THE SHIPWRECK. (DON JUAN, Canto ii. Stanzas 49-53.) 'TWAS twilight, and the sunless day went down Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear Some trial had been making at a raft, With little hope in such a rolling sea, A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd, At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, That still could keep afloat the struggling tars, For yet they strove, although of no great use : There was no light in heaven but a few stars, The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews; She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And, going down head foremost—sunk, in short. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,— Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die. And first one universal shriek there rush'd, HAIDÉE. (DON JUAN, Canto ii. Stanzas 111-118.) How long in his damp trance young Juan lay He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb, His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed, For all was doubt and dizziness; he thought He still was in the boat, and had but dozed, And felt again with his despair o'erwrought, And wish'd it death in which he had reposed, And then once more his feelings back were brought, And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen A lovely female face of seventeen. 'Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung; And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm, Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm; And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew A sigh from his heaved bosom—and hers, too. And lifting him with care into the cave, -one The gentle girl, and her attendant, - And more robust of figure,—then begun To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which the sun Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoe❜er She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair, Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd In braids behind; and though her stature were Even of the highest for a female mould, They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air There was a something which bespoke command, As one who was a lady in the land. Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew ; 'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength. Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dye Fit for the model of a statuary (A race of mere impostors, when all's doneI've seen much finer women, ripe and real, Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal). HAIDÉE AGAIN. (DON JUAN, Canto iii. Stanzas 70-75.) Of all the dresses I select Haidée's: She wore two jelicks—one was of pale yellow; Of azure, pink, and white was her chemise 'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow; With buttons form'd of pearls as large as peas, All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fellow, And the striped white gauze baracan that bound her, Like fleecy clouds about the moon flow'd round her. One large gold bracelet clasp'd each lovely arm, That the hand stretch'd and shut it without harm, Around, as princess of her father's land, A like gold bar above her instep roll'd Announced her rank; twelve rings were on her hand; Her hair was starr'd with gems; her veil's fine fold Below her breast was fasten'd with a band Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told; Her orange silk full Turkish trousers furl'd About the prettiest ankle in the world. |