Fair cloth of silver brighter than the sunbeam's woven light,
And marble pillars whiter than the pale queen of night—
Flowers and odours blending, all lovliest things were there,
Incense-clouds upsending, for her—the beautiful, the fair!
VI.
Her robes of tissue golden outvied her golden tresses,
As she lay enfolden in her lover's soft caresses;
But brighter than the diamonds that circled round her brow,
Were the flashing eyes beneath them—he murmured with a vow.
VII.
And redder than the rubies that enclasped her jewelled zone,
Were the roses on her cheek when he whispered—Thou'rt mine own.
And he stooped his plumed head gently to kiss her—so she dreamed—
But his lips were icy cold, like the touch of death it seemed.
VIII.
And she started from her slumber all tearfully and pale,
For hurrying steps and voices were heard, and woman's wail—
"O God! the hour has come," they cried—"the murderers are near!"
Why weep ye so, my maidens, now?—your cheeks are blanched with fear.
IX.
"I see—I see their shadows—down the marble steps they run;
I see their daggers gleaming in the red light of the sun—
O Pedro! Pedro! save me!"—help from God nor man is nigh:
All vainly to her murderers for mercy did she cry.