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up the old connection,

      Which time had lately render'd much more chaste,

      She took his lady also in affection,

      And certainly this course was much the best:

      She flatter'd Julia with her sage protection,

      And complimented Don Alfonso's taste;

      And if she could not (who can?) silence scandal,

      At least she left it a more slender handle.

      I can't tell whether Julia saw the affair

      With other people's eyes, or if her own

      Discoveries made, but none could be aware

      Of this, at least no symptom e'er was shown;

      Perhaps she did not know, or did not care,

      Indifferent from the first or callous grown:

      I 'm really puzzled what to think or say,

      She kept her counsel in so close a way.

      Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child,

      Caress'd him often—such a thing might be

      Quite innocently done, and harmless styled,

      When she had twenty years, and thirteen he;

      But I am not so sure I should have smiled

      When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three;

      These few short years make wondrous alterations,

      Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations.

      Whate'er the cause might be, they had become

      Changed; for the dame grew distant, the youth shy,

      Their looks cast down, their greetings almost dumb,

      And much embarrassment in either eye;

      There surely will be little doubt with some

      That Donna Julia knew the reason why,

      But as for Juan, he had no more notion

      Than he who never saw the sea of ocean.

      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.

      And if she met him, though she smiled no more,

      She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile,

      As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store

      She must not own, but cherish'd more the while

      For that compression in its burning core;

      Even innocence itself has many a wile,

      And will not dare to trust itself with truth,

      And love is taught hypocrisy from youth.

      But passion most dissembles, yet betrays

      Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky

      Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays

      Its workings through the vainly guarded eye,

      And in whatever aspect it arrays

      Itself, 't is still the same hypocrisy;

      Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,

      Are masks it often wears, and still too late.

      Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,

      And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,

      And burning blushes, though for no transgression,

      Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left;

      All these are little preludes to possession,

      Of which young passion cannot be bereft,

      And merely tend to show how greatly love is

      Embarrass'd at first starting with a novice.

      Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state;

      She felt it going, and resolved to make

      The noblest efforts for herself and mate,

      For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake;

      Her resolutions were most truly great,

      And almost might have made a Tarquin quake:

      She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace,

      As being the best judge of a lady's case.

      She vow'd she never would see Juan more,

      And next day paid a visit to his mother,

      And look'd extremely at the opening door,

      Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another;

      Grateful she was, and yet a little sore—

      Again it opens, it can be no other,

      'T is surely Juan now—No! I 'm afraid

      That night the Virgin was no further pray'd.

      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

      For people who are pleasanter than others,

      But then they only seem so many brothers.

      And even if by chance—and who can tell?

      The devil 's so very sly—she should discover

      That all within was not so very well,

      And, if still free, that such or such a lover

      Might please perhaps, a virtuous wife can quell

      Such thoughts, and be the better when they 're over;

      And if the man should ask, 't is but denial:

      I recommend young ladies to make trial.

      And then there are such things as love divine,

      Bright and immaculate, unmix'd and pure,

      Such as the angels think so very fine,

      And matrons who would be no less secure,

      Platonic, perfect, 'just such love as mine;'

      Thus Julia said—and thought so, to be sure;

      And so I 'd have her think, were I the man

      On whom her reveries celestial ran.

      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

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