All speak thee "WONDERFUL"--the phrase Befits thee well--the fearful blaze Of yon piled faggots' lurid light, Where writhing victims mock the sight,-- The scorch'd limb shrivelling in its chains,-- The hot blood parch'd in _living_ veins,-- The crackling nerve--the fearful knell Rung out by that remorseless bell,-- Those shouts from human fiends that swell,-- That withering scream,--that frantic yell,-- All Seville,--all too truly tell Thou _art_ a "MARVEL"--and a Hell! God!--that the worm whom thou hast made Should thus his brother worm invade! Count deeds like these good service done, And deem THINE eye looks smiling on!! Yet there at his ease, with his whole Court around him, King Ferdinand sits "in his GLORY"--confound him!-- Leaning back in his chair, With a satisfied air, And enjoying the bother, the smoke, and the smother, With one knee cocked carelessly over the other; His pouncet-box goes To and fro at his nose, As somewhat misliking the smell of old clothes, And seeming to hint, by this action emphatic, That Jews, e'en when roasted, are not aromatic; There, too, fair Ladies From Xeres, and Cadiz, Catalinas, and Julias, and fair Iñesillas, In splendid lace-veils and becoming mantillas; Elviras, Antonias, and Claras, and Floras, And dark-eyed Jacinthas, and soft Isidoras, Are crowding the "boxes," and looking on coolly as Though 'twas but one of their common _tertulias_, Partaking, as usual, of wafers and ices, Snow-water, and melons cut out into slices, And chocolate,--furnished at coffee-house prices; While many a suitor, And gay coadjutor In the eating-and-drinking line, scorns to be neuter; One, being perhaps just return'd with his tutor From travel in England, is tempting his "_future_" With a luxury neat as imported, "The Pewter," And charming the dear Violantes and Iñeses With a three-corner'd Sandwich, and _soupçon_ of "Guinness's;" While another, from Paris but newly come back, Hints "the least taste in life" of the best cogniac. Such ogling and eyeing, In short, and such sighing, And such complimenting (one must not say l--g), Of smart Cavaliers with each other still vying, Mix'd up with the crying, And groans, of the dying, All hissing, and spitting, and broiling and frying, Form a scene, which, although there can be no denying To a _bon Catholique_ it may prove edifying, I doubt if a Protestant, smart Beau, or merry Belle Might not shrink from it as somewhat too terrible. It's a question with me if you ever survey'd a More stern-looking mortal than old Torquemada, Renown'd Father Dominic, famous for twisting dom- -estic and foreign necks all over Christendom; Morescoes or Jews, Not a penny to choose, If a dog of a heretic dared to refuse A glass of old port, or a slice from a griskin,