LIV. Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, And, all unsexed, the Anlace hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Appalled, an owlet's larum chilled 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, Marked her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Her fairy form, with more than female graçe, Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. LVI. Her lover sinks-she sheds no ill-timed tear; What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope is lost? Foiled by a woman's hand, before a battered wall? LVII. Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; LVIII. The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impressed, Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much Match me, ye LIX. climes! which poets love to laud; Match me, ye harams of the land! where now I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Beauties that ev❜n a cynic must avow ; 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 dreamed of Thee! whose glorious name LXII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. LXIII. Of thee hereafter.-Ev'n amidst my strain 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 than 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 But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways! A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, LXVI. When Paphos fell by Time-accursed Time! The queen who conquers all must yield to theeThe Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime; And Venus, constant to her native sea, To nought else constant, hither deigned to flee; And fixed her shrine within these walls of white : Though not to one dome circumscribeth she Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. LXVII. From morn till night, from night till startled morn And Love and Prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. LXVIII. The sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest; What hallows it upon this Christian shore? Lo! it is sacred to a solemn feast : Hark! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar? Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn; The thronged arena shakes with shouts for more; Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to mourn. |