LXXXII.
On the walls of Salamanca
Gently sigh the breezes yonder.
Often with my gracious Donna,
There on summer eves I wander.
Round my beauty's slender girdle,
Tenderly mine arm enwreathing,
I can feel with blessed finger
Her proud bosom's haughty breathing.
But I hear an anxious whisper
Through the linden-branches coming,
And below, the somber mill-stream
Murmurs dreams of evil omen.
Ah, Señora, I foresee it!
I shall be expelled forever,
On the walls of Salamanca,
We again shall wander never!