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 Described by Mahomet, and Anacreon Moore, To whom the lyre and laurels have been given, 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 No matter how or why the thing befell, 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 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. CVII. She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth, Because that number rarely much endears, CVIII. When people say, "I've told you fifty times," They make you dread that they'll recite them too; In gangs of fifty thieves commit their crimes; But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, CIX. Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love, 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, 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 Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp She would have shrunk as from a toad, or asp, CXII. I cannot know what Juan thought of this, 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 longest, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way On which three single hours of moonshine smile- |