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LIII.

And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave,
To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome reign?
No step between submission and a grave?
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain?
And doth the Power that man adores ordain
Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal?
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,
Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power,
Her fairy form, with more than female grace,
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;
Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post;
Her fellows flee-she checks their base career;
The foe retires-she heads the sallying host:
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall?

What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall ?4

LVII.

Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,
But form'd for all the witching arts of love:
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons,
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move,
"Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove,
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate:
In softness as in firmness far above

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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
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch: 45
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest,
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such :

Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much
Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek,
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!

D

LIX.

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Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud;
Match me, ye harems of the land! where now
I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud
Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow ;*7

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, 48

There your wise Prophet's paradise we find,
His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind.

LX.

Oh, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey,"
Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye,
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay,

But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky,
In the wild pomp of mountain-majesty!
What marvel if I thus essay to sing?

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
That I in feeblest accents must adore.
When I recount thy worshippers of yore

I tremble, and can only bend the knee;
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy

In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee! 50

Happier in this than mightiest baris Lave been Whose fate to distant bones sefned their Shall I unmoved behold the hallows mene Which others rave of though they how a uti Though here no more Apo bannte die grot And thou, the Moses' seat art or their caTE Some gentle spirit still pervades the spon Sighs in the gale, keeps lease in the are And glides with glassy foot o'er you maston WITE

Of thee hereafter.-Erin as my kn
I turn'd aside to pay my homage bare
Forgot the land, the sons, the maida of Spain a
Her fate, to every freeborn bowm fear:
And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tesz.

Now to my theme-but from thy boly hams
Let me some remnant, some memory bas

Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deantiems praat & Nor let thy votary's hope be deem ́i az ile rama

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But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount: when Gre

young,

See round thy giant base a brighter shor

Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestes sing
The Pythian hymn with more than mortai tre,
Behold a train more fitting to inspire

The song of love, than Andalwia's malta,
Nurst in the glowing lap of wift desire :

Ah! that to these were given such peaceful tha

As Greece can still bestow, thonga Glory by se qui,

XLL

A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!
Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed
And tears of triumph their reward prolong!
Till others fall where other chieftains lead

Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,

And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song,39

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