Eleven o'clock:
Here are our cups of chocolate.
Montez will fight the bulls to-day—
All Madrid knows that:
Queen Christina is going in state:
Dolores will go with her little fan!
Lace up my shoe;
Put on my Basquina;
Can you see my black eyes?
I am Manuel's duchess.
In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke
Dolores sits, flirting her fan;
The church of St. Agnes stands on the right,
And its shadow falls on the picadors;
On their lean steeds they prance in the ring,
Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips.
"Ha! Toro! Toro!"
Hoh! the horses are gored;
Now for the men.
"Ha! Toro! Toro!"
Every man over the barrier!
Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands;
Some little applause from the royal box,
And "Montez! Montez!" from a thousand throats!
The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage,
His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground;
But Montez stands still; his ribbons don't flutter!
Saints, what a leap!
His rosette is on the bull's black horn;
Montez is pale; but his great eye shines
When Dolores cries—"Kisses for Montez!"
Fie! Manuel's duchess!
A minute longer the fight is done,
The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off;
Montez twirls a new diamond ring,
And Dolores goes home for chocolate.
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