LXXXVII.

This massy portal stood at the wide close
Of a huge hall, and on its either side
Two little dwarfs, the least
could suppose,

you

Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied
In mockery to the enormous gate which rose
O'er them in almost pyramidic pride:

The gate so splendid was in all its features,7
You never thought about those little creatures,

LXXXVIII.

Until you nearly trod on them, and then
You started back in horror to survey
The wondrous hideousness of those small men,
Whose colour was not black, nor white, nor gray,

But an extraneous mixture, which no pen

Can trace, although perhaps the pencil may; They were mishapen pigmies, deaf and dumb— Monsters, who cost a no less monstrous sum.

LXXXIX.

Their duty was for they were strong, and though They look'd so little, did strong things at times— To ope this door, which they could really do,

The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes; And now and then with tough strings of the bow, As is the custom of those eastern climes,

To give some rebel pacha a cravat;
For mutes are generally used for that.

XC.

They spoke by signs—that is, not spoke at all;
And, looking like two incubi, they glared
As Baba with his fingers made them fall

To heaving back the portal folds: it scared
Juan a moment, as this pair so small

With shrinking serpent optics on him stared;
It was as if their little looks could poison
Or fascinate whome'er they fix'd their eyes on.

XCI.

Before they enter'd Baba paused to hint
To Juan some slight lessons as his guide:

If you could just contrive," he said, « to stint

That somewhat manly majesty of stride,

'T would be as well, and,―(though there's not much in 't)
To swing a little less from side to side,
Which has at times an aspect of the oddest;
And, also, could you look a little modest

XCII.

"

'T would be convenient; for these mutes have eyes Like needles, which may pierce those petticoats; And if they should discover your disguise,

You know how near us the deep Bosphorus floats;
And you and I may chance, ere morning rise,
To find our way to Marmora without boats,
Stitch'd up in sacks-a mode of navigation
A good deal practised here upon occasion."

XCIII.

With this encouragement, he led the way
Into a room still nobler than the last;
A rich confusion form'd a disarray

In such sort, that the eye along it cast
Could hardly carry any thing away,

Object on object flash'd so bright and fast;
A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter,
Magnificently mingled in a litter.

XCIV.

Wealth had done wonders-taste not much; such things
Occur in orient palaces, and even

In the more chasten'd domes of western kings,
(Of which I've also seen some six or seven)
Where I can't say or gold or diamond flings
Great lustre, there is much to be forgiven;
Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs, and pictures,
On which I cannot pause to make my strictures.

XCV.

In this imperial hall, at distance lay
Under a canopy, and there reclined
Quite in a confidential queenly way,

A lady; Baba stopp'd, and kneeling sign'd
To Juan, who though not much used to pray,

Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind What all this meant: while Baba bow'd and bended His head, until the ceremony ended.

XCVI.

The lady rising up with such an air

As Venus rose with from the wave, on them Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair

Of eyes, which put out each surrounding gem; And raising up an arm as moonlight fair,

She sign'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem Of her deep-purple robe, and speaking low, Pointed to Juan, who remain'd below.

XCVII.

Her presence was as lofty as her state;
Her beauty of that overpowering kind,
Whose force description only would abate:
I'd rather leave it much to your own mind,
Than lessen it by what I could relate

Of forms and features; it would strike
Could I do justice to the full detail;
So, luckily for both, my phrases fail.

XCVIII.

you

This much however I may add,―her years

blind

Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs, But there are forms which Time to touch forbears, And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things, Such as was Mary's Queen of Scots ; true-tears

And love destroy; and sapping sorrow wrings Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow Ugly; for instance-Ninon de l'Enclos.

VOL. II.

18

XCIX.

She spake some words to her attendants, who
Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen,
And were all clad alike; like Juan, too,

Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen :
They form'd a very nymph-like looking crew,
Which might have call'd Diana 's chorus « cousin, »
As far as outward show may correspond;

I won't be bail for any thing beyond.

C.

They bow'd obeisance and withdrew, retiring,
But not by the same door through which came in
Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring,

At some small distance, all he saw within
This strange saloon, much fitted for inspiring
Marvel and praise; for both or none things win;
And I must say, I ne'er could see the very
Great happiness of the « nil admirari. »

CI.

« Not to admire is all the art I know

(Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech) To make men happy, or to keep them so;

(So take it in the very words of Creech). »
Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago;
And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-téach
From his translation; but had none admired,
Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?