« السابقةمتابعة »
XLIX. On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd With erags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd
vest Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: Here was the camp, the watch - flame, and the
host, Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest;
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.
L. And whomsoe'er along the path you meet Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, Which tells you whom to shun and whom to
greet: Woe to the man that walks in public view Without of loyalty this token true; Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ; And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue,
If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the can
At every turn Morena's dusky height
The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match, quý
LII. Portend the deeds to come:--but he whose nod Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod;
A little moment deigneth to delay :
furl'd, And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Had
LIII. And must they fall ? the young, the proud, th
brave, To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome reign No step between submission and a grave ? The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ? And doth the Power that man adores ordain Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal? Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain? And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal, The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, and Manhood! heart of steel?
Liv. Is it for this the Spanish maid , aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war! And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Appallid, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread, Now views the column-scattering bav'net jar,
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread.
LV. Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black
veil, Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Her fairy form, with more than female grace, Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower
_Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase.
LVI. Her lover sinks-she sheds no ill-timed tear: Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post; Her fellows flee-she checks their base career; The foe retires-she heads the sallying host : Who can appease like her a lover's ghost? Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ? What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, Foild by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall?11)
LVII. Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, But form'd for all the witching arts of love: Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate: In softness as in firmness far above Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance
LVIII. The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impressid Denotes how soft that chin which bears his
touch: 17 Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, Which glows yet smoother from his amorous
clutch! Who round the North for paler dames would seek? How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan,
LIX. Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud; Match me, ye harams of the land! where now
I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud
know There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind
LX. Oh, thou Parnassus ! 13) whom I now survey, Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye, Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, But soaring snow.clad through thy native sky, In the wild pomp of mountain majesty? What marvel if I thus essay to sing? The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Though from thy heights no more one Muse will
wave her wing.
LXI. Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious
LXIII. Of thee hereafter.-Ev'n amidst my strain I turn'd aside to pay my homage here; Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain; Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear; And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. Now to my theme-but from thy holy haunt Let me some remnant, some memorial bear;
Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt.
LXIV, But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece
was young, See round thy giant base a brighter choir, Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, Behold a train more fitting to inspire The song of love than Andalusia's maids, Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire :
Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades AsGreece can still bestow,though Glory fly her glades.
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape,