| |
(From The Abencerrage)
FAIR land! of chivalry the old domain, | |
| Land of the vine and olive, lovely Spain! | |
| Though not for thee with classic shores to vie | |
| In charms that fix the enthusiast’s pensive eye, | |
| Yet hast thou scenes of beauty, richly fraught | 5 |
| With all that wakes the glow of lofty thought; | |
| Fountains and vales and rocks whose ancient name | |
| High deeds have raised to mingle with their fame. | |
| Those scenes are peaceful now; the citron blows, | |
| Wild spreads the myrtle, where the brave repose. | 10 |
| No sound of battle swells on Douro’s shore, | |
| And banners wave on Ebro’s banks no more. | |
| But who, unmoved, inlawed, shall coldly tread | |
| Thy fields that sepulchre the mighty dead? | |
| Blest be that soil! where England’s heroes share | 15 |
| The grave of chiefs, for ages slumbering there; | |
| Whose names are glorious in romantic lays, | |
| The wild, sweet chronicles of elder days | |
| By goatherd lone and rude serrano sung | |
| Thy cypress dells and vine-clad rocks among. | 20 |
| How oft those rocks have echoed to the tale | |
| Of knights who fell in Roncesvalles’ vale: | |
| Of him, renowned in old heroic lore, | |
| First of the brave, the gallant Campeador; | |
| Of those, the famed in song, who proudly died | 25 |
| When Rio Verde rolled a crimson tide; | |
| Or that high name by Garcilaso’s might | |
| On the Green Vega won in single fight. | |
| |
