Yet, ah! those lovely bowers along I never once have stray’d, But saw as in a mental dream Padillia’s gentle shade, Flitting before my view to pass, Heaving a sigh profound, Light as a vapour, or a cloud That skims the trees around. Nor ever enter’d I those halls, But fancying arise I saw the founder’s phantom, stain’d With blood congeal’d the dyes. Nor in that vestibule obscure, Where with the cornice blend The portraits of the kings, arranged In columns to extend, To that which is blue-tiled below, And enamell’d is on high, Which shows on every side around A rich-set balcony, And gilded lattice roof above That crowns it with dark shade, But thought I saw upon the ground A lifeless body laid! Yet on that pavement may be seen A dark stain to this day! Indelible, which ages pass And never wash away: ’Tis blood that dark tenacious stain; Blood of the murder’d dead: Alas! how many throng it o’er, Nor think on what they tread! 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.