Poems (Stoddard)/The Bull-Fight
THE BULL-FIGHT.
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 DukeDolores 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 shinesWhen 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.