Oh, kiss me; we are safe; and grant me now Yourself. I'll gather lilies for your brow; And Hugh will know that I have won the race, And Clara, my dear wife, her rightful place." THE WOLF-TAMER. Through the gorge of snow we go, Tracking, tramping soft and slow, With our paws and sheathèd claws, So we swing along the snow, Crowding, crouching to your pipes-- Shining serpents! Well you know, When your lips shall cease to blow Airs that lure us through the snow, We shall fall upon your race Who do wear a different face. Who were spared in yonder vale? Not a man to tell the tale! Blow, blow, serpent pipes, Slow we follow:--all our troop-- Every wolf of wooded France, Down from all the Pyrenees-- Shall they follow, follow you, In your dreadful music-trance? Mark it by our tramping paws, Hidden fangs, and sheathèd claws? You have seen the robber bands Tear men's tongues and cut their hands, For ransom--we ask none--begone, For the tramping of our paws, Marking all your music's laws, Numbs the lust of ear and eye; Or--let us go beneath the snow, And silent die--as wolves should die! THE ABBOT OF UNREASON. I looked over the balustrade-- The twilight had come-- And saw the pretty waiting-maid Kiss Roland, the page. My lady heard the wolf-dog's chain Clank on the floor; Sly Roland caught it up again, And whistled a song. Oh! they think that my heart is cold, Under my gown; Not till I blacken into mould Will it cease to burn. Burn, burn for such sweet red lips! I am almost mad, Even to touch her finger tips, When we meet alone. Roland, the page, goes here and there, Loving, and loved, Women like his devil-may-care, Till they are forgot! Whether I am in castle or inn, With sinner or saint, Never can I a woman win,-- I am but a priest! EL MANOLO. In the still, dark shade of the palace wall, Where the peacocks strut, Where the queen may have heard my madrigal, Together we sat. My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes, And shaded her own: This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries, When I kissed her mouth! The pale olive trees on the distant plain, The jagged blue rocks, The vaporous sea-like mountain chain, Dropped into the night. We saw the lights in the palace flare; The musicians played: The red guards slashed and sabred the stair, And cursed the old king. In the long black shade of the palace wall, We sat the night through; Under my cloak--but I cannot tell all-- The queen may have seen! MERCEDES. Under a sultry, yellow sky, On the yellow sand I lie; The crinkled vapors smite my brain, I smoulder in a fiery pain. Above the crags the condor flies; He knows where the red gold lies, He knows where the diamonds shine;-- If I knew, would she be mine?