LXXV. Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls, Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. LXXVI. Sudden he stops; his eye is fix'd; away, He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings speak his woes. LXXVII. Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail, His gory chest unveils life's panting source, Though death-struck still his feeble frame he rears, Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he bears. LXXVIII. Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 'Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, And foes disabled in the brutal fray: And now the Matadores around him play, Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand: Once more through all he bursts his thundering way- Wraps his fierce eye-'t is past-he sinks upon the sand! LXXIX. Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, The corse is piled-sweet sight for vulgar eyes— LXXX. Such the ungentle sport that oft invites The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain. To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow, For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm stream must flow. LXXXI. But jealousy has fled; his bars, his bolts, His wither'd sentinel, duenna sage! And all whereat the generous soul revolts, Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage, Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, While on the gay dance shone night's lover-loving queen? LXXXII. Oh! many a time and oft had Harold loved, Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.16 LXXXIII. Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes: LXXXIV. Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier day. Alas! I cannot smile again; Yet Heaven avert that ever thou Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain. 2. And dost thou ask, what secret woe I bear, corroding joy and youth? And wilt thou vainly seek to know 3. It is not love, it is not hate, Nor low ambition's honours lost, And fly from all I prized the most; 4. It is that weariness which springs From all I meet, or hear, or see; 5. It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore; But cannot hope for rest before. 6. What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life-the demon thought. 7. Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, 8. Through many a clime 't is mine to go, And all my solace is to know, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. 9. What is that worst? Nay do not ask In pity from the search forbear: Smile on-nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the hell that's there. LXXXV. Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu! Who may forget how well thy walls have stood! When all were changing thou alone wert true, First to be free, and last to be subdued: And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye; Here all were noble, save nobility; None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen chivalry! LXXXVI. Such be the sons of Spain, and, strange her fate! Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, 66 War, war is still the cry, war even to the knife!" 18 So LXXXVII. Ye who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, War mouldeth there each weapon to his need— So may he make each curst oppressor bleed. may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed! LXXXVIII. Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? Let their bleach'd bones, and blood's unbleaching stain, Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw LXXXIX. Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done, Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees ; It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees More than her fell Pizzaros once enchain'd: Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd, While o'er the parent clime prowls murder unrestrain'd. |