XXVIII.

VALOUR was harnessed like a Chief of old,
Armed at all points, and prompt for nightly

gest;

His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold,

Morena's eagle-plume adorned his crest, The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. Fierce he stepped forward, and flung down his

gage,

As if of mortal kind to brave the best.

Him followed his Companion, dark and sage, As he, my Master sung, the dangerous Archimage.

XXIX.

Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came,
In look and language proud as proud might be,
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame,
Yet was that bare-foot Monk more proud than
he;

And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree,

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, And with his spells subdued the fierce and free,

Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renowned, Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kissed the ground.

XXX.

And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless Knight,
Who ne'er to King or Kaisar veiled his crest,

Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight,

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, Stooped ever to that Anchoret's behest;

Nor reasoned of the right nor of the wrong, But at his bidding laid the lance in rest,

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along,

For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong.

XXXI.

Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world,

That latest sees the sun, or first the morn; Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurled,Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne,

Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent and foul;

Idols of gold from heathen temples torn,

Bedabbled all with blood.-With grisly scowl The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl.

XXXII.

Then did he bless the offering, and bade make
Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise;
And at his word the choral hymns awake,
And many a hand the silver censer sways.
But with the incense-breath these censers raise,
Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the
fire;

The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays, And shrieks of agony confound the quire, While, mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire.

XXXIII.

Preluding light, were strains of music heard,

As once again revolved that measured sand; Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared, Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band; When for the light Bolero ready stand

The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met, He conscious of his broidered cap and band, She of her netted locks and light corsette, Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet.

XXXIV.

And well such strains the opening scene became; For VALOUR had relaxed his ardent look,

And at a lady's feet, like lion tame,

Lay stretched, full loath the weight of arms to

brook;

And softened BIGOTRY, upon his book,

Pattered a task of little good or ill:

But the blithe peasant plied his pruning hook,
Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill,

And

rung

from village-green the merry Seguidille.

XXXV.

Gray Royalty, grown impotent of toil,
Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold,
And careless saw his rule become the spoil

Of a loose Female and her minion bold;
But peace was on the cottage and the fold,

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far; Beneath the chestnut tree Love's tale was told;

And to the tinkling of the light guitar,

Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star.

XXXVI.

As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand
When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen,
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land,
Awhile, perchance, bedecked with colours
sheen,

While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been,
Limning with purple and with gold its shroud,
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene,

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud, Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud;

XXXVII.

Even so upon that peaceful scene was poured, Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, And HE, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, And offered peaceful front and open hand;

Veiling the perjured treachery he planned,

By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise, Until he won the passes of the land;

Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's ties!

He clutched his vulture-grasp, and called fair Spain

his prize.

XXXVIII.

An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore; And well such diadem his heart became, Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, Or checked his course for piety or shame; Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's fame Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, Though neither truth nor honour decked his name; Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne, Recked not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly

tone.

XXXIX.

From a rude isle his ruder lineage came:
The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth
Ascending, wraps some capital in flame,

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth.
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth-
The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure,
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth,
And by destruction bids its fame endure,

Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.