May view with envy; these, Iberian damės
Survey with fixt esteem and fond defire.
Haplefs ELVIRA! thy disastrous fate

May well this truth explain; nor ill adorn
The British lyre; then chiefly, if the mufe,
Nor vain nor partial, from the fimple guife
Of ancient record catch the penfive lay;
And in lefs groveling accents give to fame.
ELVIRA! lovelieft maid! th' Iberian realm
Could boast no purer breaft, no fprightlier mind,
No race more fplendent, and no form fo fair.
Such was the chance of war, this peerless maid
In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the spoil
Of British victors, vict'ry's nobleft pride!
She, fhe alone, amid the wailful train,
Of captive maids, affign'd to HENRY's care;
Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame!
He, gen'rous youth, with no penurious hand,
The tedious moments that unjoyous roll
Where freedom's chearful radiance fhines no more,
Effay'd to foften; confcious of the pang
That beauty feels, to wafte its fleeting hours
In fome dim fort, by foreign rule reftrain'd,
Far from the haunts of men, or eye of day!

Sometimes, to cheat her bofom of its cares,
Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils
Himself had worn: the frowns of angry feas,
Or hoftile rage, or faithlefs friend, more fell
Than storm or foe: if haply fhe might find

Her

Her cares diminish'd; fruitless fond essay!
Now to her lovely hand, with modest awe
The tender lute he gave: fhe not averse
Nor deftitute of skill, with willing hand
Call'd forth angelic ftrains; the facred debt
Of gratitude, fhe faid; whofe juft commands
Still might her hand with equal pride obey!
Nor to the melting founds the nymph refus'd
Her vocal art; harmonious, as the strain
Of fome imprison'd lark, who daily chear'd
By guardian cares, repays them with a fong :
Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty refign'd.

The fong, not artless, had fhe fram❜d to paint
Difaftrous paffion; how, by tyrant laws
Of idiot custom sway'd, fome foft-ey'd fair
Lov'd only one; nor dar'd their love reveal!
How the foft anguish banish'd from her cheek
The damask rofe full-blown; a fever came;
And from her bofom forc'd the plaintive tale.
Then, fwift as light, he fought the love-lorn maid,
But vainly fought her; torn by fwifter fate
To join the tenants of the myrtle fhade,
Love's mournful victims on the plains below.
Sometimes, as fancy fpoke the pleafing task,
She taught her artful needle to display

The various pride of fpring: then swift upfprung
Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rofe:
There might you fee, on gentle toils intent,
A train of bufy loves; fome pluck the flow'r,

Some twine the garland, fome with grave grimace
Around a vacant warrior caft the wreath.

'Twas paint, 'twas life! and fure to piercing eyes
The warrior's face depictur'd HENRY'S mien.
Now had the gen'rous chief with joy perus'd
The royal fcroll, which to their native home,
Their ancient rights, uninjur'd, unredeem'd,
Reftor'd the captives. Forth with rapid hafte
To glad his fair ELVIRA's ear, he fprung;
Fir'd by the blifs he panted to convey;
But fir'd in vain! Ah! what was his amaze,
His fond diftrefs, when o'er her pallid face
Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand
Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flow'r!
Speechlefs she stood; at length with accents faint,
"Well may my native fl ore, fhe faid, refound
"Thy monarch's praife; and ere ELVIRA prove
"Of thine forgetful, flow'rs fhall cease to feel
"The foft'ring breeze, and nature change her laws.”
And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd
The British hoft. Around the fmiling youths
Call'd to their native fcenes, with willing hafte
Their fleet unmoor; impatient of the love
That weds each bofom to its native foil.
The patriot paffion! ftrong in ev'ry clime,
How juftly theirs, who find no foreign fweets
To diffipate their loves, or match their own.

Not fo ELVIRA! fhe, difaftrous maid,

Was doubly captive! pow'r nor chance cou'd loofe

The

The fubtle bands; fhe lov'd her gen'rous foe.
She, where her HENRY dwelt, her HENRY fmil'd,
Could term her native fhore; her native fhore
By him deferted, fome unfriendly ftrand,
Strange, bleak, forlorn! a defert waste and wild.

The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd
The swelling fails, the glitt'ring transports wav'd
Their pennants gay, and halcyons azure wing
With flight auspicious skim'd the placid main.
On her lone couch in tears ELVIRA lay,
And chid tl' officious wind, the tempting fea,
And wish'd a storm as merciless, as tore
Her lab'ring bofom. Fondly now she strove
To banish paffion; now the vaffal days,
The captive moments that fo fmoothly past,
By many an art recall'd; now from her lute
With trembling fingers call'd the fav'rite founds
Which HENRY deign'd to praise; and now effay'd
With mimic chains of filken fillets wove

To paint her captive state; if any fraud
Might to her love the pleafing scenes prolong,
And with the dear idea feaft the foul.

But now the chief return'd; prepar❜d to launch
On ocean's willing breast, and bid adieu
To his fair pris'ner. She, foon as she heard
His hated errand, now no more conceal'd
The raging flame; but with a fpreading blush,
And rising figh, the latent pang difclos'd.

"Yes, gen'rous youth! I fee thy bofom glow

With virtuous tranfport, that the task is thine
To folve my chains; and to my weeping friends,
And every longing relative, reftore

A foft-ey'd maid, a mild offenceless prey!
But know, my foldier, never youthful mind,
Torn from the lavifh joys of wild expence
By him he loath'd, and in a dungeon bound
To languish out his bloom, could match the pains
This ill-ftar'd freedom gives my tortur'd mind.

What call I freedom? is it that these limbs
From rigid bolts fecure, may wander far
From him I love? Alas, ere I may boast
That facred bleffing, fome fuperior pow'r
To mortal kings, to fublunary thrones,
Must loose my paffion, must unchain my foul.
Ev'n that I loath; all liberty I loath!
But most the joyless privilege to gaze
With cold indifference, where defert is love.
True, I was born an alien to those eyes
I ask alone to please; my fortune's crime !
And ah! this flatter'd form, by dress endear'd
To Spanish eyes, by drefs may thine offend.
Whilft I, ill-fated maid! ordain'd to strive
With cuftom's load, beneath its weight expire.

Yet HENRY's beauties knew in foreign garb
To vanquish me; his form, howe'er difguis'd,
To me were fatal! no fantastic robe
That e'er caprice invented, custom wore,
Or folly smil'd on, cou'd eclipse thy fway.