Thus parents also are at times short-sighted; The plan of twenty years, and all is over; CI. But Inez was so anxious, and so clear Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion, CII. It was upon a day, a summer's day; Summer's indeed a very dangerous season, And so is spring, about the end of May: The sun no doubt is the prevailing reason; But whatsoe'er the cause is, one may say, And stand convicted of more truth than treason, That there are months which nature grows more merry in, March has its hares, and May must have its heroine. CIII. 'Twas on a summer's day-the sixth of June :I like to be particular in dates, Not only of the age, and year, but moon; They are a sort of post-house, where the Fates Change horses, making history change its tune, Then spur away o'er empires and o'er states, Leaving at last not much besides chronology, Excepting the post-obits of theology. CIV. 'Twas on the sixth of June, about the hour As e'er held houri in that heathenish heaven 1C3 104 CV. She sate, but not alone; I know not well People should hold their tongues in any case; No matter how or why the thing befel, But there were she and Juan, face to faceWhen two such faces are so, 'twould be wise, But very difficult to shut their eyes. CVI. How beautiful she look'd! her conscious heart O Love! how perfect is thy mystic art, 105 106 Strengthening the weak, and trampling on the strong; How self-deceitful is the sagest part Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along: The precipice she stood on was immense, So was her creed in her own innocence. CVII. She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth, 107 And of the folly of all prudish fears, Victorious virtue, and domestic truth, And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years: I wish these last had not occurr'd, in sooth, Because that number rarely much endears, And through all climes, the snowy and the sunny, CVIII. When people say, "I've told you fifty times," In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; CIX. Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love, By all the vows below to powers above, She never would disgrace the ring she wore, And while she ponder'd this, besides much more, 108 109 CX. Unconsciously she lean'd upon the other, And to contend with thoughts she could not smother, She who for many years had watch'd her son so→→ CXI. The hand which still held Juan's, by degrees Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp She would have shrunk as from a toad, or asp, CXII. I cannot know what Juan thought of this, But what he did, is much what you would do; She blush'd and frown'd not, but she strove to speak, CXIII. The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon: 110 111 112 113 Who call'd her chaste, methinks began too soon The longest, not the twenty-first of June, On which three single hours of moonshine smile- CXIV. There is a dangerous silence in that hour, 113 A stillness which leaves room for the full soul To open all itself, without the power Of calling wholly back its self-control; CXV. And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced 115 Which trembled like the bosom where 'twas placed : Or else 'twere easy to withdraw her waist; And then-God knows what next-I can't go on; CXVI. way, O Plato! Plato! you have paved the Your system feigns o'er the controller's core Of poets and romancers :-You're a bore, CXVII. And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs, Not that remorse did not oppose temptation; CXVIII. 'Tis said that Xerxes offer'd a reward To those who could invent him a new pleasure; And must have cost his majesty a treasure: CXIX. O Pleasure! you're indeed a pleasant thing, Although one must be dani'd for you, no doubt; I make a resolution, every spring, Of reformation, ere the year run out, But, somehow, this my vestal vow takes wing, I'm very sorry, very much ashamed, And mean, next winter, to be quite reclaim'd. 116 117 118 119 CXX. Here my chaste Muse a liberty must take Start not! still chaster reader-she'll be nice hence Forward, and there is no great cause to quake; This liberty is a poetic licence, Which some irregularity may make In the design, and as I have a high sense Of Aristotle and the Rules, 'tis fit To beg his pardon when I err a bit. CXXI. This licence is to hope the reader will Suppose from June the sixth, (the fatal day, Without whose epoch my poetic skill, For want of facts, would all be thrown away), But keeping Julia and Don Juan still In sight, that several months have pass'd; we'll say 'Twas in November, but I'm not so sure About the day-the era's more obscure. CXXII. We'll talk of that anon.-'Tis sweet to hear, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; "Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; "Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. CXXIII. 120 121 122 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 123 Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words. CXXIV. Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapes C 121 |