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, 'tis 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 smo-

ther,

She seem'd by the distraction of her air. ?Twas surely very wrong in Juan's mother

To leave together this imprudent pair,

She who for many years had watch'd her son só — 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, no the twenty-first of June,

Sees half the business in a wicked way

On which three single hours of moonshine smileAnd 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 all itself, without the power

To open

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.

CXV.

And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced
And half retiring from the glowing arm,

Which trembled like the bosom where 'twas placed; Yet still she must have thought there was no harm,

Or else 'twere 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.

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 controlless core
Of human hearts, than all the long array
Of poets and romancers: - You're a bore,
A charlatan, a coxcomb

and have been,

At best, no better than a go-between.

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. Vol. IX.

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