Don Carlos. Friedrich von Schiller

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                 And such, too, was my hope;

         But it, alas! was vain.

                      Not wholly so.

         I go to wait upon her. If she be

         The same in Spain she was in Henry's court,

         She will be frank at least. And if I can

         Read any hope for Carlos in her looks —

         Find her inclined to grant an interview —

         Get her attendant ladies sent away —

         Most of them are my friends – especially

         The Countess Mondecar, whom I have gained

         By service to her son, my page.

                          'Tis well;

         Be you at hand, and ready to appear,

         Whene'er I give the signal, prince.

                            I will, —

         Be sure I will: – and all good speed attend thee!

         I will not lose a moment; so, farewell.

         I will have you beside me, Mondecar.

         The princess, with these merry eyes of hers,

         Has plagued me all the morning. See, she scarce

         Can hide the joy she feels to leave the country.

         'Twere idle to conceal, my queen, that I

         Shall be most glad to see Madrid once more.

         And will your majesty not be so, too?

         Are you so grieved to quit Aranjuez?

         To quit – this lovely spot at least I am.

         This is my world. Its sweetness oft and oft

         Has twined itself around my inmost heart.

         Here, nature, simple, rustic nature greets me,

         The sweet companion of my early years —

         Here I indulge once more my childhood's sports,

         And my dear France's gales come blowing here.

         Blame not this partial fondness – all hearts yearn

         For their own native land.

                       But then how lone,

         How dull and lifeless it is here! We might

         As well be in La Trappe.

                      I cannot see it.

         To me Madrid alone is lifeless. But

         What saith our duchess to it?

                         Why, methinks,

         Your majesty, since kings have ruled in Spain,

         It hath been still the custom for the court

         To pass the summer months alternately

         Here and at Pardo, – in Madrid, the winter.

         Well, I suppose it has! Duchess, you know

         I've long resigned all argument with you.

         Next month Madrid will be all life and bustle.

         They're fitting up the Plaza Mayor now,

         And we shall have rare bull-fights; and, besides,

         A grand auto da fe is promised us.

         Promised? This from my gentle Mondecar!

         Why not? 'Tis only heretics they burn!

         I hope my Eboli thinks otherwise!

         What, I? I beg your majesty may think me

         As good a Christian as the marchioness.

         Alas! I had forgotten where I am, —

         No more of this! We were speaking, I think,

         About the country? And methinks this month

         Has flown away with strange rapidity.

         I counted on much pleasure, very much,

         From our retirement here, and yet I have not

         Found that which I expected. Is it thus

         With all our hopes? And yet I cannot say

         One wish of mine is left ungratified.

         You have not told us, Princess Eboli,

         If there be hope for Gomez, – and if we may

         Expect ere long to greet you as his bride?

         True – thank you, duchess, for reminding me!

         I have been asked to urge his suit with you.

         But can I do it? The man whom I reward

         With my sweet Eboli must be a man

         Of noble stamp indeed.

                     And such he is,

         A man of mark and fairest fame, – a man

         Whom our dear monarch signally has graced

         With his most royal favor.

                       He's happy in

         Such high good fortune; but we fain would know,

         If he can love, and win return of love.

         This Eboli must answer.