The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering still Fast in his cave, and nothing clashed upon His rest; the rushing of the neighbouring rill, And the young beams of the excluded Sun, Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill; And need he had of slumber yet, for none Had suffered more--his hardships were comparative[bl] To those related in my grand-dad's "Narrative."[152] CXXXVIII. Not so Haidée: she sadly tossed and tumbled, And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er, Dreamed of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she stumbled, And handsome corpses strewed upon the shore; And woke her maid so early that she grumbled, And called her father's old slaves up, who swore In several oaths--Armenian, Turk, and Greek-- They knew not what to think of such a freak. CXXXIX. But up she got, and up she made them get, With some pretence about the Sun, that makes Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set; And 't is, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are wet With mist, and every bird with him awakes, And night is flung off like a mourning suit Worn for a husband,--or some other brute.[bm] CXL. I say, the Sun is a most glorious sight, I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of late I have sat up on purpose all the night,[bn][153] Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fate; And so all ye, who would be in the right In health and purse, begin your day to date From daybreak, and when coffined at fourscore, Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four. CXLI. And Haidée met the morning face to face; Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race From heart to cheek is curbed into a blush, Like to a torrent which a mountain's base, That overpowers some Alpine river's rush, Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread; Or the Red Sea--but the sea is not red.[154] CXLII. And down the cliff the island virgin came, And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew, While the Sun smiled on her with his first flame, And young Aurora kissed her lips with dew, Taking her for a sister; just the same Mistake you would have made on seeing the two, Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair, Had all the advantage, too, of not being air.[bo] CXLIII.