Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates?

XIX.

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd,
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep,
The mountain-moss by scorching skies im-
brown'd,

The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep,

The tender azure of the unruffled deep,

The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.

XX.

Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And frequent turn to linger as you go, From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, And rest ye at "our Lady's house of woe;" Where frugal monks their little relics show, And sundry legends to the stranger tell : Here impious men have punished been, and lo! Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.

XXI.

And here and there, as up the crags you spring, Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path: Yet deem not these devotion's offeringThese are memorials frail of murderous wrath: For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife,

Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life.

XXII.

On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Are domes where whilome kings did make repair;

But now the wild flowers round them only breathe;

Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there. And yonder towers the prince's palace fair: There thou too, Vathek! England's wealthiest

son,

Once form'd thy paradise, as not aware When wanton wealth her mightiest deeds hath done,

Meek peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun.

XXIII.

Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan,

Beneath yon mountain's ever-beauteous brow: But now, as if a thing unblest by man, Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou! Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow To halls deserted, portals gaping wide: Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied; Swept into wrecks anon by time's ungentle tide!

XXIV.

Behold the hall where chiefs were late con

vened!

Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye! With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend, A little fiend that scoffs incessantly, There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry, And sundry signatures adorn the roll, Whereat the urchin points and laughs with all his soul.

XXV.

Convention is the dwarfish demon styled
That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome :
Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled,
And turned a nation's shallow joy to gloom.
Here folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume,
And policy regain'd what arms had lost :
For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom!
Woe to the conquering, not the conquer'd host,
Since baffled triumph droops on Lusitania's coast.
XXVI.

And ever since that martial synod met,
Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name;
And folks in office at the mention fret,
And fain would blush, if blush they could, for
shame.

How will posterity the deed proclaim!
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,
To view these champions cheated of their fame,
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here,
Where Scorn her finger points through many a
coming year?

XXVII.

So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he
Did take his way in solitary guise:
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to
flee,

More restless than the swallow in the skies:
Though here awhile he learn'd to moralize,'
For meditation fix'd at times on him;
And conscious reason whisper'd to despise ;
His early youth, mispent in maddest whim
But as he gazed on truth, his aching eyes grew
dim.

XXVIII.

To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever quits A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul: Again he rouses from his moping fits, But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage; And o'er him many changing scenes must roll Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage.

XXIX.

Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, Where dwelt of yore the Lusian's luckless

queen;

And church and court did mingle their array, And mass and revel were alternate seen:

But these between a silver streamlet glides,
And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook,
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides.
Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook,
And vacant on the rippling waves doth look,
That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow;
For proud each peasant as the noblest duke:
Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know

Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Saw ye not whom the wreaking sabre smote: Nor saved your brethren ere they sank bencath Tyrants and tyrants' slaves?-the fires of death, The bale-fires flash on high:-from rock to rock

Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe;

Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,

low.

shock.

XXXIX.

Lo! where the giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Flashing afar, and at his iron feet Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done;

L.

And whomsoe'er along the path you meet
Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue,
Which tells you whom to shun and whom to
greet:

Woe to the man that walks in public view
Without of loyalty this token true :

Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke;
And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue,
If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloak,
Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's
smoke.

LI.

At every turn Morena's dusky height Sustains aloft the battery's iron load; And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd, The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch, The magazine in rocky durance stow'd, The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match,

LII..

Portend the deeds to come :-but he whose nod
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway,
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod;
A little moment deigneth to delay:

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?

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
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate;

way;

The West must own the scourger of the world. Ah, Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, When soars Gaul's vulture, with his wings

unfurl'd,

And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurl'd!

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 unsexed, 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, and 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,