Ah! it was the well-remember’d
Hero’s features, but still paler
And more solemn now when dead,
And all-fearfully encircled
By the locks in black luxuriance,
Which stood up as did the savage
Serpent-headdress of Medusa,
Turning into stone through terror.
Yes, turn’d into stone felt all then,
Wildly stared we on each other,
And each tongue was mute and palsied
Both by etiquette and horror.
But Maria de Padilla
Broke the universal silence;
Wringing hands, and sobbing loudly,
She forebodingly lamented:
“Now it will be said ’twas I that
“Brought about this cruel murder;
“Rancour will assail my children,
“My poor innocent young children!—”
Don Diego interrupted
At this place his tale, observing
That the company had risen,
And the court the hall was leaving.
Kind and courteous in his manners,
Then the knight became my escort,
And we rambled on together
Through the ancient Gothic castle.
In the crossway which conducted
To the kennels of the monarch,
Which proclaimed themselves already
By far growling sounds and yelpings,
There I noticed, built up strongly
In the wall, and on the outside
Firmly fasten’d by strong iron,
Like a cage, a narrow cell.
And inside it sat two human
Figures, two young boys appearing;
By the legs securely fetter’d,
On the dirty straw they squatted.