from Canto III

61

Old Lambro pass’d unseen a private gate,
    And stood within his hall at eventide;
Meantime the lady and her lover sate
    At wassail in their beauty and their pride:
An ivory inlaid table spread with state
     Before them, and fair slaves on every side;
Gems, gold, and silver, form’d the service mostly,
Mother of pearl and coral the less costly.

62

The dinner made about a hundred dishes;
     Lamb and pistachio nuts—in short, all meats,
And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fishes
    Were of the finest that e’er flounced in nets,
Drest to a Sybarite’s most pamper’d wishes;
    The beverage was various sherbets
Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice,
Squeezed through the rind, which makes it best for use.

63

These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer,
    And fruits, and date-bread loaves closed the repast,
And Mocha’s berry, from Arabia pure,
     In small fine China cups, came in at last;
Gold cups of filigree made to secure
     The hand from burning underneath them placed,
Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil’d
Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spoil’d.

64

The hangings of the room were tapestry, made
    Of velvet pannels, each of different hue,
And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid;
     And round them ran a yellow border too;
The upper border, richly wrought, display’d,
     Embroider’d delicately o’er with blue,
Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters,
From poets, or the moralists their betters.

65

These oriental writings on the wall,
     Quite common in those countries, are a kind
Of monitors adapted to recall,
    Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the mind
The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall,
     And took his kingdom from him: You will find,
Though sages may pour out their wisdom’s treasure,
There is no sterner moralist than pleasure.

66

A beauty at the season’s close grown hectic,
     A genius who has drunk himself to death,
A rake turn’d methodistic or eclectic—
     (For that’s the name they like to pray beneath)—
But most, an alderman struck apoplectic,
     Are things that really take away the breath,
And show that late hours, wine, and love are able
To do not much less damage than the table.

67

Haide and Juan carpeted their feet
     On crimson satin, border’d with pale blue;
Their sofa occupied three parts complete
     Of the apartment—and appear’d quite new;
The velvet cushions—(for a throne more meet)—
     Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew
A sun emboss’d in gold, whose rays of tissue,
Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue.

68

Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain,
     Had done their work of splendour; Indian mats
And Persian carpets, which the heart bled to stain,
     Over the floors were spread; gazelles and cats,
And dwarfs and blacks, and such like things, that gain
    Their bread as ministers and favourites—(that’s
To say, by degradation)—mingled there
As plentiful as in a court or fair.

69

There was no want of lofty mirrors, and
     The tables, most of ebony inlaid
With mother of pearl or ivory, stood at hand,
     Or were of tortoise-shell or rare woods made,
Fretted with gold or silver:—by command
     The greater part of these were ready spread
With viands and sherbets in ice—and wine—
Kept for all comers, at all hours to dine.

70

Of all the dresses I select Haide’s:
    She wore two jelicks—one was of pale yellow;
Of azure, pink, and white was her chemise—
    ‘Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow;
With buttons form’d of pearls as large as peas,
    All gold and crimson shone her jelick’s fellow,
And the striped white gauze baracan that bound her,
Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow’d round her.