And seem'd, at least, in the right road to | Of many charms, in her as natural
As sweetness to the flower, or salt to occan,
Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid
(But this last simile is trite and stupid).
For half his days were pass'd at church,
the other
Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.
At six, I said, he was a charming child,
At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy;
Although in infancy a little wild,
They tamed him down amongst them; to
destroy
His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd
At least it seem'd so; and his mother's joy
Was to declare how sage,and still, and steady,
Her young philosopher was grown already.
I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still,
But what I say is neither here nor there:
I knew his father well, and have some skill
In character-but it would not be fair
From sire to son to augur good or ill:
He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair
But scandal's my aversion-I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.
The darkness of her oriental eye
Accorded with her Moorish origin
(Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by;
In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin);
When proud Grenada fell, and, forced to fly,
Boabdill wept, of Donna Julia's kin
Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain,
Her great great grandmamma chose to
remain.
She married (I forget the pedigree)
With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down
His blood less noble than such blood
should be;
At such alliances his sires would frown,
In that point so precise in each degree
That they bred in and in, as might be shown,
Marrying their cousins-nay, their aunts
and nieces,
Which always spoils the breed, if it increases.
again, Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh:
For my part I say nothing—nothing — but
This I will say my reasons are my own-This heathenish cross restored the breed
That if I had an only son to put
To school (asGod be praised that I have none)
'Tis not with Donna Inez I would shut
Him up to learn his catechism alone;
No-no-I'd send him out betimes to college,
For there it was I pick'd up my own
knowledge.
For there one learns-'tis not for me to boast,
Though I acquired—but I pass over that,
As well as all the Greek I since have lost:
Isay that there's the place - but l'erbum sat.”
I think I pick'd up, too, as well as most,
Knowledge of matters—but no matter what —
I never married-but, I think, I know
That sons should not be educated so.
Young Juan now was sixteen years of age,
Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit;
he seem'd
Active, though not so sprightly, as a page;
And every body but his mother deem'd
Him almost man; but she flew in a rage,
And bit her lips (for else she might have
scream'd)
If any said so, for to be precocious
Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.
Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all
Selected for discretion and devotion,
There was the Donna Julia, whom to call
Pretty were but to give a feeble notion
For, from a root, the ugliest in Old Spain,
Sprung up a ranch as beautiful as fresh;
The sons no more were short, the daughters
plain:
But there's a rumour which I fain would
hush-
Tis said that Donna Julia's grandmamma Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.
However this might be, the race went on
Improving still through every generation,
Until it centred in an only son
Who left an only daughter; my narration
May have suggested that this single one
Could be but Julia (whom on this occasion
I shall have much to speak about), and she
Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-
three.
Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until she spoke,then through its soft disguise
Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire,
And love than either; and there would arise
A something in them which was not desire,
But would have been, perhaps, but for the
soul
Which struggled through and chasten'd
down the whole.
And if, in the mean time, her husband died, | Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks, But heaven forbid that such a thought should Thinking unutterable things; he threw Himself at length within the leafy nooks Where the wild branch of the cork-forest grew;
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).
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,
For he would learn the rudiments of love,
I mean the seraph-way of those above.
So much for Julia. Now we'll turn to Juan,
Poor little fellow! he had no idea
Of his own case, and never hit the true one;
In feelings quick as Ovid's Miss Medea,
He puzzled over what he found a new one,
But not as yet imagined it could be a
Thing quite in course, and not at all
alarming,
Which, with a little patience, might grow
charming.
Silent and pensive, idle, restless, slow,
His home deserted for the lonely wood,
Tormented with a wound he could not know,
His, like all deep grief, plunged in solitude.
I'm fond myself of solitude or so,
But then I beg it may be understood
By solitude I mean a sultan's, not
A hermit's, with a haram for a grot.
"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,
With the exception of the second line,
For that same twining "transport and
security"
Are twisted to a phrase of some obscurity.
The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals
To the good sense and senses of mankind,
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 know all that before,
But beg "Security" will bolt the door.
There poets find materials for their books, And every now and then we read them through,
So that their plan and prosody are eligible, Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible.
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