At the Corregidor's

To Don Odora said Donna De Vine,
"I yield to thy long endeavor!--
At my balcony be on the stroke of nine,
And, Señor, I'm thine forever!"...

This beauty at first had the Don descried
As she quit the confessional: followed:
"What a face! what a form! what a foot!" he sighed,
And more that he, smiling, 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 such handsome importuning?
A gallant blade with a lute for shield
All night at her lattice mooning!

"Que es estrella! thou star of all 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,
What angel in Heaven 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 to live! and with youth--why, hey!
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 face and hair--vermilion.

And his is a jealous love; and--for
The story grows sadder and sadder--
He watches, and sees--a robber? to her,
Or gallant? ascend a ladder.

So he pushes inquiry into her room;
With his naked sword demanding:
An alguazil, with a face like doom,
Sure of a stout withstanding.

And weapon to weapon they foined and fought:
The Count's first thrusts were vicious:
Three thrusts to the floor Odora had brought:
And one through the white, capricious.

The naked 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.