Whate'er the cause might be, they had become 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 'T was 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. LXXVI. She vow'd she never would see Juan more, Again it opens, it can be no other, 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, Such love is innocent, and may exist Between young persons without any danger. A hand may first, and then a lip be kist; For my part, to such doings I'm a stranger, But hear these freedoms form the utmost list Of all o'er which such love may be a ranger : If people go beyond, 't is quite a crime, But not my fault-I tell them all in time. LXXXI. Love, then, but love within its proper limits, Was Julia's innocent determination In young Don Juan's favour, and to him its Exertion might be useful on occasion; And, lighted at too pure a shrine to dim its Ethercal lustre, with what sweet persuasion He might be taught, by love and her togetherI really don't know what, nor Julia efther. LXXXIII. Her plan she deem'd both innocent and feasible, And, surely, with a stripling of sixteen Not scandal's fangs could fix on much that's seizable, Or if they did so, satisfied to mean [ableNothing but what was good, her breast was peaceA quiet conscience makes one so serene! Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did. LXXXIV. And if in the mean time her husband died, But Heaven forbid that such a thought should cross Her brain, though in a dream! (and then she sigh'd) Never could she survive that common loss; But just suppose that moment should betide, I only say suppose it—inter nos. (This should be entre nous, for Julia thought In French, but then the rhyme would go for nought.) LXXXV. I only say, suppose this supposition: Juan being then grown up to man's estate Would fully suit a widow of condition, Even seven years hence it would not be too late; And in the interim (to pursue this vision) The mischief, after all, could not be great, LXXXVI. So much for Julia. Now we'll turn to Juan. But not as yet imagined it could be a LXXXVII. Silent and pensive, idle, restless, slow, I'm fond myself of solitude or so, But then, I beg it may be understood, LXXXVIII. "Oh Love! in such a wilderness as this, Where transport and security entwine, Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, And here thou art a god indeed divine." The bard I quote from does not sing amiss, 2 With the exception of the second line, For that same twining "transport and security" Are twisted to a phrase of some obscurity. LXXXIX. The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals To the good sense and senses of mankind, 1 See Ovid. de Art. Amand. 1. ii. 2 Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming-(I think)-the opening of Canto Second-but quote from memory. 3["I say this by the way-so don't look stern, But if you 're angry, reader, pass it by."-MS.] [Juan Boscan Almogavà, of Barcelona, died about the The very thing which every body feels, As all have found on trial, or may find, That no one likes to be disturb'd at meals Or love. I won't say more about " entwined" Or" transport," as we knew all that before, But beg "Security" will bolt the door. XC. Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks, And every now and then we read them through, He, Juan, (and not Wordsworth) so pursued Had mitigated part, though not the whole With things not very subject to control, And turn'd, without perceiving his condition, Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician. Thus parents also are at times short-sighted: Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er discover, The while the wicked world beholds delighted, Young Hopeful's mistress, or Miss Fanny's lover, Till some confounded escapade has blighted The plan of twenty years, and all is over; But Inez was so anxious, and so clear Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion, Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes, 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. 'T was on a summer's day-the sixth of June: I like to be particular in dates, Not only of the age, and year, but moon; They are a sort of post-house, where the Fates Change horses, making history change its tune,2 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 sevenWhen Julia sate within as pretty a bower As e'er held houri in that heathenish heaven Described by Mahomet, and Anacreon Moore, 4 To whom the lyre and laurels have been given, She sate, but not alone; I know not well But there were she and Juan, face to face- CVI. How beautiful she look'd! her conscious heart Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along- CVII. She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth, And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years: I wish these last had not occurr'd, in sooth, CVIII. When poets say, "I've written fifty rhymes," 4 ["Oh, Susan! I've said, in the moments of mirth, I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, 5 ["She stood on guilt's steep brink, in all the sense In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; CIX. Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love 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, 1 She who for many years had watch'd her son soI'm very certain mine would not have done so. 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, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way, On which three single hours of moonshine smile. And 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 To open all itself, without the power 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. 2 CXV. And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced And half retiring from the glowing arm, ["To leave these two young people then and there."-MS.] 2 ["I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day; as if there was some association between an internal approach to greater light and purity, and the kindler of this dark lantern Which trembled like the bosom where 't was placed; Yet still she must have thought there was no harm, Or else 't were 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. CXVI. Oh Plato! Plato! you have paved the way, Of poets and romancers: -You're a bore, And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs, 'Tis said that Xerxes offer'd a reward To those who could invent him a new pleasure: Methinks, the requisition's rather hard, And must have cost his majesty a treasure: Fond of a little love (which I call leisure); Oh Pleasure! you are indeed a pleasant thing, Of reformation, ere the year run out, Here my chaste Muse a liberty must take- Forward, and there is no great cause to quake; In the design, and as I have a high sense CXXI. This licence is to hope the reader will Suppose from June the sixth (the fatal day, Without whose epoch my poetic skill For want of facts would all be thrown away), But keeping Julia and Don Juan still In sight, that several months have pass'd; we'll say "T was in November, but I'm not so sure About the day-the era's more obscure. of our external existence. The night is also a religious concern; and even more so when I viewed the moon and stars through Herschel's telescope, and saw that they were worlds." - Byron Diary, 1821.] CXXII. We'll talk of that anon.-'T is sweet to hear At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 't is sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. CXXIII 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 1 "Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words. CXXIV. Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet 2 The unexpected death of some old lady, Or gentlemen of seventy years complete, Who've made "us youth" wait too-too long already, For an estate, or cash, or country seat, Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, This is the patent age of new inventions Sir Humphry Davy's lantern 4, by which coals CXXXIII. Man's a phenomenon, one knows not what, And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure; 'Tis pity though, in this sublime world, that Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure; Few mortals know what end they would be at, But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure, The path is through perplexing ways, and when The goal is gain'd, we die, you know-and then Humphry Davy, P.R.S., in 1815, and has, no doubt, already preserved thousands of miners from the dangers of the firedamp.] [Jackson's Account of Tombuctoo, the great Emporium of Central Africa. Narrative of Robert Adams, a Sailor. Dr. Leyden's Discoveries in Africa, &c. &c. - Sir Edward Parry's three expeditions. Captain Ross's Voyage of Discovery, &c. &c.] 6["Not only pleasure 's sin, but sin 's a pleasure."- MS.] |