Don Juan By Lord Byron Canto X

Let this not seem an anti-climax: — 'Oh!
  My guard! my old guard exclaim'd!' exclaim'd that god of day.
Think of the Thunderer's falling down below
  Carotid-artery-cutting Castlereagh!
Alas, that glory should be chill'd by snow!
  But should we wish to warm us on our way
Through Poland, there is Kosciusko's name
Might scatter fire through ice, like Hecla's flame.

From Poland they came on through Prussia Proper,
  And Konigsberg the capital, whose vaunt,
Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper,
  Has lately been the great Professor Kant.
Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper
  About philosophy, pursued his jaunt
To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions
Have princes who spur more than their postilions.

And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the like,
  Until he reach'd the castellated Rhine: —
Ye glorious Gothic scenes! how much ye strike
  All phantasies, not even excepting mine;
A grey wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,
  Make my soul pass the equinoctial line
Between the present and past worlds, and hover
Upon their airy confine, half-seas-over.

But Juan posted on through Manheim, Bonn,
  Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre
Of the good feudal times forever gone,
  On which I have not time just now to lecture.
From thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne,
  A city which presents to the inspector
Eleven thousand maidenheads of bone,
The greatest number flesh hath ever known.

From thence to Holland's Hague and Helvoetsluys,
  That water-land of Dutchmen and of ditches,
Where juniper expresses its best juice,
  The poor man's sparkling substitute for riches.
Senates and sages have condemn'd its use —
  But to deny the mob a cordial, which is
Too often all the clothing, meat, or fuel,
Good government has left them, seems but cruel.

Here he embark'd, and with a flowing sail
  Went bounding for the island of the free,
Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale;
  High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in the sea,
And sea-sick passengers turn'd somewhat pale;
  But Juan, season'd, as he well might be,
By former voyages, stood to watch the skiffs
Which pass'd, or catch the first glimpse of the cliffs.

At length they rose, like a white wall along
  The blue sea's border; and I Don Juan felt —
What even young strangers feel a little strong
  At the first sight of Albion's chalky belt —
A kind of pride that he should be among
  Those haughty shopkeepers, who sternly dealt
Their goods and edicts out from pole to pole,
And made the very billows pay them toll.

I 've no great cause to love that spot of earth,
  Which holds what might have been the noblest nation;
But though I owe it little but my birth,
  I feel a mix'd regret and veneration
For its decaying fame and former worth.
  Seven years (the usual term of transportation)
Of absence lay one's old resentments level,
When a man's country 's going to the devil.

Alas! could she but fully, truly, know
  How her great name is now throughout abhorr'd:
How eager all the earth is for the blow
  Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword;
How all the nations deem her their worst foe,
  That worse than worst of foes, the once adored
False friend, who held out freedom to mankind,
And now would chain them, to the very mind: —

Would she be proud, or boast herself the free,
  Who is but first of slaves? The nations are
In prison, — but the gaoler, what is he?
  No less a victim to the bolt and bar.
Is the poor privilege to turn the key
  Upon the captive, freedom? He 's as far
From the enjoyment of the earth and air
Who watches o'er the chain, as they who wear.

Don Juan now saw Albion's earliest beauties,
  Thy cliffs, dear Dover! harbour, and hotel;
Thy custom-house, with all its delicate duties;
  Thy waiters running mucks at every bell;
Thy packets, all whose passengers are booties
  To those who upon land or water dwell;
And last, not least, to strangers uninstructed,
Thy long, long bills, whence nothing is deducted.

Juan, though careless, young, and magnifique,
  And rich in rubles, diamonds, cash, and credit,
Who did not limit much his bills per week,
  Yet stared at this a little, though he paid it
(His Maggior Duomo, a smart, subtle Greek,
  Before him summ'd the awful scroll and read it);
But doubtless as the air, though seldom sunny,
Is free, the respiration's worth the money.

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