And loudly he sang,
While the wine cups rang,
'If I'm the bravest Toreador
In gallant, gay Madrid,
If thou hast got the brightest eye
That dances 'neath a lid;
If e'er of Andalusian wine
I drank a bottle full,
The gold, the rubies shall be thine
That deck the bold white bull.'
"Already a chorus rings out in the city,
A jubilant ditty,
And every guitar
Vibrates to the names of Pedro and Pilar;
And the strings and voices are soulless and dull
That sound not the name of the bold white bull!"
MARCH.
Shall Thor with his hammer
Beat on the mountain,
As on an anvil,
A shackle and fetter?
Shall the lame Vulcan
Shout as he swingeth
God-like his hammer,
And forge thee a fetter?
Shall Jove, the Thunderer,
Twine his swift lightnings
With his loud thunders,
And forge thee a shackle?
"No," shouts the Titan,
The young lion-throated;
"Thor, Vulcan, nor Jove
Cannot shackle and bind me."
Tell what will bind thee,
Thou young world-shaker,
Up vault our oceans,
Down fall our forests.
Ship-masts and pillars
Stagger and tremble,
Like reeds by the margins
Of swift running waters.
Men's hearts at thy roaring
Quiver like harebells
Smitten by hailstones,
Smitten and shaken.
"O sages and wise men!
O bird-hearted tremblers!
Come, I will show ye
A shackle to bind me.
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