THE BULL-FIGHT.

Eleven o'clock:

Here are our cups of chocolate.

Montez will fight the bulls to-day —

All Madrid knows that:

Queen Christina is going in state:

Dolores will go with her little fan!

Lace up my shoe;

Put on my Basquina;

Can you see my black eyes?

I am Manuel's duchess.

In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke

Dolores sits, flirting her fan;

The church of St. Agnes stands on the right,

And its shadow falls on the picadors;

On their lean steeds they prance in the ring,

Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips.

“Ha! Toro! Toro!”

Hoh! the horses are gored;

Now for the men.

“Ha! Toro! Toro!”

Every man over the barrier!

Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands;

Some little applause from the royal box,

And “Montez! Montez!” from a thousand throats!

The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage,

His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground;

But Montez stands still; his ribbons do n't flutter!

Saints, what a leap!

His rosette is on the bull's black horn;

Montez is pale; but his great eye shines

When Dolores cries — “Kisses for Montez!”

Fie! Manuel's duchess!

A minute longer the fight is done,

The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off;

Montez twirls a new diamond ring,

And Dolores goes home for chocolate.