L. And whomsoe'er along the path you meet Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet:* If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke, LI. At every turn Morena's dusky height The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, LII. Portend the deeds to come: but he whose nod A little moment deigneth to delay: Soon will his legions sweep through these their way; • The red cockade, with "Fernando VII.," in the centre. ** All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal form in which shot and shells are piled. The Sierra Morena was fortified in every defile through which I passed in my way to Seville. LIII. And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave, And doth the Power that man adores ordain Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain? And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal, The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, and Manhood's heart of steel? LIV. Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread, Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread. LV. Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. LVI. Her lover sinks · she sheds no ill-timed tear; Who can appease like her a lover's ghost? What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost? LVII. Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great. LVIII. The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, Bid man be valiant ere he merit such: Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch! Who round the North for paler dames would seek? How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak! LIX. Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud; I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow; * Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza, who by her valour 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 Junta. "Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem." AUL. GEL. *** This stanza was written in Turkey. Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, With Spain's dark-glancing daughters - deign to know, There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind. LX. Oh, thou Parnassus!* whom I now survey, But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing, LXI. Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame LXII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. * These stanzas were written in Castri (Delphos), at the foot of Par nassus, now called Acαxuga (Liakura), Dec. 1809. Of thee hereafter. LXIII. Ev'n amidst my strain I turn'd aside to pay my homage here; Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain; And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. --- Let me some remnant, some memorial bear; Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt. LXIV. But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was young, See round thy giant base a brighter choir, Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung The Pythian hymn with more tnan mortal fire, The song of love than Andalusia's maids, Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire: Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades LXV. Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days;* Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. LXVI. When Paphos fell by time accursed Time! • Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans. |