Clucked out dry time in unctuous jets,
Saw angry Jose thro' the grate
Glare on us a pale face of hate,
When some indecent colonel there
Presumed too lewdly for his ear.
Some still night in Seville; the street,
Candilejo; two shadows meet—
Flash sabres; crossed within the moon,—
Clash rapidly—a dead dragoon.