AT THE CORREGIDOR'S.
To Don Odora says Donna De Vine:
"I yield to thy long endeavor!—
At my balcony be on the stroke of nine,
And, Signor, am thine forever!"
This beauty but once had the Don descried
As she quit the confessional; followed;
"What a foot for silk! a face for a bride—
Hem—!" the rest Odora swallowed.
And with vows as soft as his oaths were sweet
Her heart he barricaded;
And pressed this point with a present meet,
And that point serenaded.
What else could the enemy do but yield
To a handsome importuning!
A gallant blade with a lute for shield
All night at her lattice mooning!
"Que es estrella! O lily of girls!
Here's that for thy fierce duenna:
A purse of pistoles and a rosary o' pearls
And gold as yellow as henna.
"She will drop from thy balcony's rail, my sweet!
My seraph! this silken ladder;
And then—sweet then!—my soul at thy feet
No lover of lovers gladder!"
And the end of it was!—But I will not say
How he won to the room of the lady:—
Ah! to love is life and to live is gay,
For the rest—a maravedi!