'T was there that now, as wont in heaven to shine, * * O, could I now -- but how in mortal verse What time the song of death is in the breeze! 'T was now in dismal pomp and order due, While the vast concave flashed with lightnings blue, On shining pavements of metallic ore, That many an age the fusing sulphur bore, They held high council. All was silence round, And from his wings of gold shook drops of liquid light! Chief of the ZEMI, whom the Isles obeyed, I. "Prepare, again prepare," Thus o'er the soul the thrilling accents came, He, on whose call afflicting thunders wait, In vain the legions, emulous to save, Hung in the tempest o'er the troubled main ;" Turned each presumptuous prow that broke the wave, And dashed it on its shores again. All is fulfilled! Behold, in close array, What mighty banners stream in the bright track of day! "No voice as erst shall in the desert rise; 8 Nor ancient, dread solemnities With scorn of death the trembling tribes inspire. Wreaths for the Conqueror's brow the victims bind! Yet, though we fled yon firmament of fire, Still shall we fly, all hope of rule resigned?" * * * * 9 He spoke; and all was silence, all was night!9 Each had already winged his formidable flight. CANTO IV. The Voyage continued. Aн, why look back, though all is left behind? * Still, as beyond this mortal life impelled By some mysterious energy, he held His everlasting course. Still self-possessed, High on the deck he stood, disdaining rest (His amber-chain the only badge he bore, His mantle blue such as his fathers wore); Fathomed, with searching hand, the dark profound, And scattered hope and glad assurance round; Though, like some strange portentous dream, the Past Still hovered, and the cloudless sky o'ercast. At day-break might the Caravels1 be seen, Chasing their shadows o'er the deep serene; Their burnished prows lashed by the sparkling tide, Their green-cross standards waving far and wide. And now once more to better thoughts inclined, The seaman, mounting, clamored in the wind, The soldier told his tales of love and war;2 The courtier sung-sung to his gay guitar. Round, at Primero, sate a whiskered band; Two with one soul—and, as they lived, they died), YET who but he undaunted could explore1 No sign of man! no vestige of his power! One at the stern before the hour-glass stood, As 't were to count the sands; one o'er the flood "Once more good-morrow!" and sate down and sighed. Oft in the silent night-watch doubt and fear Muttered dark threats, and lingered to obey; Though that brave youth― he, whom his courser bore Right through the midst, when, fetlock-deep in gore, The great GONSALVO battled with the Moor 5 (What time the ALHAMBRA shook-soon to unfold Its sacred courts, and fountains yet untold, Its holy texts and arabesques of gold),— Though ROLDAN, sleep and death to him alike, Grasped his good sword and half unsheathed to strike. "O, born to wander with your flocks," he cried, "And bask and dream along the mountain-side; |