2. « A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; 3. << "Come hither, hither, my little page! Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' Or tremble at the gale? rage, But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along.' 4. 'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, But thee-and one above.' «"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, Why dost thou look so pale? Or dost thou dread a French foeman? 'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife 7. '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, Thy grief let none gainsay; 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 long ere I come back again, 10. << With thee, my bark, I 'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine; Nor care what land thou bear'st ine to, So not again to mine. Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves! My native land-Good night!» 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 beauties 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. XVII. But whoso entereth within this town, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd, unhur XVIII. Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes— Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes In variegated maze of mount and glen. XIX. The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. |