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“ And now I'm in the world alone,
For hut and palace show like filthily:
The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt;
Ne personage of high or mean degree
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,
Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, un Till fed by stranger hands;
wash'd; unhurt. But long cre I come back again
Poor, paltry slaves! yet born ʼmidst noblest scenes "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? Athwart the foaming brine;
Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes
In variegated maze of mount and glen.
Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves !
To follow half on which the eye dilates
Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves !
Than those whereof such things the bard relates, My native land-Good Night !"
Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's
The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, New shores descried make every bosom gay;
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way,
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep,
The tender azure of the unruffled deep, His fabled golden tribute bent to pay;
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, (reap.
The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics
The vine on high, the willow branch below,
Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. XV. Oh, Christ I it is a goodly sight to see
XX. What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! Then slowly climb the many-winding way, What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree ! And frequent turn to linger as you go, What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand ! From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, But man would mar them with an impious hand : And rest ye at “Our Lady's house of wo;" 1 And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge Where frugal monks their little relics show, 'Gainst those who most transgress his high com- And sundry legends to the stranger tell : mand,
Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo! With treble vengeance will his hot shaft urge Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell. purge.
And here and there, as up the crags you spring, What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold !
Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path : Her image floating on that noble tide,
Yet deem not these devotion's offeringWhich poets vainly pave with sands of gold,
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath : But now whereon a thousand keels did ride
For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath
1 The convent of “Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Senora de A nation swoln with ignorance and pride,
Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is the Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view.
Note to First Edition.-Since the publication of this poem, I have lord.
been informed of the misapprehension of the term Nossa Senora XVII.
de Pena. It was owing to the want of the tilde or mark over tho
n, which alters the signification of the word : with it, Pena signi. But whoso entereth within this town,
fles a rock; without it, Pena has the sense I adopted. I do not That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
think it necessary to alter the passage; as, though the common
acceptation affixed to it is, “Our Lady of the Rock," I may well Disconsolate will wander up and down,
assume the other sense from the severities practised bere.-- Mira 'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;
tc Second Edition.
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, And Policy regain'd what arms had lost:
And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Wo to the conqu’ring, not the conquer'd host, Throughout this purple land, where law secure3 no Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast ! life.1
And ever since that martial synod met,
Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name; Are domes where whilome kings did make repair ; And folks in office at the mention fret, But now the wild-flowers round them only breathe; And fain would blush, if blush they could, for Yet ruin'd splendor still is lingering there,
How will posterity the deed proclaim ! [shame, And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair :
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer There thou too, Vathek ! England's wealthiest son, To view these champions cheated of their fame, Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware [done, By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here,
When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath Where Scorn her finger points through many a com: Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun.
So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure
Did take his way in solitary guise : plan,
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow;
More restless than the swallow in the skies : But now, as if a thing unblest by Man,
Though here awhile he learned to moralize, Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou !
For Meditation fix'd at times on him; Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise To halls deserted, portals gaping wide;
His early youth misspent in maddest whim; Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how
But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes drew dim Vain are the pleasaunces on carth supplied; Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide!
To horse! to horse! he quits, forever quits
A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul : Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened la
Again he rouses from his moping fits, Oh, dome displeasing unto British eye !
But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend,
Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal A little fiend that scoffs incessantly,
Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage; There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by
And o'er him many changing scenes must roll His side is hung a seal and sable scroll,
Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry,
Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage And sundry signatures adorn the roll, [soul. Whereat the Urchin points, and laughs with all his
Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay,
Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen; Convention is the dwarfish demon styled
And church and court did mingle their array, That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome :
And mass and revel were alternate seen ; Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled,
Lordlings and freres—ill-sorted fry I ween! And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom.
But here the Babylonian whore hath builts Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume,
A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, 1 It is a well-known fact, that in the year 1809, the assassinations
That men forget the blood which she has spilt, in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined by the And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnisb Portuguese to their countrymen ; but that Englishmen were daily
guilt. butchered : and so far from redress being obtained, we were re
XXX. quested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defending himself against his allies. I was once stopped in the way to the O’er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not
(Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race !) more empty than they generally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend: had we not fortunately
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place, " adorned a tale" instead of telling one. The crime of aseassination is not confined to Portugal : in Sicily and Malta we are 3 The extent of Mafra is prodigions; it contains a palace, con knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a vent, and most superb church. The six oryans are the most beau Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished !
tisul I ever beheld, in point of decoration : we did not hear them. 2 The Convention of Cintra wu signed in the palace of the Mar. but were told that their tones were correspondeut to heir splea these Marialva.
dor. Mafra is termed the Escurial of Portugal,
Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,
XXXV. And marvel men should quit their easy chair, Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd, romantic land ! The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air,
When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share. That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore?'
Where are those bloody banners which of yore XXXI.
Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, More bleak to view the hiils at length recede,
And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ? And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend;
Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed !
While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' Far as the eye discerns, withouten end,
wail. Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader
Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend Ah! such, alas ! the hero's amplest fate !
For Spain is compass’d by unyielding foes, (woes. When granite moulders and when records fail, And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date.
Pride! bend thine eye from heaven to thine esXXXII.
See how the mighty shrink into a song! [tate, Where Lusitania and her Sister meet,
Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great ? Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide ?
Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide ?
thee wrong? Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride? Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ?
XXXVII. Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide,
Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake! advance ! Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ; Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Gaul:
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies.
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, XXXIII.
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar! But these between a silver streamlet glides,
In every peal she calls—“Awake! arise !" And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook,
Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides.
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ! Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, And vacant on the rippling waves doth look,
XXXVIII. That peaceful still ’twixt bitterest foemen flow;
Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ! For proud each peasant as the noblest duke :
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low.'
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ?-the fires of death, XXXIV.
The bale-fires flash on high :—from rock to rock But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass’d,
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe Dark Guadiana rolls his power along
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, [shock, In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, So doted ancient roundelays among.
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the Whilome upon his banks did legions throng
XXXIX. Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splexdor dress'd:
Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the
His blood-red tresses deep'ning-in the sun, strong;
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, The Paynim turban and the Christian crest
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts op
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon press'd.
Flashing afar,—and at his iron feet 1 As I found the Portuguose, so I have characterized them. That Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done they are since improved, at least in courage, is evident. The late cxploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He 2 Count Julian's danghter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius pre. bas, indeed, done wonders : he has, perhaps, changed the charac- served his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the ter of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, and bafiled an enemy descendants of bis followers, after some centuries, completed who never retreated before his predecessors.—1812.
their struggle by the conquest of Granada.
For on this morn three potent nations meet,
XLV. To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way sweet,
Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued :
Yet is she free—the spoiler's wishı’d-for prey XL
Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see
Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. (For one who hath no friend, no brother there)
Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery,
Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood Their various arms that glitter in the air !
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the All join the chase, but few the triumph share;
XLVI. The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, But all unconscious of the coming doom, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. The feast, the song, the revel here abounds;
Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, XLI.
Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;
Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high;
Here Folly still his votaries inthralls ; [rounds : Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies;
And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, The foe, the victim, and the fond ally
Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls. That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, Are met-as if at home they could not die
XLVII. To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,
Not so the rustic—with his trembling mate And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar,
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate,
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war.
Fandango twirls his jocund castanet : Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,
Ah, monarchs ! could ye taste the mirth ye mar, The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret:
[yet! By myriads, when they dare to pave their way The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy With human hearts—to what? -a dream alone. Can despots compass aught that hails their sway?
XLVIII. Or call with truth one span of earth their own, How carols now the lusty muleteer ? öave that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone ? Of love, romance, devotion is his lay,
As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, XLIII.
His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? Oh, Albuera, glorious field of grief!
No! as he speeds, he chants “ Vivā el Rey !". As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed, And checks his song to execrate Godoy, Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, [bleed! The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day A scene where mingling foes should boast and
When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, Peace to the perish'd I may the warrior's meed
And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate And tears of triumph their reward prolong!
joy. Till others fall where other chieftains lead,
XLIX. Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,
On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient
With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, song.
Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded XLIV.
ground; Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play
And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd vest Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame:
1 “ Vivā el Rey Fernando !" Long live King Ferdinand I is the Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay,
chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. They are chiefly Though thousands fall to deck some single name. in dispraise of the old king Charles, the Queen and the Prince of
Peace. I have heard many of them : some of the airs are beauti. In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim
Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an ancient Whostrike, blest hirelings! for their country's good, but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of PorAnd die, that living might have proved her shame; tugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish guards ; tiu Perish’d, perchance, in some domestic feud,
his person attracted the qucen's eyes, and raised him to the duke
dom of Alcudia, &c. &c. It is to this mau taat the Spaniards und Di is a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. versally imp ute the rain of their country.
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest :
And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war | Here the bold peasant storin'd the dragon's nest; And she, whom once the semblance of a scar
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, [lost. Appall’d, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar,
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead L.
Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake And whomsoe'er along the path you meet
to tread. Pears in his cap the badge of crimson hue,
Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale. Without of loyalty this token true :
Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke;
Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue,
Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloak, (smoke.
Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's
Her fairy form, with more than female grace,
Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower LI.
Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, At every turn Morena's dusky height
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;
chase. And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
LVI. The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,
Her lover sinks—she sheds no ill-timed tear; The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd,
Her chief is slain—she fills his fatal post; The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch,
Her fellows flee—she checks their base career; The magazine in rocky durance stow'd, The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch,
The foe retires—she heads the sallying host:
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost ?
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ?
What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost? Portend the deeds to come :—but he whose nod
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway,
Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall ? A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod;
LVII. A little moment deigneth to delay :
Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, Soon will his legions sweep through these their way;
But form'd for all the witching arts of love: The West must own the Scourger of the world.
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, Ah ! Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day,
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings unfurld,
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate : hurld.
In softness as in firmness far above
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate;
great. No step between submission and a grave ?
LVIII. The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ?
The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd And doth the Power that man adores ordain
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch ; Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ?
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, Is all that desperate Valor acts in vain ?
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal,
Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, and Manhood's heart
Hath Phæbus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, of steel ?
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch! LIV.
Who round the North for paler dames would seek ? Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused,
How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar,
i The red cockade, with “ Fernando VII." in the centre.
2 All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal form hi which shot and shells are piled. The Sierra Morena was forti. led in every defile through which I passed in my way to Seville.
3 Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza, who by her valor elevated herself to the highest rank of heroines. When the author was at Seville, she walked daily on the Prado, decorated with medals and orders, by command of the Janta.