The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 24

CXL.

I say, the Sun is a most glorious sight, I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of late I have sat up on purpose all the night,[bn][153]

Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fate; And so all ye, who would be in the right In health and purse, begin your day to date From daybreak, and when coffined at fourscore, Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four.

CXLI.

And Haidee met the morning face to face; Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race From heart to cheek is curbed into a blush, Like to a torrent which a mountain's base, That overpowers some Alpine river's rush, Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread; Or the Red Sea--but the sea is not red.[154]

CXLII.

And down the cliff the island virgin came, And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew, While the Sun smiled on her with his first flame, And young Aurora kissed her lips with dew, Taking her for a sister; just the same Mistake you would have made on seeing the two, Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair, Had all the advantage, too, of not being air.[bo]

CXLIII.

And when into the cavern Haidee stepped All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw That like an infant Juan sweetly slept; And then she stopped, and stood as if in awe (For sleep is awful), and on tiptoe crept And wrapped him closer, lest the air, too raw, Should reach his blood, then o'er him still as Death Bent, with hushed lips, that drank his scarce-drawn breath.

CXLIV.

And thus like to an Angel o'er the dying Who die in righteousness, she leaned; and there All tranquilly the s.h.i.+pwrecked boy was lying, As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air: But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying, Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair Must breakfast--and, betimes, lest they should ask it, She drew out her provision from the basket.

CXLV.

She knew that the best feelings must have victual, And that a s.h.i.+pwrecked youth would hungry be; Besides, being less in love, she yawned a little, And felt her veins chilled by the neighbouring sea; And so, she cooked their breakfast to a t.i.ttle; I can't say that she gave them any tea, But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey, With Scio wine,--and all for love, not money.

CXLVI.

And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and The coffee made, would fain have wakened Juan; But Haidee stopped her with her quick small hand, And without word, a sign her finger drew on Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand; And, the first breakfast spoilt, prepared a new one, Because her mistress would not let her break That sleep which seemed as it would ne'er awake.

CXLVII.

For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek A purple hectic played like dying day On the snow-tops of distant hills; the streak Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay, Where the blue veins looked shadowy, shrunk, and weak; And his black curls were dewy with the spray, Which weighed upon them yet, all damp and salt, Mixed with the stony vapours of the vault.

CXLVIII.

And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath, Hushed as the babe upon its mother's breast, Drooped as the willow when no winds can breathe, Lulled like the depth of Ocean when at rest, Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath, Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest;[bp]

In short, he was a very pretty fellow, Although his woes had turned him rather yellow.

CXLIX.

He woke and gazed, and would have slept again, But the fair face which met his eyes forbade Those eyes to close, though weariness and pain Had further sleep a further pleasure made: For Woman's face was never formed in vain For Juan, so that even when he prayed He turned from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy, To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary.

CL.

And thus upon his elbow he arose, And looked upon the lady, in whose cheek The pale contended with the purple rose, As with an effort she began to speak; Her eyes were eloquent, her words would pose, Although she told him, in good modern Greek, With an Ionian accent, low and sweet, That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat.

CLI.

Now Juan could not understand a word, Being no Grecian; but he had an ear, And her voice was the warble of a bird,[155]

So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear, That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard;[bq]

The sort of sound we echo with a tear, Without knowing why--an overpowering tone, Whence Melody descends as from a throne.

CLII.

And Juan gazed as one who is awoke By a distant organ, doubting if he be Not yet a dreamer, till the spell is broke By the watchman, or some such reality, Or by one's early valet's cursed knock; At least it is a heavy sound to me, Who like a morning slumber--for the night Shows stars and women in a better light.

CLIII.

And Juan, too, was helped out from his dream, Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was, by feeling A most prodigious appet.i.te; the steam Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing Upon his senses, and the kindling beam Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, kneeling, To stir her viands, made him quite awake And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak.

CLIV.

But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton, And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on: But this occurs but seldom, between whiles, For some of these are rocks with scarce a hut on; Others are fair and fertile, among which This, though not large, was one of the most rich.

CLV.

I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking That the old fable of the Minotaur--From which our modern morals, rightly shrinking, Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore A cow's shape for a mask--was only (sinking The allegory) a mere type, no more, That Pasiphae promoted breeding cattle, To make the Cretans bloodier in battle.

CLVI.

For we all know that English people are Fed upon beef--I won't say much of beer, Because 't is liquor only, and being far From this my subject, has no business here; We know, too, they are very fond of war, A pleasure--like all pleasures--rather dear; So were the Cretans--from which I infer, That beef and battles both were owing to her.

CLVII.

But to resume. The languid Juan raised His head upon his elbow, and he saw A sight on which he had not lately gazed, As all his latter meals had been quite raw, Three or four things, for which the Lord he praised, And, feeling still the famished vulture gnaw, He fell upon whate'er was offered, like A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike.

CLVIII.

He ate, and he was well supplied; and she, Who watched him like a mother, would have fed Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see Such appet.i.te in one she had deemed dead: But Zoe, being older than Haidee, Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) That famished people must be slowly nurst, And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

CLIX.

And so she took the liberty to state, Rather by deeds than words, because the case Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace The sea-sh.o.r.e at this hour, must leave his plate, Unless he wished to die upon the place-- She s.n.a.t.c.hed it, and refused another morsel, Saying, he had gorged enough to make a horse ill.

CLX.

Next they--he being naked, save a tattered Pair of scarce decent trowsers--went to work, And in the fire his recent rags they scattered, And dressed him, for the present, like a Turk, Or Greek--that is, although it not much mattered, Omitting turban, slippers, pistol, dirk,-- They furnished him, entire, except some st.i.tches, With a clean s.h.i.+rt, and very s.p.a.cious breeches.

CLXI.

And then fair Haidee tried her tongue at speaking, But not a word could Juan comprehend, Although he listened so that the young Greek in Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end; And, as he interrupted not, went eking Her speech out to her protege and friend, Till pausing at the last her breath to take, She saw he did not understand Romaic.

CLXII.

And then she had recourse to nods, and signs, And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye, And read (the only book she could) the lines Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy, The answer eloquent, where the Soul s.h.i.+nes And darts in one quick glance a long reply; And thus in every look she saw expressed A world of words, and things at which she guessed.

CLXIII.

And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes, And words repeated after her, he took A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise, No doubt, less of her language than her look: As he who studies fervently the skies Turns oftener to the stars than to his book, Thus Juan learned his _alpha beta_ better From Haidee's glance than any graven letter.