Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1831.pdf/12

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What festal night is this, that all your streets Are thronged and glittering thus?

. Hast thou not heard Of the King's entry, in triumphal pomp, This very morn?

. The King! triumphal pomp! Thy words are dark.

. Speak yet again; mine ears Ring with strange sounds. Again!

. I said the King, Philip of Spain, and now of Portugal, This morning entered with a conqueror's train, Our city's royal palace; and for this, We hold our festival.

, (in a low voice.) Thou saidst—the King! His name? I heard it not. . Philip of Spain.

. Philip of Spain! We slumber, till aroused By th' earthquake's bursting shock. Hath there not fall'n A sudden darkness? All things seem to float Obscurely round me. Now 'tis past. The streets Are blazing with strange fire. Go, quench those lamps! They glare upon me, till my very brain Grows dizzy, and doth whirl. How dared ye thus Light up your shrines for him?

. Away, away, This is no time, no scene—

. Philip of Spain!