“O Serafina! is this your fidelity?” cried he in a tone of agony.
“Serafina! What mean you by Serafina, Señor? This lady’s name is Maria.”
“What!” cried Don Fernando; “is not this Serafina Alvarez, the original of yon portrait which smiles on me from the wall?”
“Holy Virgin!” cried the young lady, casting her eyes upon the portrait, “he is talking of my great-grandmother!”
With this Portuguese legend, which has been charmingly told by Washington Irving, must be compared the adventures of Porsenna, king of Russia, in the sixth volume of Dodsley’s “Poetical Collection.” Porsenna was carried off by Zephyr to a distant region, where the scenery was enchanting, the flowers ever in bloom, and creation put on her fairest guise. There he found a princess with whom he spent a few agreeable weeks. Being, however, anxious to return to his kingdom, he took leave of her, saying that after three months’ absence his return would be necessary.
“‘Three months!’ replied the fair, ‘three months alone!
Know that three hundred years are roll’d away
Since at my feet my lovely Phœnix lay.’
