I
   I want a hero: an uncommon want,
      When every year and month sends forth a new one,
  Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
      The age discovers he is not the true one;
  Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
      I’ll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan,
  We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
  Sent to the Devil somewhat ere his time.II
  Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
     Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
 Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
     And filled their sign-posts then, like Wellesley now;
 Each in their turn like Banquo’s monarchs stalk,
     Followers of fame, “nine farrow” of that sow:
 France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
 Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.III
 
 Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
     Pétion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette
 Were French, and famous people, as we know;
     And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
 Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
     With many of the military set,
 Exceedingly remarkable at times,
 But not at all adapted to my rhymes.IV
 
 Nelson was once Britannia’s god of War,
     And still should be so, but the tide is turn’d;
 There’s no more to be said of Trafalgar,
     'Tis with our hero quietly inurn’d;
 Because the army’s grown more popular,
     At which the naval people are concern’d;
 Besides, the Prince is all for the land-service,
 Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.V
 
 Brave men were living before Agamemnon
     And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
 A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
     But then they shone not on the poet’s page,
 And so have been forgotten: I condemn none,
     But can’t find any in the present age
 Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
 So, as I said, I’ll take my friend Don Juan.VI
 
 Most epic poets plunge “in medias res”
     (Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road),
 And then your hero tells, whene’er you please,
     What went before—by way of episode,
 While seated after dinner at his ease,
     Beside his mistress in some soft abode,
 Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern,
 Which serves the happy couple for a tavern.VII
 
 That is the usual method, but not mine—
     My way is to begin with the beginning;
 The regularity of my design
     Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning,
 And therefore I shall open with a line
     (Although it cost me half an hour in spinning),
 Narrating somewhat of Don Juan’s father,
 And also of his mother, if you’d rather....CC
 
 
 
 My poem’s epic, and is meant to be
     Divided in twelve books; each book containing,
  With love, and war, a heavy gale at sea,
     A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning,
 New characters; the episodes are three:
     A panoramic view of Hell’s in training,
 After the style of Virgil and of Homer,
 So that my name of Epic’s no misnomer.CCI
 
 
 
 All these things will be specified in time,
     With strict regard to Aristotle’s rules,
 The  Vade Mecum of the true sublime,
     Which makes so many poets, and some fools:
 Prose poets like blank-verse, I’m fond of rhyme,
     Good workmen never quarrel with their tools;
 I’ve got new mythological machinery,
 And very handsome supernatural scenery.CCII
 
 
 
There’s only one slight difference between
    Me and my epic brethren gone before,
And here the advantage is my own, I ween,
    (Not that I have not several merits more,
But this will more peculiarly be seen);
    They so embellish, that 'tis quite a bore
Their labyrinth of fables to thread through,
Whereas this story’s actually true.CCIII
 
 
 
If any person doubt it, I appeal
    To history, tradition, and to facts,
To newspapers, whose truth all know and feel,
    To plays in five, and operas in three acts;
All these confirm my statement a good deal,
    But that which more completely faith exacts
Is, that myself, and several now in Seville,
 Saw Juan’s last elopement with the Devil.CCIV
 
 
 
If ever I should condescend to prose,
    I’ll write poetical commandments, which
Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those
    That went before; in these I shall enrich
My text with many things that no one knows,
    And carry precept to the highest pitch:
I’ll call the work “Longinus o’er a Bottle,
Or, Every Poet his  own Aristotle.”CCV
 
 
 
Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope;
    Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey;
Because the first is craz’d beyond all hope,
   The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy:
With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope,
    And Campbell’s Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy:
Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor
Commit—flirtation with the muse of Moore.CCVI
 
 
 
 Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby’s Muse,
   His Pegasus, nor anything that’s his;
 Thou shalt not bear false witness like “the Blues”
   (There’s one, at least, is very fond of this);
Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose:
   This is true criticism, and you may kiss—
Exactly as you please, or not—the rod;
But if you don’t, I’ll lay it on, by G{-}d!

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...
Email

Other works by Lord Byron...