THE ALCAZAR OF SEVILLE
ROMANCE 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.