THE ALCAZAR OF SEVILLE
ROMANCE I

Magnificent is the Alcazar,
For which Seville is renown’d,
Delicious are its gardens,
With its lofty portals crown’d.
With woods all carved elaborate,
In a thousand forms about,
It raises high its noble front
With cornice jutting out;
And there in ancient characters
A tablet may be seen,
Don Pedro built these palaces,
The sculptures placed between.
But ill beseem in its saloons
The modern triflings rear’d,
And in its proud courts men without
The antique vest or beard.
How many a soft and balmy eve,
In pleasant converse there,
Have I with Seville’s mirthful sons,
And Seville’s daughters fair,
Traversed those blooming bowers along,
On entering which are rude
Gigantic shapes in myrtles cut,
Of various attitude;
And rose-bay trees, in long arcades,
With oranges unite,
And shady labyrinths form, the which
To thefts of love invite;
And hidden jets of water spring
All sudden from the floor,
When trod the painted pebbles laid
In rich mosaic o’er,
That sprinkle on the stranger there,
While shouts of laughter rise,
From those who warn’d by former fate
Now shun such pleasantries!

In summer time, at close of day,
When mid the light cloud’s fold,
The sun declines, encircling them
With scarlet and with gold,
That bright transparent heaven above,
With purple mists o’erspread,
Cut in a thousand varied hues,
By softest zephyrs led,
That glowing atmosphere, in which
One seems to breathe of fire,
How temper they the languid frame,
And soul divine inspire!
The view too of those baths, that gain
From all who know them praise,
And that proud edifice which Moors
And Goths combined to raise,
In some parts harsh, in some more light,
Here ruins, there repair’d,
The different dominations pass’d
Are thus by each declared;
With records, and remembrances
Of ages long pass’d by,
And of more modern years alike
To arrest the fantasy.
The lemon’s and the jasmine’s flowers,
While they the eyes enchant,
Embalm the circumambient air
With sweets they lavish grant.
The fountains’ murmurs, and afar
The city’s varied cries,
With those that from the river near,
Or Alameda rise,
From Triana, and from the bridge,
All lost, confused amain,
With sound of bells vibrating loud
In high Hiralda’s fane;—
A scene that never is forgot
Enchanted forms the whole,
The thoughts of which unceasing cause
To beat my heart and soul.

Many delicious nights, when yet
My now all-frozen breast
Beat warmly, have I seen those halls
By youthful footsteps press’d;
Fill’d with a chosen concourse gay
In country dance to meet,
Or light quadrille, while festive sounds
The orchestras repeat:
And from the gilded roofs rebound
The steps, the laugh perchance
And talk of happy pairs, by love
United in the dance;
With sound of music mix’d the while,
Confused and blended o’er,
As sent according echos forth
From the enamell’d floor.

Yet, ah! those lovely bowers along
I never once have stray’d,
But saw as in a mental dream
Padillia’s gentle shade,
Flitting before my view to pass,
Heaving a sigh profound,
Light as a vapour, or a cloud
That skims the trees around.
Nor ever enter’d I those halls,
But fancying arise
I saw the founder’s phantom, stain’d
With blood congeal’d the dyes.
Nor in that vestibule obscure,
Where with the cornice blend
The portraits of the kings, arranged
In columns to extend,
To that which is blue-tiled below,
And enamell’d is on high,
Which shows on every side around
A rich-set balcony,
And gilded lattice roof above
That crowns it with dark shade,
But thought I saw upon the ground
A lifeless body laid!
Yet on that pavement may be seen
A dark stain to this day!
Indelible, which ages pass
And never wash away:
’Tis blood that dark tenacious stain;
Blood of the murder’d dead:
Alas! how many throng it o’er,
Nor think on what they tread!