For pleasures past I do not grieve, My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. 9. « And now I'm in the world alone, But why should I for others groan, But long ere I come back again, He'd tear me where he stands 10. «< With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine; Nor care what land thou bear'st me 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, And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep, 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 fragance 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 will his hot shafts urge vengeance 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, Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, 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 who so entereth within this town, Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Though sent with Egypt's plague, unkept,, unwashed; unhurt. XVIII. Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men? In variegated maze of mount and glen. Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world, unlocked Elysium's gates? XIX. The horrid crags, by toppling convent crowned, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The vine on high, the willow branch below, XX. Then slowly climb the many-inding way, XXI. And here and there, as up the crags you spring, These are memorials frail of murderous wrath: 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 ruined splendour still is lingering there. And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair: There thou too, Vathek England's wealthiest son, Once formed 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, Swept into wrecks anon, by Time's ungentle tide! XXIV. Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened! 4 Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye! With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend, A little fiend that scoffs incessantly, |