LXII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, And glides with glassy foots o'er yon melodious wave, LXIII. Of thee hereafter.- ev'n amidst my strain I turned aside to pay my homage here; LXIV. But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was yonng, See round thy giant base a brighter choir, Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, Behold a train more fitting to inspire The song of love, than Andalusia's maids, Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her glades LXV. Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days; 14 But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Ah, Vice how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! A cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. LXVI. When Paphos fell by Time-accursed Time! The who queen conquers all must yield to thee The pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime; To nought else constant, hither deigned to flee Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. LXVII. From morn till night, from night till startled morn Peeps blushing on the Revels laughing crew, And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. LXVIII. The Sabbath comes, a day af blessed rest; Hark! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar? LXIX. The seventh day this; the jubilee of man, London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer: Then thy spruce citizen, washed artizan, And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl, To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair; Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Provoking envious gibe, from each pedestrian churl, LXX. Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair, Others along the safer turnpike fly; Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, And many to the steep of Highgate hie. Ask ye, Boeotian shades! the reason why? 'Tis to the worship of the solemn horn, Grasped in the holy hand of mystery, 15 In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn, LXXI. 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 teazed 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, high, low, at once the same deversion share. Î LXXII. The lists are op❜d, the spacious area cleared, Here Dons, Grandees, but chiefly Dames abound, Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; None through their cold disdain are doomed to die, As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery. LXXIII. Hushed is the din of tongues-on gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance, Four cavaliers prepare for venturons 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, And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay, LXXIV. In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed, But all afoot, the light-limbed Matadore Stands in the centre, eager to invade The lord of lowing herds; but not before |