Part 5 (2/2)

Shouts of noisy acclamation, Breathing savage expectation, Greet him while he takes his station Leisurely, disdaining haste; Now he doffs his tall sombrero, Fools! applaud your butcher hero, Ye would idolise a Nero, Pandering to public taste.

From the restless Guadalquivir To my sire's estates he came, Woo'd and won me, how I s.h.i.+ver!

Though my temples burn with shame.

I, a proud and high-born lady, Daughter of an ancient race, 'Neath the vine and olive shade I Yielded to a churl's embrace.

To a churl my vows were plighted, Well my madness he requited, Since, by priestly ties, united To the muleteer's child; And my prayers are wafted o'er him, That the bull may crush and gore him, Since the love that once I bore him Has been changed to hatred wild.

Nina.

Save him! aid him! oh, Madonna!

Two are slain if he is slain; s.h.i.+eld his life, and guard his honour, Let me not entreat in vain.

Sullenly the brindled savage Tears and tosses up the sand; Horns that rend and hoofs that ravage, How shall man your shock withstand?

On the s.h.a.ggy neck and head lie Frothy flakes, the eyeb.a.l.l.s redly Flash, the horns so sharp and deadly Lower, short, and strong, and straight; Fast, and furious, and fearless, Now he charges;--virgin peerless, Lifting lids, all dry and tearless, At thy throne I supplicate.

Francesca.

Cool and calm, the perjured varlet Stands on strongly-planted heel, In his left a strip of scarlet, In his right a streak of steel; Ah! the monster topples over, Till his haunches strike the plain!-- Low-born clown and lying lover, Thou hast conquer'd once again.

Nina.

Sweet Madonna, maiden mother, Thou hast saved him, and no other; Now the tears I cannot smother, Tears of joy my vision blind; Where thou sittest I am gazing, These glad, misty eyes upraising, I have pray'd, and I am praising, Bless thee! bless thee! virgin kind.

Francesca.

While the crowd still sways and surges, Ere the applauding shouts have ceas'd, See, the second bull emerges-- 'Tis the famed Cordovan beast,-- By the picador ungoaded, Scathless of the chulo's dart.

Slay him, and with guerdon loaded, And with honours crown'd depart.

No vain brutish strife he wages, Never uselessly he rages, And his cunning, as he ages, With his hatred seems to grow; Though he stands amid the cheering, Sluggish to the eye appearing, Few will venture on the spearing Of so resolute a foe.

Nina.

Courage, there is little danger, Yonder dull-eyed craven seems Fitter far for stall and manger Than for scarf and blade that gleams; Shorter, and of frame less ma.s.sive, Than his comrade lying low, Tame, and cowardly, and pa.s.sive,-- He will prove a feebler foe.

I have done with doubt and anguish, Fears like dews in suns.h.i.+ne languish, Courage, husband, we shall vanquish, Thou art calm and so am I.

For the rush he has not waited, On he strides with step elated, And the steel with blood unsated, Leaps to end the butchery.

Francesca.

Tyro! mark the brands of battle On those shoulders dusk and dun, Such as he is are the cattle Skill'd tauridors gladly shun; Warier than the Andalusian, Swifter far, though not so large, Think'st thou, to his own confusion, He, like him, will blindly charge?

Inch by inch the brute advances, Stealthy yet vindictive glances, Horns as straight as levell'd lances, Crouching withers, stooping haunches;-- Closer yet, until the tightening Strains of rapt excitement height'ning Grows oppressive. Ha! like lightning On his enemy he launches.

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