"_Que es estrella!_ thou star of all girls! Here's that for thy fierce duenna: A purse of pistoles and a rosary o' pearls, And gold as yellow as henna.
"She will drop from thy balcony's rail, my sweet, My seraph! this silken ladder: And then--sweet then!--my soul at thy feet, What angel in Heaven gladder!"
And the end of it was--But I will not say How he won to the room of the lady.-- Ah! to love is to live! and with youth--why, hey! For the rest,--a maravedi!
Now comes her betrothed from the wars; and he, A Count of the Court Castilian, A Don Diabolus! sword at knee, And face and hair--vermilion.
And his is a jealous love; and--for The story grows sadder and sadder-- He watches, and sees--a robber? to her, Or gallant? ascend a ladder.
So he pushes inquiry into her room; With his naked sword demanding: An alguazil, with a face like doom, Sure of a stout withstanding.
And weapon to weapon they foined and fought: The Count's first thrusts were vicious: Three thrusts to the floor Odora had brought: And one through the white, capricious.
The naked bosom of Donna De Vine-- And this is the Count's condition.... Was he right? was he wrong?--the question is mine;-- To judge--for the Inquisition.
_A woman speaks. Year 1218; war of the Albigenses._
Saint Dominick, Pope Innocent, Thou holy host Lyons once bent On Languedoc, may God the Father Plunge you in everlasting Hell! And may the blood of those who fell At Béziers together gather In torrents of eternal pain, And on your souls beat boiling rain!
And Mountfort!--it was given me, (For I had prayed incessantly), To be the David to this giant.-- An Albigensian warrior My husband was. He, in the war, The Pope had thundered on defiant Thoulouse and outlawed Languedoc, Stood with Earl Raymond like a rock.
The walls of Béziers cried loud, And Carcassonne's, red in their cloud Of blood, disease, and conflagration, For vengeance!--When he left me here, With my two babes, I felt no fear. The crusade's excommunication Poured down its holy Catholics To crush and burn us heretics.
At Carcassonne he fell. And there My babes died famished. And despair And hell were mine within their prison, Till Mother of our God portrayed This Mountfort's death. On me were laid Blessed hands of power in a vision. A call, my soul could not refuse, Compelled me to besieged Thoulouse.