Where sleep the Monarchs of Spain;
For unto King Charles must I swear
That I myself have seen
The regal brow of the royal corpse,
Our loved, lamented Queen."

The speaker was Borgia, Gaudia's Duke,
A noble and gallant knight,
Whose step was welcome in courtly halls,
As his sword was keen in fight.
To him had his Monarch given the task
Of conveying to the tomb.
The Princess ravished from his arms
In the pride of youthful bloom.

While they slowly raised the coffin lid,
Borgia stood silent by,
Recalling the beauty of the dead
With low, half-uttered sigh--
Longing to look on that statue fair
That wanted but life's warm breath,
That matchless form which he hoped to find
Beautiful e'en in death.

'Tis done, and with silent, rev'rent step
To the coffin draws he near,
And sadly looks in its depths, where lies
Spain's Queen, his sovereign dear.
But what does he see? What horrors drear
Are those that meet his eye,