38 THE DOVER ROAD 



alighted, and was meditatively pacing along the road 



behind his carriage when But there ! It had 



best be read in Byron's verse, and let no one cry out 

 upon me for quoting " Don Juan," and say the thing 

 is nothing new, lest I, in turn, call fie upon him for an 

 undue acquaintance with that " wicked " poem — 



. . . Juan now was borne, 

 Just as the day began to wane and darken, 



O'er the high hill which looks, with pride or scorn, 

 Toward the great city. Ye who have a spark in 



Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn, 

 According as you tako things well or ill ; 

 Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill ! 



A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping 



Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye 

 Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping 



In sight, then lost amidst the forestry 

 Of masts ; a wilderness of steeples peeping 



On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy ; 

 A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown 

 On a fool's head — and there is London Town ! 



Don Juan had got out on Shooter's Hill : 



Sunset the time, the place the same declivity 



Which looks along that vale of good and ill 

 Where London streets ferment in full activity ; 



While everything around was calm and still, 



Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he 



Heard ; and that bee like, bubbling, busy hum 



Of cities, that boil over with their scum. 



i say Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation, 



Walk'd on behind his carriage, o'er the summit, 



And lost in wonder of so great a nation. 



Gave way to it, since he could not o'ercome it. 



" And here," he cried, " is Freedom's chosen station ; 

 Here peals the people's voice, nor can entomb it 



Racks, prisons, inquisitions ; resurrection 



Awaits it, each new meeting or election. 



" Here are chaste wives, pure lives ; here people pay 

 But what they please ; and, if that things be dear, 



'Tis only that they love to throw away 



Their cash, to show how much they have a year. 



Here laws are all inviolate ; none lay 



Traps for the traveller ; every highway's clear : 



Here " — here he was interrupted by a knife. 



With, — " Damn your eyes ! Your money or your life ! 



These freeborn sounds proceeded from four pads. 

 In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter 



Behind his carriage ; and, like handy lads, 

 Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre, 



In which the heedless gentleman who gads 

 Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter. 



May find himself, within that isle of riches, 



Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches. 



