Plays and poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

341

Don Pedro rode from Najera
With fury in his brain;
He hanged, hacked, burned, and boiled,—blood filled
The footprints of his train.

Prince Edward's sword had given the land
Into the tyrant's power,
And Doña Urraca with the rest
Must bide the dismal hour.

Because her son, Alfonso, fled
Before the royal court,
That lady fair, of high degree,
Must make the rabble sport.

Thus, in the strong Alcazar shut,
She made her piteous moan,
While her maidens gathered round, to hear,
With many a hopeless groan.

“Make me a robe, my gentle maids,
And make it light and thin,
That the fire may lap around my heart,
And quickly creep within.

342

“So that the bitter death I bear,
If cruel, may yet be brief;
For Don Pedro dooms me to the stake,
And heaven sends no relief.

“The king has sworn to see me burn,
For young Alfonso's sake:
If my son could hear the heavy news,
I ween, his heart would ache.

“Ah! if he knew these tender arms,
That nursed his helpless head,
Must burn to ashes on the breast
Whereat his childhood fed;

“And the breath that fanned his baby brow,
And sang his lullaby,
Must feed the fire of Pedro's wrath,
And shriek with agony;—

“I fear Alfonso's lips would curse
His birth-hour: but, I vow,
I, who would then have died for him,
Am proud to do it now.

“So make me a robe of Moorish stuff,
And let the fire have sway;
For my soul is sick whene'er I think
Of lingering on the way.”

“Mistress,” said Leonor Davalos,
Whilst the others only wept,
“I'll make thy robe from cloth of wool
Which I so long have kept;

343

“I'll make thy robe from Flemish cloth,
Lest, when the fire arise,
Thy garments burn from off thy limbs,
And shame thee in all eyes.”

“Be still!” the lady sternly cried,
“And do thy ordered part;
Thou art too coolly provident
To have me much at heart.”

Then Leonor in silence bent,
And wrought with little cheer;
For down her cheeks the big drops ran,
With every stitch a tear.

Nathless, the robe was neatly made,
Each seam in proper place;
She bound her lady's girdle on,
And looked into her face.

The lady bade her maids farewell,
She kissed them o'er and o'er,
But not a look of love she cast
On hapless Leonor.

The lady knelt beside the priest,
The holy bread was given,
She made her peace with all the world,
And turned her thoughts on heaven.

The hour is come. The royal guard,
With trampling harsh and loud,
Have led the lady swiftly forth
To face the hooting crowd.

344

They bound her to the fatal stake
With iron chains; and now
The headsman blows his torch aflame
Beneath his scowling brow.

High into heaven, as if to bear
Witness against her doom,
The pitchy fagots flashed, then all
Was silent as the tomb.

Pale with affright, the lady hung
Upon her chains and wept,
Until a gust of brawling wind
Across the ramparts swept;

And drove the flames aslant, and caught
The lady's fluttering gown,
Stripping her person to the view
Of every leering clown.

Loud roared the crowd, and laughed, and jeered,
To see the lady's plight,
Pointing their fingers, nudging those
Who could not bear the sight.

“O Mary, mother of our Lord,
I call upon thy name!
Thou who dost know what I endure,
O hide me from my shame!

“O holy Virgin, take my soul!
The inward fire I feel
Is crueller than the fire around:—
I'm bound, or I would kneel!”

345

Sad Leonor, from where she stood,
Heard how her lady cried;
She sprang towards the blazing pile,
And dashed the guard aside.

Right through the smoke and sparkling coals
She leaped into the flame,
And spread her flowing garments out,
And hid her lady's shame.

She clasped her body with her arms,
And straight into the sky,—
High up, as towards some distant spot,—
The two gazed steadfastly;

Gazed with their wondering lips apart,
Cheek pressed to pallid cheek,
Heart stilled on heart—no sign they make,
No stir, no word they speak;

Gazed till their souls were following
The vision far away,
And the savage fagots blazed around
A mass of senseless clay.