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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

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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 flaws 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.

FROM "DON JUAN," CANTO XVI

CONVENTIONAL SOCIETY

XCVI

... Juan, when he cast a glance On Adeline while playing her grand role,

Which she went through as though it were a dance, Betraying only now and then her soul

By a look scarce perceptibly askance

(Of weariness or scorn), began to feel
Some doubt how much of Adeline was real;

XCVII

So well she acted all and every part

By turns with that vivacious versatility, Which many people take for want of heart.

They err't is merely what is call'd mobility, A thing of temperament and not of art,

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Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false though true; for surely they're sincerest Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest.

XCVIII

This makes your actors, artists, and romancers,
Heroes sometimes, though seldom-sages never;
But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers,
Little that's great, but much of what is clever;
Most orators, but very few financiers,

Though all Exchequer chancellors endeavour,

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"AURORA," by Guido Reni, in Palazzo Rospigliosi at Rome.

"Like a flying Hour before Aurora, In Guido's famous fresco which alone

Is worth a tour to Rome. Don Juan, Canto XIV, stanza xl, p. 303.

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