Be merciful?-- Lest the disease of this delicious fruit, This Kingdom of Castile, corrode the core, Why not pare off all rottenness and leave The healthy pulp! The throne, the populace, The Church, and God demand the overthrow, Deponement or the abnegation of This Henry, named the Fourth, the impotent!-- Alphonso lives.... (It is my guarded hope That brothers of such kings have no long life.)-- Am I impatient? 'Tis the tonsure then; Ambition ever was and aye will be Cousined to fierce impatience. 'Tis the cowl, The tonsure and the cowl, _they_ must advance! My native town, Valladolid, did sow The priestly germ, ambition, first in me; Rather 'twas planted there in me; and had, Despite the richness of the soil, poor growth And less encouragement; the nipping wind Of Court disfavor was too much for it; And so I bore it thence to Cordova, And sunned its torpor in a woman's smile, 'Neath which it sprouted but--who trusts the sex?-- Grew to a tenderness too insecure For love's black frosts. Required hardiness, And found it there at Zaragossa; (where Fat father Lopés, bluff Dominican, My youth confuted with wise nonsense, and Astonished Spain in disputation in The public controversies of the monks). Transplanted to the Court, oh, splendid speed! Sure hath its growth been. Now a Cardinal's red Is promised by the bud that tops its stem. How have I, through the saintly medium Of the confessional, impressed the ear Of Isabella, daughter and dear child! The incarnation of my dear ideal, Pure crucifix of my religious love, Sweet cross which my ambition guards and holds: Ploughed up the early meadows of her soul For fruitful increase! in her maiden heart Insinuated subtleties of seed Shall ripen to a queen crowned with a crown From welded gold of Arragon and Castile! How I this son of John, the Second named, Prince Ferdinand of swarthy Arragon,-- (Grant absolution, holy mother mine! Thus thy advancement and thy mastery Would I obtain!)--have on her fancy limned In morning colors of proud chivalry! Till he a sceptered paladin of love And beaming manhood stands! She dreams, she dreams What--Heaven knows! 'Tis, haply, of a star She saw when but a babe and in the arms Of some old nurse. A star, that laughed above A space of Moorish balcony that hung Above a water full of upset stars; Reflected glimmers of old palace fêtes: A star she reached for, cried for, claimed her own, But never got; that blew young promises, Court promises, centupled, from the tips Of golden fingers at her infant eyes.-- Well! when this girl is grown to be a queen, What if one, Torquemada, clothe her star In palpable approach and give it her!--