LXVIII. 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, LXIX. Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child, When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three, These few short years make wondrous alterations, Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations. LXX. 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 But as for Juan, he had no more notion LXXI. Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind, A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart. LXXII. 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; And will not dare to trust itself with truth, LXXIII. But passion most dissembles yet betrays Its workings through the vainly guarded eye, Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy ; Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate, Are masks it often wears, and still too late. LXXIV. Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression, Of which young passion cannot be bereft, LXXV. 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. LXXVI. She vow'd she never would see Juan more, 'Tis surely Juan now-No! I'm afraid LXXVII. 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; Preference, that we must feel upon occasion, |