Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; "Come hither, hither, my little page! But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, A mother whom I love, But thee and one above. "My father bless'd me fervently, Mine own would not be dry. "Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoma Will blanch a faithful cheek. "My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, "For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes My greatest grief is that I leave "And now I'm in the world alone, He'd tear me where he stands. Oh. Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! That fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! But man would mar them with an impious hand: when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge Gaist those who most transgress his high command, With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! ch poets vainly pave with sands of gold, Bow whereon a thousand keels did ride Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, And to the Lusians did her aid afford: Auation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword Thare them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. But whoso entereth within this town, Por, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, To follow half on which the eye dilates Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates? The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, The tender azure of the unruffled deep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And here and there, as up the crags you spring, Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path: For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath rife Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Are domes where whilome kings did make repair; But now the wild flowers round them only breathe; Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there. When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow: Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened! Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye! To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever qu A scene of peace, though soothing to soul: Again he rouses from his moping fits, Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Or he shall calm his breast, or learn perience sage. Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, Where dwelt of yore the Lusian's luckl queen; And church and court did mingle their arra There sits in parchment robe arrayed, and by | And mass and revel were alternate seen; Lordlings and freres-ill sorted fry I ween chi-But here the Babylonian whore hath built A dome, where flaunts she in such glorio And sundry signatures adorn the roll, Whereat the Urchin points and laughs with all his soul. And ever since that martial synod met, How will posterity the deed proclaim! Did take his way in solitary guise: More restless than the swallow in the skies: sheen, That men forget the blood which she ha spilt, And bow the knee to Pomp that loves varnish guilt. O'er vales that teem with fruits, romant hills, (Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fill Childe Harold wends through many a ple sant place. Though sluggards deem it but a foolis chase, And marvel men should quit their easy chai The toilsome way, and long, long leag to trace, Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain ai And life, that bloated Ease can never hop to share. More bleak to view the hills at length reced And, less luxuriant, smoother vales exten Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed! Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, Spain's realms appear whereon her shepher tend Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the tr der knows Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defent For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, And all must shield their all, or sha Subjection's woe But the low. ere the mingling bounds have far been Dark Guadiana rolls his power along Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk hovely Spain! renown'd, romantic land! Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! Apant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. estate, In every peal she calls-"Awake! arise!" Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Tyrants and tyrants' slaves?—the fires of The bale-fires flash on high:-from rock to Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, For on this morn three potent nations meet, By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the All join the chase, but few the triumph share; array. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; See how the Mighty shrink into a song! The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! skies: The foe, the victim, and the fond ally fools! Sow on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their ked speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: clay! Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools, The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 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 bone? 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, A 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, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song! Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, Though thousands fall to deck some single name. In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good, And die, that living might have proved her shame; Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued: Yet is she free-the spoiler's wish'd-for prey! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famished brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive. But all unconscious of the coming doom, The feast, she song, the revel here abounds; Strange modes of merriment the hours con sume, Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds: Not here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds; Here Folly still his votaries enthralls; And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds: At every turn Morena's dusky height Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, tott'ring walls. match, |