And sees that friar, who calmly now
Is laid, with sleep no more to strive,
With age so feehly doomed to bow,
Tomorrow will survive.
But hark! what noise the silence breaks
This hour unseasonably by?
Some one a gay guitar awakes
And mirthful songs reply;
And shouts are raised, and sounds are heard
Of bottles rattling, and perchance
Others, remember'd well, concurred
Of lovers in the dance.
And then he hears funereal roll,
Between each pause in accents high,
"Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul
Of him condemned to die."
And so combined the drunkard's shout,
The toast, the strifes, and fancies wild
Of all that Bacchanalian rout,
With wanton's songs defiled,
And bursts of idle laughter, reach
Distinct into the gloomy cell,
And seem far off ejected each
Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/356
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310
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA.
