XLVIII.

How carols now the lusty muleteer?

Of love, romance, devotion, is his lay,
As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer,
His quick bells wildly jinging on the way?
No! as he speeds, he chants "Viva el Rey! "8
And checks his song to execrate Godoy,

The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day [boy,
When first Spair.'s queen beheld the black-eyed
And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate
joy.
XLIX.

On yon long level plain, at distance crown'd With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Wide scattered hoof-marks dint the wounded ground; [vest

And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest; Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.

LIV.

Is it for this the Spanish maia. aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war i And she, whom once the semblance of a sca Appall'd, an owlet's 'larum chill'd with read, Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread.

LV.

Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, [vel, Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Her fairy form, with more than female grace, Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase.

LVI.

Her lover sinks-she sheds no ill-timed tear;
Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post;
Her fellows flee-she checks their base career;
The foe retires-she heads the sallying host;
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall?

What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, [lost? Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall? 11

LVII.

Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, But form'd for all the witching arts of love: Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate: In softness as in firmness far above Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great.

LVIII.

The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch: "9
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest,
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such :
Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much
Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek,
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous
clutch!

Who round the North for paler dames would seek? How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak!

LIX.

Match me, ye climes! which poets love to land; Match me, ye harams of the land! where now I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow; Match me those Hourics, whom ye scarce allow To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, With Spain's dark-glancing daughters-deign to There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, [know His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind.