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!
LXXXIII.
Next to me lives Don Henriquez,
He whom folk "the beauty" call;
Neighborly our rooms are parted
Only by a single wall.
Salamanca's ladies flutter
When he strides along the street,
Clinking spurs, mustachoes twirling,
And with hounds about his feet.
But in quiet hours of evening
He will sit at home apart,
His guitar between his fingers,
And sweet dreams within his heart.
Then he smites the chords with passion,
All at once begins to strum.
Ah, like squalling cats his scrapings,
Toll-de-roll and toodle-dum!
LXXXIV.
We scarcely had met ere thy voice and thine eye
Assured me, my darling, that thou wast mine own;
And had not thy mother stood cruelly nigh,
I think I should really have kissed thee anon.
To-morrow again I depart from the town,
And hasten forth on my weary track,
From the window my yellow-haired lass peeps down,
And the friendliest greetings I waft her back.