And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side: In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. ROMERO. WHEN freedom, from the land of Spain, "Go, faithful brand," the warrior said, "Go, undishonored, never more The blood of man shall make thee red: I grieve for that already shed; And I am sick at heart to know, That faithful friend and noble foe Have only bled to make more strong The yoke that Spain has worn so long Wear it who will, in abject fear I wear it not who have been free; Where bleak Nevada's summits tower Warmed with his former fires again, He framed this rude but solemn strain: I. "Here will I make my home-for here at least I see Upon this wild Sierra's side, the steps of Liberty; Where the locust chirps unscared beneath the unpruned lime, And the merry bee doth hide from man the spoil of the mountain thyme; Where the pure winds come and go, and the wild vine strays at will, An outcast from the haunts of men, she dwells with Nature still. II. "I see the valleys, Spain ! where thy mighty rivers run, And the hills that lift thy harvests and vine yards to the sun, And the flocks that drink thy brooks and sprinkle all the green, Where lie thy plains, with sheep-walks seamed, and olive-shades between : I see thy fig-trees bask, with the fair pomegranate near, And the fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost reach me here. III. "Fair-fair-but fallen Spain ! 'tis with a swelling heart, That I think on all thou mightst have been, and look at what thou art; But the strife is over now, and all the good and brave, That would have raised thee up, are gone, to exile or the grave. |