from Canto II

141

And Haide met the morning face to face;
     Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush
Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race
     From heart to cheek is curb’d into a blush,
Like to a torrent which a mountain’s base,
    That overpowers some alpine river’s rush,
Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread;
Or the Red Sea—but the sea is not red.

142

And down the cliff the island virgin came,
     And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew,
While the sun smiled on her with his first flame,
     And young Aurora kiss’d her lips with dew,
Taking her for a sister; just the same
     Mistake you would have made on seeing the two,
Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair,
Had all the advantage too of not being air.

143

And when into the cavern Haide stepp’d
     All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
That like an infant Juan sweetly slept;
     And then she stopp’d, and stood as if in awe,
(For sleep is awful) and on tiptoe crept
    And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw,
Should reach his blood, then o’er him still as death
Bent, with hush’d lips, that drank his scarce-drawn breath.

144

And thus like to an angel o’er the dying
     Who die in righteousness, she lean’d; and there
All tranquilly the shipwreck’d boy was lying,
    As o’er him lay the calm and stirless air:
But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying,
     Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair
Must breakfast, and betimes—lest they should ask it,
She drew out her provision from the basket.

145

She knew that the best feelings must have victual,
    And that a shipwreck’d youth would hungry be;
Besides, being less in love, she yawn’d a little,
    And felt her veins chill’d by the neighbouring sea;
And so, she cook’d their breakfast to a tittle;
     I can’t say that she gave them any tea,
But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey,
With Scio wine,—and all for love, not money.

146

And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and
    The coffee made, would fain have waken’d Juan;
But Haide stopp’d her with her quick small hand,
     And without word, a sign her finger drew on
Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand;
     And, the first breakfast spoilt, prepared a new one,
Because her mistress would not let her break
That sleep which seem’d as it would ne’er awake.

147

For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek
     A purple hectic play’d like dying day
On the snow-tops of distant hills; the streak
    Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay,
Where the blue veins look’d shadowy, shrunk, and weak;
     And his black curls were dewy with the spray,
Which weigh’d upon them yet, all damp and salt,
Mix’d with the stony vapours of the vault.

148

And she bent o’er him, and he lay beneath,
     Hush’d as the babe upon its mother’s breast,
Droop’d as the willow when no winds can breathe,
     Lull’d like the depth of ocean when at rest,
Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath,
    Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest;
In short, he was a very pretty fellow,
Although his woes had turn’d him rather yellow.

149

He woke and gazed, and would have slept again,
     But the fair face which met his eyes forbade
Those eyes to close, though weariness and pain
     Had further sleep a further pleasure made;
For woman’s face was never form’d in vain
     For Juan, so that even when he pray’d
He turn’d from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy,
To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary.

150

And thus upon his elbow he arose,
     And look’d upon the lady, in whose cheek
The pale contended with the purple rose,
     As with an effort she began to speak;
Her eyes were eloquent, her words would pose,
     Although she told him, in good modern Greek,
With an Ionian accent, low and sweet,
That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat.