Sed neque Medorum sylvae, ditissima terra
Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Haemus,
Laudibus Angligenum certent; non Bactra, nec Indi,
Totaque turriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis.
Yet let not Median woods (abundant track!)
Nor Ganges fair, nor Haemust, miser-like,
Proud of his hoarded gold, presume to vie
With Britain's boast and praise; nor Persian Bactrag,
Nor India's coasts, nor all Panchaia's sands,
Rich, and exulting in their lofty towers.
LET the
green olive glad Hesperian shores ;
Her tawny citron and her orange groves,
These let Iberia boast; but if in vain
To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile
The Briton labours, yet our native minds,
Our constant bosoms, these the dazzled world
May view with envy; these Iberian dames
Survey with fix'd esteem and fond desire.
Hapless Elvira! thy disastrous fate
May well this truth explain, nor ill adorn
Ganges the greatest river, which divides the Indies in two parts.
+ Hamus-an high mountain, dividing Thrace and Thessaly.
Bactra-the Bactrians, provincials of Persia.
Pancbaia-a country of Arabia Felix, fruitful in frankincense and various spices; remarkable also for its many towers and lofty buildings.
The British-lyre; then chiefly, if the Muse,
Nor vain, nor partial, from the simple guise
Of ancient record catch the pensive lay,
And in less grov'lling accents give to fame.
Elvira loveliest Maid! th' Iberian realm
Could boast no purer breast, no sprightlier mind,
No race more splendent, 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, assign'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
25
Where Freedom's cheerful radiance shines no more
Essay'd to soften; conscious of the pang
That Beauty feels, to waste its fleeting hours
In some dim fort, by foreign rule restrain'd,
Far from the haunts of men or eye of day!
Sometimes, to cheat her bosom of its cares,
Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils
Himself had worn; the frowns of angry seas,
Or hostile rage, or faithless friend, more fell
Than storm or foe; if haply she might find
Her cares diminish'd; fruitless, fond essay !*
Now to her lovely hand, with modest awe,
The tender lute he gave; she not averse,
Nor destitute of skill, with willing hand
Call'd forth angelic strains; the sacred debt
Of gratitude, she said, whose just commands
Still might her hand with equal pride obey!
Nor to the melting sounds the nymph refus'd
Her vocal art; harmonious as the strain
Of some imprison'd lark, who, daily cheer'd
By guardian cares, repays them with a song,
Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty resign'd,
The song, not artless, had she fram'd to paint
Disastrous passion; how, by tyrant laws
Of idiot custom sway`d, some soft-ey'd fair
Lov'd only one, nor dar'd that love reveal!
How the soft anguish banish'd from her cheek
The damask rose full-blown; a fever came,
And from her bosom forc'd the plaintive tale;
Then, swift as light, he sought the love-lorn maid,
But vainly sought her, torn by swifter fate
To join the tenants of the myrtle shade,
Love's mournful victims on the plains below.
Sometimes, as Fancy spoke the pleasing task,
She taught her ariful needle to display
The various pride of spring; then swift upsprung
Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rose:
There might you see, on gentie toils intent,
A train of busy Loves; some pluck the flow'r,
Some twine the garland, some with grave grimace
Around a vacant warrior cast the wreath.
'Twas paint, 't was life! and sure to piercing eyes The warrior's face depictur'd Henry's mien.
Now had the gen'rous chief with joy perus'd The royal scroll, which to their native home, Their ancient rights, uninjur'd, unredeem'd, Restor❜d the captives. Forth with rapid haste To glad his fair Elvira's ear he sprung, 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 shore," she said, "resound 80 "Thy monarch's praise; and ere Elvira prove "Of thine forgetful, flow'rs shall cease to feel "The fost'ring breeze, and Nature change her laws.” And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd The British host. Around the smiling youths, 85 Call'd to their native scenes, with willing haste Their fleet unmoor, impatient of the love That weds each bosom to its native soil. The patriot passion! strong in ev'ry clime, How justly theirs who find no foreign sweets To dissipate their loves or match their own.
Not so Elvira! she, disastrous maid !
Was doubly captive; pow'r nor chance could loose The subtle bands; she lov'd the gen'rous foe;
She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry smil'd, 95
Could term her native shore; her native shore
By him deserted, some unfriendly strand,
Strange, bleak, forlorn! a desert waste and wild.
The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd
The swelling sails, the glitt'ring transports way'd
Their pennants gay, and halcyons' azure wing,
With flight auspicious, skimm'd the placid main.
On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay,
And chid th' officious wind, the tempting sea,
And wish'd a storm as merciless as tore
Her lab'ring bosom. Fondly now she strove
To banish passion; now the vassal days,
The captive moments, that so smoothly past,
By many an art recall'd; now from her lute
With trembling fingers call'd the fav'rite sounds
Which Henry deign'd to praise; and now essay'd
With mimic chains of silken fillets wove,
To paint her captive state; if any fraud
Might to her love the pleasing scenes prolong,
And with the dear idea feast the soul.
But now the chief return'd, prepar'd to launch On Ocean's willing breast, and bid adieu To his fair pris'ner. She, soon as she heard His hated errand, now no more conceal'd
The raging flame, but with a spreading blush 120 And rising sigh the latent pang disclos'd.
"Yes, gen'rous youth! I see thy bosom glow
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