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| | byron-don-315.txt |
 | | Young Juan slept all dreamless:- but the maid, Who smooth'd his pillow, as she left the den Look'd back upon him, and a moment stay'd, And turn'd, believing that he call'd again. |
 | | So Juan stood, bewilder'd on the deck: The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors swore, And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck, From which away so fair and fast they bore. |
 | | Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire, Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night; And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher; His blood was up: though young, he was a Tartar, And not at all disposed to prove a martyr. |
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