'Mine eyes gush o'er with floods of wild desire, And hopeless love burns fiercely in my breast; Yet not my tears can quench my bosom's fire, Nor passion's fire my scalding tears arrest.'[4]
'Ardo y lloro sin sosiego: Llorando y ardiendo tanto, Que ni el llanto apaga el fuego, Ni el fuego consume el llanto.'
"It is thus sings a true Castilian whom his lady slights; and now I will repeat to you the words in which a Frenchman told his griefs, in a similar case, only a few days ago:
'She who within my bosom reigns, A tyrant's stern control maintains; Nor sighs, nor tears, nor prayers can move The least relenting look of love. A kind word, kindly spoken, might Have turn'd my darkness into light; But, since my suit is urged in vain, I fly to feed my griefs with Payen.'[5]
'L'objet qui règne dans mon coeur Est toujours insensible à mon amour fidèle, Mes soins, mes soupirs, ma langueur, Ne sauraient attendrir cette beauté cruelle. O ciel! est-il un sort plus affreux que le mien? Ah! puisque je ne puis lui plaire, Je renonce au jour qui m'éclaire; Venez, mes chers amis, m'enterrer chez Payen.'
"This Payen is undoubtedly a tavern-keeper?" said Don Cleophas. "Exactly so," replied the Devil. "But let us continue our observations." "Let us then turn to the women," exclaimed Leandro; "I am impatient to hear their histories." "I will yield to your impatience," answered the Spirit; "but there are yet two or three unfortunates on this side of the house, whom I would first show to you: you may profit by their unhappiness.
"You observe, close by the melancholy songster, that pale and haggard face; those teeth, which gnash as though they would make nothing of the iron bars that ornament the window. Yon is an honest man, born under influence of malignant star, who, with all the merit in the world, has vainly striven, during twenty years, to secure a modest competence; he has scarcely, with all his efforts, succeeded in gaining his daily bread. His reason fled its seat, on his perceiving a worthless fellow of his acquaintance suddenly mount the top of fortune's wheel by a lucky speculation.
"His neighbour, again, is an old secretary, whose head was cracked by a stroke of ingratitude, which he received from a courtier, in whose service he lived during sixty years. No praises were too great for the zeal and fidelity of this ancient servant; who, however, never claimed their just reward, content to let his assiduity and services speak for themselves. His master, far from resembling Archelaus, king of Macedonia, who refused favours when demanded, and bestowed them when unasked, died forgetful of his merits, leaving him just enough to pass his days in misery, and the refuge of a madhouse.