Don Juan In Hell

(from Baudelaire.)



The night Don Juan came to pay his fees
To Charon, by the caverned water's shore,
A beggar, proud-eyed as Antisthenes,
Stretched out his knotted fingers on the oar.

Mournful, with drooping breasts and robes unsewn
The shapes of women swayed in ebon skies,
Trailing behind him with a restless moan
Like cattle herded for a sacrifice.

Here, grinning for his wage, stood Sganarelle,
And here Don Luis pointed, bent and dim,
To show the dead who lined the holes of Hell,
This was that impious son who mocked at him.

The hollow-eyed, the chaste Elvira came,
Trembling and veiled, to view her traitor spouse.
Was it one last bright smile she thought to claim,
Such as made sweet the morning of his vows?

A great stone man rose like a tower on board,
Stood at the helm and cleft the flood profound:
But the calm hero, leaning on his sword,
Gazed back, and would not offer one look round.

James Elroy Flecker

James Elroy Flecker was an English poet and playwright born in London. He is best remembered for his poem "The Golden Journey to Samarkand" and his plays. Flecker was associated with the neo-romantic movement, and his works often explored themes of travel and classical antiquity. He died of tuberculosis at a young age, cutting short a promising literary career.

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Don Juan In Hades

When Juan sought the subterranean flood,
And paid his obolus on the Stygian shore,
Charon, the proud and sombre beggar, stood
With one strong, vengeful hand on either oar.

With open robes and bodies agonised,
Lost women writhed beneath that darkling sky;
There were sounds as of victims sacrificed:
Behind him all the dark was one long cry.

And Sganarelle, with laughter, claimed his pledge;
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Showed to the souls who wandered in the sedge
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Shivering with woe, chaste Elvira the while,
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Eternally the choking steam goes up
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(a Greek Legend.)



Zacho the King rode out of old
(And truth is what I tell)
With saddle and spurs and a rein of gold
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And round around him surged the dead
With soft and lustrous eyes.
"Why came you here, old friend?" they said:
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Spurs and saddle and rein:
Your bright and morning days are done;
You ride not out again."

"I came to greet my friends who fell
Sword-scattered from my side;
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I'll out again and ride!"

But Charon rose and caught his hair
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By a black wharf I stood lately,
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Black with age her ropes and rails;
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Not a movement stirred the stillness,
Not a sound the silence broke,
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