The Complete Poems. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

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      So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain.

      Hence I would act advisedly herein;

      And therefore have induced your Grace to see

      These national dances, ere we interdict them.

      (Enter a Servant)

      Serv. The dancing-girl, and with her the musicians

      Your Grace was pleased to order, wait without.

       Arch. Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold

      In what angelic, yet voluptuous shape

      The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony.

      (Enter PRECIOSA, with a mantle thrown over her head. She

      advances slowly, in modest, half-timid attitude.)

       Card. (aside). O, what a fair and ministering angel

      Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell!

       Prec. (kneeling before the ARCHBISHOP).

      I have obeyed the order of your Grace.

      If I intrude upon your better hours,

      I proffer this excuse, and here beseech

      Your holy benediction.

       Arch. May God bless thee,

      And lead thee to a better life. Arise.

       Card. (aside). Her acts are modest, and her words discreet!

      I did not look for this! Come hither, child.

      Is thy name Preciosa?

       Prec. Thus I am called.

       Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father?

       Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales.

       Arch. I have a dim remembrance of that man:

      He was a bold and reckless character,

      A sun-burnt Ishmael!

       Card. Dost thou remember

      Thy earlier days?

       Prec. Yes; by the Darro's side

      My childhood passed. I can remember still

      The river, and the mountains capped with snow

      The village, where, yet a little child,

      I told the traveller's fortune in the street;

      The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shepherd;

      The march across the moor; the halt at noon;

      The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted

      The forest where we slept; and, further back,

      As in a dream or in some former life,

      Gardens and palace walls.

       Arch. 'T is the Alhambra,

      Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched.

      But the time wears; and we would see thee dance.

       Prec. Your Grace shall be obeyed.

       (She lays aside her mantilla. The music of the cachucha is

      played, and the dance begins. The ARCHBISHOP and the CARDINAL

      look on with gravity and an occasional frown; then make signs to

      each other; and, as the dance continues, become more and more

      pleased and excited; and at length rise from their seats, throw

      their caps in the air, and applaud vehemently as the scene

      closes.)