This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd,
The supplicator being an amateur ;
But others, who were left with scarce a third,
Were angry as they well might, to be sure.
They wonder'd how a young man so absurd
Lord Henry at his table should endure;
And this, and his not knowing how much oats
Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.


They little knew, or might have sympathized,
That he the night before had seen a ghost;
A prologue which but slightly harmonised
With the substantial company engross'd
By matter, and so much materialised,

That one scarce knew at what to marvel most
Of two things-how (the question rather odd is)
Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies.


But what confused him more than smile or stare
From all the 'squires and 'squiresses around,
Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air,
Especially as he had been renown'd

For some vivacity among the fair,

Even in the country circle's narrow bound

(For little things upon my lord's estate

Were good small talk for others still less great)—


Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his,

And something like a smile upon her cheek. Now this he really rather took amiss :

In those who rarely smile, their smile bespeaks
A strong external motive; and in this

Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique
Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles
Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.


'T was a mere quiet smile of contemplation,
Indicative of some surprise and pity;
And Juan grew carnation with vexation,
Which was not very wise and still less witty,
Since he had gain'd at least her observation,
A most important outwork of the city-
As Juan should have known, had not his senses
By last night's ghost been driven from their defences.


But, what was bad, she did not blush in turn,
Nor seem embarrass'd-quite the contrary;
Her aspect was, as usual, still-not stern—
And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye,
Yet grew a little pale-with what? concern?

I know not; but her colour ne'er was highThough sometimes faintly flush'd-and always clear As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere.


But Adeline was occupied by fame

This day; and watching, witching, condescending To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game, And dignity with courtesy so blending, As all must blend whose part it is to aim (Especially as the sixth year is ending) At their lord's, son's, and similar connexion's Safe conduct through the rocks of re-elections.


Though this was most expedient on the whole,
And usual, Juan-when he cast a glance
On Adeline while playing her grand rôle,

Which she went through as though it were a dance (Betraying only now and then her soul

By a look scarce perceptibly askance
Of weariness or scorn)-began to feel
Some doubt how much of Adeline was real;


So well she acted all and every part

By turns-with that vivacious versatility,
Which many people take for want of heart.
They err-'t is merely what is call'd mobility,

A thing of temperament and not of art,

Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false-though true; for surely they 're sincerest, Who 're strongly acted on by what is nearest.


This makes your actors, artists, and romancers, Heroes sometimes, though. seldom-sages never; But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers, Little that's great, but much of what is clever; Most orators, but very few financiers,

Though all Exchequer Chancellors endeavour, Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours, And grow quite figurative with their figures.


The poets of arithmetic are they

Who, though they prove not two and two to be Five, as they would do in a modest way,

Have plainly made it out that four are three,
Judging by what they take and what they pay.
The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea,
That most unliquidating liquid, leaves
The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives.


While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces,

The fair Fitz-Fulke seem'd very much at ease; Though too well-bred to quiz men to their faces, Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize The ridicules of people in all places

That honey of your fashionable bees-
And store it up for mischievous enjoyment;
And this at present was her kind employment.


However, the day closed, as days must close;
The evening also waned—and coffee came.
Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose,
And curtseying off, as curtsies country dame,
Retired with most unfashionable bows

Their docile esquires also did the same,
Delighted with the dinner and their host,
But with the Lady Adeline the most.


Some praised her beauty; others her great grace;
The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity
Was obvious in each feature of her face,

Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity.

Yes, she was truly worthy her high place!

No one could envy her deserved prosperity; And then her dress-what beautiful simplicity Draperied her form with curious felicity!?


Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their praises,

By an impartial indemnification

For all her past exertion and soft phrases,

In a most edifying conversation,

Which turn'd upon their late guests' miens and faces,

And families, even to the last relation;

Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses, And truculent distortion of their tresses.


True, she said little-'t was the rest that broke Forth into universal epigram ;

But then 't was to the purpose what she spoke :
Like Addison's "faint praise" so wont to damn,
Her own but served to set off every joke,

As music chimes in with a melodrame.
How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!
I ask but this of mine, to—not defend.


There were but two exceptions to this keen
Skirmish of wits o'er the departed; one,
Aurora, with her pure and placid mien;

And Juan too, in general behind none
In gay remark on what he 'd heard or seen,
Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone :
In vain he heard the others rail or rally,
He would not join them in a single sally.


'T is true he saw Aurora look as though

She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook Its motive for that charity we owe,

But seldom pay the absent, nor would look Farther; it might or it might not be so,

But Juan, sitting silent in his nook,

Observing little in his reverie,

Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see.


The ghost at least had done him this much good,

In making him as silent as a ghost,

If in the circumstances which ensued

He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most.

And certainly Aurora had renew'd

In him some feelings he had lately lost

Or harden'd; feelings which, perhaps ideal,
Are so divine, that I must deem them real :-


The love of higher things and better days;
The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance
Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways;
The moments when we gather from a glance
More joy than from all future pride or praise,
Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance

The heart in an existence of its own,
Of which another's bosom is the zone.


Who would not sigh Αι αι των Κυθηρείαν
That hath a memory, or that had a heart?
Alas! her star must wane like that of Dian,
Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart.
Anacreon only had the soul to tie an

Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart


Of Eros but, though thou hast play'd us many tricks, Still we respect thee, "Alma Venus Genitrix!"


And full of sentiments, sublime as billows

Heaving between this world and worlds beyond,
Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows
Arrived, retired to his; but to despond
Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows
Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond
Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,
And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.


The night was as before he was undrest,
Saving his night-gown, which is an undress;
Completely sans culotte, and without vest;
In short, he hardly could be clothed with less;
But, apprehensive of his spectral guest,

He sate, with feelings awkward to express (By those who have not had such visitations), Expectant of the ghost's fresh operations.


And not in vain he listen'd-Hush! what's that?
I see I see-Ah, no! 't is not—yet 't is—
Ye powers! it is the-the-the-Pooh! the cat!
The devil may take that stealthy pace of his!
So like a spiritual pit-a-pat,

Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss,

Gliding the first time to a rendezvous,

And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.


Again what is 't? The wind? No, no,-this time

It is the sable friar as before,

With awful footsteps, regular as rhyme,

Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more, Again, through shadows of the night sublime,

When deep sleep fell on men, and the world wore The starry darkness round her like a girdle

Splangled with gems-the monk made his blood curdle.

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