Required. Aurora scarcely look'd aside,
Nor even smiled enough for any vanity.
The devil was in the girl! Could it be pride?
Or modesty, or absence, or inanity?
Heaven knows! But Adeline's malicious eyes
Sparkled with her successful prophecies,

LXXIX.

And look'd as much as if to say, 'I said it ;'
A kind of triumph I'll not recommend,
Because it sometimes, as I've seen or read it,
Both in the case of lover and of friend,
Will pique a gentleman, for his own credit,

To bring what was a jest to a serious end :
For all men prophesy what is or was,
And hate those who won't let them come to pass.

LXXX.

Juan was drawn thus into some attentions, Slight but select, and just enough to express, To females of conspicuous comprehensions, That he would rather make them more than Aurora, at the last (so history mentions, [less. Though probably much less a fact than guess). So far relax'd her thoughts from their sweet prison,

As once or twice to smile, if not to listen.

LXXXI.

From answering, she began to question: this With her was rare; and Adeline, who as yet Thought her predictions went not much amiss, Began to dread she'd thaw to a coquetteSo very difficult, they say, it is

[set To keep extremes from meeting, when once In motion; but she here too much refinedAurora's spirit was not of that kind.

LXXXII.

[say,

But Juan had a sort of winning way,
A proud humility, if such there be,
Which show'd such deference to what females
As if each charming word were a decree.
His tact, too, temper'd him from grave to gay,
And taught him when to be reserved or free:
He had the art of drawing people out,
Without their seeing what he was about.
LXXXIII.

Aurora, who, in her indifference,

Confounded him in common with the crowd

Of flatterers, though she deem'd he had more [loud,

sense

Than whispering foplings, or than witling Commenced (from such slight things will great commence)

To feel that flattery which attracts the proud Rather by deference than compliment, And wins even by a delicate dissent.

LXXXIV.

And then he had good looks ;-that point was

carried

Nem. con. amongst the women, which I grieve

To say leads oft to crim. con. with the married-
A case which to the juries we may leave,
Since with digressions we too long have tarried.
Now, though we know of old that looks
deceive,
[looks
And always have done, somehow these good
Make more impressions than the best of books.

LXXXV.

Aurora, who look'd more on books than faces, Was very young, although so very sage, Admiring more Minerva than the Graces, Especially upon a printed page.

But Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces,

Has not the natural stays of strict old age; And Socrates, that model of all duty, [beauty. Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for

LXXXVI.

And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic,

But innocently so, as Socrates: And really, if the sage sublime and Attic At seventy years had phantasies like these, Which Piato in his dialogues dramatic

Has shown, I know not why they should disIn virgins-always in a modest way, [please Observe; for that with me's a sine qua.*

LXXXVII.

Also observe that, like the great Lord Coke

(See Littleton), whene'er I have express'd Opinions two, which at first sight may look Twin opposites, the second is the best. Perhaps I have a third, too, in a nook,

Or none at all-which seems a sorry jest ; But if a writer should be quite consistent, How could he possibly show things existent? LXXXVIII.

If people contradict themselves, can I
Help contradicting them, and everybody,
Even my veracious self?-But that's a lie

I never did so, never will-how should I? He who doubts all things, nothing can deny: Truth's fountains may be clear-her streams are muddy,

And cut through such canals of contradiction, That she must often navigate o'er fiction. LXXXIX.

Apologue, fable, poesy, and parable

Are false, but may be render'd also true, By those who sow them in a land that's arable. 'Tis wonderful what fable will not do ! "Tis said it makes reality more bearable;

But what's reality? Who has its clue? Philosophy? No: she too much rejects. Religion? Yes; but which of all her sects?

XC.

Some millions must be wrong, that's pretty clear Perhaps it may turn out that all were right.

• Subauditur non,' omitted for the sake of euphany.

God help us! Since we've need, on our career,
To keep our holy beacons always bright,
'Tis time that some new prophet should appear,
Or old indulge man with a second sight.
Opinions wear out in some thousand years,
Without a small refreshment from the spheres.

XCI.

But here again, why will I thus untangle
Myself with metaphysics? None can hate
So much as I do any kind of wrangle;
And yet, such is my folly or my fate,
I always knock my head against some angle,
About the present, past, or future state;
Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian,
For I was bred a moderate Presbyterian.

XCII.

But though I am a temperate theologian,
And also meek as a metaphysician,
Impartial between Tyrian and Trojan,
As Eldon on a lunatic commission,
In politics my duty is to show John

Bull something of the lower world's condition. It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla To see men let these scoundrel sovereigns break law.

XCIII.

But politics, and policy, and piety,

Are topics which I sometimes introduce, Not only for the sake of their variety,

But as subservient to a moral use; Because my business is to dress society,

And stuff with sage that very verdant goose; And now, that we may furnish with some matter Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural. [all

XCIV.

And now I will give up all argument;

And positively henceforth no temptation Shall fool me to the top up of my bent." Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation. Indeed, I never knew what people meant, By dreaming that my Muse's conversation Was dangerous: I think she is as harmless As some who labour more, and yet may charm less..

XCV.

And don't regret the time you may have lost, For you have got that pleasure still to come; And do not think I mean to sneer at most

Of these things, or by ridicule benumb That source of the sublime and the mysterious:For certain reasons, my belief is serious.

XCVI.

Serious? You laugh-you may: that will I not.
My smiles must be sincere or not at all.
I say I do believe a haunted spot

Exists-and where? That shall I not recall, Because I'd rather it should be forgot:

'Shadows the soul of Richard' may appal. In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very Like those of the philosopher of Malmsbury.*

XCVII.

The night-(I sing by night-sometimes an owl,
And now and then a nightingale)-is dim;
And the loud shriek of sage Minerva's fowl
Rattles around me her discordant hymn :
Old portraits from old walls upon me scowl---
I wish to heaven they would not look so grim;
The dying embers dwindle in the grate-
I think, too, that I have sate up too late :

XCVIII.

And therefore, though 'tis by no means my way
To rhyme at noon-when I have other things
To think of, if I ever think-I say

And prudently postpone until mid-day
I feel some chilly midnight shudderings,

Treating a topic which, alas, but brings Shadows;-but you must be in my condition, Before you learn to call this superstition.

XCIX.

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

How little do we know that which we are!

How less what we may be! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar

Bows have they, generally with two strings: Horses they ride without remorse or ruth: At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever, But draw the long bow better now than ever.

II.

The cause of this effect, or this defect-
'For this effect defective comes by cause
Is what I have not leisure to inspect;

But this I must say in my own applause,
Of all the Muses that I recollect,

Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.

III.

And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats
From anything, this epic will contain
A wilderness of the most rare conceits, [vain.
Which you might elsewhere hope to find in
'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets,

Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't complain,
But wonder they so few are, since my tale is
De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis.'

IV.

But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.
I said it was a story of a ghost-

What then? I only know it so befell.
Have you explored the limits of the coast,
Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell?
'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as
The sceptics who would not believe Columbus.

V.

Some people would impose now with authority,
Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;
Men whose historical superiority

Is always greatest at a miracle.
But Saint Augustine has the great priority,

Who bids all men believe the impossible, Because 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he Quiets at once with 'quia impossibile.'

VI.

And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all:
Believe-if 'tis improbable, you must;
And if it is impossible, you shall:

'Tis always best to take things upon trust. I do not speak profanely, to recall

Those holier mysteries which the wise and just Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, As all truths must, the more they are disputed:

VII.

I merely mean to say what Johnson said,

That, in the course of some six thousand years All nations have believed that, from the dead, A visitant at intervals appears.

And what is strangest upon this strange head, Is that, whatever bar the reason rears

• Hamlet, act ii. scene 2.

He sigh'd:-The next resource is the full moon,
Where all sighs are deposited; and now,
It happen'd, luckily, the chaste orb shone
As clear as such a climate will allow !
And Juan's mind was in the proper tone

To hail her with the apostrophe-'O thou!'

• The composition of the old Tyrian purple, whether from a shell-fish or from cochineal, or from kermes, is still an article of dispute; and even its colour-some say purple, other scarlet: I say nothing.

He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed, Ponder'd upon his visitant or vision,

And whether it ought not to be disclosed,

At risk of being quizz'd for superstition.

Fair Adeline inquired 'If he were ill?'
He started, and said, 'Yes-no-rather-yes."
The family physician had great skill,

And, being present, now began to express
His readiness to feel his pulse and tell
The cause; but Juan said he was quite well.

XXXIII.

'Quite well; yes-no.-These answers were mysterious;

And yet his looks appear'd to sanction both, However they might savour of delirious:

Something like illness of a sudden growth Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no means serious;

But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted It was not the physician that he wanted.

XXXIV.

Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his choco-
Also the muffin whereof he complain'd, [late,
Said Juan had not got his usual look elate,
At which he marvell'd, since it had not rain'd:

In the mean time, his valet, whose precision Was great, because his master brook'd no less, Knock'd to inform him it was time to dress.

XXIX.

He dress'd: and, like young people, he was wont
To take some trouble with his toilet, but
This morning rather spent less time upon't :
Aside his very mirror soon was put ;
His curls fell negligently o'er his front;

His clothes were not curb'd to their usual cut; His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side.

XXX.

And when he walk'd down into the saloon, He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea, Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon, Had it not happen'd scalding hot to be,

Duke of late.

Her Grace replied, his Grace was rather pain'd With some slight, light, hereditary twinges |Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.

XXXV.

Then Henry turn'd to Juan and address'd

A few words of condolence on his state: 'You look,' quoth he, 'as if you had had your

rest

Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late.' What Friar?' said Juan; and he did his best To put the question with an air sedate, Or careless; but the effort was not valid, To hinder him from growing still more pallid.

XXXVI.

'Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar, The spirit of these walls?'-'In truth, not L'