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XIII. Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood (brow, But when the sun was sinking in the sea Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's He seized his harp, which he at times could string, As if the memory of some deadly feud

And strike, albeit with untaught melody, Or disappointed passion lurk'd below;

When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, For his was not that open, artless soul

And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow,

While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole,

And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control. Thus to the elements ho pour'd his last “Good Night." IX.

Adieu, adieu! my native shore And none did love him—though to hall and bower

Fades o'er the waters blue; He gather'd revellers from far and near,

The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour;

And shrieks the wild sea-mew. The heartless parasites of present cheer.

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea Yea! nona did love him-not his lemans dear

We follow in his flight; But pomp and power alone are woman's care,

Farewell awhile to him and thee, And where these are light Eros finds a feere;

My native Land-Good Night! Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,

“A few short hours and He will rise And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might

To give the morrow birth ;

And I shall hail the main and skies,
Childe Harold had a mother—not forgot,

But not my mother earth.

Deserted is my own good hall, Though parting from that mother he did shun;

Its hearth is desolate ;
A sister whom he loved, but saw her not

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
Before his weary pilgrimage begun:
If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.

My dog howls at the gate.
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel: “Come hither, hither, my little page !
Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon

Why dost thou weep and wail ?
A few dear objects, will in sadness feel

Or dost thou dread the billow's rage,
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. Or tremble at the gale ?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;

Our ship is swift and strong:
His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,

Our feetest falcon scarce can fly
The laughing dames in whom he did delight,

More merrily along.
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands,
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,

. Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, And long had fed his youthful appetite;

I fear not wave nor wind: His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine,

Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I And all that mote to luxury invite,

Am sorrowful in mind ;
Without a sigh he left to cross the brine, [line. For I have from my father gone,
And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central A mother whom I love,

And have no friend, save these alone,

But theo—and one above.
The sails were fillid, and fair the light winds blew,
As glad to wast him from his native home;

• My father bless'd me fervently, And fast the white rocks faded from his view,

Yet did not much complain ; And soon were lost in circumambient foam:

But sorely will my mother sigh And then, it may be, of his wish to roam

Till I come back again.'— Repented he, but in his bosom slept

“ Enough, enough, my little lad! The silent thought, nor from his lips did come

Such tears become thine eye; One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept,

If I thy guileless bosom had, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.

Mine own would not be dry.'

ip" Yet deem him not from this with breast of steel."MS.) % [" His house, his home, his vassals, and his lands,

The Dalilahs," &c.-MS.) s(Lord Byron originally intended to visit India.]

*(See “Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Poetical Works, vol. i1. p. 141, ed. 1834.-—"Adieu, madam, my mother dear," &c.-S.)

• [This “little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants. “ Robert I take with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother; “I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal: tell his father he is well, and doing well."'] 8["Our best goss-hawk can hardly fly

So merrily along."-MS.) 7("Oh, master dear! I do not cry

From fear of waves or wind."-MS.) [Seeing that the boy was “sorrowful" at the separation from his parents, Lord Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent himn back to England under the care of his old servant Joe

Murray: “Pray," he says to his

mother, "show the lad every kindness, as he is my great favorite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy, which leaves a most favor. able impression of his thoughtfulness and kindliness. have," he says, “ sent Robert home, because the country which I am about to travel through is in a state which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young. I allow you to deduct from your rent tive and twenty pounds a year for his education, for three years, provided I do not return before that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service. He has behaved extremely well.") [Here follows in the MS. :

“My Mother is a high-born dame,

And much misliketh me :
She saith my riot bringeth shame

On all my ancestry:
I had a sisier once I ween,

Whose tears perhaps will flow;
But her fair face I have not seen

For three long years and moe."]

"Come hither, hither, my stanch yeoman,'

Why dost thou look so pale ?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?

Or shiver at the gale ?”—
Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?

Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife

Will blanch a faithful cheek.

* My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,

Along the bordering lake,
And when they on their father call,

What answer shall she make?' –
* Enough, enough, my yeoman good,

Thy grief let none gainsay ;, But I, who am of lighter mood,

Will laugh to flee away."

“ With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go

Athwart the foaming brine ;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,

So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves !

And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
My native Land—Good Night!"

On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone,
And winds are rude, in Biscay's sleepless bay.
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,
New shores descriod make every bosom gay;
And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way,
And Tagus dashing onward to the deep,
His fabled golden tribute bent to pay ;

And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, (reap.
And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics

Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree !
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand !
But man would mar them with an impious hand:
And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge
'Gainst those who most transgress his high command,

With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urgo
Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge.

What beauties doth Lisboa® first unfold !
Her image floating on that noble tide,
Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold,
But now whereon a thousand keels did ride
Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,

** For who would trust the seeming sighs

Of wife or paramour ?
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes

We late saw streaming o'er.'
For pleasures past I do not grieve,

Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave

No thing that claims a tear.“

* And now I'm in the world alone,

Upon the wide, wide sea:
But why should I for others groan,

When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,

Till fed by stranger hands ; But long ere I come back again

He'd tear me where he stands.


"(William Fletcher, the faithful valet ;-who, after a ser

“Methinks it would my bosom glad, Time of twenty years, ("during which," he says, " his Lord

To change my proud estate, was more to him than a father,") received the Pilgrim's last

And be again a laughing lad Hurts at Missolonghi, and did not quit his remains, until he

With one beloved playmate. bad seen then deposited in the family vault at Hucknall.

Since youth I scarce have pass'd an hour This ansophisticated “ yeoman" was a constant source of

Without disgust or pain, pleasantry to his master :-e. g. “Fletcher," he says, in a

Except sometimes in Lady's bower, Herto his mother, " is not valiant; he requires comforts

Or when the bowl I drain."} that I can dispense with, and sighs for beer, and beef, and 7 (Originally, the “little page” and the "yeoman” were tea, and his wife, and the devil knows what besides. We introduced in the following stanzas :were one night lost in a thunder-storm, and since, nearly " And of his train there was a henchman page, trecked. In both cases he was sorely bewildered ; from A peasant boy, who served his master well ; apprehensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drown And often would his pranksome prate engage ing in the second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by Childe Harold's ear, when his proud heart did swell the lightning, or crying, I don't know which. I did what I With sable thoughts that he disdain'd to tell. Could to console him, but found him incorrigible. He sends Then would he smile on hin, and Alwin smiled, SU siets to Sally. I shall settle him in a farm ; for he has When aught that from his young lips archly fell Serret me faithfully, and Sally is a good woman. After all

The gloomy film from Harold's eye beguiled ; his arentures by flood and field, short cominons included, And pleased for a glimpse appeard the woful Childe. this bembe Achates of the poet has now established himself

Him and one yeoman only did he take as the keeper of an Italian warehouse, in Charles-street, To travel eastward to a far countrie ; Berkeley Square, where, if he does not thrive, every one who

And, though the boy was grieved to leave the lake knows any thing of his character will say he deserves to

On whose fair banks he grew from infancy,

Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily a "Enough, enough, my yeoman good,

With hope of foreign nations to behold, All this is well to say ;

And many things right marvellous to see, But if I in thy sandals stood,

Of which our vaunting voyagers oft have told, Id laugh to get away."- MS.)

In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old.") ["For who would trust a paramour, Or een a wedded freere,

8 [" These Lusian brutes, and earth from worst of

wretches purge."-MS.) Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er,

[" A friend advises Ulissipont; but Lisboa is the Portu. And torn her yellow hair ?"--MS.)

guese word, consequently the best. Ulissipont is pedantic ; *** I leave England without regret-I shall return to it and as I had lugged in Hellas and Eros not long before, there without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced would have been something like an affectation of Creek to transportation ; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no ap terms, which I wished to avoid. On the submission of Lausiple but what was sour as a crab."--Lord B. to Mr. Hodgson.) tania to the Moors, they changed the name of the capital, '[From the following passage in a letter to Mr. Dallas, it which till then had been Ulisipo, or Lispo; because, in the would appear that that gentleman had recommended the Arabic alphabet, the letter p is not used. Hence, I believe, a pression or alteration of this stanza:-I do not mean to Lisboa; whence again, the French Lisbonne, and our Elchange the ninth verse in the Good Night.' I have no Lisbon,-God knows which the earlier corruption". Byron, reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, MS.] mankind; and Argus, we know to be a fable.")

10 [“ Which poets, prone to lie, have paved with gold."[Here follows, in the original MS. :


do 2.)

Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,
And marvel men should quit their easy chair,
The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace,

Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share.

More bleak to view the hills at length recede,
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend ;
Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed !
Far as the eye discerns, withouten end,
Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend
Flocks, whoso rich fleece right well the trader

Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend

For Spain is compass’d by unyielding foes,
And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's


Where Lusitania and her Sister meet,
Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide ?
Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet,
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide ?
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride ?
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ?—
Ne barrier wall, no river deep and wide,

Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall,
Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul :

Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendor dress'd:
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong;
The Paynim turban and the Christian crest
Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppress’d.

Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd, romantic land!
Where is that standard which Pelagio bore,
When Cava's traitor-sire first callid the band
That dyed thy mountain streams with Gotbic gore !
Where are those bloody banners which of yore
Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale,
And drove at last the spoilers to their shore?

Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale,
While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' wail.

Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale ?
Ah ! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate!
When granite moulders and when records fail,
A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date.
Pride! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate,
See how the mighty shrink into a song !
Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great?

Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue,
When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does theo

Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance!
Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries;
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance,
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies:
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies,
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar!
In every peal she calls—" Awake! arise !”

Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore,
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore?

Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath?
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote;
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ?—the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high from rock to rock
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe;

Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.

But these between a silver streamlet glides,
And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook,
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides.
Here Jeans the idle shepherd on his crook,
And vacant on the rippling waves doth look,
That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow;
For proud each peasant as the noblest duke:

Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know
"Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low.'

But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass’d,
Dark Guadiana rolls his power along?
In sullen billows, murmuring and vast,
So noted ancient roundelays among. 8
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng

convent, and most superb church. The six organs are the ancient popular poetry,-unequalled in Europe,-which most beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration : we did must ever form the pride of ihat magnificent language. not hear them, but were told that their tones were corre See his beautiful version of one of the best of the ballads of spondent to their splendor. Mafra is termed the Escurial the Granada war--the “Romance muy doloroso del sitio y of Portugal. (“ About ten miles to the right of Cintra," says toma de Alhama."), Lord Byron, in a letter to his mother, " is the palace of Mafra, * Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius the boast of Portugal, as it might be of any country, in point preserved his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, of magnificence, without elegance. There is a convent an and the descendants of his followers, after some centures, nexed : the monks, who possess large revenues, are courte- completed their struggle by the conquest of Granada.ous enough, and understand Latin ; so that we had a long (" Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of conversation. They have a large library, and asked me if iradition, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible the English had any books in their country.”—Mafra was violation by Roderick upon Florinda, called by the Moors erected by John V., in pursuance of a vow, made in a dan. Caba, or Cava. She was the daughter of Couni Julian, one gerous fit of illness, to found a convent for the use of the of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, who, when the poorest friary in the kingdom. Upon inquiry, this poorest crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the desence of Ceuta, was found at Mafra ; where twelve Franciscans lived to against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude of gether in a hut. There is a magnificent view of the exist- his sovereign, and the dishonor of his daughter, Count Julian ing edifice in “Finden's Illustrations.")

forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and, forming an i As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterized them. alliance with Musa, then the Caliph's lieutenant in Africa, he That they are since improved, at least in courage, is evident. countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Saracens The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies and Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik: the issue of Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders : he has, perhaps, of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occhanged the character of a nation, reconciled rival super. cupation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. The stitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before Spaniards, in detestation of Florinda's memory, are said, by his predecessors.-1812.

Cervantes, never to bestow that name upon any human ?" But ere the bounds of Spain have far been passid, female, reserving it for their dogs."-SIR WALTER SCOTT.) Forever ned in many a noted song.”-MS.)


from rock to rock :(Lord Byron seems to have thus early acquired enough Blue columns soar aloft in sulphurous wreath, of Spanish to understand and appreciate the grand body of Fragments on fragments in confusion knock.”-MS.)


L! where the Giant on the mountain stands, Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play
His blood-red tresses deep’ning in the sun,

Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,

Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ;

Though thousands fall to deck some single name. Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon

In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Flashig afar, and at his iron feet

Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good, Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ; And die, that living might have proved her shame; For a this morn three potent nations meet,

Perish’d, perchance, in some domestic feud, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. sweet. XL.

XLV. By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Where proud Sevilla' triumphs unsubdued : Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery,

Yet is she frec--the spoiler's wish’d-for prey! Their various arms that glitter in the air!

Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the proy! Inevitablo hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Al join the chase, but few the triumph share; Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,

Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, And Haroc scarce for joy can number their array. And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive. XLI.

XLVI. Turee hosts combine to offer sacrifice;

But all unconscious of the coming doom, Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies; Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds : The for, the victim, and the fond ally

Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck” sounds; That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,

Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; [rounds: Are met-as if at home they could not dio

And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,

Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, Aad fertilize the field that each pretends to gain.' Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls.

There shall they rot-Ambition's honor'd fools !?
Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay!
Pain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts—to what?-a dream alone.
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway?

Or call with truth one span of earth their own,
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bong ?

Not so the rustic-with his trembling mate
He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar,
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate,
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war.
No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star
Fandango twirls his jocund castanet :
Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth yo mar,

Not in the toils of Glory would ye sret;
The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy


Oh, Albuera, glorious field of grief!
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed,
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief,
Á scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!
Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed
And tears of triumph their reward prolong!
Till others fall where other chieftains lead,

Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,
Aad shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient


How carols now the lusty muleteer?
Of love, romance, devotion is his lay,
As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer,
His quick bells wildly jingling on the way?
No! as he speeds, he chants “Viva el Rey !"6
And checks his song to execrate Godoy,
The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day

When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy,
And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate



7 * There let them rot-while rhymers tell the fools

How hopor decks the turf that wraps their clay!

Liars a raunt!"-MS.) This stanza is not in the original MS. It was written u Seustead, in August, 1811, shortly after the batile of

gera.] *{* At Seville, we lodged in the house of two Spanish unmartie ladies, women of character, the eldest a fine woman, the youngest pretty. The freedom of manner, which is i general tere, astonished me not a little ; and, in the course o urther observation, I find that reserve is not the chaTareeristic of Spanish belles. The eldest honored your unWorthy son with very particular attention, embracing him wh great tenderness at parting, (I was there but three dars after cutting off a lock of his hair, and presenting him rüh use of her own, about three feet in length, which I

send, and beg you will retain till my return. Her last words were, ' Adios, tu hermoso! me gusto mucho.' 'Adieu, you pretty fellow! you please me much.'"-Lord B. to his Mother, Aug. 1809.1

(A kind of fiddle, with only two strings, played on by a bow, said to have been brought by the Moors into Spain)

6 - Viva el Rey Fernando!" Long live King Ferdinand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. They are chiefly in dispraise of the old king Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I have heard many of ihein: some of the airs are beautiful. Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an ancient but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish guards; till his person attracted the queen's eyes, and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. &c. It is to this man that the Spaniards universally impute the ruin of their country.


LIV. On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground; And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd vest Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest :

And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Appall’d, an owlet's larum chilld with dread, Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest; Now views the column-scattering bay’net jar, Still does he mark it with triumphant boast,

The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to lost.

tread. L.

LV. And whomsoe'er along the path you meet

Yo who shall marvel when you hear her tale, Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue,

Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, Which tells you whom to shun and whoin to greet:' Mark'd her black eve that mocks her coal-black veil, Wo to the man that walks in public view

Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Without of loyalty this token true:

Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke;

Her fairy form, with more than female grace, And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue,

Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower If subtlo poniards, wrapt beneath the cloak,

Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. smoko. LI.

LVI. At every turn Morena's dusky height

Her lover sinks—she sheds no ill-timed tear; Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;

Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post; And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,

Her fellows flee—the checks their base career; The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,

The foe retires-she heads the sallying host : The bristling palisade, the fosse o’erflow'd,

Who can appease like her a lover's ghost ? The station d bands, the never-vacant watch,

Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ? The magazine in rocky durance stow'd,

What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost!
The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
The ball-piled pyramid,- the ever-blazing match, Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall ?

Portend the deeds to come :--but he whose nod Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway,

But form'd for all tho witching arts of love :
A moment pauseth ere he lists the rod;

Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, A little moment deigneth to delay:

And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, Soon will his legions sweep through these their way; "Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, The West must own the Scourger of the world. Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate: Ah! Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, In softness as in firmness far above

When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings unfurl d, Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurld. Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as

great. LIII.

LVIII. And must they fall ? the young, the proud, the brave, The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress d To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome reign? Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch :* No step between submission and a grave ?

Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ?

Bid man be valiant ere he merit such: And doth the Power that man adores ordain

Her glanco how wildly beautiful! how much Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ?

Hath Phæbns woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, Is all that desperate Valor acts in vain ?

Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch! And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal,

Who round the North for paler dames would seek? The Veteran's skill, Youth’s fire, and Manhood's heart How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and of steel?


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1 The red cockade, with “ Fernando VII.,” in the centre. feminine style of beauty. She has further had the honor to 2 All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal be painted by Wilkie, and alluded to in Wordsworth's Disa

sertation on the Convention (misnained) of Cintra, where form in which shot and shells are piled. The Sierra Morena was fortified in every defile through which I passed in iny

a noble passage concludes in these words :-“ Saragoza has way to Seville.

exemplified a melancholy, yea, a dismal truth, -- yet con

solatory and full of joy, -that when a people are calle 1 : Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza, who by suddenly to fight for their liberty, and are sorely pressed her valor elevated herself to the highest rank of heroines. upon, their best field of battle is the floors npon which their When the author was at Seville, she walheu daily on the children have played; the chambers where the family of Prado, decorated with medals and orders, by command of each man has slept ; upon or under the roofs by which ihes the Junta.--[The exploits of Augustina, the famous heroine have been sheltered ; in the gardens of their recreation ; in of both the siegey of Saragoza, are recorded at length in the street, or in the market-place; before the altars of their Southey's History of the Peninsular War. At the time when temples, and among their congregated dwellings, blazing she first attracted notice, by mounting a battery where her or uprooted.") lover had fallen, and working a gun in his room, she was in 4 Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo her twenty-second year, exceedingly pretty, and in a soft Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem." AUL. GEL

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