Required. Aurora scarcely look'd aside, LXXIX. And look'd as much as if to say, 'I said it ;' To bring what was a jest to a serious end : LXXX. Juan was drawn thus into some attentions, Slight but select, and just enough to express, To females of conspicuous comprehensions, That he would rather make them more than Aurora, at the last (so history mentions, [less. Though probably much less a fact than guess). So far relax'd her thoughts from their sweet prison, As once or twice to smile, if not to listen. LXXXI. From answering, she began to question: this With her was rare; and Adeline, who as yet Thought her predictions went not much amiss, Began to dread she'd thaw to a coquetteSo very difficult, they say, it is [set To keep extremes from meeting, when once In motion; but she here too much refinedAurora's spirit was not of that kind. LXXXII. [say, But Juan had a sort of winning way, Aurora, who, in her indifference, Confounded him in common with the crowd Of flatterers, though she deem'd he had more [loud, sense Than whispering foplings, or than witling Commenced (from such slight things will great commence) To feel that flattery which attracts the proud Rather by deference than compliment, And wins even by a delicate dissent. LXXXIV. And then he had good looks ;-that point was carried Nem. con. amongst the women, which I grieve To say leads oft to crim. con. with the married- LXXXV. Aurora, who look'd more on books than faces, Was very young, although so very sage, Admiring more Minerva than the Graces, Especially upon a printed page. But Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces, Has not the natural stays of strict old age; And Socrates, that model of all duty, [beauty. Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for LXXXVI. And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic, But innocently so, as Socrates: And really, if the sage sublime and Attic At seventy years had phantasies like these, Which Piato in his dialogues dramatic Has shown, I know not why they should disIn virgins-always in a modest way, [please Observe; for that with me's a sine qua.* LXXXVII. Also observe that, like the great Lord Coke (See Littleton), whene'er I have express'd Opinions two, which at first sight may look Twin opposites, the second is the best. Perhaps I have a third, too, in a nook, Or none at all-which seems a sorry jest ; But if a writer should be quite consistent, How could he possibly show things existent? LXXXVIII. If people contradict themselves, can I I never did so, never will-how should I? He who doubts all things, nothing can deny: Truth's fountains may be clear-her streams are muddy, And cut through such canals of contradiction, That she must often navigate o'er fiction. LXXXIX. Apologue, fable, poesy, and parable Are false, but may be render'd also true, By those who sow them in a land that's arable. 'Tis wonderful what fable will not do ! "Tis said it makes reality more bearable; But what's reality? Who has its clue? Philosophy? No: she too much rejects. Religion? Yes; but which of all her sects? XC. Some millions must be wrong, that's pretty clear Perhaps it may turn out that all were right. • Subauditur non,' omitted for the sake of euphany. God help us! Since we've need, on our career, XCI. But here again, why will I thus untangle XCII. But though I am a temperate theologian, Bull something of the lower world's condition. It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla To see men let these scoundrel sovereigns break law. XCIII. But politics, and policy, and piety, Are topics which I sometimes introduce, Not only for the sake of their variety, But as subservient to a moral use; Because my business is to dress society, And stuff with sage that very verdant goose; And now, that we may furnish with some matter Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural. [all XCIV. And now I will give up all argument; And positively henceforth no temptation Shall fool me to the top up of my bent." Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation. Indeed, I never knew what people meant, By dreaming that my Muse's conversation Was dangerous: I think she is as harmless As some who labour more, and yet may charm less.. XCV. And don't regret the time you may have lost, For you have got that pleasure still to come; And do not think I mean to sneer at most Of these things, or by ridicule benumb That source of the sublime and the mysterious:For certain reasons, my belief is serious. XCVI. Serious? You laugh-you may: that will I not. Exists-and where? That shall I not recall, Because I'd rather it should be forgot: 'Shadows the soul of Richard' may appal. In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very Like those of the philosopher of Malmsbury.* XCVII. The night-(I sing by night-sometimes an owl, XCVIII. And therefore, though 'tis by no means my way And prudently postpone until mid-day Treating a topic which, alas, but brings Shadows;-but you must be in my condition, Before you learn to call this superstition. XCIX. Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles: as the old burst, new emerge, Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost? [dumb! Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves No; but you've heard-I understand-be Of empires heave but like some passing waves. Bows have they, generally with two strings: Horses they ride without remorse or ruth: At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever, But draw the long bow better now than ever. II. The cause of this effect, or this defect- But this I must say in my own applause, Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction. III. And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't complain, IV. But of all truths which she has told, the most What then? I only know it so befell. V. Some people would impose now with authority, Is always greatest at a miracle. Who bids all men believe the impossible, Because 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he Quiets at once with 'quia impossibile.' VI. And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all: 'Tis always best to take things upon trust. I do not speak profanely, to recall Those holier mysteries which the wise and just Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, As all truths must, the more they are disputed: VII. I merely mean to say what Johnson said, That, in the course of some six thousand years All nations have believed that, from the dead, A visitant at intervals appears. And what is strangest upon this strange head, Is that, whatever bar the reason rears • Hamlet, act ii. scene 2. He sigh'd:-The next resource is the full moon, To hail her with the apostrophe-'O thou!' • The composition of the old Tyrian purple, whether from a shell-fish or from cochineal, or from kermes, is still an article of dispute; and even its colour-some say purple, other scarlet: I say nothing. Or step, ran sadly through that antique house; Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass Most people, as it plays along the arras. XXI. It was no mouse, but lo! a monk, array'd He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, XXII. Juan was petrified: he had heard a hint Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold, Which passes ghosts in currency like gold, XXIII. Once, twice, thrice, pass'd, repass'd-the thing of air, Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t'other place; And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair Twine like a knot of snakes around his face : He tax'd his tongue for words, which were not granted, To ask the reverend person what he wanted. XXIV. [hall The third time, after a still longer pause, XXV. He stood--how long he knew not, but it seem'd But could not wake: he was, he did surmise, Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength. He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed, Ponder'd upon his visitant or vision, And whether it ought not to be disclosed, At risk of being quizz'd for superstition. Fair Adeline inquired 'If he were ill?' And, being present, now began to express XXXIII. 'Quite well; yes-no.-These answers were mysterious; And yet his looks appear'd to sanction both, However they might savour of delirious: Something like illness of a sudden growth Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no means serious; But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted It was not the physician that he wanted. XXXIV. Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his choco- The more he thought, the more his mind was Then ask'd her Grace what news were of the posed; In the mean time, his valet, whose precision Was great, because his master brook'd no less, Knock'd to inform him it was time to dress. XXIX. He dress'd: and, like young people, he was wont His clothes were not curb'd to their usual cut; His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side. XXX. And when he walk'd down into the saloon, He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea, Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon, Had it not happen'd scalding hot to be, Duke of late. Her Grace replied, his Grace was rather pain'd With some slight, light, hereditary twinges |Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges. XXXV. Then Henry turn'd to Juan and address'd A few words of condolence on his state: 'You look,' quoth he, 'as if you had had your rest Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late.' What Friar?' said Juan; and he did his best To put the question with an air sedate, Or careless; but the effort was not valid, To hinder him from growing still more pallid. XXXVI. 'Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar, The spirit of these walls?'-'In truth, not L' Which made him have recourse unto his spoon.Why, Fame-but Fame, you know, 's some |