She, at the soul enlivening, ball,
And in the lamp illumined hall
But small amusement found;
She shunn'd the cards’ bewitching play,
She shunn'd the noisy and the gay,
Nor cared for music's sound.
No nymph discover'd so much spleen,
Was so reserved as Julia, seen
On that enchanting night:
And yet she had her part to say
When young Almagro shared the play,
Then cards were her delight.
But he retired, amid the dance;
He heard, he said, of news from France,
And of a serious cast:
He wish'd to know beyond all doubt,
What Bonaparte was now about,
How long his sway would last.
Then, Julia made a good retreat,
But left the assembly incomplete;
She was with sleep oppress'd.—
Who shall the midnight dance prolong
Who lead the minuet, raise the song
Where Julia is no guest?
Yet, love declared her judgment right,
And whisper'd, when she bade good night
And feign'd an aching head,
“While some retreat and some advance,
Let them enjoy the festive dance,
You, Julia, go to bed.”