XXXIV

Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales
To a sedatė grey circle of old smokers
Of secret treasures found in hidden vales,
Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers,
Of charms to make good gold, and cure bad ails,
Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers,
Of magic ladies who, by one sole act,
Transform'd their lords to beasts, (but that's a fact).

XXXV.,

Here was no lack of innocent diversion

For the imagination or the senses,

Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian,
All pretty pastimes in which no offence is;
But Lambro saw all these things with aversion,
Perceiving in his absence such expenses,

Dreading that climax of all human ills,

The inflammation of his weekly bills.

XXXVI.

Ah! what is man? what perils still environ
The happiest mortals even after dinner
A day of gold from out an age of iron

Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner;
Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least)'s a siren,
That lures to flay alive the young beginner;
Lambro's reception at his people's banquet
Was such as fire accords to a wet blanket.

XXVII.

He-being a man who' seldom used a word Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise (In general he surprised men with the sword) had not sent before to advise

His daughter

Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd;

And long he paused to re assure his eyes,

In fact much more astonish'd than delighted,

To find so much good company invited.

XXXVIII.

He did not know (Alas! how men will lie)
That a report (especially the Greeks)
Avouch'd his death (such people never die),

And put his house in monrning several weeks, But now their eyes and also lips were dry;

The bloom too had return'd to Haidée's cheeks. Her tears too being return'd into their fount, She now kept house upon her own account.

XXXIX.

Ilence all this rice, meat, dancing, wine, and

fiddling,

Which turn'd' the isle into a place of pleasure; The servants all were getting drunk or idling, A life which made them happy beyond measure. Her father's hospitality seem'd middling,

Compared with what Haidée did with his treasure; 'Twas wonderful how things went on improving, While she had not one hour to spare from loving.

XL

Perhaps you think in 'stumbling on this feast
He flew into a passion, and in fact

There was no mighty reason to be pleased;
Perhaps you prophesy some sudden act,
The whip, the rack, or dungeon at the least,
To teach his people to be more exact,
And that, proceeding at a very high rate,
He show'd the royal penchants of a pirate,

XLI.

You're wrong. He was the mildest manner'd man
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat;
With such true breeding of a gentleman,
You never could divine his real thought;
No courtier could, and scarcely woman can
Gird more deceit within a petticoat;
Pity he loved adventurous life's variety,
He was so great a loss to good society.

XLII.

Advancing to the nearest dinner tray,
Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest,
With a peculiar smile, which, by the way,
Boded no good, whatever it express'd,
He ask'd the meaning of this holiday;

The vinous Greek to whom he had address'd
His question, much too merry to divine
The questioner, fill'd up a glass of wine,

XLIII.

And without turning his facetious head,
Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air,
Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said,
,,Talking's dry work, I have no time to spare."
A second hiccup'd,,,Our old master's dead,

‚You'd better ask our mistress who's his heir.“ „, Our mistress!" quoth a third:,, Our mistress!

pooh!

"You mean our master

--

not the old but new."