Page 14 - Poetry-Romance

And as for instrumental,
Why, ‘twas only take your choice.

All sorts and kinds of pieces—
A wondrous repertoire—
She was the exhibition pupil
At the grand conservatoire.

One night, to charm Don Pedro,
A classic piece began:
Some choice tid-bit or morceau,
I believe it was Chopin.

In agony he begged
That she would play no more;
Such harsh, discordant music
Was certainly a bore.

For Spanish ears were so attuned
To an ethereal strain,
That heavy German music
Gave him such exquisite pain.

‘Twas only fit for Northern hordes,
Or tribes of men Sclavonic;
He never could by any means
Attend a Philharmonic.

Ma belle should hear the Spanish lute,
By the gentle Guadelquiver;
The tinkling of the castanet—
Or Il Zingara’s zither.

Alas! too soon ma belle did find,
With sorrow and with pain,
That all these brilliant visions
Were but Chateaux des Espagne.

On d’it, how true I know not,
That Don Pedro was a myth;
That he was a vile adventurer;
And his name it was—John Smith!

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