Pedro the Cruel
Countess. He would be wiser still to hold his post
As head of Santiago—at Llerena.
Amongst his knights he may abide his time,
As we in this dull stronghold abide ours.
Juana. I almost wonder that you find this life
So hard to bear, you a young wife still new
To happy marriage. We have had much sorrow;
But there is something in this mountain air
So fresh from the pure sky, that rings like hope,
Here Nature's beauty has a holiness—
The rain-clouds wrap her like a vestal veil,
And when she draws them back to see the sun,
She scatters round her, over chasm and rock,
Colours like floating rainbows without form.
The sable mountains that crowd round our windows
Seem to gaze in upon our solitude
With a wild, gloomy friendship.
Here safely we look down on those hot plains,
The glaring world that we have left behind,
Where over towns and courts and camps the sun,
Dragon-like, ever watches, brooding murder.
The sparkling green of the unthirsty trees,
That court the blaze and never sigh for streams,
Looks harsh and unalluring, seen beside
White towers and houses—white indeed without,
But inly red with crime.
As head of Santiago—at Llerena.
Amongst his knights he may abide his time,
As we in this dull stronghold abide ours.
Juana. I almost wonder that you find this life
So hard to bear, you a young wife still new
To happy marriage. We have had much sorrow;
But there is something in this mountain air
So fresh from the pure sky, that rings like hope,
Here Nature's beauty has a holiness—
The rain-clouds wrap her like a vestal veil,
And when she draws them back to see the sun,
She scatters round her, over chasm and rock,
Colours like floating rainbows without form.
The sable mountains that crowd round our windows
Seem to gaze in upon our solitude
With a wild, gloomy friendship.
Here safely we look down on those hot plains,
The glaring world that we have left behind,
Where over towns and courts and camps the sun,
Dragon-like, ever watches, brooding murder.
The sparkling green of the unthirsty trees,
That court the blaze and never sigh for streams,
Looks harsh and unalluring, seen beside
White towers and houses—white indeed without,
But inly red with crime.
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