LXVIII,

I can't tell whether Julia saw the affair
With other people's eyes, or if her own
Discoveries made, but none could be aware
Of this, at least no symptom e'er was shown;
Perhaps she did not know, or did not care,
Indifferent from the first, or callous grown:

I'm really puzzled what to think or say,
She kept her counsel in so close a way.

LXIX.

Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child,

Caress'd him often, such a thing might be Quite innocently done, and harmless styled, When she had twenty years, aud thirteen he; But I am not so sure I should have smiled

When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three, These few short years make wondrous alterations, Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations.

LXX.

Whate'er the cause might be, they had become Changed; for the dame grew distant, the youth

shy,

Their looks cast down, their greetings almost dumb,
And much embarrassment in either eye;

There surely will be little doubt with some
That Donna Julia knew the reason why,
But as for Juan, he had no more notion
Than he who never saw the sea of ocean.

LXXI.

Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind,
And tremulously gentle her small hand.
Withdrew itself from his, but left behind

A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland

And slight, so very slight, that to the mind

'Twas but a doubt; but ne'er magician's wand

Wrought change with all Armida's fairy art Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart.

LXXII.

And if she met him, though she smiled no more,

She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile, As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store She must not own, but cherish'd more the while, For that compression in its burning core;

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth,

LXXIII.

But passion most dissembles yet betrays
Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays
Its workings through the vainly guarded eye,
And in whatever aspect it arrays,

Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy;

Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,
Are masks it often wears, and still too late.

LXXIV.

Then there were sighis, the deeper for suppression,
And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
And burning blushes, though for no transgression,
Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left;
All these are little preludes to possession,

Of which young passion cannot be bereft,
And merely tend to show how greatly love is
Embarrass'd at first starting with a novice.

LXXV.

Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state;
She felt it going, and resolved to make

The noblest efforts for herself and mate,

For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake; Her resolutions were most truly great,

And almost might have made a Tarquin quake; She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace, As being the best judge of a lady's case.

LXXVI.

She vow'd she never would see Juan more,
And next day paid a visit to his mother,
And look'd extremely at the opening door,
Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another;
Grateful she was, and yet a little sore —
Again it 'opens, it can be no other,

"Tis surely Juan now No! I'm afraid
That night the Virgin was no further pray'd.

LXXVII.

She now determined that a virtuous woman

Should rather face and overcome temptation, That flight was base and dastardly, and no man Should ever give her heart the least sensation; That is to say, a thought beyond the common'. Preference, that we must feel upon occasion, For people who are pleasanter than others, But then they only seem so many brothers.