from Canto XV

41

There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer’s sea,
     That usual paragon, an only daughter,
Who seem’d the cream of equanimity,
     Till skimm’d—and then there was some milk and water,
With a slight shade of Blue too it might be,
     Beneath the surface; but what did it matter?
Love’s riotous, but marriage should have quiet,
And being consumptive, live on a milk diet.

42

And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring,
    A dashing demoiselle of good estate,
Whose heart was fix’d upon a star or bluestring;
     But whether English Dukes grew rare of late,
Or that she had not harp’d upon the true string,
     By which such sirens can attract our great,
She took up with some foreign younger brother,
A Russ or Turk—the one’s as good as t’other.

43

And then there was—but why should I go on,
     Unless the ladies should go off?—there was
Indeed a certain fair and fairy one,
     Of the best class, and better than her class,—
Aurora Raby, a young star who shone
     O’er life, too sweet an image for such glass,
A lovely being, scarcely form’d or moulded,
A Rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded;

44

Rich, noble, but an orphan; left an only
     Child to the care of guardians good and kind;
But still her aspect had an air so lonely!
     Blood is not water; and where shall we find
Feelings of youth like those which overthrown lie
     By death, when we are left, alas! behind,
To feel, in friendless palaces, a home
Is wanting, and our best ties in the tomb?

45

Early in years, and yet more infantine
     In figure, she had something of sublime
In eyes which sadly shone, as seraphs’ shine.
     All youth—but with an aspect beyond time;
Radiant and grave—as pitying man’s decline;
     Mournful—but mournful of another’s crime,
She look’d as if she sat by Eden’s door,
And grieved for those who could return no more.

46

She was a Catholic too, sincere, austere,
     As far as her own gentle heart allow’d,
And deem’d that fallen worship far more dear
     Perhaps because ‘twas fallen: her sires were proud
Of deeds and days when they had fill’d the ear
     Of nations, and had never bent or bow’d
To novel power; and as she was the last,
She held their old faith and old feelings fast.

47

She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew
     As seeking not to know it; silent, lone,
As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew,
     And kept her heart serene within its zone.
There was awe in the homage which she drew;
     Her spirit seem’d as seated on a throne
Apart from the surrounding world, and strong
In its own strength—most strange in one so young!

48

Now it so happen’d, in the catalogue
     Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted,
Although her birth and wealth had given her vogue
     Beyond the charmers we have already cited;
Her beauty also seem’d to form no clog
     Against her being mention’d as well fitted,
By many virtues, to be worth the trouble
Of single gentlemen who would be double.

49

And this omission, like that of the bust
    Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius,
Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must.
     This he express’d half smiling and half serious;
When Adeline replied with some disgust,
     And with an air, to say the least, imperious,
She marvell’d “what he saw in such a baby
As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby?”

50

Juan rejoined—”She was a Catholic,
     And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion;
Since he was sure his mother would fall sick,
     And the Pope thunder excommunication,
If—” But here Adeline, who seem’d to pique
     Herself extremely on the inoculation
Of others with her own opinions, stated—
As usual—the same reason which she late did.