If he knew not Padillia’s signs, Don Pedro knew them well, As he before the chamber door A moment seem’d to dwell, In deep suspense o’er his resolve, When turning back his eye, He saw the Lady warn him thus By motions thence to fly. O, heaven! then was that noble act, Of pure intent to be What call’d the executioners forth, And seal’d the stern decree. Follow’d by two esquires alone, The Master scarce in haste Upon the royal vestibule His foot confiding placed, Where various men-at-arms were seen, In double iron barr’d, Pacing along as sentinels The entrance stairs to guard, When over from the balcony, Like fiendish shape of ill, The King looks out, and “Mace-bearers,” He shouts, “the Master kill.” Quick as the lightning in a storm Comes ere the thunders call, Six well-appointed maces down On Don Fadrique fall. He raised his hand to grasp his sword, But in his tabard’s gird The hilt was bound, impossible To draw it at the word. He fell, a sea of blood around Ran from the shattered brain, Raising a cry which reached to heaven, And doubtless not in vain. Of deed so horrible the news At once around was spread, And thence the brotherhood and knights Together quickly fled. To hide them in their houses fled The people, trembling sore With horror, and the Alcazar’s bounds Were desert as before. V.