Will blanch a faithful cheek. 7. life? My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, ་ What answer shall she make? Enough, enough, my yeoman good, But I, who am of lighter mood, Will laugh to flee away. 8. For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. 9. And now I'm in the world alone, But why should I for others groan, 10. « With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves! Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves! XIV. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, His fabled golden tribute bent to pay ; And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap. XV. Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! But man would mar them with an impious hand; And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. XVI. What beanties 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. XVI. But whoso entereth within this town, Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwashed; unhurt. XVIII. Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes- In variegated maze of mount and glen. XIX. The horrid crags, by toppling convent crowned, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrowned, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, The tender azure of the unruffled deep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mixed in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. XX. Then slowly climb the many-winding way, XXI. And here and there, as up the crags you spring, These are memorials frail of murderous wrath : For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath Poured forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. XXII. On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. XXIII. Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, |