LΧΧ. .
Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair,
Others along the safer Turnpike fly;
Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware
And many to the steep of Highgate bie.
Ask ye, Bæotian shades! the reason why;(15)
Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn,
Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery,

In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn.

All have their fooleries-not alike are thine,
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea !
Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine,
Thy saint adorers count the rosary:
Much is the VIRGIN teaz'd to shrive them free
(Well do I ween the only virgin there)
From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be;

Then to the crowded circus forth they fare,
Young, old, bigh, low, at once the same diversion share.

The lists are op'd the spacious area clear'd,
Thousands on thousands pil'd are seated round;
Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard,
No vacant space for lated wight is found;
Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound,
Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye,
Yet ever well inclin'd to heal the wound;

None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die,
As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery.

LXXIII. Hush'd is the din of tongueson gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light pois'd lance, Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, And lowly bending to the lists advance ; Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance : If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, The crowds' loud shout and ladies' lovely glance,

Best prize of better acts, they bear away, And all that Kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay.

In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd,
But all afoot, the light limb'd Matadore
Stands in the centre, eager to invade
The lord of lowing herbs; but not before
The ground, with cautious tread, is travers'd o'er ;
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more

Can man achieve without the friendly steed,
Alas! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed.

Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls,
The den expands, and Expectation mute
Gapes round the silent Circle's people'd walls.
Buunds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot,
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe;
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit

His first attack, wide waving to and fro
His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.

Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd; away,
Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear ;
Now is thy time, to perish, or display
The skill that yet may check his mad career.
With well-tim'd croupe the nimble coursers veer;
On foams the bull, but not unscath'd he goes ?
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear;

He fies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; [woes. Dart follows dart; lance, lance, loud bellowings speak his

Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail,
Nor the wild plunging of the tortur'd horse;
Though man and man's avenging arms assail,
Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force.
One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse ;
Another, hideous sight! unseam'd appears,
His gory chest unveils life's panting source,

Tho' 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, Full in the centre stands the bull at bay,. 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

Vain rage! the mantle quits the copynge hand,
Wraps his fierce eye-'tis past-be sinks upon the sand !

Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine,
Sheath'd in his form the deadly weapon lies.
He stops he starts--disdaining to decline;
Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries,
Without a groan, without a struggle dies.
The decorated car appears-on high
The corse is pil'd_sweet sight for vulgar eyes

Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy,
Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by,

LXXX. Such the ungentle sport that oft invites The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain Nurtur'd in blood betimes, his heart delights In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. What private feuds the troubled village stain ! Though pow one phalanx'd host should meet the foe Enough, alas! in humble homes remain,

To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow (must flow. For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm stream

But Jealousy has fied; his bars, his bolts,
His wither'd centinel, Duenna sage!
And all whereat the generous soul revolts,
Which the stern dotard deem'd he could engage,
Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age.
Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen,
(Ere War uprose in bis volcanic rage),

With braided tresses bounding o'er the green,
While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving Queen.

many a time, and on, had Harold lov'd,
Or dream'd he lov'd, since Rapture is a dream;
But now bis wayward bosom was unmov'd,
For not yet bad he drunk of Lethe's stream;
And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem
Love has no gift so grateful as his wiugs;
How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem,

Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom dings.(16)

LXXXIII. Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, Though now it mov'd him as it moves the wise; Not that Philosophy on such a mind E’er deiga'd to bend her chastely awful eyes; But Passion raves herself to rest, or flies; And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb, Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise; Pleasure's pallid victim! life abhorring gloom Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's upresting doom.

LXXXIV, Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng ; But view'd them not with misanthropic hate; Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the song ; But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate? Nought that he saw his sadness could abate; Yet once he struggled 'gainst the demon's sway, And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate,

Pour'd forth this umpremeditated lay, To charms as fair as those that sooth'd his happier day,

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1. NAY, smile not at my sullen brow,

Alas! I cannot smile again; Yet heaven avert that ever thou Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.

And dost thou ask, what secret woe

I bear, corroding joy and, youth?
And wilt thou vainly seek to know
A pang, ev’n thou must fail to sooth?

It is not love, it is not hate,

Nor low Ambition's honours lost, That bid me loathe my present state, And fly from all I priz'd the most ;

4. It is that weariness which springs

From all I meet, or hear, or see, To me po pleasure Beauty brings; Tbine eyes have scarce a charm for me.

5. It is that settled, ceaseless gloom

The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore; That will not look beyond the tomb, But cannot hope for rest before.

6. What Exile from himself can flee?

To Zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where-e'er I be,

The blight of life--the demon, Thought:

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