At the table’s lower end here Was a place remaining empty; Some great guest of lofty station Seem’d the golden seat to wait for. Don Fredrego was the guest, for Whom the golden seat was destined; Yet he came not,--ah! now know we But too well why thus he tarried. Ah! that selfsame hour the wicked Deed of blood was consummated, And the innocent young hero Suddenly attack’d and basely By Don Pedro’s myrmidons, Tightly bound, and quickly hurried To a dreary castle dungeon Lighted only by some torches. Executioners stood ready, And their bloody chief was with them, Who, upon his axe while leaning, Thus with sadden’d look address’d him: “Now, Grand Master of San Jago, “Now must thou for death prepare thee; “Just one quarter of an hour “Still is left for thee to pray in.” Don Fredrego then knelt humbly, And he pray’d with pious calmness, And then said: “I now have finish’d,” And received the stroke of death. In the very selfsame moment That the head roll’d on the pavement, Faithful Allan, who had follow’d All unseen, sprang quickly to it. With his teeth the head straight seized he By the long luxuriant tresses, And with this much valued booty Shot away with speed of magic. Agonizing shouts resounded Everywhere as on he hasten’d, Through the passages and chambers, Sometimes upstairs, sometimes downstairs. Since the banquet of Belshazzar Never company at table Was so utterly confounded As was ours that fill’d this hall then, When the monstrous creature leapt in, With the head of Don Fredrego, Which he with his teeth was dragging By the dripping bloody tresses. On the seat which, being destined For his master, still was empty, Sprang the dog and like a plaintiff Held the head before our faces. Ah! it was the well-remember’d Hero’s features, but still paler And more solemn now when dead, And all-fearfully encircled By the locks in black luxuriance, Which stood up as did the savage Serpent-headdress of Medusa, Turning into stone through terror. Yes, turn’d into stone felt all then, Wildly stared we on each other, And each tongue was mute and palsied Both by etiquette and horror. But Maria de Padilla Broke the universal silence; Wringing hands, and sobbing loudly, She forebodingly lamented: “Now it will be said ’twas I that “Brought about this cruel murder; “Rancour will assail my children, “My poor innocent young children!--” Don Diego interrupted At this place his tale, observing That the company had risen, And the court the hall was leaving. Kind and courteous in his manners, Then the knight became my escort, And we rambled on together Through the ancient Gothic castle.