’Neath the trees whose drooping branches
Kiss the ripplets as they sway,
Guadalquiver’s waters murmur
Tones of joy and peace alway.
Gently flows the Guadalquiver,
Softly murmuring Guadalquiver.
“Ah, my dearest lady, dost thou not see the peace which thou so sweetly singest of, can never be a prince’s.”
“Pedro, it may be thine.”
“Never.”
“Hast thou no pride to give up, no enemies to forgive? Need thy life-stream dash forever blindly amid the rocks? The valley is below; burst through the barriers that keep thee from its peaceful current.”