Lord Byron - 3 books to know Juvenalian Satire

'T was for a voyage that the young man was meant,

As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark,

To wean him from the wickedness of earth,

And send him like a dove of promise forth.

Don Juan bade his valet pack his things

According to direction, then received

A lecture and some money: for four springs

He was to travel; and though Inez grieved

(As every kind of parting has its stings),

She hoped he would improve—perhaps believed:

A letter, too, she gave (he never read it)

Of good advice—and two or three of credit.

In the mean time, to pass her hours away,

Brave Inez now set up a Sunday school

For naughty children, who would rather play

(Like truant rogues) the devil, or the fool;

Infants of three years old were taught that day,

Dunces were whipt, or set upon a stool:

The great success of Juan's education,

Spurr'd her to teach another generation.

Juan embark'd—the ship got under way,

The wind was fair, the water passing rough:

A devil of a sea rolls in that bay,

As I, who 've cross'd it oft, know well enough;

And, standing upon deck, the dashing spray

Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough:

And there he stood to take, and take again,

His first—perhaps his last—farewell of Spain.

I can't but say it is an awkward sight

To see one's native land receding through

The growing waters; it unmans one quite,

Especially when life is rather new:

I recollect Great Britain's coast looks white,

But almost every other country 's blue,

When gazing on them, mystified by distance,

We enter on our nautical existence.

So Juan stood, bewilder'd on the deck:

The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors swore,

And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck,

From which away so fair and fast they bore.

The best of remedies is a beef-steak

Against sea-sickness: try it, sir, before

You sneer, and I assure you this is true,

For I have found it answer—so may you.

Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern,

Beheld his native Spain receding far:

First partings form a lesson hard to learn,

Even nations feel this when they go to war;

There is a sort of unexprest concern,

A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar:

At leaving even the most unpleasant people

And places, one keeps looking at the steeple.

But Juan had got many things to leave,

His mother, and a mistress, and no wife,

So that he had much better cause to grieve

Than many persons more advanced in life;

And if we now and then a sigh must heave

At quitting even those we quit in strife,

No doubt we weep for those the heart endears—

That is, till deeper griefs congeal our tears.

So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews

By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion:

I 'd weep,—but mine is not a weeping Muse,

And such light griefs are not a thing to die on;

Young men should travel, if but to amuse

Themselves; and the next time their servants tie on

Behind their carriages their new portmanteau,

Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto.

And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd and thought,

While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea,

'Sweets to the sweet' (I like so much to quote;

You must excuse this extract, 't is where she,

The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought

Flowers to the grave); and, sobbing often, he

Reflected on his present situation,

And seriously resolved on reformation.

'Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell!' he cried,

'Perhaps I may revisit thee no more,

But die, as many an exiled heart hath died,

Of its own thirst to see again thy shore:

Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide!

Farewell, my mother! and, since all is o'er,

Farewell, too, dearest Julia!—(Here he drew

Her letter out again, and read it through.)

'And, oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear—

But that 's impossible, and cannot be—

Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air,

Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,

Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair!

Or think of any thing excepting thee;

A mind diseased no remedy can physic

(Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick).

'Sooner shall heaven kiss earth (here he fell sicker),

O, Julia! what is every other wo?

(For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor;

Pedro, Battista, help me down below.)

Julia, my love! (you rascal, Pedro, quicker)—

O, Julia! (this curst vessel pitches so)—

Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!'

(Here he grew inarticulate with retching.)

He felt that chilling heaviness of heart,

Or rather stomach, which, alas! attends,

Beyond the best apothecary's art,

The loss of love, the treachery of friends,

Or death of those we dote on, when a part

Of us dies with them as each fond hope ends:

No doubt he would have been much more pathetic,

But the sea acted as a strong emetic. I

Love 's a capricious power: I 've known it hold

Out through a fever caused by its own heat,

But be much puzzled by a cough and cold,

And find a quincy very hard to treat;

Against all noble maladies he 's bold,

But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet,

Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh,

Nor inflammations redden his blind eye.

But worst of all is nausea, or a pain

About the lower region of the bowels;

Love, who heroically breathes a vein,

Shrinks from the application of hot towels,

And purgatives are dangerous to his reign,

Sea-sickness death: his love was perfect, how else

Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar,

Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before?

The ship, call'd the most holy 'Trinidada,'

Was steering duly for the port Leghorn;

For there the Spanish family Moncada

Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born:

They were relations, and for them he had a

Letter of introduction, which the morn

Of his departure had been sent him by

His Spanish friends for those in Italy.

His suite consisted of three servants and

A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo,

Who several languages did understand,

But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow,

And rocking in his hammock, long'd for land,

His headache being increased by every billow;

And the waves oozing through the port-hole made

His berth a little damp, and him afraid.

'T was not without some reason, for the wind

Increased at night, until it blew a gale;

And though 't was not much to a naval mind,

Some landsmen would have look'd a little pale,

For sailors are, in fact, a different kind:

At sunset they began to take in sail,

For the sky show'd it would come on to blow,

And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so.

At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift

Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea,

Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift,

Started the stern-post, also shatter'd the

Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift

Herself from out her present jeopardy,

The rudder tore away: 't was time to sound

The pumps, and there were four feet water found.

One gang of people instantly was put

Upon the pumps and the remainder set

To get up part of the cargo, and what not;

But they could not come at the leak as yet;

At last they did get at it really, but

Still their salvation was an even bet:

The water rush'd through in a way quite puzzling,

While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin,