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Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes
In variegated maze of mount and glen.
Ah me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen,
To foHow half on which the eye dilates
Through views more dazzling unto niortal ken
Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's
The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd,
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, My native land-Good Night!
The mountain moss by scorching skjes imbrown'd,
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, XIV.
The tender azure of the unruftled deep, On, on the vessel Alies, the land is gone,
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay. The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, The vine on high, the willow branch below, New shores descried make every bosom gay; Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep,
XX. His fabled golden tribute bent to pay;
Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap,
And frequent turn to linger as you go, And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, reap.
And rest ye at 'Our Lady's House of Woe ;'* XV.
Where frugal monks their little relics show, Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see
And sundry legends to the stranger tell: What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! Here impious men have punish'd been; and lo, What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree ! Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand : In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell. But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts His fiercest scourge
XXI. 'Gainst those who most transgress His high com And here and there, as up the crags you spring, mand,
Mark many rude-carv'd crosses near the path; With treble vengeance will His hot shafts urge
Yet deem not these devotion's offeringGaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath : purge.
For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold!
Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; Her image floating on that noble tide,
And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, Throughout this purple land, where law secures not But now whereon a thousand keels did ride
life ! + Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,
On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath,
Are domes where whilome kings did make repair: sword
But now the wild Aowers round them only breathe; To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing
Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there, lord.
And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair:
* The convent of Our Lady of Punishment,' Nossa That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
Senora de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, Disconsolate will wander up and down,
at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St.
Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. 'Mid many things unsightly to strange e'e;
From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view. For liut and palace show like filthily:
+ It is a well-known fact, that in the year 1809 the The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt;
assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity
were not confined by the Portuguese to their country: No personage of high or mean degree
men, but that Englishmen were daily butchered; and Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, so far from redress being obtained, we were requested Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, un. not to interfere if we percejved any compatriot defend. washid, unhurt.
ing himself against his allíes. I was once stopped in
the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, XVIII.
when the streets were not more empty than they gene Poor, paltry slaves ! yet born 'inidst noblest rally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and
in a carriage with a friend. Had wę not fortunately scenes
been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men? have 'adorned a tale' instead of telling one.
There thou, too, Vathck! England's wealthiest And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise soil,
His early youth misspent in maddest whim ; Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware
But as he gazed on truth, his aching eyes grew din. When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done,
XXVII Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. To horse! to horse ! he quits, for ever quits
A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul: XXIII.
Again he rouses from his moping fits, Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. plan,
Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow; Where he shall rest hiin on his pilgrimage ; But now, as if a thing unblest by Man,
And o'er him many changing scenes inust roll, Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou !
Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow
Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience To halls deserted, portals gaping wide;
sage. Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how
XXIX. Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied;
Yet Mafra shall one moinent claim delay, Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide.
Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen; XXIV.
And church and court did mingle their array, Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened !.
And mass and revel were alternate seen; Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye!
Lordlings and freres--ill-sorted fry, I ween! With liadem hight foolscap, lo ! a fiend,
But here the Babylonian whore had built A little fiend that scoffs incessantly,
A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by
That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, His side is hung a seal and sable scroll,
And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to garnish Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry,
guilt, And sundry signatures adorn the roll,
XXX. Whereat the Urchin points, and laughs with all his O'er vales that teen with fruits, romantic hills, soul.
(Oh that such hills upheld a free-born race !) XXV.
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Convention is the dwarfish demon styled
Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant That foild the knights in Marialva's doine :
place. Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled,
Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chas, And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to glooin.
And marvel men should quit their easy chair, Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume,
The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, And Policy regain'd what Arms bad lost :
Oh, there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom!
share. Woe to the conquering, not the conquer'd host, Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast,
More bleak to view the hills at length recede, XXVI.
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend; And ever since that martial synod met,
Iminense horizon-bounded plains succeed! Britannia sickens, Cintra, at thy name;
Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, And folks in office at the mention fret,
Spain's realms appear, whereon her shepherds And fain would blush, if blush they could, for tend shame.
Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader How will posterity the deed proclaim !
knows Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,
Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend : To view these champions cheated of their fame, For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes,
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's
Where Lusitania and her Sister meet,
Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide ? Did take his way in solitary guise :
Or e'er the jealous quieens of nations greet, Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide ? More restless than the swallow in the skies:
Or dark sierras rise in craggy pride ? Though here awhile he learned to moralize,
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? For Meditation fix'd at times on him,
Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide,
Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall. * The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from of the Marchese Marialva,
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, But these between a silver streamlet glides,
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar! And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, In every peal she calls-Awake! arise!' Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook,
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shorc? And vacant on the rippling waves doth look,
XXXVIII. That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow :
Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? For proud each peasant as the noblest duke:
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; "Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath low.
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ?-the fires of death, XXXIV.
The bale-fires flash on high from rock to rock But ere the mingling bounds have far been passid,
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe : Dark Guadiana rolls his power along
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, In sullen billows, murmuring and vast,
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the So noted ancient roundelays among.
shock. Whilome upon his banks did legions throng
XXXIX. Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendour drest;
Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the
His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, strong;
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, The Paynim turban and the Christian crest
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Mixed on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon oppress'd.
Flashing afar,-and at his iron feet
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd, romantic land!
For on this morn three potent nations meet, Where is that standard which Pelagio bore,
To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most When Cava'st traitor-sire first call'd the band
sweet. That dyed thy mountain-streams with Gothic gore?
By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see Where are those bloody banners which of yore
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale,
Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore?
Their various arms that glitter in the air! Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, pale, While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons'
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey !
All join the chase, but few the triumph.share: wail.
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array,
XLI. When granite moulders and when records fail,
Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date.
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; Pride! bend thine eye from heaven to thine
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies: estate,
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! See how the mighty shrir:k into a song!
The foe, the ctim, and the fond ally Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great!
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue,
Are met-as if at home they could not dieWhen Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, thee wrong?
And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. XXXVII. Awake, ye sons of Spain I awake! advance!
XLII. Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries,
There shall they rot-Ambition's honour'd fools: But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance,
Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay ! Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies :
Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away * As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterized
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way them. That they are since improved, at least in With human hearts-to what?-a dream alone. courage, is evident. The late exploits of Lord Wel
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway? lington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He has indeed done wonders; he has perhaps changed the
Or call with truth one span of earth their own, character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone! and baffled an enemy who never retreated' before his predecessors.-1812.
XLIII. + Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius preserved his independence in the fastnesses ofthe O Albuera, glorious field of grief! Asturias.
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed.
Who could foresee thec, in a space so brief,
The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day A scene where mingling foes should boast and When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, bleed
And gore-faced Treason sprung froin her adulterate l'eace to the perish d! may the warrior's meed joy. And tears of triumph their reward prolong!
XLIX. Till others fall where other chieftains lead,
On yon long level plain, at distance crown'd Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,
With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient
Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground; song
And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd XLIV.
vest Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest : Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame:
Here was the camp, the watch.flame, and the host, Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay,
Here the brave peasant storm'd the dragon's nest; Though thousands fall to deck soine single name. Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, In sooth, 'twere sad to tliwart their noble aim
And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and Who strike, blest hirelings ! for their country's lost. good,
Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, *
Woe to the man that walks in public view
Without of loyalty this token truc : Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way
Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ; Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued :
And sorely would the Gallic foemen rue, Yet is she free-the spoiler's wish d-for prey!
If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke, Soou, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude,
Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's Blackening lier lovely domes with traces rudc.
smoke. Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive
LI. Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood
At every turn Morena's dusky height Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre, inight yet survive,
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'crflow'd, The seast, the song, the revel here abounds;
The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch. Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, The magazine in rocky durance stowid, Nor bleed these patriots with their country's
The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, wounds;
The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match, Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds;
Portend the deeds to come :--but he whose noci rounds:
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, Girt with the silent crimes of capitals,
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the road; Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tottcring
A little moment deigneth to delay : walls.
Soon will his legions sweep through these their way; XLVII.
The West must own the Scourger of the world. Not so the rustic : with his trembling mate
Ah, Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, He lurks, nor cast his heavy eye afar,
When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings unfurld, Lest le should view his vineyard desolate,
And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades Blasted below the dun hot breath of war.
And must they fall--the young, the proud, the Ah, monarchs I could ye taste the inirth ye mar,
braveNot in the toils of Glory would ye fret;
To swellone bloated chief's unwholesome reign? The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy yet.
nand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic XLVIII.
songs. They are chiefly in dispraise of the old King
Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I have How carols now the lusty muleteer?
heard many of them: some of the airs are beautiful. Of love, romance, devotion is his lay,
Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer,
ancient but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on
the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? ranks of the Spanish guards till his person attracted No! as he speeds, he chants. Viva el Rey ! * the queen's cyes, and raised him to the dukedom of And checks his song to execrate Godoy,
Alcudia, etc. etc. It is to this man that the Spaniards universally impute the ruin of their country.
* The red cockade, with Fernando VII.' in th • Viva el Rey Fernando i' Long live King Ferdi- centre.
No step between submission and a grave?
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, The rise of rapine and the f. I of Spain ?
Bid man be valiant ere he inerit such: And doth the power that man adores ordain
Her glance, how wildly beautiful! how much Their dooin, nor heed the suppliant's appeal? Hath Phæbus wood in vain to spoil her cheek, Is all that desperate Valour 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, Youtli's fire, and Manhood's How poor their forms appear? how languid, wan, and heart of steel?
weak : LIV.
LIX. Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused,
Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud; Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar,
Match me, ye harems of the land where now And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused,
I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? Beauties that even a cynic must avow! And she, whom once the semblance of a scar
Match me those houris, whom ye scarce allow Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread,
To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, Now views the column-scattering bayonet jar,
With Spain's dark-glancing daughters-deign to The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead
know, Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake
There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, to tread.
His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind.
Oh thou, Parnassus whom I now survey,
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, Heard her light, lively tones in lady's bower,
But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, In the wild pomp of mountain majesty! Her fairy forni, with more than female grace,
What marvel if I thus essay to sing? Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower
The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Beheld her smil: in Danger's Gorgon face,
Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful Though from thy heights no more one muse will wave chase.
Oft have I dream'd of thee! whose glorious name Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post;
Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: Her fellows flee-she checks their base career:
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas, with shame The foe retires-she heads the sallying host :
That I in feeblest accents must adore. Who can appease like her a lover's ghost ?
When I recount thy worshippers of yore Who can avenge so well a leader's fall?
I tremble, and can only bend the knee; What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost?
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall*
In silent joy to think at last I look on thee!
LXII. Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,
Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, But form'd for all the witching arts of love:
Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, Though thus in arms they einulate her sons,
Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move,
Which others rave of, though they know it not? 'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove,
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate: And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave, In softness as in firmness far above
Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, Remoter females, famed for sickening prate;
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,
Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain ;
Her fate, to every free-born bosom dear; Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza, who by her valour elevated herself to the highest rank
And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. of heroines. When the author was at Seville, she Now to my theme-but from thy holy haunt walked daily on the Prado, decorated with medals Let me some remnant, some memorial bear; and orders, by command of the Junta. + Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo
Yield mc one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem.'-AUL. GEL! Nor let thy votary's hope be deem d an idle vaunt.