A LEGEND OF MADRID 



Glances, grazes, — Christ ! Redeemer ! 

 By a hair the spine he misses. 



Francesca 

 Hark ! that shock like muffled thunder, 



Booming from the Pyrenees ! 

 Both are down — the man is under — 



Now he struggles to his knees. 

 Now he sinks, his features leaden 

 Sharpen rigidly and deaden, 

 Sands beneath him soak and redden. 



Skies above him spin and veer ; 

 Through the doublet, torn and riven, 

 Where the stunted horn was driven, 

 Wells the life blood — We are even, 



Daughter of the muleteer ! 



