II.

Five hundred years shone younger The Alcazar to the day, Its lofty walls yet lustrous, And faultless its array; And brilliant were the enamels Which its gilded roofs reveal, It showed itself the mansion fit Of the king of proud Castile; When on one balmy morn it chanced Of florid May betide, In that saloon whose balcony Is on the plaza’s side, Two persons of illustrious mien In silence deep were there; One was a Cavalier, and one A Lady passing fair.

A Barbary carpet richly wove Upon the floor was laid, The gift or tribute which the Moor Granada’s king had paid; A silken curtain, bright with flowers, And ribbons curious wrought, With various eastern colours deck’d, Which to our Spain had brought Venetian galleys, as perchance Her Doge’s gift of state, Was thrown across the balcony, The light to moderate. In the recess in front, with woods Well carved, and richly graced With mother-o’-pearl inlayings, Was an Oratory placed; Where of the sovereign Virgin The image stood devout, The sculpture somewhat rude, but yet Attractions not without; Which with a plate of silver, For ornament was crown’d, Its rim reflecting amethysts, And emeralds around. A manuscript of holy prayers, Which miniatures adorn, Precious with gold and ivory Upon its coverings borne, Was seen there placed upon a stand, Form’d of an angel’s wings, The figure badly sculptured, But with neat finishings. And on the floor of gold brocade A cushion one might see, Which by its sunken pressure show’d The marks of bended knee. And on the pure white walls were hung Bright arms along the space, And interspersed were banners, And trophies of the chase. An ornamental table stood In the middle of the floor, On which a well-tuned lute was placed, Though partly covered o’er; A rich-cut board for game of draughts, And a coffer by its side Of silver filigree, and jars With chosen flowers supplied.

The Lady near the balcony Sat very pensively, In a great gilded chair of state, Whose back was form’d to be A canopy, or cover o’er, And in gay curvings down Were lions, castles, and the whole Surmounted with a crown. Her dress a silken robe of green, Which show’d a various tinge, In twisted threads, with pearls and gold The embroidery and fringe. Her head-dress than the snow appear’d Ev’n whiter to behold, And covering o’er the fine clear lawn Her long dark tresses roll’d. Her face was heavenly, and her neck Divine, but in their hue Like wax, the colour which fear paints, And long-known sorrow too. Her eyes were like two beaming suns Beneath their lashes tall, Where shone two precious pearly drops As ready down to fall. She was a lily fair, whom death Was rudely threatening seen, For a corroding worm the heart Was tearing deep within. Now in her thin pale hands, convulsed It seems with fear or doubt, Her kerchief white, of border’d lace And points, she twists about; Or with absorb’d distracted mien She agitates the air, With fan, whose feathers Araby Had sent, the choicest there.

The Cavalier was slightly form’d, And of the middle size, With reddish beard, a restless mouth, And most unquiet eyes. His visage pale and dry appear’d, Nose sharp and of a crook, Noble his port, but sinister And terrible his look. In a red mantle he was wrapp’d, With golden plates o’erspread, And gracefully his cap was placed On one side on his head. With measured steps, from end to end, He paced along the room, And different passions o’er his face Though silent seem’d to come. At times he reddens, darting round Fierce looks, that seem to tell, As flames cast forth from eyes of fire, The very deeds of hell. And now a fierce and bitter smile The extended lip displays, Or on the gilded roof he fix’d A darkly lowering gaze. Now hastening on his course, from head To foot he trembles o’er, And now proceeds his noble mien Of calmness to restore. Thus have I seen a tiger fierce, Now tranquil, now with rage Revolve himself each side across, And round his narrow cage. Thus pacing o’er the carpet there His footsteps are not heard, But soundless they, yet were distinct As ever that he stirr’d, The crackling of his arms and knees: In distant lands, ’tis said, That with like noise has Heaven supplied, For man to shun in dread, O, wonder rare! a serpent, named Thence Rattlesnake, that springs Quick at the moment it comes nigh, And kills whome’er it stings.

The Lady was Padillia, That sat in mournful strain; And the stern silent Cavalier Don Pedro, King of Spain.