CXXXIV.

And thus they left him to his lone repose: Juan slept like a top, or like the dead, Who sleep at last, perhaps (God only knows), Just for the present; and in his lulled head Not even a vision of his former woes Throbbed in accurséd dreams, which sometimes spread[bk] Unwelcome visions of our former years, Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears.