“ ’Tis not,” said Juan, “for my present doom
I mourn, but for the past;—I loved a maid:”—
He paused, and his dark eye grew full of gloom;
A single tear upon his eyelash staid
A moment, and then dropped; “but to resume,
’Tis not my present lot, as I have said,
Which I deplore so much; for I have borne
Hardships which have the hardiest overworn,