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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
Seem'd almost prying into his for breath;
And, chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
Recall'd his answering spirits back from death;
And bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe
Each pulse to animation, till beneath
Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh
To these kind efforts made a low reply.

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,


The gentle girl, and her attendant, -
Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave,

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
Were black as death, their lashes the same hue,
Of downcast length, in whose silk shadows lies
Deepest attraction; for when to the view
Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,

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
Like twilight rosy still with the set sun;
Short upper lip-sweet lips! that make us sigh
Ever to have seen such; for she was one

Fit for the model of a statuary

(A race of mere impostors, when all's done— I've seen much finer women, ripe and real, Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal).


(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,

Lockless-so pliable from the pure gold

That the hand stretch'd and shut it without harm,
The limb which it adorn'd its only mould;
So beautiful-its very shape would charm,
And clinging as if loath to lose its hold,
The purest ore enclosed the whitest skin
That e'er by precious metal was held in.

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.


Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel Flow'd like an Alpine torrent which the sun Dyes with his morning light,—and would conceal Her person if allow'd at large to run,

And still they seem resentfully to feel

The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught began To offer his young pinion as her fan.

Round her she made an atmosphere of life,
The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes,
They were so soft and beautiful, and rife
With all we can imagine of the skies,
And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife—
Too pure even for the purest human ties ;
Her overpowering presence made you feel
It would not be idolatry to kneel.

Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were tinged
(It is the country's custom), but in vain ;
For those large black eyes were so blackly fringed,
The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain,
And in their native beauty stood avenged:

Her nails were touch'd with henna; but again
The power of art was turn'd to nothing, for
They could not look more rosy than before.



(DON JUAN, Canto xv. Stanzas 43-47.)

AND then there was—but why should I go on,
Unless the ladies should go off?—there was
Indeed a certain fair and fairy one,

Of the best class, and better than her class,Aurora Raby, a young star who shone

O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass,
A lovely being, scarcely form'd or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded;

Rich, noble, but an orphan: left an only

Child to the care of guardians good and kind; But still her aspect had an air so lonely!

Blood is not water; and where shall we find Feelings of youth like those which overthrown lie By death, when we are left, alas! behind, To feel, in friendless palaces, a home Is wanting, and our best ties in the tomb?

Early in years, and yet more infantine

In figure, she had something of sublime In eyes which sadly shone, as seraphs' shine.

All youth-but with an aspect beyond time; Radiant and grave—as pitying man's decline;

Mournful-but mournful of another's crime, She look'd as if she sate by Eden's door, And grieved for those who could return no more.

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