XII. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam: And then, it may be, of his wish to roam Repented he, but in his bosom slept The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. XIII. But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." 1. "ADIEU, adieu! my native shore The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild seamew. Yon Sun that sets upon the sea 2. "A few short hours and He will rise Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My dog howls at the gate. 3. "Come hither, hither, my little page! But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along." 4. 'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, But thee-and one above. 5. 'My father bless'd me fervently, 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? 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, Enough, enough, my yeoman good, VOL. I. с 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, 9. "And now I'm in the world alone, But long ere I come back again, 10. "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves! XIV. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, 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 fragrance 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 vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. XVI. What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! 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. |