May view with envy; thefe, Iberian damnes Survey with fixt esteem and fond defire.
Haplefs ELVIRA! thy difaftrous fate May well this truth explain; nor ill adorn The British lyre; then chiefly, if the mufe, Nor vain nor partial, from the fimple guise Of ancient record catch the penfive lay ; And in lefs groveling accents give to fame. ELVIRA
lovelieft maid! th' Iberian realm Could boaft no purer breaft, no fprightlier mind, No race more fplendent, and no form so 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 noblest pride!. She, she 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 waste its fleeting hours In fome dim fort, by foreign rule restrain'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 faithless friend, more fell Than ftorm or foe: if haply fhe might find
Her cares diminish'd; fruitless fond effay ! Now to her lovely hand, with modest awe The tender lute he gave: fhe not averse Nor deftitute of fkill, 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 fweet liberty refign'd.
The fong, not artlefs, 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 anguifh banifh'd from her cheek The damafk 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 shade, Love's mournful victims on the plains below. Sometimes, as fancy fpoke the pleasing task, She taught her artful needle to display
The various pride of fpring: then swift upfprung Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rose : 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 bliss he panted to convey; But fir'd in vain! Ah! what was his amaze, His fond distress, when o'er her pallid face Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flow'r ! Speechless she stood; at length with accents faint, "Well may my native flore, fhe faid, refound
Thy monarch's praise; 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 host. Around the smiling 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! strong in ev'ry clime, How juftly theirs, who find no foreign fweets To diffipate their loves, or match their own. Not fo ELVIRA! fhe, disastrous maid,
Was doubly captive! pow'r nor chance cou'd loose
The subtle 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 strand, Strange, bleak, forlorn! a defert wafte and wild. The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd The fwelling fails, the glitt'ring transports wav'd Their pennants gay, and halcyons azure wing With flight aufpicious skim'd the placid main. On her lone couch in tears ELVIRA lay, And chid th' officious wind, the tempting fea, And wifh'd a ftorm as merciless, as tore Her lab'ring bofom. Fondly now she ftrove 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 praife; 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 fhe heard His hated errand, now no more conceal'd The raging flame; but with a fpreading blush, And rifing figh, the latent pang difclos'd. "Yes, gen'rous youth! I fee thy bofom glow With
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 lavish 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-star'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 passion, must unchain my soul. 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 drefs endear'd To Spanish eyes, by drefs may thine offend. Whilft I, ill-fated maid! ordain'd to strive With custom's load, beneath its weight expire.
Yet HENRY's beauties knew in foreign garb To vanquish me; his form, howe'er disguis'd, To me were fatal! no fantastic robe That e'er caprice invented, custom wore, Or folly finil'd on, cou'd eclipfe thy fway.
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