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His sword was temper'd in the Ebro cold,
[gage, Him follow'd his Companion, dark and sage, As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage.
Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came,
So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renown'd, Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kiss'd the ground.
And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless Knight, Who ne'er to King or Kaisar veil'd his crest, Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight,
Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest;
Nor reason'd of the right nor of the wrong,
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest,
And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong.
Oft his proud galleys sought some new found world,
Bedabbled all with blood.-With grisly scowl The Hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath
Then did he bless the offering, and bade make
And many a hand the silver censer sways.
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes expire.
Preluding light, were strains of music heard,
The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met,
She of her netted locks and light corsette, Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the castanet.
And well such strains the opening scene became; For VALOUR had relaxed his ardent look,
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame,
Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms to
And soften'd BIGOTRY, upon his book,
Patter'd a task of little good or ill:
But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook,
Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil,
• The Bolero is a very light and active dance, much practised by the Spaniards, in which castanets are always used. More and Muchacha are equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass.
But peace was on the cottage and the fold,
From court intrigue, from bickering faction far, Beneath the chesnut tree Love's tale was told; And to the tinkling of the light guitar,
Sweet stoop d the western sun, sweet rose the evening star.
As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land,
Awhile, perchance, bedeck'd with colours sheen, While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, Till darker folds obscured the blue serene,
And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloudThen sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howl'd aloud;
Even so upon that peaceful scene was pour'd,
By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise, Until he won the passes of the land;
Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's ties!
He clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain his prize.
An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore; And well such diadem his heart became, Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, Or check'd his course for piety or shame; Who, train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, Though neither truth nor honour deck'd his name; Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne, Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone.
From a rude isle his ruder lineage came:
Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth.
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.
Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form:
Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show'd, With which she beckon'd him through fight and storm,
And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road, Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what he trode;
Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake,
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad
It was AMBITION bade his terrors wake,
No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge,
No seemly veil her modern minion ask'd,
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmask'd.
That Prelate mark'd his march-On banners blazed With battles won in many a distant land,
On eagle-standards and on arms he gaz'd; "And hop'st thou, then," he said, "thy power
O thou hast builded on the shifting sand,
And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's flood; And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand! Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud, And, by a bloody death, shall die the Man of Blood!"
The ruthless Leader beckon'd from his train
Not that he loved him-No!-in no man's weal, Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart; Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, That the poor puppet might perform his part, And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. XLIV.
But on the Natives of that Land misused, Not long the silence of amazement hung, Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused; For, with a common shriek, the general tongue Exclaim'd, "To arms!" and fast to arms they sprung. And VALOUR woke, that Genius of the land! Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung, As burst the awakening Nazarite his band, When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his dreadful hand.
That mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye
Now doff d his royal robe in act to fly,
And from his brow the diadem unbound
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound,
From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown These martial satellites hard labour found, To guard awhile his substituted throne
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own.
The heralds at the coronation of a Spanish monarch proclaim his name three times, and repeat three times the word Castilla, Castilla, Castilla !