But Inez was so anxious, and so clear

Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion,
She had some other motive much more near

For leaving Juan to this new temptation;
But what that motive was, I sha'n't say here;
Perhaps to finish Juan's education,
Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes,
In case he thought his wife too great a prize.
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.

'Twas on the sixth of June, about the hour

Of half-past six-perhaps still nearer seven---When Julia sate within as pretty a bower

As e'er held houri in that heathenish heaven Described by Mahomet, and Anacreon Moore, (7) To whom the lyre and laurels have been given, (4) In the MS.

"A real wittol always is suspicious,

But always also hunts in the wrong place."-L. E. (5) In the MS.

"Change horses every hour, from night till noon."-L. E. (6) In the MS.-

..

Except the promises of true theology."-L. E. (7) "Oh, Susan! I've said, in the moments of mirth, What's devotion to thee or to me ?

With all the trophies of triumphant song—
He won them well, and may he wear them long!
CV.

She sate, but not alone; I know not well
How this same interview had taken place,
And even if I knew, I should not tell-

People should hold their tongues in any case; No matter how or why the thing befell,

But there were she and Juan, face to faceWhen two such faces are so, 't would be wise, But very difficult, to shut their eyes.

CVI.

How beautiful she look'd! her conscious heart Glow'd in her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong. Oh Love! how perfect is thy mystic art,

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. (1)

CVII.

She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth,
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,
Sounds ill in love, whate'er it may in money.

CVIII.

When people say, "I've told you fifty times,"
They mean to scold, and very often do;
When poets say,
"I've written fifty rhymes,"
They make you dread that they'll recite them too;
In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes;
At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true;
But then, no doubt, it equally as true is,
A good deal may be bought for fifty louis.

CIX.

Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love,
For Don Alfonso; and she inly swore,
By all the vows below to powers above,

She never would disgrace the ring she wore,
Nor leave a wish which wisdom might reprove;
And while she ponder'd this, besides much more,
One hand on Juan's carelessly was thrown,
Quite by mistake-she thought it was her own;

CX.

Unconsciously she lean'd upon the other,

Which play'd within the tangles of her hair; And to contend with thoughts she could not smother She seem'd, by the distraction of her air. 'Twas surely very wrong in Juan's mother To leave together this imprudent pair; (2)

(1) In the MS.

"She stood on guilt's steep brink, in all the sense And full security of innocence."—L. E.

(2) In the MS.

To leave these two young people then and there."—L. E. (3) "I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day; as

She, who for many years had watch'd her son so-
I'm very certain mine would not have done so.
CXI.

The hand which still held Juan's, by degrees
Gently but palpably, confirm'd its grasp,
As if it said, "Detain me, if you please;"
Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp
His fingers with a pure Platonic squeeze;
She would have shrunk as from a toad, or asp,
Had she imagined such a thing could rouse
A feeling dangerous to a prudent spouse.

CXII.

I cannot know what Juan thought of this,
But what he did is much what you would do;
His young lip thank'd it with a grateful kiss,

And then, abash'd at its own joy, withdrew
In deep despair, lest he had done amiss;

Love is so very timid when 'tis new: She blush'd, and frown'd not, but she strove to speak, And held her tongue, her voice was grown so weak

CXIII.

The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon:
The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who call'd her CHASTE, methinks, began too soon
Their nomenclature; there is not a day,
The longest, not the twenty-first of June,

Sees half the business in a wicked way
On which three single hours of moonshine smile-
And then she looks so modest all the while!

CXIV.

There is a dangerous silence in that hour,
A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul
To open all itself, without the power

Of calling wholly back its self-control;
The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower,
Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole,
Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws
A loving languor, which is not repose.(3)

CXV.

And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced
And half retiring from the glowing arm,
Which trembled like the bosom where 't was placed
Yet still she must have thought there was no har
Or else 't were easy to withdraw her waist;
But then the situation had its charm.
And then-God knows what next-I can't go on
I'm almost sorry that I e'er begun.

CXVI.

Oh Plato! Plato! you have paved the way,
With your confounded fantasies, to more
Immoral conduct by the fancied sway
Your system feigns o'er the controulless core
Of human hearts, than all the long array
Of poets and romancers:-You're a bore,

if there was some association between an internal approac to greater light and purity, and the kindler of this dark la tern of our external existence. The night is also a religious concern; and even more so-when I viewed the moon an stars through Herschel's telescope, and saw that they wer worlds." B. Diary, 1821.-L. E.

A charlatan, a coxcomb-and have been, At best, no better than a go-between. (1)

CXVII.

And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs,
Until too late for useful conversation;
The tears were gushing from her gentle eyes,
I wish, indeed, they had not had occasion:
But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

Not that remorse did not oppose temptation; A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering "I will ne'er consent"-consented. CXVIII.

Tis said that Xerxes offer'd a reward

To those who could invent him a new pleasure: Methinks, the requisition's rather hard,

And must have cost his majesty a treasure:
For my part, I'm a moderate-minded bard,
Fond of a little love (which I call leisure);
I care not for new pleasures, as the old
Are quite enough for me, so they but hold.
CXIX.

O Pleasure! you are indeed a pleasant thing,
Although one must be damn'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,
Yet still, I trust, it may be kept throughout:
I'm very sorry, very much ashamed,

And mean, next winter, to be quite reclaim'd.

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 license,
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 license 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
At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep
The song and oar of Adria's gondolier,

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

(1) "For my part, I must confess that I bave, though a tolerably good philosopher, but a very low opinion of Platonic love; for which reason I have thought it necessary to give my fair readers a caution against it, having occasionally, to my great concern, observed the waist of a Platonist swell to a roundness which is inconsistent with that philosophy." Steele.-L.E.

From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.

CXXIII.

"Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 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; (2) "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
In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth
Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapes
From civic revelry to rural mirth;
Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps,

Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth,
Sweet is revenge-especially to women,
Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen.

Man's a phenomenon, one knows not what,
And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure;
'Tis pity though, in this sublime world, that
Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure; (4)
Few mortals know what end they would be at,

But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure,

(1) The "Safety Lamp," after long researches and innumerable experiments, was at length invented by the late Sir Humphry Davy, P. R. S., in 1815, and has, no doubt, already preserved thousands of miners from the dangers of the firedamp.-L. E.

(2) Jackson's Account of Tombuctoo, the great emporium of Central Africa.-Narrative of Robert Adams, a Sailor.Dr. Leyden's Discoveries in Africa, etc. etc.-L. E.

(3) Sir Edward Parry's three expeditions.-Captain Ross's voyages of discovery, etc. etc.-L. E.

(4) In the MS.

"Not only pleasure 's sin, but sin 's a pleasure."—L. E. (5) In the MS.

"And lose in shining snow their summits blue."-L. E.

(6) In the MS.—

"'T was midnight-dark and sombre was the night; No moon, no stars," etc.-L. E.

(7) In the MS.

"I'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that,

And supper, punch, ghost-stories, and such chat."—L. E.

The path is through perplexing ways, and when The goal is gain'd, we die, you know-and thenCXXXIV.

What then?-I do not know, no more do youAnd so good night.-Return we to our story: "Twas in November, when fine days are few, And the far mountains wax a little hoary, And clap a white cape on their mantles blue; (5) And the sea dashes round the promontory, And the loud breaker boils against the rock, And sober suns must set at five o'clock.

By this time Don Alphonso was arrived,
With torches, friends, and servants in great number;
The major part of them had long been wived,
And therefore paused not to disturb the slumber
Of any wicked woman, who contrived

By stealth her husband's temples to encumber:

(8) "Lady Mary W. Montague was an extraordinary woman: she could translate Epictetus, and yet write a song worthy of Aristippus-the lines,

"And when the long hours of the public are past, And we meet, with champagne and a chicken, at least, May every fond pleasure that moment endear!

Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear!' etc. etc.

There, Mr. Bowles!-what say you to such a supper with such a woman ?-and her own description too? It appears to me that this stanza contains the puree of the whole phi losophy of Epicurus." Lord B. to Mr. Bowles.-L. E.

(9) "To-night, as Countess Guiccioli observed me poring over Don Juan, she stumbled by mere chance on the 137th stanza of the First Canto, and asked me what it meant.! told her, 'Nothing, but your husband is coming.' As said this in Italian with some emphasis, she started up in a fright, and said, 'Oh, my God, is he coming?' thinking t was her own. You may suppose we laughed when she found out the mistake. You will be amused, as I was;-it happened not three hours ago." B. Letters, Nov. 8, 1819

-L. E.

CXLV.

607

CXLVI.

[cried,

CXLVII.

"Is it for this I have disdain'd to hold The common privileges of my sex? That I have chosen a confessor so old

And deaf, that any other it would vex, And never once he has had cause to scold, But found my very innocence perplex So much, he always doubted I was marriedHow sorry you will be when I've miscarried!

CXLVIII.

"Was it for this that no Cortejo (3) e'er

I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville? Is it for this I scarce went any where,

Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel? Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were,

I favour'd none-nay, was almost uncivil?
Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly,
Who took Algiers,(4) declares I used him vilely?
CXLIX.

"Did not the Italian musico Cazzani

Sing at my heart six months at least in vain? Did not his countryman, Count Corniani,

Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain?
Were there not also Russians, English, many?

The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain,
And Lord Mount Coffeehouse,(5) the Irish peer,
Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year.
CL.

"Have I not had two bishops at my feet?

The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez,
And is it thus a faithful wife you treat?

I wonder in what quarter now the moon is:
I praise your vast forbearance not to beat
Me also, since the time so opportune is--

(4) Donna Julia here made a mistake. Count O'Reilly did not take Algiers-but Algiers very nearly took him; he and his army and fleet retreated with great loss, and not much credit, from before that city, in the year 1775.

(5) "This sneer at the titles of some of what were called Hill.-L. E. the Union Peers of Ireland is capital."