5. 'My father bless'd me fervently, If I thy guileless bosom had Mine own would not be dry. 6. "Come hither, hither my staunch yeoman, Why dost thou look so pale? Or dost thou dread a French foeman? 'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak ; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek. 7. 'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, What answer shall she make ?' Enough, enough, my yeoman good, Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood, Will laugh to flee away.› 8. "For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past. I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; 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, 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, 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! Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. XVI. What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! Her image floating on that noble tide, A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick yet loath the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. XVII. But whoso entereth within this town, That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, Ne personage of high or mean degree Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd; unhurt. |