from Canto IV

11

The heart—which may be broken: happy they!
     Thrice fortunate! who of that fragile mould,
The precious porcelain of human clay,
     Break with the first fall: they can ne’er behold
The long year link’d with heavy day on day,
     And all which must be borne, and never told;
While life’s strange principle will often lie
Deepest in those who long the most to die.

12

“Whom the gods love die young” was said of yore,
     And many deaths do they escape by this:
The death of friends, and that which slays even more—
     The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is,
Except mere breath; and since the silent shore
     Awaits at last even those whom longest miss
The old archer’s shafts, perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.

13

Haide and Juan thought not of the dead.
     The heavens and earth, and air, seem’d made for them:
They found no fault with Time, save that he fled;
     They saw not in themselves aught to condemn:
Each was the other’s mirror, and but read
     Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem,
And knew such brightness was but the reflection
Of their exchanging glances of affection.

14

The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,
     The least glance better understood than words,
Which still said all, and ne’er could say too much;
     A language, too, but like to that of birds,
Known but to them, at least appearing such
     As but to lovers a true sense affords;
Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd
To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne’er heard:

15

All these were theirs, for they were children still,
     And children still they should have ever been;
They were not made in the real world to fill
     A busy character in the dull scene,
But like two beings born from out a rill,
     A nymph and her beloved, all unseen
To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers,
And never know the weight of human hours.

16

Moons changing had roll’d on, and changeless found
     Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys
As rarely they beheld throughout their round;
    And these were not of the vain kind which cloys,
For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound
     By the mere senses; and that which destroys
Most love, possession, unto them appear’d
A thing which each endearment more endear’d.

17

Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful!
     But theirs was love in which the mind delights
To lose itself, when the old world grows dull,
     And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights,
Intrigues, adventures of the common school,
     Its petty passions, marriages, and flights,
Where Hymen’s torch but brands one strumpet more,
Whose husband only knows her not a wh—re.

18

Hard words; harsh truth; a truth which many know.
     Enough.—The faithful and the fairy pair,
Who never found a single hour too slow,
     What was it made them thus exempt from care?
Young innate feelings all have felt below
     Which perish in the rest, but in them were
Inherent; what we mortals call romantic,
And always envy, though we deem it frantic.

19

This is in others a factitious state,
     An opium dream of too much youth and reading,
But was in them their nature, or their fate:
     No novels e’er had set their young hearts bleeding,
For Haide’s knowledge was by no means great,
     And Juan was a boy of saintly breeding;
So that there was no reason for their loves
More than for those of nightingales or doves.

20

They gazed upon the sunset; ‘tis an hour
     Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
For it had made them what they were: the power
    Of love had first o’erwhelm’d them from such skies,
When happiness had been their only dower,
     And twilight saw them link’d in passion’s ties;
Charm’d with each other, all things charm’d that brought
The past still welcome as the present thought.