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To other eyes shall Mexico unfold
What tho' thy gray hairs to the dust descend, Their scent shall track thee, track thee to the end ;* Thy sons reproached with their great father's fame, And on his world inscribed another's name! That world a prison-house, full of sights of woe, Where groans burst forth, and tears in torrents flow! These gardens of the sun, sacred to song, By dogs of carnage howling loud and long, Swept—till the voyager, in the desert air, Starts back to hear his altered accents there!
Not thine the olive, but the sword to bring, Not peace, but war! Yet from these shores shall spring
* See the Eumenides of Æschylus, v. 245.
Peace without end ;* from these, with blood defiled,
Hence, and rejoice. The glorious work is done.
* See Washington's farewell address to his fellow-citizens. + See Paradise Lost. X.
On the two last leaves, and written in another hand, are some stanzas in the romance or ballad measure of the Spaniards. The subject is an adventure soon related.
Tuy lonely watch-tower, Larenille,
_" Those lights are on St. Mary's Isle ;
* The Convent of La Rábida.
They ascended by steps hewn out in the rock; and, having asked for admittance, were lodged there.
Brothers in arms the Guests appeared ;
The Eldest had a rougher aspect, and there was craft in his eye. He stood a little behind in a long black mantle, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword ; and his white hat and white shoes glittered in the moonshine.
“ Not here unwelcome, tho' unknown.
Enter and rest!" the Friar said.
* See Bernal Diaz, c. 203; and also a well known portrait of Cortes, ascribed to Titian. Cortes was now in the 43d, Pizarro in the 50th year
of his age.
† Agustin Zaratė, lib. iv. c. 9.