Poets, Spanish; Spanish poetry -- History and criticism; Spanish poetry -- Translations into English
With joy the Master to receive,
Through Seville’s streets along,
Great rumour spreads, and arms resound,
And men and horses throng.
And shouts of welcoming, amidst
Repeated echoes rise,
Which from Hiralda’s lofty tower
Are scattered to the skies.
Now comes the crowd approaching near,
But less the shouts resound,
And now the palace gates they reach
Mid silence all around:
As if the Alcazar had enjoy’d
The privilege to appear,
In sight, and still the enthusiast flow,
And turn it into fear.
Thus mute and breathless, motionless,
The people stood in dread,
As if with magical respect
The plaza’s bounds to tread;
And enters there the Master now,
With but a scanty train,
And of his order some few knights,
The palace gates to gain.
And forward on his course directs,
As one without alarms,
Who goes to meet a brother kind,
With open heart and arms:
Or as some noble chieftain comes,
For glorious deeds the cause,
From grateful monarch to receive
Due honours and applause.
Upon a dark and mettled steed,
That breathes of foam and fire,
And while the bridle scarce restrains,
Seems proud of its attire,
With a white mantle o’er him cast,
Flung loosely to the air,
O’er which the collar and red cross
His dignity declare;
And cap of crimson velvet girt
His brows, whereon unfold
The winds the feathers’ snowy plumes,
And tassels bound with gold.
All pale as death, the furious King
His brother saw from far,
When on the plaza entering first,
And fix’d as statues are,
Awhile he stood upon the floor,
And from his angry eyes
Seem’d burning horrid lightning thence
In flashes to arise.
But starting soon, himself around
He turn’d the room to leave,
As if he would some welcome guest
Right affably receive.
When thus Padillia saw him turn,
Her heart beyond relief
Of anguish full, and countenance
So beauteous mark’d with grief,
She rose, and to the balcony
Went troubled, by the square,
And to the Master motions wild,
With gestures to declare,
In evil hour he comes, and waves
Her kerchief him away,
And by mute signs thus bids him seek
Safety without delay.
Nothing of this he comprehends,
But for saluting takes
The warning, and discreetly thus
A gallant answer makes.
And to the open’d portal comes,
With guards and bowmen lined,
Who give him passage free, but leave
His followers behind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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