I know not why, but in that hour to-night, Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came, And swept, as 't were, across their hearts' delight, Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame, When one is shook in sound, and one in sight: And thus some boding flashed through either frame, And called from Juan's breast a faint low sigh, While one new tear arose in Haidée's eye. XXII. That large black prophet eye seemed to dilate And follow far the disappearing sun, As if their last day of a happy date With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone; Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate-- He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none, His glance inquired of hers for some excuse For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse. XXIII. She turned to him, and smiled, but in that sort Which makes not others smile; then turned aside: Whatever feeling shook her, it seemed short, And mastered by her wisdom or her pride; When Juan spoke, too--it might be in sport-- Of this their mutual feeling, she replied-- "If it should be so,--but--it cannot be-- Or I at least shall not survive to see." XXIV. Juan would question further, but she pressed His lip to hers, and silenced him with this, And then dismissed the omen from her breast, Defying augury with that fond kiss; And no doubt of all methods 't is the best: Some people prefer wine--'t is not amiss; I have tried both--so those who would a part take May choose between the headache and the heartache. XXV. One of the two, according to your choice, Woman or wine, you'll have to undergo; Both maladies are taxes on our joys: But which to choose, I really hardly know; And if I had to give a casting voice, For both sides I could many reasons show, And then decide, without great wrong to either, It were much better to have both than neither. XXVI. Juan and Haidée gazed upon each other With swimming looks of speechless tenderness, Which mixed all feelings--friend, child, lover, brother-- All that the best can mingle and express When two pure hearts are poured in one another, And love too much, and yet can not love less; But almost sanctify the sweet excess By the immortal wish and power to bless. XXVII. Mixed in each other's arms, and heart in heart, Why did they not then die?--they had lived too long Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart; Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong; The World was not for them--nor the World's art For beings passionate as Sappho's song; Love was born _with_ them, _in_ them, so intense, It was their very Spirit--not a sense. XXVIII.