from Canto XVI

31

She looked, and saw him pale, and turned as pale
     Herself; then hastily looked down, and muttered
Something, but what’s not stated in my tale.
     Lord Henry said, his muffin was ill buttered;
The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke played with her veil,
     And looked at Juan hard, but nothing uttered.
Aurora Raby, with her large dark eyes,
Surveyed him with a kind of calm surprise.

32

But seeing him all cold and silent still,
     And every body wondering more or less,
Fair Adeline enquired, “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.”

33

“Quite well; yes; no.”—These answers were mysterious,
     And yet his looks appeared to sanction both,
However they might savour of delirious;
     Something like illness of a sudden growth
Weighed on his spirit, though by no means serious.
     But for the rest, as he himself seemed loth
To state the case, it might be ta’en for granted
It was not the physician that he wanted.

34

Lord Henry, who had now discussed his chocolate,
    Also the muffin whereof he complained,
Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate,
    At which he marvelled, since it had not rained;
Then asked her Grace what news were of the Duke of late?
     Her Grace replied, his Grace was rather pained
With some slight, light, hereditary twinges
Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.

35

Then Henry turned to Juan and addressed
     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.

36

“Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar?
     The spirit of these walls?”—”In truth not I.”
“Why Fame—but Fame you know’s sometimes a liar—
     Tells an odd story, of which by the bye:
Whether with time the spectre has grown shyer,
     Or that our sires had a more gifted eye
For such sights, though the tale is half believed,
The Friar of late has not been oft perceived.

37

“The last time was—” “I pray,” said Adeline,—
     (Who watched the changes of Don Juan’s brow,
And from its context thought she could divine
     Connections stronger than he chose to avow
With this same legend)—”if you but design
     To jest, you’ll choose some other theme just now,
Because the present tale has oft been told,
And is not much improved by growing old.”

38

“Jest!” quoth Milor, “Why, Adeline, you know
     That we ourselves—’twas in the Honey Moon—
Saw—” “Well, no matter, ‘twas so long ago;
     But, come, I’ll set your story to a tune.”
Graceful as Dian when she draws her bow,
     She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled soon
As touched, and plaintively began to play
The air of ”’Twas a Friar of Orders Grey.”

39

“But add the words,” cried Henry, “which you made;
    For Adeline is half a poetess,”
Turning round to the rest, he smiling said.
     Of course the others could not but express
In courtesy their wish to see displayed
     By one three talents, for there were no less—
The voice, the words, the harper’s skill, at once
Could hardly be united by a dunce.

40

After some fascinating hesitation,—
     The charming of these charmers, who seem bound,
I can’t tell why, to this dissimulation,—
     Fair Adeline, with eyes fixed on the ground
At first, then kindling into animation,
     Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound,
And sang with much simplicity,—a merit
Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it.