3.

"Come hither, hither, my little page!
Why dost thou weep and wail?

Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;

Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly

More merrily along.”

"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,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again."—
"Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
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?

Or shiver at the gale?"

"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.

C

9.

"And now I'm in the world alone,

Upon the wide, wide sea:

But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;

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 winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay.
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,
New shores descried make every bosom gay;

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 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.