Blends the gypsies' mournful singing. . . .
Here and there, within the shadows,
Gypsies' reddish cloaks are gathered,
Near the fires sit the women,
While the men sit, freely scattered
On the boulders, partly dreaming:
Time to time their heads go nodding
To the tune ... then weave more fancies.
Motley camp around the fire,
But where is our Satanella?
'neath the ruins in the valley,
In the mountain guarded recess,
Sheltered by a bush of roses
Hangs Madonna's holy picture,
Relic of the days this cloister
For unfortunates was shelter
And a wanderers' oasis.
Age-worn rock before the picture,
On the rock the happy lover,
Roderigo in a dark cloak.
In his arms is Satanella
Softly upward at him smiling
As the Evening Star in heaven,
As Madonna in the picture.
26
