Canto the First
I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
Iâll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juanâ
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.
II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk.
And fillâd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquoâs monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, ânine farrowâ of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparte and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moaiteur and Courier.
III
Barnave, Brissot , Condorcet , Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat , La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know;
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.
IV
Nelson was once Britanniaâs god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turnâd;
Thereâs no more to be said of Trafalgar,
âTis with our hero quietly inurnâd;
Because the army âs grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concernâd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Kelson, Howe, and Jervis.
V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valourous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poetâs page,
And so have been forgotten:âI condemn none.
But canât find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, Iâll take my friend Don Juan.
VI
Most epic poets plunge âin medias resâ
(Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road).
And then your hero tells, wheneâer you please.
What went beforeâby way of episode,
While seated after dinner at his ease,
Beside his mistress in some soft abode.
Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern,
Which serves the happy couple for a tavern.
VII
That is the usual method, but not mineâ
My way is to begin with the beginning;
The regularity of my design
Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning.
And therefore I shall open with a line
(Although it cost me half an hour in spinning)
Narrating somewhat of Don Juanâs father,
And also of his mother, if youâd rather.
VIII
In Seville was lie born, a pleasant city,
Famous for oranges and womenâhe
Who has not seen it will be much to pity,
So says the proverbâand I quite agree;
Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty,
Cadiz perhapsâbut that you soon may see;
Don Juanâs parents lived beside the river,
A noble stream, and callâd the Guadalquivir.
IX
His fatherâs name was JosĂ©âDon, of course,â
A true Hidalgo, free from every stain
Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source
Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain;
A better cavalier neâer mounted horse,
Or, being mounted, eâer got down again.
Than José, who begot our hero, who
Begotâbut thatâs to comeâWell, to renew:
X
His mother was a learned lady, famed
For every branch of every science known
In every Christian language ever named.
With virtues equallâd by her wit alone,
She made the cleverest people quite ashamed,
And even the good with inward envy groan,
Finding themselves so very much exceeded
In their own way by all the things that she did.
XI
Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart
All Calderon and greater part of Lopé,
So that if any actor missâd his part
She could have served him for the prompterâs copy;
For her Feinagleâs were an useless art,
And he himself obliged to shut up shopâhe
Could never make a memory so fine as
That which adornâd the brain of Donna Inez.
XII
Her favourite science was the mathematical,
Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity,
Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all.
Her serious sayings darkenâd to sublimity;
In ...