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A

LISBON,

FROM FORT ALMADA.

Drawn by C. Stanfield, A.R.A. from a Sketch by W. Page.

"What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold!
Her image floating on that noble tide,
Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold,
But now whereon a thousand keels did ride
Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,
And to the Lusians did her aid afford:
A nation swoln with ignorance and pride,

Who lick, yet loathe, the hand that waves the sword, To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord.

"But whoso entereth within this town,

That sheening for celestial seems to be,
Disconsolate will wander up and down
'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;
For hut and palace shew like filthily,
The dingy denizens are reared in dirt;

No personage of high or mean degree

Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,

Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwashed

unhurt."

Childe Harold, canto i. st. 16, 17.