“Donna Clara, Donna Clara,
Loved through long, long years so fondly,
Thou hast willed to be my ruin,
Thou hast willed it without mercy.
“Donna Clara, Donna Clara,
Is there gift than life more precious?
And beneath it will be gruesome
In the cold and gloomy grave-yard.
“Clara, oh, be glad! Fernando
Will to-morrow at the altar
Claim thee as his own in marriage;
Wilt thou bid me to the wedding?”
“Don Ramiro, Don Ramiro,
What thou sayest smites me sharply,
More than curses of the planets,
Which bemock my heart's desire.
“Don Ramiro, Don Ramiro,
Free thyself from moody sadness;
On the earth are many women,
But we two by God are parted.
“Don Ramiro, overthrower
Of the hosts of Moorish knighthood,
O'er thyself now be the victor!
Oh, my friend, come to my wedding!”
“Donna Clara, Donna Clara,
Yes, I will be there, I swear it!
I will tread a measure with thee;
Fair good-night; I come to-morrow!
“Fair good-night!” The window clattered
And Ramiro stood there sighing;
Long he stood as changed to marble,
Vanished at the last in darkness.
And at last the long long struggle
'Tween the night and day was ended;
And Toledo lay wide-stretching
Like a garden gay with flowers.
Palaces and stately buildings
In the glowing sun are gleaming,
And the lofty domes of churches
Gleam and glisten, as if gilded.
Distant festive bells are pealing
Muffled, like the wild bees' humming;
Lovely are the godly chantings
Rising from God's many houses.
But beyond, there, look, behold ye,
From the chapel on the market
With a whirling and a surging
Streams the festive crowd tumultuous.
Gallant knights and brilliant ladies;
Servants all in gala garments;
And the clear-toned bells are ringing,
And the organ crashes through them.
But through crowds, with cheerful reverence
Yielding passage, walks the bride-pair,
Decked in youth and bridal raiment,
Donna Clara, Don Fernando.
Eyes of tens of thousands watch them,
Thousands of glad voices greet them,
“Hail thou sun of Castile's maidens!”
“Hail thou flower of Castile's knighthood!”
Toward the bridegroom's palace threshold
Rolls the mighty tide of people,
Where in pride and ancient usage
They begin the marriage feasting.
Knightly sports, and gladsome banquets,
Follow, each with mirthful hubbub;
Swiftly speed the mirthful hours
Till the dark night closes on them.
Then the wedding guests assemble
In the lofty hall for dancing;
Bright illumed the crowds are shining
In the vast array of tapers.
Radiant as a king is Fernand,
Robed in brilliant purple mantle;
Like a new-blown rose is Clara,
Blooming in the bride's white vesture.
On exalted daïs of honour,
Willing servants hovering round them,
Bride and bridegroom now are seated
Resting, sweetest words exchanging.
Murmurous sounds the hall re-echoes,
As when tempest stirs the ocean,
And the loud-voiced horns are shrilling,
And the trumpets all are clashing.
“Tell me why, oh fairest mistress,
Are thy constant looks directed
To the hall's remotest corner?”
Thus the knight spoke in amazement.
“Dost thou not descry, Fernando,
There a moving form black-mantled?”
And the knight smiles light contentment:
“Why, 'tis nothing but a shadow!”
But the shadow drawing nearer
Showed itself a man black-mantled.
Quick she recognised Ramiro,
Welcomed him, disturbed and flushing.
And eftsoon the ball is opened.
Gaily whirls the crowd of dancers
In the waltz's giddy circles,
And the floor is groaning, heaving.
“Truly I will follow gladly
To the dance with thee, Ramiro.
But why in this night-dark mantle
Hast thou chosen to come hither?”
And with stony eyes that pierced her
Don Ramiro glared upon her.
Grasping her, he darkly answered
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither.”
Through the surging whirl of dancers
These two dancers made a pathway.
And the kettle-drums are booming,
And the trumpets all are blaring.
“Why, thy cheeks are white as snow-flakes!”
Whispered Clara, fear subduing.
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither,”
Hollow-toned spake Don Ramiro.
Through the hall the tapers flicker
With the swaying tide of dancers;
And the kettle-drums are booming,
And the trumpets all are blaring.
“Oh, thy very hands are icy!”
Clara whispered, terror-stricken.
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither.”
And the whirlpool whirls them onward.
“Loose me, loose me, Don Ramiro!
For thy breath is of the churchyard.”
And again the self-same answer:
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither.”
And the floor itself is glowing,
Merrily the fiddlers fiddle,
And as in some mad enchantment
All things in the hall are whirling.
“Loose me, loose me, Don Ramiro!”
And the whirlpool swirls and surges;
Don Ramiro makes no answer
Save those same words, dark and hollow.
“Go! in God's great name I bid thee!”
Clara cried in accents steadfast;
And the word was scarcely uttered,
When, behold, Ramiro vanished.
Marble death lay on her features,
Ice at heart, black night around her;
Swooning lies the radiant maiden,
Darkened every sense, unconscious.
But the mists of slumber leave her,
And at last she lifts her lashes;
But amazement once more threatens
To re-close those gentle eyelids.
For though all the dance was stirring
Never had she left the daïs;
Still she sits beside her bridegroom,
Who is eagerly beseeching.
“Tell me why thy cheek is paling?
Tell me why thine eye is darkening?”
“Ah! Ramiro!” murmured Clara,
And her tongue was lamed with horror.
Then more deep the anxious furrows
On Fernando's forehead gathered.
“Lady, seek no bloody tidings;
Don Ramiro died at noon-day.”
Loved through long, long years so fondly,
Thou hast willed to be my ruin,
Thou hast willed it without mercy.
“Donna Clara, Donna Clara,
Is there gift than life more precious?
And beneath it will be gruesome
In the cold and gloomy grave-yard.
“Clara, oh, be glad! Fernando
Will to-morrow at the altar
Claim thee as his own in marriage;
Wilt thou bid me to the wedding?”
“Don Ramiro, Don Ramiro,
What thou sayest smites me sharply,
More than curses of the planets,
Which bemock my heart's desire.
“Don Ramiro, Don Ramiro,
Free thyself from moody sadness;
On the earth are many women,
But we two by God are parted.
“Don Ramiro, overthrower
Of the hosts of Moorish knighthood,
O'er thyself now be the victor!
Oh, my friend, come to my wedding!”
“Donna Clara, Donna Clara,
Yes, I will be there, I swear it!
I will tread a measure with thee;
Fair good-night; I come to-morrow!
“Fair good-night!” The window clattered
And Ramiro stood there sighing;
Long he stood as changed to marble,
Vanished at the last in darkness.
And at last the long long struggle
'Tween the night and day was ended;
And Toledo lay wide-stretching
Like a garden gay with flowers.
Palaces and stately buildings
In the glowing sun are gleaming,
And the lofty domes of churches
Gleam and glisten, as if gilded.
Distant festive bells are pealing
Muffled, like the wild bees' humming;
Lovely are the godly chantings
Rising from God's many houses.
But beyond, there, look, behold ye,
From the chapel on the market
With a whirling and a surging
Streams the festive crowd tumultuous.
Gallant knights and brilliant ladies;
Servants all in gala garments;
And the clear-toned bells are ringing,
And the organ crashes through them.
But through crowds, with cheerful reverence
Yielding passage, walks the bride-pair,
Decked in youth and bridal raiment,
Donna Clara, Don Fernando.
Eyes of tens of thousands watch them,
Thousands of glad voices greet them,
“Hail thou sun of Castile's maidens!”
“Hail thou flower of Castile's knighthood!”
Toward the bridegroom's palace threshold
Rolls the mighty tide of people,
Where in pride and ancient usage
They begin the marriage feasting.
Knightly sports, and gladsome banquets,
Follow, each with mirthful hubbub;
Swiftly speed the mirthful hours
Till the dark night closes on them.
Then the wedding guests assemble
In the lofty hall for dancing;
Bright illumed the crowds are shining
In the vast array of tapers.
Radiant as a king is Fernand,
Robed in brilliant purple mantle;
Like a new-blown rose is Clara,
Blooming in the bride's white vesture.
On exalted daïs of honour,
Willing servants hovering round them,
Bride and bridegroom now are seated
Resting, sweetest words exchanging.
Murmurous sounds the hall re-echoes,
As when tempest stirs the ocean,
And the loud-voiced horns are shrilling,
And the trumpets all are clashing.
“Tell me why, oh fairest mistress,
Are thy constant looks directed
To the hall's remotest corner?”
Thus the knight spoke in amazement.
“Dost thou not descry, Fernando,
There a moving form black-mantled?”
And the knight smiles light contentment:
“Why, 'tis nothing but a shadow!”
But the shadow drawing nearer
Showed itself a man black-mantled.
Quick she recognised Ramiro,
Welcomed him, disturbed and flushing.
And eftsoon the ball is opened.
Gaily whirls the crowd of dancers
In the waltz's giddy circles,
And the floor is groaning, heaving.
“Truly I will follow gladly
To the dance with thee, Ramiro.
But why in this night-dark mantle
Hast thou chosen to come hither?”
And with stony eyes that pierced her
Don Ramiro glared upon her.
Grasping her, he darkly answered
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither.”
Through the surging whirl of dancers
These two dancers made a pathway.
And the kettle-drums are booming,
And the trumpets all are blaring.
“Why, thy cheeks are white as snow-flakes!”
Whispered Clara, fear subduing.
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither,”
Hollow-toned spake Don Ramiro.
Through the hall the tapers flicker
With the swaying tide of dancers;
And the kettle-drums are booming,
And the trumpets all are blaring.
“Oh, thy very hands are icy!”
Clara whispered, terror-stricken.
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither.”
And the whirlpool whirls them onward.
“Loose me, loose me, Don Ramiro!
For thy breath is of the churchyard.”
And again the self-same answer:
“Thou thyself didst bid me hither.”
And the floor itself is glowing,
Merrily the fiddlers fiddle,
And as in some mad enchantment
All things in the hall are whirling.
“Loose me, loose me, Don Ramiro!”
And the whirlpool swirls and surges;
Don Ramiro makes no answer
Save those same words, dark and hollow.
“Go! in God's great name I bid thee!”
Clara cried in accents steadfast;
And the word was scarcely uttered,
When, behold, Ramiro vanished.
Marble death lay on her features,
Ice at heart, black night around her;
Swooning lies the radiant maiden,
Darkened every sense, unconscious.
But the mists of slumber leave her,
And at last she lifts her lashes;
But amazement once more threatens
To re-close those gentle eyelids.
For though all the dance was stirring
Never had she left the daïs;
Still she sits beside her bridegroom,
Who is eagerly beseeching.
“Tell me why thy cheek is paling?
Tell me why thine eye is darkening?”
“Ah! Ramiro!” murmured Clara,
And her tongue was lamed with horror.
Then more deep the anxious furrows
On Fernando's forehead gathered.
“Lady, seek no bloody tidings;
Don Ramiro died at noon-day.”
Reviews
No reviews yet.