The Return Home, 81

On the walls of Salamanca
Soft refreshing winds are playing;
There, with my belovèd Donna,
On a summer’s eve I’m straying.

Round the fair one’s slender body
Doth my arm with rapture linger,
And her bosom’s haughty motion
Feel I with a loving finger.

Yet a whisper fraught with sorrow
Through the linden trees is moving,
And, beneath, the dusky millstream
Murmurs sad dreams, disapproving.

“Ah, Señora! a foreboding
“Tells me, I shall hence be driven
“On the walls of Salamanca
“Ne’er again to walk ’tis given.”