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Julia was-yet I never could see why-
With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend;
Between their tastes there was small And if she met him, though she smiled no

sympathy,

For not a line had Julia ever penn'd:
Some people whisper (but, no doubt they lie,
For malice still imputes some private end)
That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage,
Forgot with him her very prudent carriage;

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;

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And if, in the mean time, her husband died, | Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks, But heaven forbid that such a thought should Thinking unutterable things; he threw Himself at length within the leafy nooks

cross

Her brain, though in a dream! (and then she | Where the wild branch of the cork-forest grew;

sigh'd)

through,

Never could she survive that common loss; There poets find materials for their books, But just suppose that moment should betide, And every now and then we read them I only say suppose it-inter nos, (This should be entre nous,for Julia thought | So that their plan and prosody are eligible, In French, but then the rhyme would go Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unfor nought). intelligible.

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