"The lords rebel against the usurping chief,
"And wish my son to join their gallant force, "With morning's sun, haste to dear Spain's relief, "Clad in thy armour bright, on yonder prancing horse.
"Go then, my son, as duke of old Castile,
"These papers all the rest will tell.
"Oh! what a fluttering at my heart I feel,
"Catch me, Orlando, in thy arms-farewell.
"Steel firm thy heart, oh! man, 'gainst ill,
"In this dark world is sorrow mixt with joy,
"Submit submissive to the eternal will.
"Orlando's all was gone, he was an orphan boy.
Aye the soft tear, fell glittering from his eye,
To think him dead, who watch'd his infant hours,
Lov'd his wild prattle, when on tending knee,
Or deckt his little breast with blooming flowers,
Who taught him first, fair Nature's works to love,
Or more sublime, her savage scenery wild;
Or listen'd to his harp in orange grove,
And on his first attempts, with approbation smil'd.
Now on his prancing horse, he darts afar,
All his fair limbs in beaming mail array'd,
Floated his lofty plumes in ambient air,
Round his bright helm, a blazing radiance play'd,*
Yet still he linger'd on the mountain height,
And cast a wishful, tender look behind,
The village cots, his ancient home in sight,
The lov'd companions there rush on his melting mind.
He turn'd and look'd upon the mountains then,
Oft had he wander'd o'er yon misty hills,
Or silent roving through the lonely glen,
Heard the far dashing, of the lucid rills:
Oft had he climb'd to yonder haggart scenes,
Lov'd the wild rocks for each fantastic form,
But more delightful, to these youthful dreams
When o'er the darken'd heights, lower'd the thunder storm.
Long did he travel o'er the hills forlorn,
Where nought was heard upon the breezy gale,
Save the loud echoes, from the bugle horn
Of the wild hunter, rushing through the dale,
Chasing the ibex up the steepy hill,
Or howling on the wind his bandogs grim.
Trailing her shadows far, came evening still,*
Purpled the snowy heights, crimson'd far ocean's stream.
Now gloomy night began to spread around;
Yet still Orlando climb'd the giddy steep,
Startled by rocks, that tumbling far profound,
Sent sullen echoes from the dashing deep.
And nought appear'd, save in the distant glen,
Flash'd its red glare around, the gipsy fire,
On savage rocks, or still more savage men,
And aye the quivering light made darkness still more dire.
The mountains now were pass'd, the effulgent morn
Glow'd on the Spanish heights, fresh blew the gale,
Yet still he wander'd, through a wild forlorn,
Where briars grew, or bushes fill'd the dale:
* And now came evening still. Milton
Sudden a bloomy lawn appear'd in view,
And blazed the rising sun through yonder trees,
'Twas fragrant perfume, where the flow'rets grew,
And sung the feath'ry choir, melodious on the breeze.
A darkling stream soft murmur'd through the grove,
Then gleaming distant in the enamel'd vale.
Who could see yonder maid, and yet not love,
Or the sweet poison with his breath inhale.
That ruby lip, and aye that downy cheek,
Those melting eyes, cast on the sparkling ground,
Her aubern hair, darken'd a charming neck,
So sweet a form as hers, no zone before had bound.
With back half bent, and hand upon his breast,
And modest look, (his beaver thrown aside,)
This beaming maid, in accents soft addrest;
She blush'd as sweet, as Provence rose beside.
"Tell me, fair lady, where count Delsa dwells,
"Lives he afar, from these cool blooming bowers?”
"I am his child; these are my native hills,
"Follow me stranger, then, to yonder lofty towers."
How odorous was the gale across the mead,
From rosemary, or lavender, or thyme,
Or where the gorse its golden blossoms spread,
Orlando felt the influence of the clime;
Cast many a side long glance upon the maid,
Enraptured as they walk'd in converse sweet,
How fleeting was to him the time they stray'd,
For they at length had reach'd the wide spread castle gate.
The noble chieftain's presence soon they won,
The knight his father's ring and papers gave;
He look'd: was startled: " Art thou Castile's son,
"Where is he? Why those tears? he is in his grave-
"Ah! has the friend, of infant hours fled-
"Cast off this wo, we seek the field of war,
"This eve; and midst the dying and the dead,
"We crown our youthful king; or death we nobly dare.
"When in infantine days, then blythe and light,
"Our children we betroth'd, our race to join,
"Seest thou my daughter there? my heart's delight,
"Gain her consent alone, and she is thine."
Now heaven and rapture, in his face was blent,
He caught her hand, and on his knee addrest;
She blush'd like crimson eve, yet smil'd consent,
Their hands together join'd, kneeling they both are blest.
How soon the time arrived when they must go.
Mounted aloft, upon their champing steeds,
Elvira waved her hand of lily snow;
They clatter'd along o'er the sounding meads:
Fair
groves of verdent cork trees rose in view,
And spread the oaks, their leaves forever green,*
And sweet the vales, where the silk cistus grew,
Where amaryllis bright, or jonquils gay were seen.
And now afar, across the level plain,
Gay in the air, the streamers were afloat,
Soon was in ken the camp of warlike Spain,
And sounded shrill the martial music's note:
Frequent was heard the crash of beamy spears;
The ancient soldier lean'd upon his arms,
Or scatter'd in the groups; nor death he fears,
Nor combats fiercest shock, nor all wild war's alarms.
Evergreen oaks (quercus bellote. Lin.) are very common in Spain. So likewise are the plants mentioned is this and the succeding stanzas.
Here as I write, near Trenton's glassy stream,*
And think on all the horrors of a war,
Methinks I see the distant watchfire gleam,
Or hear the death shriek darting from afar:
Or as I walk along thy orchard hill,
Now gloomy night has all things overcast,
Departed ghosts obedient to my will,
Scream on the darkling flood, or ride the enfuriate blast.
Here died, perhaps, full many a noble youth,t
Whom Genius warmed with her extatic flame,
Whom Science might have taught her noblest truth,
Fell'd by the stroke of death without a name.
And here, perhaps, some one who might have grasp'd
The sword of empire, or led armies on,
Fell his ambition in the scathing blast,
And the long waving grass his monument alone.
Will you sweet maids who deck Trentonia's bowers,
Attentive listen to your poet's lay,
Oft has he past with you the pleasant hours,
Well pleas'd to hear your frolic accents gay.
To rove with you 'twas sweet o'er meadows bland,
When soft the gale from clover field has blown,
Enchating L****, with her lily hand,
Would playful wish to deck, my brows with myrtle crown.
*It will be easily observed, that in this and the following stanzas, I allude to the battle of Trenton.
In some passages of this stanza, there is a manifest imitation of Gray's Elegy.
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