cause your daddy was home by then
I didn't think he was coming that day
But he changed his mind
So I had to go to the hospital
And thats how I had Umor.

When I had Muktsar

We went shopping and stuff for Christmas
We had got all of our stuff
I thought he would be coming after Christmas
But he came a week early
It was a lot of snow that day
Because the ambulance was having a hard time getting there

They goy me to the hospital

They had to go slow because there was so much snow
But I didn't have him until I got to the hospital
I didn't have him until late at night
They thought I would have him sooner
But I was having a lot of pain
It took seven hours
It was about 10 or 11 o'clock

I know I was tired of the pain

I didn't want to be knocked out
I wanted to see the baby when it comes
Cause it was around that time people were stealing babies out of the hospital
I wanted to see how my baby looked
So they couldn't do something like that

Umor and Muktsar were born on Clinton, too.

Sarah Adele gave Muktsar his middle name.
She liked Marvin Gaye and I like Marvin Gaye.
So Muktsar's middle name is Marvin
Eron was sent to stay with Aunt Tony and Grandma Wright for a long time
He would stay with them because they had kids

And Daddy didn't want him running up and down the street in our neighborhood

They liked to play card and that penny game
Eron stayed with Aunt Tony and Ramona the longest.
He stayed with Grandma Wooten because he help her do things
She liked to go to the market early in the morning
They had fresh fruit and Day old bread for a dollar
Eron was allergic

But he knew enough to stay away from that kind of stuff

Jathia wanted to stay with her dolls and stuff with her friends
Their were a lot of girls on that street
Down the block
Jathia didn't get into trouble until she got into high school
She would like to go over her friends house
Her daddy didn't like her going over there
There were crazy people out there
She wasn't scared of those people though

We would talk to her

I had to spank her
She would run away from me
I would have to grab my extention cord and swing it under the bed to get her
Her daddy didn't spank her though
He didn't spank anybody

I couldn't reach yaw with the switch

Yaw would hide under the bed and laugh at me
So I would take the extention cord an get yaw
Sometimes I would get one of yaw
Your daddy didn't like it
He talked to me about it
But yaw would laugh at me

I didn't like that

He would always talk to yaw about it afterwards
But yaw would still run away like that again
Yaw would laugh at me
It hurt my feelings
It wasn't funny to me
But it was funny to yaw
Sometimes it was funny to me

I would sit down in my chair and laugh

Audrey was sick a lot
She would have to stay home
She was allergic to a lot of stuff
I had to spank Audrey when she was little


Talile got to stay with Ramona and Viola

He would just play and chase the animals around
They had cats
We had cats, too
He did his homework from school
Listen to records

Abdul got to go with Talile where he went

They did a lot of things together
Sometimes Daddy would take the boys to the ball game
The club would have their people come with their boys
I guess they would all play together
I know they didn't come home till evening

Umor got to stay with Ramona and Tony
They would got to the park and go on the merry-go-round. Roller coaster
It was in Ildlewild, it was in another county
They would fish and camp there

Muktsar would go, too

The boys would all get to go together
No girls were allowed
Back in those days, Boys did what boys did
And the girls stayed with their mama.

After Muktsar was born we moved to East Grand Boulevard because it was a bigger place.

Mohammed still worked at Receiving Hospital and he still kept selling incense.
We lived above the East Pakistani Club, that was downstairs.
The only thing I remember about East Grand Blvd was taking you kids on the bus everyday to get your shots.
Every morning.
Some of you were allergic to school dust, chalk dust, everything!
Eron, Audrey, and Muktsar were allergic to everything.

Jathia was allergic to mold and bugs.

Talile was allergic to wheat (that would explain everything) .
Dewey was allergic to going out into the air and some sweets.
Umor use to get hay fever when he was younger.
But he got over it.
Johnson was president then
And then there were the riots.

Then Robert Kennedy got killed.

They burned buildings in this one.
Breaking the windows and taking everything they could find.
Store people had to get guns to keep people out.
At the end the store people just started giving them away, because they were burning everything up.
And the Fur place over on Broadway?

The people stole the furs and burnt the place down!

They were throwing stuff at the police men and everything.
The people were crazy.
It was a Race Riot.
The people mad because they were out of work.
The white people were trying to kill the black ones.

Black people trying to kill the white ones.

Mexicans were trying to kill both the white and the black folks.
Italians were stealing everything and shooting everybody.
You know, with all of this happening, your dad still went to work.
Lots of people told me that if it wasn't for your dad their children would have been in jail.
He talked to them about doing the right thing and not hanging out with the wrong crowd.
A lot of people told me at the funeral that they would have gone to jail if not for your father.

After the riot we moved from East Grand Boulevard to Fort Wayne. We lived there for about four years.
When we lived at Fort Wayne, everybody was getting sick with something.
Talile kept talking about how everybody was getting sick except him.
Then he got real sick and had to go to the hospital.
Everybody said he was faking it, just to get attention.

The doctors kept him for a week, and found out that he had ulcers.

Just like his daddy, he had to eat special foods.
His daddy didn't, but I baked him vegetables and chicken all of the time.
When Talile finally got well, he got sick going outside.
He kept getting this real bad rash.
The doctors couldn't figure out what was causing it at first.
Then when they did know they told us.
The sulfur in the air was making him sick.

We had to move to Gray

So we moved from 6413 Meige in Fort Wayne to the east side on 4810 Gray.
When we first moved here there was water down in the basement like there is now.
The Landlord said that maybe one of the kids was running the water and that caused it.
Then it started snowing it stopped.
But when spring came and it started raining, your dad would go downstairs after he came home from work and sweep it down the drains.

The kids were going to school.

Umor and Muktsar went to Hosmer
Abdul and Talile went to Jackson
It was real nice over here when we moved here.
Then Talile started to say he was having bad dreams.
He was getting ready for his performance, and I heard a bump, bump.
I went upstairs and saw him bouncing around.

We took him to the hospital.

When we took him to the doctor, they couldn't find anything.
I called the school and told them he was in the hospital.
He went to a lot of doctors before we found one doctor who knew what was wrong.
This doctors name was Dr. Slaughter.
He said Talile had epilepsy.

I went to see Talile perform at Jackson, Cass, and Finney.

Talile was in the concert band at Jackson.
Audrey and Jathia went to Cass.
Audrey was a Chemistry Major and Jathia as just taking English and Drama
They went to WSU after Cass.
Eron was in finney then the service.

He was in the service for three years from 1970 to 1973

Later, Talile went to Cass.
Then Talile went to Finney.
Abdul, Umor and Muktsar were not getting the grades they were suppose to get.
So we had them go to an alternative school named The Detroit Free School
We talked Talile into going, so that they would go to this new school.
Talile graduated from that school.
Abdul, Umor, and Muktsar didn't want to go to that school no more.

Talile moved out.

Then Jathia moved out.
Then Audrey moved out with the church.
Talile went to stay at the church with Audrey for a while
Then Talile moved in with Aunt Tony
Then Talile moved in with some friends of his
Then Talile left town

Mohammed still worked at the factory and he still sold stuff to his customers cause he needed money for some things.

Then he got his ulcers back.
Then he got that lump behind his knee.
It was cancer and they removed it.
The doctor told him not to go to work so early.
But he did anyway.

Then he had to go to the cancer place to have radiation.

It was freezing there.
He would still go to work.
When Talile got back, Talile would fuss at Mohammed and tell him that he would die if he didn't take care of himself.
But he didn't listen and he went back to work.

Then Mohammed went into the hospital.
Then he died.

After Mohammed died, I went back home.
Aunt Tony took care of the funeral arrangements.
Talile packed up his stuff and left town again.
I had to pick up all of Mohammed's stuff.
Then I had to get a lot of doctor papers.

Then I had to go to social security.

Then the doctors had to tell them what I had
Then they let me get on social security.
They didn't believe that I could go to school with only one bad eye.
So I had to get my birth certificate saying I was Forty Six.
I had to go to see the doctor to tell me what I am going to have to pay.
I was going back and forth from Social Security to get my eyes, lungs, and everything checked
Answering questions for social security

I was going backing back and forth

Then everybody moved out
Jathia went with Donald
Audrey went with the Church
Dewey went with the police station
Umor was going to electrician school, trying to get out
Talile was going all over with his friends.
Eron moved to Highland Park.
Everybody was gone except me, Umor and Muktsar

It was a cold winter then.
Talile returned and went to Nursing School
Muktsar had a baby with Tracy
The baby's name was Jinnah
They were having trouble with her Grandma

Then they finally got permission to move there

Then they had Syeed
Muktsar was working at Kohls
I guess they were going to get married
The grand father and the grandmother didn't want them to get married tho'
So pretty soon Muktsar started going with Veda
Tracy said so long as he was taking care of the boys its alright!

Then Muktsar moved in with Veda

Then Tracy's grandfather died
The boys moved back in here with Muktsar
Tracy went back to school
She graduated and she went to work.

Muktsar and Veda got married.

They moved back over here.
Then they moved to Hamtramck with her mom
Then they moved to Piccadilly with her mom

Then I went back to school.

I got a liberal arts degree from WC3.
Then Talile went back to school
Then Talile graduated
Then Talile got a job and started teaching at Friends School

Then Muktsar got a job working on shows
Jinnah graduated and had a baby named Jinniah
Eron went to MSU with Ariel
Syeed went to MSU, then quit
Briana quit MSU, too

Ariel Graduated and now has a job as a Social Worker

Jinnah and Syeed work together way out in Farmington Hills
Tracy is working in Ann Arbor
Raquiem is going to WC3
Big Eron had a stroke and is retired
Talile got in a fight with Claire and is kicked out again
Dewey is married to Sharon and has a beautiful family

Marlin is about to graduate

Shay is at Cass
Khalil is getting bigger
Little Eron is a daddy and has a baby boy named Ein with his girl friend Lily
Briana is still not in school
Azaria is about to graduate and is on the honor roll at DSA

I got real sick

I fell down and hurt myself
I went to the hospital and started bleeding
I had to stay in the hospital for months
When I got out I got a bump in my boobie

They said it was cancer

They had to cut off my boobies!
I got no bobbies!
I look like a pear bear made of jello!
I hurt all over!
My arms hurt.
My legs hurt.
My feet hurt.

My surgery hurts.

Everything hurts.
And I am old.
I am so old.
I'm wearing diapers.
My foots crooked, from the stroke.

I can barely see.

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Byron

Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth

If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss--
But then 'twould spoil much good philosophy.
One system eats another up, and this
Much as old Saturn ate his progeny;
For when his pious consort gave him stones
In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.

But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,
And eats her parents, albeit the digestion
Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.
Nothing more true than not to trust your senses;
And yet what are your other evidences?

For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,
Except perhaps that you were born to die?
And both may after all turn out untrue.
An age may come, Font of Eternity,
When nothing shall be either old or new.
Death, so call'd, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.

A sleep without dreams, after a rough day
Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet
How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay!
The very Suicide that pays his debt
At once without instalments (an old way
Of paying debts, which creditors regret)
Lets out impatiently his rushing breath,
Less from disgust of life than dread of death.

'Tis round him, near him, here, there, every where;
And there's a courage which grows out of fear,
Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare
The worst to know it:--when the mountains rear
Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there
You look down o'er the precipice, and drear
The gulf of rock yawns,--you can't gaze a minute
Without an awful wish to plunge within it.

'Tis true, you don't - but, pale and struck with terror,
Retire: but look into your past impression!
And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror
Of your own thoughts, in all their self--confession,
The lurking bias, be it truth or error,
To the unknown; a secret prepossession,
To plunge with all your fears - but where? You know not,
And that's the reason why you do - or do not.

But what's this to the purpose? you will say.
Gent. reader, nothing; a mere speculation,
For which my sole excuse is - 'tis my way;
Sometimes with and sometimes without occasion
I write what's uppermost, without delay:
This narrative is not meant for narration,
But a mere airy and fantastic basis,
To build up common things with common places.

You know, or don't know, that great Bacon saith,
'Fling up a straw, 'twill show the way the wind blows;'
And such a straw, borne on by human breath,
Is poesy, according as the mind glows;
A paper kite which flies 'twixt life and death,
A shadow which the onward soul behind throws:
And mine's a bubble, not blown up for praise,
But just to play with, as an infant plays.

The world is all before me - or behind;
For I have seen a portion of that same,
And quite enough for me to keep in mind;--
Of passions, too, I have proved enough to blame,
To the great pleasure of our friends, mankind,
Who like to mix some slight alloy with fame;
For I was rather famous in my time,
Until I fairly knock'd it up with rhyme.

I have brought this world about my ears, and eke
The other; that's to say, the clergy, who
Upon my head have bid their thunders break
In pious libels by no means a few.
And yet I can't help scribbling once a week,
Tiring old readers, nor discovering new.
In youth I wrote because my mind was full,
And now because I feel it growing dull.

But 'why then publish?'- There are no rewards
Of fame or profit when the world grows weary.
I ask in turn,--Why do you play at cards?
Why drink? Why read?- To make some hour less dreary.
It occupies me to turn back regards
On what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery;
And what I write I cast upon the stream,
To swim or sink - I have had at least my dream.

I think that were I certain of success,
I hardly could compose another line:
So long I've battled either more or less,
That no defeat can drive me from the Nine.
This feeling 'tis not easy to express,
And yet 'tis not affected, I opine.
In play, there are two pleasures for your choosing -
The one is winning, and the other losing.

Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction:
She gathers a repertory of facts,
Of course with some reserve and slight restriction,
But mostly sings of human things and acts -
And that's one cause she meets with contradiction;
For too much truth, at first sight, ne'er attracts;
And were her object only what's call'd glory,
With more ease too she 'd tell a different story.

Love, war, a tempest - surely there 's variety;
Also a seasoning slight of lucubration;
A bird's-eye view, too, of that wild, Society;
A slight glance thrown on men of every station.
If you have nought else, here 's at least satiety
Both in performance and in preparation;
And though these lines should only line portmanteaus,
Trade will be all the better for these Cantos.

The portion of this world which I at present
Have taken up to fill the following sermon,
Is one of which there's no description recent.
The reason why is easy to determine:
Although it seems both prominent and pleasant,
There is a sameness in its gems and ermine,
A dull and family likeness through all ages,
Of no great promise for poetic pages.

With much to excite, there's little to exalt;
Nothing that speaks to all men and all times;
A sort of varnish over every fault;
A kind of common-place, even in their crimes;
Factitious passions, wit without much salt,
A want of that true nature which sublimes
Whate'er it shows with truth; a smooth monotony
Of character, in those at least who have got any.

Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade,
They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill;
But then the roll-call draws them back afraid,
And they must be or seem what they were: still
Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade;
But when of the first sight you have had your fill,
It palls - at least it did so upon me,
This paradise of pleasure and ennui.

When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming,
Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, something more;
With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming;
Seen beauties brought to market by the score,
Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming;
There's little left but to be bored or bore.
Witness those 'ci-devant jeunes hommes' who stem
The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them.

'Tis said - indeed a general complaint -
That no one has succeeded in describing
The monde, exactly as they ought to paint:
Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribing
The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint,
To furnish matter for their moral gibing;
And that their books have but one style in common -
My lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman.

But this can't well be true, just now; for writers
Are grown of the beau monde a part potential:
I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters,
Especially when young, for that's essential.
Why do their sketches fail them as inditers
Of what they deem themselves most consequential,
The real portrait of the highest tribe?
'Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe.

'Haud ignara loquor;' these are Nugae, 'quarum
Pars parva fui,' but still art and part.
Now I could much more easily sketch a harem,
A battle, wreck, or history of the heart,
Than these things; and besides, I wish to spare 'em,
For reasons which I choose to keep apart.
'Vetabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgarit-'
Which means that vulgar people must not share it.

And therefore what I throw off is ideal -
Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of freemasons;
Which bears the same relation to the real,
As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's.
The grand arcanum's not for men to see all;
My music has some mystic diapasons;
And there is much which could not be appreciated
In any manner by the uninitiated.

Alas! worlds fall - and woman, since she fell'd
The world (as, since that history less polite
Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held)
Has not yet given up the practice quite.
Poor thing of usages! coerced, compell'd,
Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right,
Condemn'd to child-bed, as men for their sins
Have shaving too entail'd upon their chins,--

A daily plague, which in the aggregate
May average on the whole with parturition.
But as to women, who can penetrate
The real sufferings of their she condition?
Man's very sympathy with their estate
Has much of selfishness, and more suspicion.
Their love, their virtue, beauty, education,
But form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.

All this were very well, and can't be better;
But even this is difficult, Heaven knows,
So many troubles from her birth beset her,
Such small distinction between friends and foes,
The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter,
That - but ask any woman if she'd choose
(Take her at thirty, that is) to have been
Female or male? a schoolboy or a queen?

'Petticoat influence' is a great reproach,
Which even those who obey would fain be thought
To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach;
But since beneath it upon earth we are brought,
By various joltings of life's hackney coach,
I for one venerate a petticoat-
A garment of a mystical sublimity,
No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity.

Much I respect, and much I have adored,
In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil,
Which holds a treasure, like a miser's hoard,
And more attracts by all it doth conceal-
A golden scabbard on a Damasque sword,
A loving letter with a mystic seal,
A cure for grief - for what can ever rankle
Before a petticoat and peeping ankle?

And when upon a silent, sullen day,
With a sirocco, for example, blowing,
When even the sea looks dim with all its spray,
And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing,
And the sky shows that very ancient gray,
The sober, sad antithesis to glowing,--
'Tis pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant,
To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant.

We left our heroes and our heroines
In that fair clime which don't depend on climate,
Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs,
Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at,
Because the sun, and stars, and aught that shines,
Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at,
Are there oft dull and dreary as a dun -
Whether a sky's or tradesman's is all one.

An in-door life is less poetical;
And out of door hath showers, and mists, and sleet,
With which I could not brew a pastoral.
But be it as it may, a bard must meet
All difficulties, whether great or small,
To spoil his undertaking or complete,
And work away like spirit upon matter,
Embarrass'd somewhat both with fire and water.

Juan - in this respect, at least, like saints -
Was all things unto people of all sorts,
And lived contentedly, without complaints,
In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts -
Born with that happy soul which seldom faints,
And mingling modestly in toils or sports.
He likewise could be most things to all women,
Without the coxcombry of certain she men.

A fox -hunt to a foreigner is strange;
'T is also subject to the double danger
Of tumbling first, and having in exchange
Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger:
But Juan had been early taught to range
The wilds, as doth an Arab turn'd avenger,
So that his horse, or charger, hunter, hack,
Knew that he had a rider on his back.

And now in this new field, with some applause,
He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, and rail,
And never craned, and made but few 'faux pas,'
And only fretted when the scent 'gan fail.
He broke, 'tis true, some statutes of the laws
Of hunting - for the sagest youth is frail;
Rode o'er the hounds, it may be, now and then,
And once o'er several country gentlemen.

But on the whole, to general admiration
He acquitted both himself and horse: the squires
Marvell'd at merit of another nation;
The boors cried 'Dang it? who'd have thought it?'--Sires,
The Nestors of the sporting generation,
Swore praises, and recall'd their former fires;
The huntsman's self relented to a grin,
And rated him almost a whipper-in.

Such were his trophies--not of spear and shield,
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes;
Yet I must own,--although in this I yield
To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes,--
He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,
Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes,
And what not, though he rode beyond all price,
Ask'd next day, 'If men ever hunted twice?'

He also had a quality uncommon
To early risers after a long chase,
Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon
December's drowsy day to his dull race,--
A quality agreeable to woman,
When her soft, liquid words run on apace,
Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner,--
He did not fall asleep just after dinner;

But, light and airy, stood on the alert,
And shone in the best part of dialogue,
By humouring always what they might assert,
And listening to the topics most in vogue;
Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert;
And smiling but in secret--cunning rogue!
He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;-
In short, there never was a better hearer.

And then he danced;- all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime;--he danced, I say, right well,
With emphasis, and also with good sense--
A thing in footing indispensable;
He danced without theatrical pretence,
Not like a ballet-master in the van
Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.

Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bound,
And elegance was sprinkled o'er his figure;
Like swift Camilla, he scarce skimm'd the ground,
And rather held in than put forth his vigour;
And then he had an ear for music's sound,
Which might defy a crotchet critic's rigour.
Such classic pas--sans flaws--set off our hero,
He glanced like a personified Bolero;

Or, like a flying Hour before Aurora,
In Guido's famous fresco which alone
Is worth a tour to Rome, although no more a
Remnant were there of the old world's sole throne.
The 'tout ensemble' of his movements wore a
Grace of the soft ideal, seldom shown,
And ne'er to be described; for to the dolour
Of bards and prosers, words are void of colour.

No marvel then he was a favourite;
A full -grown Cupid, very much admired;
A little spoilt, but by no means so quite;
At least he kept his vanity retired.
Such was his tact, he could alike delight
The chaste, and those who are not so much inspired.
The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke, who loved 'tracasserie,'
Began to treat him with some small 'agacerie.'

She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde,
Desirable, distinguish'd, celebrated
For several winters in the grand, grand monde.
I'd rather not say what might be related
Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground;
Besides there might be falsehood in what's stated:
Her late performance had been a dead set
At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

This noble personage began to look
A little black upon this new flirtation;
But such small licences must lovers brook,
Mere freedoms of the female corporation.
Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke!
'Twill but precipitate a situation
Extremely disagreeable, but common
To calculators when they count on woman.

The circle smiled, then whisper'd, and then sneer'd;
The Misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd;
Some hoped things might not turn out as they fear'd;
Some would not deem such women could be found;
Some ne'er believed one half of what they heard;
Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd profound;
And several pitied with sincere regret
Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

But what is odd, none ever named the duke,
Who, one might think, was something in the affair;
True, he was absent, and, 'twas rumour'd, took
But small concern about the when, or where,
Or what his consort did: if he could brook
Her gaieties, none had a right to stare:
Theirs was that best of unions, past all doubt,
Which never meets, and therefore can't fall out.

But, oh! that I should ever pen so sad a line!
Fired with an abstract love of virtue, she,
My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline,
Began to think the duchess' conduct free;
Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line,
And waxing chiller in her courtesy,
Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility,
For which most friends reserve their sensibility.

There's nought in this bad world like sympathy:
'Tis so becoming to the soul and face,
Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,
And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace.
Without a friend, what were humanity,
To hunt our errors up with a good grace?
Consoling us with - 'Would you had thought twice!
Ah, if you had but follow'd my advice!'

O job! you had two friends: one's quite enough,
Especially when we are ill at ease;
They are but bad pilots when the weather's rough,
Doctors less famous for their cures than fees.
Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,
As they will do like leaves at the first breeze:
When your affairs come round, one way or t'other,
Go to the coffee-house, and take another.

But this is not my maxim: had it been,
Some heart-aches had been spared me: yet I care not--
I would not be a tortoise in his screen
Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not.
'Tis better on the whole to have felt and seen
That which humanity may bear, or bear not:
'Twill teach discernment to the sensitive,
And not to pour their ocean in a sieve.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, 'I told you so,'
Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past,
Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do,
Own they foresaw that you would fall at last,
And solace your slight lapse 'gainst 'bonos mores,'
With a long memorandum of old stories.

The Lady Adeline's serene severity
Was not confined to feeling for her friend,
Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity,
Unless her habits should begin to mend:
But Juan also shared in her austerity,
But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd:
His inexperience moved her gentle ruth,
And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth.

These forty days' advantage of her years--
And hers were those which can face calculation,
Boldly referring to the list of peers
And noble births, nor dread the enumeration--
Gave her a right to have maternal fears
For a young gentleman's fit education,
Though she was far from that leap year, whose leap,
In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap.

This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirty--
Say seven-and-twenty; for I never knew
The strictest in chronology and virtue
Advance beyond, while they could pass for new.
O Time! why dost not pause? Thy scythe, so dirty
With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew.
Reset it; shave more smoothly, also slower,
If but to keep thy credit as a mower.

But Adeline was far from that ripe age,
Whose ripeness is but bitter at the best:
'Twas rather her experience made her sage,
For she had seen the world and stood its test,
As I have said in--I forget what page;
My Muse despises reference, as you have guess'd
By this time;--but strike six from seven -and -twenty,
And you will find her sum of years in plenty.

At sixteen she came out; presented, vaunted,
She put all coronets into commotion:
At seventeen, too, the world was still enchanted
With the new Venus of their brilliant ocean:
At eighteen, though below her feet still panted
A hecatomb of suitors with devotion,
She had consented to create again
That Adam, call'd 'The happiest of men.'

Since then she had sparkled through three glowing winters,
Admired, adored; but also so correct,
That she had puzzled all the acutest hinters,
Without the apparel of being circumspect:
They could not even glean the slightest splinters
From off the marble, which had no defect.
She had also snatch'd a moment since her marriage
To bear a son and heir - and one miscarriage.

Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her,
Those little glitterers of the London night;
But none of these possess'd a sting to wound her -
She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight.
Perhaps she wish'd an aspirant profounder;
But whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right;
And whether coldness, pride, or virtue dignify
A woman, so she's good, what does it signify?

I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle
Which with the landlord makes too long a stand,
Leaving all-claretless the unmoisten'd throttle,
Especially with politics on hand;
I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle,
Who whirl the dust as simooms whirl the sand;
I hate it, as I hate an argument,
A laureate's ode, or servile peer's 'content.'

'Tis sad to hack into the roots of things,
They are so much intertwisted with the earth;
So that the branch a goodly verdure flings,
I reck not if an acorn gave it birth.
To trace all actions to their secret springs
Would make indeed some melancholy mirth;
But this is not at present my concern,
And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern.

With the kind view of saving an eclat,
Both to the duchess and diplomatist,
The Lady Adeline, as soon's she saw
That Juan was unlikely to resist
(For foreigners don't know that a faux pas
In England ranks quite on a different list
From those of other lands unblest with juries,
Whose verdict for such sin a certain cure is);-

The Lady Adeline resolved to take
Such measures as she thought might best impede
The farther progress of this sad mistake.
She thought with some simplicity indeed;
But innocence is bold even at the stake,
And simple in the world, and doth not need
Nor use those palisades by dames erected,
Whose virtue lies in never being detected.

It was not that she fear'd the very worst:
His Grace was an enduring, married man,
And was not likely all at once to burst
Into a scene, and swell the clients' clan
Of Doctors' Commons: but she dreaded first
The magic of her Grace's talisman,
And next a quarrel (as he seem'd to fret)
With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

Her Grace, too, pass'd for being an intrigante,
And somewhat mechante in her amorous sphere;
One of those pretty, precious plagues, which haunt
A lover with caprices soft and dear,
That like to make a quarrel, when they can't
Find one, each day of the delightful year;
Bewitching, torturing, as they freeze or glow,
And - what is worst of all - won't let you go:

The sort of thing to turn a young man's head,
Or make a Werter of him in the end.
No wonder then a purer soul should dread
This sort of chaste liaison for a friend;
It were much better to be wed or dead,
Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend.
'T is best to pause, and think, ere you rush on,
If that a 'bonne fortune' be really 'bonne.'

And first, in the o'erflowing of her heart,
Which really knew or thought it knew no guile,
She call'd her husband now and then apart,
And bade him counsel Juan. With a smile
Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art
To wean Don Juan from the siren's wile;
And answer'd, like a statesman or a prophet,
In such guise that she could make nothing of it.

Firstly, he said, 'he never interfered
In any body's business but the king's:'
Next, that 'he never judged from what appear'd,
Without strong reason, of those sort of things:'
Thirdly, that 'Juan had more brain than beard,
And was not to be held in leading strings;'
And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice,
'That good but rarely came from good advice.'

And, therefore, doubtless to approve the truth
Of the last axiom, he advised his spouse
To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth -
At least as far as bienseance allows:
That time would temper Juan's faults of youth;
That young men rarely made monastic vows;
That opposition only more attaches -
But here a messenger brought in despatches:

And being of the council call'd 'the Privy,'
Lord Henry walk'd into his cabinet,
To furnish matter for some future Livy
To tell how he reduced the nation's debt;
And if their full contents I do not give ye,
It is because I do not know them yet;
But I shall add them in a brief appendix,
To come between mine epic and its index.

But ere he went, he added a slight hint,
Another gentle common-place or two,
Such as are coin'd in conversation's mint,
And pass, for want of better, though not new:
Then broke his packet, to see what was in 't,
And having casually glanced it through,
Retired; and, as went out, calmly kiss'd her,
Less like a young wife than an aged sister.

He was a cold, good, honourable man,
Proud of his birth, and proud of every thing;
A goodly spirit for a state divan,
A figure fit to walk before a king;
Tall, stately, form'd to lead the courtly van
On birthdays, glorious with a star and string;
The very model of a chamberlain--
And such I mean to make him when I reign.

But there was something wanting on the whole--
I don't know what, and therefore cannot tell--
Which pretty women--the sweet souls!--call soul.
Certes it was not body; he was well
Proportion'd, as a poplar or a pole,
A handsome man, that human miracle;
And in each circumstance of love or war
Had still preserved his perpendicular.

Still there was something wanting, as I've said -
That undefinable 'Je ne scais quoi,'
Which, for what I know, may of yore have led
To Homer's Iliad, since it drew to Troy
The Greek Eve, Helen, from the Spartan's bed;
Though on the whole, no doubt, the Dardan boy
Was much inferior to King Menelaus:-
But thus it is some women will betray us.

There is an awkward thing which much perplexes,
Unless like wise Tiresias we had proved
By turns the difference of the several sexes;
Neither can show quite how they would be loved.
The sensual for a short time but connects us,
The sentimental boasts to be unmoved;
But both together form a kind of centaur,
Upon whose back 'tis better not to venture.

A something all-sufficient for the heart
Is that for which the sex are always seeking:
But how to fill up that same vacant part?
There lies the rub--and this they are but weak in.
Frail mariners afloat without a chart,
They run before the wind through high seas breaking;
And when they have made the shore through every shock,
'Tis odd, or odds, it may turn out a rock.

There is a flower call'd 'Love in Idleness,'
For which see Shakspeare's everblooming garden;-
I will not make his great description less,
And beg his British godship's humble pardon,
If in my extremity of rhyme's distress,
I touch a single leaf where he is warden;-
But though the flower is different, with the French
Or Swiss Rousseau, cry 'Voila la Pervenche!'

Eureka! I have found it! What I mean
To say is, not that love is idleness,
But that in love such idleness has been
An accessory, as I have cause to guess.
Hard labour's an indifferent go-between;
Your men of business are not apt to express
Much passion, since the merchant-ship, the Argo,
Convey'd Medea as her supercargo.

'Beatus ille procul!' from 'negotiis,'
Saith Horace; the great little poet's wrong;
His other maxim, 'Noscitur a sociis,'
Is much more to the purpose of his song;
Though even that were sometimes too ferocious,
Unless good company be kept too long;
But, in his teeth, whate'er their state or station,
Thrice happy they who have an occupation!

Adam exchanged his Paradise for ploughing,
Eve made up millinery with fig leaves -
The earliest knowledge from the tree so knowing,
As far as I know, that the church receives:
And since that time it need not cost much showing,
That many of the ills o'er which man grieves,
And still more women, spring from not employing
Some hours to make the remnant worth enjoying.

And hence high life is oft a dreary void,
A rack of pleasures, where we must invent
A something wherewithal to be annoy'd.
Bards may sing what they please about Content;
Contented, when translated, means but cloy'd;
And hence arise the woes of sentiment,
Blue devils, and blue -stockings, and romances
Reduced to practice, and perform'd like dances.

I do declare, upon an affidavit,
Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen;
Nor, if unto the world I ever gave it,
Would some believe that such a tale had been:
But such intent I never had, nor have it;
Some truths are better kept behind a screen,
Especially when they would look like lies;
I therefore deal in generalities.

'An oyster may be cross'd in love,'--and why?
Because he mopeth idly in his shell,
And heaves a lonely subterraqueous sigh,
Much as a monk may do within his cell:
And a-propos of monks, their piety
With sloth hath found it difficult to dwell;
Those vegetables of the Catholic creed
Are apt exceedingly to run to seed.

O Wilberforce! thou man of black renown,
Whose merit none enough can sing or say,
Thou hast struck one immense Colossus down,
Thou moral Washington of Africa!
But there's another little thing, I own,
Which you should perpetrate some summer's day,
And set the other halt of earth to rights;
You have freed the blacks - now pray shut up the whites.

Shut up the bald-coot bully Alexander!
Ship off the Holy Three to Senegal;
Teach them that 'sauce for goose is sauce for gander,'
And ask them how they like to be in thrall?
Shut up each high heroic salamander,
Who eats fire gratis (since the pay's but small);
Shut up - no, not the King, but the Pavilion,
Or else 'twill cost us all another million.

Shut up the world at large, let Bedlam out;
And you will be perhaps surprised to find
All things pursue exactly the same route,
As now with those of soi -disant sound mind.
This I could prove beyond a single doubt,
Were there a jot of sense among mankind;
But till that point d'appui is found, alas!
Like Archimedes, I leave earth as 'twas.

Our gentle Adeline had one defect--
Her heart was vacant, though a splendid mansion;
Her conduct had been perfectly correct,
As she had seen nought claiming its expansion.
A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd,
Because 'tis frailer, doubtless, than a stanch one;
But when the latter works its own undoing,
Its inner crash is like an earthquake's ruin.

She loved her lord, or thought so; but that love
Cost her an effort, which is a sad toil,
The stone of Sisyphus, if once we move
Our feelings 'gainst the nature of the soil.
She had nothing to complain of, or reprove,
No bickerings, no connubial turmoil:
Their union was a model to behold,
Serene and noble,--conjugal, but cold.

There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd:
They moved like stars united in their spheres,
Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
Where mingled and yet separate appears
The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd
Through the serene and placid glassy deep,
Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep.

Now when she once had ta'en an interest
In any thing, however she might flatter
Herself that her intentions were the best,
Intense intentions are a dangerous matter:
Impressions were much stronger than she guess'd,
And gather'd as they run like growing water
Upon her mind; the more so, as her breast
Was not at first too readily impress'd.

But when it was, she had that lurking demon
Of double nature, and thus doubly named -
Firmness yclept in heroes, kings, and seamen,
That is, when they succeed; but greatly blamed
As obstinacy, both in men and women,
Whene'er their triumph pales, or star is tamed:-
And 'twill perplex the casuist in morality
To fix the due bounds of this dangerous quality.

Had Buonaparte won at Waterloo,
It had been firmness; now 'tis pertinacity:
Must the event decide between the two?
I leave it to your people of sagacity
To draw the line between the false and true,
If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacity:
My business is with Lady Adeline,
Who in her way too was a heroine.

She knew not her own heart; then how should I?
I think not she was then in love with Juan:
If so, she would have had the strength to fly
The wild sensation, unto her a new one:
She merely felt a common sympathy
(I will not say it was a false or true one)
In him, because she thought he was in danger,-
Her husband's friend, her own, young, and a stranger,

She was, or thought she was, his friend - and this
Without the farce of friendship, or romance
Of Platonism, which leads so oft amiss
Ladies who have studied friendship but in France,
Or Germany, where people purely kiss.
To thus much Adeline would not advance;
But of such friendship as man's may to man be
She was as capable as woman can be.

No doubt the secret influence of the sex
Will there, as also in the ties of blood,
An innocent predominance annex,
And tune the concord to a finer mood.
If free from passion, which all friendship checks,
And your true feelings fully understood,
No friend like to a woman earth discovers,
So that you have not been nor will be lovers.

Love bears within its breast the very germ
Of change; and how should this be otherwise?
That violent things more quickly find a term
Is shown through nature's whole analogies;
And how should the most fierce of all be firm?
Would you have endless lightning in the skies?
Methinks Love's very title says enough:
How should 'the tender passion' e'er be tough?

Alas! by all experience, seldom yet
(I merely quote what I have heard from many)
Had lovers not some reason to regret
The passion which made Solomon a zany.
I've also seen some wives (not to forget
The marriage state, the best or worst of any)
Who were the very paragons of wives,
Yet made the misery of at least two lives.

I've also seen some female friends ('tis odd,
But true--as, if expedient, I could prove)
That faithful were through thick and thin, abroad,
At home, far more than ever yet was Love--
Who did not quit me when Oppression trod
Upon me; whom no scandal could remove;
Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles,
Despite the snake Society's loud rattles.

Whether Don Juan and chaste Adeline
Grew friends in this or any other sense,
Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine:
At present I am glad of a pretence
To leave them hovering, as the effect is fine,
And keeps the atrocious reader in suspense;
The surest way for ladies and for books
To bait their tender, or their tenter, hooks.

Whether they rode, or walk'd, or studied Spanish
To read Don Quixote in the original,
A pleasure before which all others vanish;
Whether their talk was of the kind call'd 'small,'
Or serious, are the topics I must banish
To the next Canto; where perhaps I shall
Say something to the purpose, and display
Considerable talent in my way.

Above all, I beg all men to forbear
Anticipating aught about the matter:
They'll only make mistakes about the fair,
And Juan too, especially the latter.
And I shall take a much more serious air
Than I have yet done, in this epic satire.
It is not clear that Adeline and Juan
Will fall; but if they do, 'twill be their ruin.

But great things spring from little:- Would you think,
That in our youth, as dangerous a passion
As e'er brought man and woman to the brink
Of ruin, rose from such a slight occasion,
As few would ever dream could form the link
Of such a sentimental situation?
You'll never guess, I 'll bet you millions, milliards--
It all sprung from a harmless game at billiards.

'Tis strange,--but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction; if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!
How oft would vice and virtue places change!
The new world would be nothing to the old,
If some Columbus of the moral seas
Would show mankind their souls' antipodes.

What 'antres vast and deserts idle' then
Would be discover'd in the human soul!
What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men,
With self-love in the centre as their pole!
What Anthropophagi are nine of ten
Of those who hold the kingdoms in control
Were things but only call'd by their right name,
Caesar himself would be ashamed of fame.

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Canto the Fourteenth

I
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss --
But then 't would spoil much good philosophy.
One system eats another up, and this
Much as old Saturn ate his progeny;
For when his pious consort gave him stones
In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.

II
But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,
And eats her parents, albeit the digestion
Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.
Nothing more true than not to trust your senses;
And yet what are your other evidences?

III
For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,
Except perhaps that you were born to die?
And both may after all turn out untrue.
An age may come, Font of Eternity,
When nothing shall be either old or new.
Death, so call'd, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.

IV
A sleep without dreams, after a rough day
Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet
How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay!
The very Suicide that pays his debt
At once without instalments (an old way
Of paying debts, which creditors regret)
Lets out impatiently his rushing breath,
Less from disgust of life than dread of death.

V
'T is round him, near him, here, there, every where;
And there's a courage which grows out of fear,
Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare
The worst to know it -- when the mountains rear
Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there
You look down o'er the precipice, and drear
The gulf of rock yawns -- you can't gaze a minute
Without an awful wish to plunge within it.

VI
'T is true, you don't -- but, pale and struck with terror,
Retire: but look into your past impression!
And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror
Of your own thoughts, in all their self-confession,
The lurking bias, be it truth or error,
To the unknown; a secret prepossession,
To plunge with all your fear -- but where? You know not,
And that's the reason why you'd -- or do not.

VII
But what's this to the purpose? you will say.
Gent. reader, nothing; a mere speculation,
For which my sole excuse is -- 't is my way;
Sometimes with and sometimes without occasion
I write what's uppermost, without delay:
This narrative is not meant for narration,
But a mere airy and fantastic basis,
To build up common things with common places.

VIII
You know, or don't know, that great Bacon saith,
"Fling up a straw, 't will show the way the wind blows;"
And such a straw, borne on by human breath,
Is poesy, according as the mind glows;
A paper kite which flies 'twixt life and death,
A shadow which the onward soul behind throws:
And mine's a bubble, not blown up for praise,
But just to play with, as an infant plays.

IX
The world is all before me -- or behind;
For I have seen a portion of that same,
And quite enough for me to keep in mind; --
Of passions, too, I have proved enough to blame,
To the great pleasure of our friends, mankind,
Who like to mix some slight alloy with fame;
For I was rather famous in my time,
Until I fairly knock'd it up with rhyme.

X
I have brought this world about my ears, and eke
The other; that's to say, the clergy, who
Upon my head have bid their thunders break
In pious libels by no means a few.
And yet I can't help scribbling once a week,
Tiring old readers, nor discovering new.
In youth I wrote because my mind was full,
And now because I feel it growing dull.

XI
But "why then publish?" -- There are no rewards
Of fame or profit when the world grows weary.
I ask in turn -- Why do you play at cards?
Why drink? Why read -- To make some hour less dreary.
It occupies me to turn back regards
On what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery;
And what I write I cast upon the stream,
To swim or sink -- I have had at least my dream.

XII
I think that were I certain of success,
I hardly could compose another line:
So long I've battled either more or less,
That no defeat can drive me from the Nine.
This feeling 't is not easy to express,
And yet 't is not affected, I opine.
In play, there are two pleasures for your choosing --
The one is winning, and the other losing.

XIII
Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction:
She gathers a repertory of facts,
Of course with some reserve and slight restriction,
But mostly sings of human things and acts --
And that's one cause she meets with contradiction;
For too much truth, at first sight, ne'er attracts;
And were her object only what's call'd glory,
With more ease too she'd tell a different story.

XIV
Love, war, a tempest -- surely there's variety;
Also a seasoning slight of lucubration;
A bird's-eye view, too, of that wild, Society;
A slight glance thrown on men of every station.
If you have nought else, here's at least satiety
Both in performance and in preparation;
And though these lines should only line portmanteaus,
Trade will be all the better for these Cantos.

XV
The portion of this world which I at present
Have taken up to fill the following sermon,
Is one of which there's no description recent.
The reason why is easy to determine:
Although it seems both prominent and pleasant,
There is a sameness in its gems and ermine,
A dull and family likeness through all ages,
Of no great promise for poetic pages.

XVI
With much to excite, there's little to exalt;
Nothing that speaks to all men and all times;
A sort of varnish over every fault;
A kind of common-place, even in their crimes;
Factitious passions, wit without much salt,
A want of that true nature which sublimes
Whate'er it shows with truth; a smooth monotony
Of character, in those at least who have got any.

XVII
Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade,
They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill;
But then the roll-call draws them back afraid,
And they must be or seem what they were: still
Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade;
But when of the first sight you have had your fill,
It palls -- at least it did so upon me,
This paradise of pleasure and ennui.

XVIII
When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming,
Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, something more;
With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming;
Seen beauties brought to market by the score,
Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming;
There's little left but to be bored or bore.
Witness those ci-devant jeunes hommes who stem
The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them.

XIX
'T is said -- indeed a general complaint --
That no one has succeeded in describing
The monde, exactly as they ought to paint:
Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribing
The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint,
To furnish matter for their moral gibing;
And that their books have but one style in common --
My lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman.

XX
But this can't well be true, just now; for writers
Are grown of the beau monde a part potential:
I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters,
Especially when young, for that's essential.
Why do their sketches fail them as inditers
Of what they deem themselves most consequential,
The real portrait of the highest tribe?
'T is that, in fact, there's little to describe.

XXI
"Haud ignara loquor;" these are Nugae, "quarum
Pars parva fui," but still art and part.
Now I could much more easily sketch a harem,
A battle, wreck, or history of the heart,
Than these things; and besides, I wish to spare 'em,
For reasons which I choose to keep apart.
"Vetabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgarit --"
Which means that vulgar people must not share it.

XXII
And therefore what I throw off is ideal --
Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of freemasons;
Which bears the same relation to the real,
As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's.
The grand arcanum's not for men to see all;
My music has some mystic diapasons;
And there is much which could not be appreciated
In any manner by the uninitiated.

XXIII
Alas! worlds fall -- and woman, since she fell'd
The world (as, since that history less polite
Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held)
Has not yet given up the practice quite.
Poor thing of usages! coerced, compell'd,
Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right,
Condemn'd to child-bed, as men for their sins
Have shaving too entail'd upon their chins, --

XXIV
A daily plague, which in the aggregate
May average on the whole with parturition.
But as to women, who can penetrate
The real sufferings of their she condition?
Man's very sympathy with their estate
Has much of selfishness, and more suspicion.
Their love, their virtue, beauty, education,
But form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.

XXV
All this were very well, and can't be better;
But even this is difficult, Heaven knows,
So many troubles from her birth beset her,
Such small distinction between friends and foes,
The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter,
That -- but ask any woman if she'd choose
(Take her at thirty, that is) to have been
Female or male? a schoolboy or a queen?

XXVI
"Petticoat influence" is a great reproach,
Which even those who obey would fain be thought
To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach;
But since beneath it upon earth we are brought,
By various joltings of life's hackney coach,
I for one venerate a petticoat --
A garment of a mystical sublimity,
No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity.

XXVII
Much I respect, and much I have adored,
In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil,
Which holds a treasure, like a miser's hoard,
And more attracts by all it doth conceal --
A golden scabbard on a Damasque sword,
A loving letter with a mystic seal,
A cure for grief -- for what can ever rankle
Before a petticoat and peeping ankle?

XXVIII
And when upon a silent, sullen day,
With a sirocco, for example, blowing,
When even the sea looks dim with all its spray,
And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing,
And the sky shows that very ancient gray,
The sober, sad antithesis to glowing, --
'T is pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant,
To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant.

XXIX
We left our heroes and our heroines
In that fair clime which don't depend on climate,
Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs,
Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at,
Because the sun, and stars, and aught that shines,
Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at,
Are there oft dull and dreary as a dun --
Whether a sky's or tradesman's is all one.

XXX
An in-door life is less poetical;
And out of door hath showers, and mists, and sleet,
With which I could not brew a pastoral.
But be it as it may, a bard must meet
All difficulties, whether great or small,
To spoil his undertaking or complete,
And work away like spirit upon matter,
Embarrass'd somewhat both with fire and water.

XXXI
Juan -- in this respect, at least, like saints --
Was all things unto people of all sorts,
And lived contentedly, without complaints,
In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts --
Born with that happy soul which seldom faints,
And mingling modestly in toils or sports.
He likewise could be most things to all women,
Without the coxcombry of certain she men.

XXXII
A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange;
'T is also subject to the double danger
Of tumbling first, and having in exchange
Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger:
But Juan had been early taught to range
The wilds, as doth an Arab turn'd avenger,
So that his horse, or charger, hunter, hack,
Knew that he had a rider on his back.

XXXIII
And now in this new field, with some applause,
He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, and rail,
And never craned, and made but few "faux pas,"
And only fretted when the scent 'gan fail.
He broke, 't is true, some statutes of the laws
Of hunting -- for the sagest youth is frail;
Rode o'er the hounds, it may be, now and then,
And once o'er several country gentlemen.

XXXIV
But on the whole, to general admiration
He acquitted both himself and horse: the squires
Marvell'd at merit of another nation;
The boors cried "Dang it? who'd have thought it?" -- Sires,
The Nestors of the sporting generation,
Swore praises, and recall'd their former fires;
The huntsman's self relented to a grin,
And rated him almost a whipper-in.

XXXV
Such were his trophies -- not of spear and shield,
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes;
Yet I must own -- although in this I yield
To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes, --
He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,
Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes,
And what not, though he rode beyond all price,
Ask'd next day, "If men ever hunted twice?"

XXXVI
He also had a quality uncommon
To early risers after a long chase,
Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon
December's drowsy day to his dull race, --
A quality agreeable to woman,
When her soft, liquid words run on apace,
Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner, --
He did not fall asleep just after dinner;

XXXVII
But, light and airy, stood on the alert,
And shone in the best part of dialogue,
By humouring always what they might assert,
And listening to the topics most in vogue;
Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert;
And smiling but in secret -- cunning rogue!
He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer; --
In short, there never was a better hearer.

XXXVIII
And then he danced -- all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime -- he danced, I say, right well,
With emphasis, and also with good sense --
A thing in footing indispensable;
He danced without theatrical pretence,
Not like a ballet-master in the van
Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.

XXXIX
Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bound,
And elegance was sprinkled o'er his figure;
Like swift Camilla, he scarce skimm'd the ground,
And rather held in than put forth his vigour;
And then he had an ear for music's sound,
Which might defy a crotchet critic's rigour.
Such classic pas -- sans flaw -- set off our hero,
He glanced like a personified Bolero;

XL
Or, like a flying Hour before Aurora,
In Guido's famous fresco which alone
Is worth a tour to Rome, although no more a
Remnant were there of the old world's sole throne.
The tout ensemble of his movements wore a
Grace of the soft ideal, seldom shown,
And ne'er to be described; for to the dolour
Of bards and prosers, words are void of colour.

XLI
No marvel then he was a favourite;
A full-grown Cupid, very much admired;
A little spoilt, but by no means so quite;
At least he kept his vanity retired.
Such was his tact, he could alike delight
The chaste, and those who are not so much inspired.
The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke, who loved tracasserie,
Began to treat him with some small agacerie.

XLII
She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde,
Desirable, distinguish'd, celebrated
For several winters in the grand, grand monde.
I'd rather not say what might be related
Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground;
Besides there might be falsehood in what's stated:
Her late performance had been a dead set
At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

XLIII
This noble personage began to look
A little black upon this new flirtation;
But such small licences must lovers brook,
Mere freedoms of the female corporation.
Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke!
'T will but precipitate a situation
Extremely disagreeable, but common
To calculators when they count on woman.

XLIV
The circle smiled, then whisper'd, and then sneer'd;
The Misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd;
Some hoped things might not turn out as they fear'd;
Some would not deem such women could be found;
Some ne'er believed one half of what they heard;
Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd profound;
And several pitied with sincere regret
Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

XLV
But what is odd, none ever named the duke,
Who, one might think, was something in the affair;
True, he was absent, and, 't was rumour'd, took
But small concern about the when, or where,
Or what his consort did: if he could brook
Her gaieties, none had a right to stare:
Theirs was that best of unions, past all doubt,
Which never meets, and therefore can't fall out.

XLVI
But, oh! that I should ever pen so sad a line!
Fired with an abstract love of virtue, she,
My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline,
Began to think the duchess' conduct free;
Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line,
And waxing chiller in her courtesy,
Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility,
For which most friends reserve their sensibility.

XLVII
There's nought in this bad world like sympathy:
'T is so becoming to the soul and face,
Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,
And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace.
Without a friend, what were humanity,
To hunt our errors up with a good grace?
Consoling us with -- "Would you had thought twice!
Ah, if you had but follow'd my advice!"

XLVIII
O Job! you had two friends: one's quite enough,
Especially when we are ill at ease;
They are but bad pilots when the weather's rough,
Doctors less famous for their cures than fees.
Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,
As they will do like leaves at the first breeze:
When your affairs come round, one way or t' other,
Go to the coffee-house, and take another.

XLIX
But this is not my maxim: had it been,
Some heart-aches had been spared me: yet I care not --
I would not be a tortoise in his screen
Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not.
'T is better on the whole to have felt and seen
That which humanity may bear, or bear not:
'T will teach discernment to the sensitive,
And not to pour their ocean in a sieve.

L
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so,"
Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past,
Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do,
Own they foresaw that you would fall at last,
And solace your slight lapse 'gainst bonos mores,
With a long memorandum of old stories.

LI
The Lady Adeline's serene severity
Was not confined to feeling for her friend,
Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity,
Unless her habits should begin to mend:
But Juan also shared in her austerity,
But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd:
His inexperience moved her gentle ruth,
And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth.

LII
These forty days' advantage of her years --
And hers were those which can face calculation,
Boldly referring to the list of peers
And noble births, nor dread the enumeration --
Gave her a right to have maternal fears
For a young gentleman's fit education,
Though she was far from that leap year, whose leap,
In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap.

LIII
This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirty --
Say seven-and-twenty; for I never knew
The strictest in chronology and virtue
Advance beyond, while they could pass for new.
O Time! why dost not pause? Thy scythe, so dirty
With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew.
Reset it; shave more smoothly, also slower,
If but to keep thy credit as a mower.

LIV
But Adeline was far from that ripe age,
Whose ripeness is but bitter at the best:
'T was rather her experience made her sage,
For she had seen the world and stood its test,
As I have said in -- I forget what page;
My Muse despises reference, as you have guess'd
By this time -- but strike six from seven-and-twenty,
And you will find her sum of years in plenty.

LV
At sixteen she came out; presented, vaunted,
She put all coronets into commotion:
At seventeen, too, the world was still enchanted
With the new Venus of their brilliant ocean:
At eighteen, though below her feet still panted
A hecatomb of suitors with devotion,
She had consented to create again
That Adam, call'd "The happiest of men."

LVI
Since then she had sparkled through three glowing winters,
Admired, adored; but also so correct,
That she had puzzled all the acutest hinters,
Without the apparel of being circumspect:
They could not even glean the slightest splinters
From off the marble, which had no defect.
She had also snatch'd a moment since her marriage
To bear a son and heir -- and one miscarriage.

LVII
Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her,
Those little glitterers of the London night;
But none of these possess'd a sting to wound her --
She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight.
Perhaps she wish'd an aspirant profounder;
But whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right;
And whether coldness, pride, or virtue dignify
A woman, so she's good, what does it signify?

LVIII
I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle
Which with the landlord makes too long a stand,
Leaving all-claretless the unmoisten'd throttle,
Especially with politics on hand;
I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle,
Who whirl the dust as simooms whirl the sand;
I hate it, as I hate an argument,
A laureate's ode, or servile peer's "content."

LIX
'T is sad to hack into the roots of things,
They are so much intertwisted with the earth;
So that the branch a goodly verdure flings,
I reck not if an acorn gave it birth.
To trace all actions to their secret springs
Would make indeed some melancholy mirth;
But this is not at present my concern,
And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern.

LX
With the kind view of saving an éclat,
Both to the duchess and diplomatist,
The Lady Adeline, as soon's she saw
That Juan was unlikely to resist
(For foreigners don't know that a faux pas
In England ranks quite on a different list
From those of other lands unblest with juries,
Whose verdict for such sin a certain cure is); --

LXI
The Lady Adeline resolved to take
Such measures as she thought might best impede
The farther progress of this sad mistake.
She thought with some simplicity indeed;
But innocence is bold even at the stake,
And simple in the world, and doth not need
Nor use those palisades by dames erected,
Whose virtue lies in never being detected.

LXII
It was not that she fear'd the very worst:
His Grace was an enduring, married man,
And was not likely all at once to burst
Into a scene, and swell the clients' clan
Of Doctors' Commons: but she dreaded first
The magic of her Grace's talisman,
And next a quarrel (as he seem'd to fret)
With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

LXIII
Her Grace, too, pass'd for being an intrigante,
And somewhat méchante in her amorous sphere;
One of those pretty, precious plagues, which haunt
A lover with caprices soft and dear,
That like to make a quarrel, when they can't
Find one, each day of the delightful year;
Bewitching, torturing, as they freeze or glow,
And -- what is worst of all -- won't let you go:

LXIV
The sort of thing to turn a young man's head,
Or make a Werter of him in the end.
No wonder then a purer soul should dread
This sort of chaste liaison for a friend;
It were much better to be wed or dead,
Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend.
'T is best to pause, and think, ere you rush on,
If that a bonne fortune be really bonne.

LXV
And first, in the o'erflowing of her heart,
Which really knew or thought it knew no guile,
She call'd her husband now and then apart,
And bade him counsel Juan. With a smile
Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art
To wean Don Juan from the siren's wile;
And answer'd, like a statesman or a prophet,
In such guise that she could make nothing of it.

LXVI
Firstly, he said, "he never interfered
In any body's business but the king's:"
Next, that "he never judged from what appear'd,
Without strong reason, of those sort of things:"
Thirdly, that "Juan had more brain than beard,
And was not to be held in leading strings;"
And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice,
"That good but rarely came from good advice."

LXVII
And, therefore, doubtless to approve the truth
Of the last axiom, he advised his spouse
To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth --
At least as far as bienséance allows:
That time would temper Juan's faults of youth;
That young men rarely made monastic vows;
That opposition only more attaches --
But here a messenger brought in despatches:

LXVIII
And being of the council call'd "the Privy,"
Lord Henry walk'd into his cabinet,
To furnish matter for some future Livy
To tell how he reduced the nation's debt;
And if their full contents I do not give ye,
It is because I do not know them yet;
But I shall add them in a brief appendix,
To come between mine epic and its index.

LXIX
But ere he went, he added a slight hint,
Another gentle common-place or two,
Such as are coin'd in conversation's mint,
And pass, for want of better, though not new:
Then broke his packet, to see what was in 't,
And having casually glanced it through,
Retired; and, as went out, calmly kiss'd her,
Less like a young wife than an agéd sister.

LXX
He was a cold, good, honourable man,
Proud of his birth, and proud of every thing;
A goodly spirit for a state divan,
A figure fit to walk before a king;
Tall, stately, form'd to lead the courtly van
On birthdays, glorious with a star and string;
The very model of a chamberlain --
And such I mean to make him when I reign.

LXXI
But there was something wanting on the whole --
I don't know what, and therefore cannot tell --
Which pretty women -- the sweet souls -- call soul.
Certes it was not body; he was well
Proportion'd, as a poplar or a pole,
A handsome man, that human miracle;
And in each circumstance of love or war
Had still preserved his perpendicular.

LXXII
Still there was something wanting, as I 've said --
That undefinable "Je ne sçais quoi,"
Which, for what I know, may of yore have led
To Homer's Iliad, since it drew to Troy
The Greek Eve, Helen, from the Spartan's bed;
Though on the whole, no doubt, the Dardan boy
Was much inferior to King Menelaüs: --
But thus it is some women will betray us.

LXXIII
There is an awkward thing which much perplexes,
Unless like wise Tiresias we had proved
By turns the difference of the several sexes;
Neither can show quite how they would be loved.
The sensual for a short time but connects us,
The sentimental boasts to be unmoved;
But both together form a kind of centaur,
Upon whose back 't is better not to venture.

LXXIV
A something all-sufficient for the heart
Is that for which the sex are always seeking:
But how to fill up that same vacant part?
There lies the rub -- and this they are but weak in.
Frail mariners afloat without a chart,
They run before the wind through high seas breaking;
And when they have made the shore through every shock,
'T is odd, or odds, it may turn out a rock.

LXXV
There is a flower call'd "Love in Idleness,"
For which see Shakspeare's everblooming garden; --
I will not make his great description less,
And beg his British godship's humble pardon,
If in my extremity of rhyme's distress,
I touch a single leaf where he is warden; --
But though the flower is different, with the French
Or Swiss Rousseau, cry "Voilà la Pervenche!"

LXXVI
Eureka! I have found it! What I mean
To say is, not that love is idleness,
But that in love such idleness has been
An accessory, as I have cause to guess.
Hard labour's an indifferent go-between;
Your men of business are not apt to express
Much passion, since the merchant-ship, the Argo,
Convey'd Medea as her supercargo.

LXXVII
"Beatus ille procul!" from "negotiis,"
Saith Horace; the great little poet's wrong;
His other maxim, "Noscitur a sociis,"
Is much more to the purpose of his song;
Though even that were sometimes too ferocious,
Unless good company be kept too long;
But, in his teeth, whate'er their state or station,
Thrice happy they who have an occupation!

LXXVIII
Adam exchanged his Paradise for ploughing,
Eve made up millinery with fig leaves --
The earliest knowledge from the tree so knowing,
As far as I know, that the church receives:
And since that time it need not cost much showing,
That many of the ills o'er which man grieves,
And still more women, spring from not employing
Some hours to make the remnant worth enjoying.

LXXIX
And hence high life is oft a dreary void,
A rack of pleasures, where we must invent
A something wherewithal to be annoy'd.
Bards may sing what they please about Content;
Contented, when translated, means but cloy'd;
And hence arise the woes of sentiment,
Blue devils, and blue-stockings, and romances
Reduced to practice, and perform'd like dances.

LXXX
I do declare, upon an affidavit,
Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen;
Nor, if unto the world I ever gave it,
Would some believe that such a tale had been:
But such intent I never had, nor have it;
Some truths are better kept behind a screen,
Especially when they would look like lies;
I therefore deal in generalities.

LXXXI
"An oyster may be cross'd in love" -- and why?
Because he mopeth idly in his shell,
And heaves a lonely subterraqueous sigh,
Much as a monk may do within his cell:
And à-propos of monks, their piety
With sloth hath found it difficult to dwell;
Those vegetables of the Catholic creed
Are apt exceedingly to run to seed.

LXXXII
O Wilberforce! thou man of black renown,
Whose merit none enough can sing or say,
Thou hast struck one immense Colossus down,
Thou moral Washington of Africa!
But there's another little thing, I own,
Which you should perpetrate some summer's day,
And set the other half of earth to rights;
You have freed the blacks -- now pray shut up the whites.

LXXXIII
Shut up the bald-coot bully Alexander!
Ship off the Holy Three to Senegal;
Teach them that "sauce for goose is sauce for gander,"
And ask them how they like to be in thrall?
Shut up each high heroic salamander,
Who eats fire gratis (since the pay's but small);
Shut up -- no, not the King, but the Pavilion,
Or else 't will cost us all another million.

LXXXIV
Shut up the world at large, let Bedlam out;
And you will be perhaps surprised to find
All things pursue exactly the same route,
As now with those of soi-disant sound mind.
This I could prove beyond a single doubt,
Were there a jot of sense among mankind;
But till that point d'appui is found, alas!
Like Archimedes, I leave earth as 't was.

LXXXV
Our gentle Adeline had one defect --
Her heart was vacant, though a splendid mansion;
Her conduct had been perfectly correct,
As she had seen nought claiming its expansion.
A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd,
Because 't is frailer, doubtless, than a stanch one;
But when the latter works its own undoing,
Its inner crash is like an earthquake's ruin.

LXXXVI
She loved her lord, or thought so; but that love
Cost her an effort, which is a sad toil,
The stone of Sisyphus, if once we move
Our feelings 'gainst the nature of the soil.
She had nothing to complain of, or reprove,
No bickerings, no connubial turmoil:
Their union was a model to behold,
Serene and noble -- conjugal, but cold.

LXXXVII
There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd:
They moved like stars united in their spheres,
Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
Where mingled and yet separate appears
The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd
Through the serene and placid glassy deep,
Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep.

LXXXVIII
Now when she once had ta'en an interest
In any thing, however she might flatter
Herself that her intentions were the best,
Intense intentions are a dangerous matter:
Impressions were much stronger than she guess'd,
And gather'd as they run like growing water
Upon her mind; the more so, as her breast
Was not at first too readily impress'd.

LXXXIX
But when it was, she had that lurking demon
Of double nature, and thus doubly named --
Firmness yclept in heroes, kings, and seamen,
That is, when they succeed; but greatly blamed
As obstinacy, both in men and women,
Whene'er their triumph pales, or star is tamed: --
And 't will perplex the casuist in morality
To fix the due bounds of this dangerous quality.

XC
Had Buonaparte won at Waterloo,
It had been firmness; now 't is pertinacity:
Must the event decide between the two?
I leave it to your people of sagacity
To draw the line between the false and true,
If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacity:
My business is with Lady Adeline,
Who in her way too was a heroine.

XCI
She knew not her own heart; then how should I?
I think not she was then in love with Juan:
If so, she would have had the strength to fly
The wild sensation, unto her a new one:
She merely felt a common sympathy
(I will not say it was a false or true one)
In him, because she thought he was in danger, --
Her husband's friend, her own, young, and a stranger,

XCII
She was, or thought she was, his friend -- and this
Without the farce of friendship, or romance
Of Platonism, which leads so oft amiss
Ladies who have studied friendship but in France,
Or Germany, where people purely kiss.
To thus much Adeline would not advance;
But of such friendship as man's may to man be
She was as capable as woman can be.

XCIII
No doubt the secret influence of the sex
Will there, as also in the ties of blood,
An innocent predominance annex,
And tune the concord to a finer mood.
If free from passion, which all friendship checks,
And your true feelings fully understood,
No friend like to a woman earth discovers,
So that you have not been nor will be lovers.

XCIV
Love bears within its breast the very germ
Of change; and how should this be otherwise?
That violent things more quickly find a term
Is shown through nature's whole analogies;
And how should the most fierce of all be firm?
Would you have endless lightning in the skies?
Methinks Love's very title says enough:
How should "the tender passion" e'er be tough?

XCV
Alas! by all experience, seldom yet
(I merely quote what I have heard from many)
Had lovers not some reason to regret
The passion which made Solomon a zany.
I've also seen some wives (not to forget
The marriage state, the best or worst of any)
Who were the very paragons of wives,
Yet made the misery of at least two lives.

XCVI
I've also seen some female friends ('t is odd,
But true -- as, if expedient, I could prove)
That faithful were through thick and thin, abroad,
At home, far more than ever yet was Love --
Who did not quit me when Oppression trod
Upon me; whom no scandal could remove;
Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles,
Despite the snake Society's loud rattles.

XCVII
Whether Don Juan and chaste Adeline
Grew friends in this or any other sense,
Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine:
At present I am glad of a pretence
To leave them hovering, as the effect is fine,
And keeps the atrocious reader in suspense;
The surest way for ladies and for books
To bait their tender, or their tenter, hooks.

XCVIII
Whether they rode, or walk'd, or studied Spanish
To read Don Quixote in the original,
A pleasure before which all others vanish;
Whether their talk was of the kind call'd "small,"
Or serious, are the topics I must banish
To the next Canto; where perhaps I shall
Say something to the purpose, and display
Considerable talent in my way.

XCIX
Above all, I beg all men to forbear
Anticipating aught about the matter:
They'll only make mistakes about the fair,
And Juan too, especially the latter.
And I shall take a much more serious air
Than I have yet done, in this epic satire.
It is not clear that Adeline and Juan
Will fall; but if they do, 't will be their ruin.

C
But great things spring from little -- Would you think,
That in our youth, as dangerous a passion
As e'er brought man and woman to the brink
Of ruin, rose from such a slight occasion,
As few would ever dream could form the link
Of such a sentimental situation?
You'll never guess, I'll bet you millions, milliards --
It all sprung from a harmless game at billiards.

CI
'T is strange -- but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction; if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!
How oft would vice and virtue places change!
The new world would be nothing to the old,
If some Columbus of the moral seas
Would show mankind their souls' antipodes.

CII
What "antres vast and deserts idle" then
Would be discover'd in the human soul!
What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men,
With self-love in the centre as their pole!
What Anthropophagi are nine of ten
Of those who hold the kingdoms in control
Were things but only call'd by their right name,
Cæsar himself would be ashamed of fame.

poem by from Don Juan (1824)Report problemRelated quotes
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