Hail, Muse! et cetera.—We left Juan sleeping,

Pillowed upon a fair and happy breast,

And watched by eyes that never yet knew weeping,

And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest

To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,

Or know who rested there, a foe to rest,

Had soiled the current of her sinless years,

And turned her pure heart's purest blood to tears!