A Sequel to Don Juan — page 60: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DON JUAN. val CXXXIV. Time stole away—week alter week flew past, And more profound grew Juan’s love. The maid Beheld th’ enamoured glances which he cast Upon her furtively, and felt afraid— Till, almost in her own despite, at last Her glowing cheeks and faultering voice betrayed The feeling which, responsive to his own, And by it fed, within her breast had grown. CXXXV. The summer’s past—the trees have thrown aside Their verdant garb—the earth has lost its hue Of green—the river rushes with a tide Impetuous—the sky, no longer blue, Is veiled in murky clouds—the planets hide - Their heads at night, or glance but dimly through The sable curtains which around them spread,— The busy hum of insect life is dead : CXX XVI. The music of the grove is hushed—the rill Babbles no more, but hurries wildly on | Unto the sea—the beetle’s note is still,— Nature, in nudity, reclines upon The turfless grave of Winter,—and the hill No more rejoices in the morning sun, . Nor, with an evergreen upon its slope, | Of summer’s advent gives symbolic hope. COMMicloookxs. conn