Of its disease; he did the best he could With things not very subject to control, And turn'd, without perceiving his condition, Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician. XCII. He thought about himself, and the whole earth, And how the deuce they ever could have birth; And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars, How many miles the moon might have in girth, Of air-balloons, and of the many bars To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies; And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes. XCIII. In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern Which some are born with, but the most part learn To plague themselves withal, they know not why: 'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, XCIV. He pored upon the leaves, and on the flowers, XCV. Sometimes he turn'd to gaze upon his book, Boscan, or Garcilasso;-by the wind As if 'twere one whereon magicians bind XCVI. Thus would he while his lonely hours away Could yield his spirit that for which it panted, And hear the heart beat with the love it granted, With several other things, which I forget, Or which, at least, I need not mention yet. XCVII. Those lonely walks, and lengthening reveries, But that which chiefly may, and must surprise, Her only son with question or surmise; Whether it was she did not see, or would not, Or, like all very clever people, could not. XCVIII. This may seem strange, but yet 'tis very common ; For instance-gentlemen, whose ladies take Leave to o'erstep the written rights of woman, And break the Which commandment is't they brea (I have forgot the number, and think no man XCIX. A real husband always is suspicious, But still no less suspects in the wrong place, Jealous of some one who had no such wishes, Or pandering blindly to his own disgrace By harbouring some dear friend extremely vicious; The last indeed's infallibly the case : And when the spouse and friend are gone off wholly, He wonders at their vice, and not his folly. C. Thus parents also are at times short-sighted; CI. 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 Perhaps to finish Juan's education, Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes, say here; In case he thought his wife too great a prize. CII. It was upon a day, a summer's day ;- The sun, no doubt, is the prevailing reason; 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 :- 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 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 To whom the lyre and laurels have been given, 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 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' 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, And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years: CVIII. When people say, « I've told you fifty times, » |