THE ALCAZAR OF SEVILLE
ROMANCE V

’Tis said, the sight of blood so much
Is wont to infuriate
The tiger, that he still rends on
With stomach satiate;
Solely because ’tis his delight
With blood the earth to stain,
So doubtless with the King it was
Such feelings grew amain.
For when he saw Fadrique laid,
Thus prostrate on the ground,
After the squires in search he ran
The palace all around;
Who tremblingly and livid fled
The apartments various o’er,
Nor find they any hiding-place,
Or whence to fly a door.
One happily at length succeeds,
To hide or fly outright;
The other, Sancho Villiegas,
Less happy or adroit,
Seeing the King still follow him,
Enter’d half dead with fear
Where was Padillia on her couch,
With her attendants near;
They trembling, as she senseless laid,
And by her side reclined
Her two young tender girls, who were
Angels in form and mind.
The unhappy youth still seeing there
The spectre following nigh,
That even this asylum mocks,
In his arms quickly high
Snatches the Lady Beatrice,
Who scarce six years has known,
The child for whom the King has e’er
The most affection shown.
But, ah! naught serves him this resource,
As in the desert naught
The holy cross avails, that clasps
The pilgrim hapless caught;
When roars the south wind, burns the sky,
And seems as if up-driven
A frightful sea, of waves of sand,
Commingling earth and heaven;
Thus with the child between his arms,
And on his knees compress’d,
The furious dagger of the King
Was planted in his breast.

As if that day had witness’d naught
The palace new or rare,
The King sat at the table calm
To eat as usual there;
Play’d afterwards a game of draughts,
Then went out pacing slow
To see the galleys, arming soon
To Biscay’s shores to go.
And when the night the hemisphere
Had with its mantle veil’d,
He enters in the Golden Tower,
Where he shut up has held
The fair Aldonza, whom he took
From Santa Clara’s walls,
And as in blind idolatry
Who now his heart enthralls.
With Levi then his treasurer,
Who though a Hebrew vile
Has all his confidence, he goes
On state affairs awhile;
And very late retires to rest,
With no attendants nigh,
Only a Moor, a wretch perforce,
His favourite waiting by.

Enter’d the lofty vestibule,
The Alcazar’s tranquil bound,
One moment paused the King and pass’d
His gaze in turn around.
A large lamp from the vaulted roof
Was hanging loose, and cast
Now lights, now shadows, as it swung,
As by the breezes pass’d.
Between the polish’d columns placed
Two men in armour were,
But only two dark figures show’d,
Watching in silence there.
And still was Don Fadrique laid
Extended on the ground,
With his torn mantle o’er him spread,
In a lake of blood around.
The King approach’d him, and awhile
Attentively survey’d,
And seeing that his brother yet
Was not entirely dead,
Since he perchance as breathing seem’d,
His breast a heave to make,
He gave him with his foot a push,
Which made the body shake;
Whereon he, giving to the Moor
His sharpen’d dagger bare,
Said, «Finish him», and quietly
To sleep went up the stair.