Now the mellow horn he soundeth through the leafy olive groves,
Far and wide the clear notes echo, but they bring not her he loves—
"Inez? is it thou, sweet Inez, where yon shadow moves?"
Never more shall Inez answer to that fond familiar call—
Of the lovely bride left sleeping, bleeding clay is all—
Of a fiendish hate the victim lies she, wrapt in gory pall.
Never more from that dread hour was Prince Pedro seen to smile!
Never more did chase or revel his still agony beguile—
But he walked in the shadow of dark thoughts the while!
With her martyred form forever graven on his memory,
He became a scourge and terror from whom all men sought to flee,
Tortured were his victims, but he smiled in mockery!
Such the change, and such the monarch whose reft hand made discord ring
Like a clarion through the country that had gladly hailed him king.
Darkly, like the tempest, rode he on the avenger's wing!
And when midnight drew her curtain round the land, that hour
In her blood-stained chamber did he stand with fearful power,
And renew the fatal vow to avenge his martyred flower!