XI.

But next to dressing for a rout or ball,
Undressing is a woe; our robe de chambre
May sit like that of Nessus, (1) and recall

Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber. Titus exclaim'd, "I've lost a day!" Of all

The nights and days most people can remember, (I have had of both, some not to be disdain'd,) I wish they'd state how many they have gain'd,

XII.

And Juan, on retiring for the night,

Felt restless, and perplex'd, and compromised: He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright Than Adeline (such is advice) advised; If he had known exactly his own plight, He probably would have philosophised; A great resource to all, and ne'er denied Till wanted; therefore Juan only sigh'd.

XIII.

He sigh'd;—the next resource is the full moon,
Where all sighs are deposited; and now

It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone
As clear as such a climate will allow ;
And Juan's mind was in the proper tone

To hail her with the apostrophe-"O thou!"

Of amatory egotism the Tuism,

Which further to explain would be a truism.

(1) [See Ovid. Epist. ix.]

XIV.

But lover, poet, or astronomer,

Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold,
Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her:
Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold
Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err);

Deep secrets to her rolling light are told;
The ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways,
And also hearts, if there be truth in lays.

XV.

Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed
For contemplation rather than his pillow:
The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed,
Let in the rippling sound of the lake's billow,
With all the mystery by midnight caused:

Below his window waved (of course) a willow;
And he stood gazing out on the cascade
That flash'd and after darken'd in the shade.

XVI.

Upon his table or his toilet,-which
Of these is not exactly ascertained,
(I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch
Of nicety, where a fact is to be gain'd,)
A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche,
Where many a Gothic ornament remain'd,
In chisell❜d stone and painted glass, and all
That time has left our fathers of their hall.

XVII.

Then, as the night was clear though cold, he threw

His chamber door wide openInto a gallery, of a sombre hue,

and went forth

Long, furnish'd with old pictures of great worth, Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too,

As doubtless should be people of high birth. But by dim lights the portraits of the dead Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread.

XVIII.

The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint
Look living in the moon; and as you turn
Backward and forward to the echoes faint

Of your own footsteps-voices from the urn
Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint

Start from the frames which fence their aspects: As if to ask how you can dare to keep

[stern, A vigil there, where all but death should sleep.

XIX.

And the pale smile of beauties in the grave,

The charms of other days, in starlight gleams, Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave Along the canvass; their eyes glance like dreams On ours, or spars within some dusky cave,

But death is imaged in their shadowy beams.
A picture is the past; even ere its frame
Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same.

XX.

As Juan mused on mutability,

Or on his mistress-terms synonymousNo sound except the echo of his sigh

Or step ran sadly through that antique house;
When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh,
A supernatural agent—or a mouse,

Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass
Most people as it plays along the arras.

XXI.

It was no mouse, but lo! a monk, array'd

In cowl and beads, and dusky garb, appear'd, Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard; His garments only a slight murmur made;

He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, (1) But slowly; and as he passed Juan by, Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye.

XXII.

Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint
Of such a spirit in these halls of old,

But thought, like most men, there was nothing in't
Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold,
Coin'd from surviving superstition's mint,

Which passes ghosts in currency like gold, But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper. And did he see this? or was it a vapour?

(1)

["Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart;

Come like shadows, so depart." — Macbeth.]

XXIII.

Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd-the thing of air, Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t'other place; And Juan gazed upon it with a stare,

Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair

Twine like a knot of snakes around his face; He tax'd his tongue for words, which were not granted, To ask the reverend person what he wanted.

XXIV.

The third time, after a still longer pause,

The shadow pass'd away-but where? the hall Was long, and thus far there was no great cause To think his vanishing unnatural:

Doors there were many, through which, by the laws
Of physics, bodies whether short or tall

Might come or go; but Juan could not state
Through which the spectre seem'd to evaporate.

XXV.

He stood how long he knew not, but it seem'd An age-expectant, powerless, with his eyes Strain'd on the spot where first the figure gleam'd; Then by degrees recall'd his energies,

And would have pass'd the whole off as a dream, But could not wake; he was, he did surmise, Waking already, and return'd at length

Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength.