To Don Odora says Donna De Vine:
"I yield to thy long endeavor!--
At my balcony be on the stroke of nine,
And, Signor, am thine forever!"
This beauty but once had the Don descried
As she quit the confessional; followed;
"What a foot for silk! a face for a bride--
Hem--!" the rest Odora swallowed.
And with vows as soft as his oaths were sweet
Her heart he barricaded;
And pressed this point with a present meet,
And that point serenaded.
What else could the enemy do but yield
To a handsome importuning!
A gallant blade with a lute for shield
All night at her lattice mooning!
"_Que es estrella!_ O lily of girls!
Here's that for thy fierce duenna:
A purse of pistoles and a rosary o' pearls
And gold as yellow as henna.
"She will drop from thy balcony's rail, my sweet!
My seraph! this silken ladder;
And then--sweet then!--my soul at thy feet
No lover of lovers gladder!"
And the end of it was!--But I will not say
How he won to the room of the lady:--
Ah! to love is life and to live is gay,
For the rest--a maravedi!
Now comes her betrothed from the wars, and he,
A Count of the Court Castilian,
A Don Diabolus, sword at knee,
And moustaches--uncivilian.
And his is a jealous love; and--for
He marks that this marriage makes sadder--
He watches, and sees a robber to her,
Or gallant, ascend a ladder.
So he pushes inquiry unto her room,
With his naked sword demanding--
An Alquazil with the face of Doom,
Sure of a stout withstanding.
And weapon to weapon they foined and fought;
Diabolus' thrusts were vicious;
Three thrusts to the floor Odora had brought,
A fourth was more malicious,
Through the offered bosom of Donna De Vine--
And this is the Count's condition ...
Was he right, was he wrong? the question is mine,
To judge--for the Inquisition.
