Verse > Anthologies > Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. > Poems of Places > Spain, &c.
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed.  Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV.  1876–79.
 
Spain: Denia
The Port of Refuge
Luis de Góngora (1561–1627)
 
Translated by Edward Churton

  THREE Corsairs from Algier
    Came flying o’er the sea,
As though the Wind their father were,
    And these his children three:
 
  And, darting through the brine,        5
    The pirates’ hunted prey,
A Genoese swift brigantine
    Before them fled away.
 
  A prize of noble worth
    That flying vessel bore,        10
Sent in our Viceroy’s convoy forth
  To Naples’ sunny shore.
 
  It was a knight of Spain
    From Leon’s town and tower,
And with him maiden daughters twain,        15
    A bud, and opening flower;
 
  From Leon’s mountain-seat,
    The garden where they grew;—
When, parting wide the gallant fleet,
    The thwarting tempest blew;        20
 
  And worse than storm that howled
    From Afric’s capes afar,
Morat, the renegado, prowled,
    Foul hawk of pirate war;
 
  Calabrian harpy rude,        25
    The rifler fierce and fell,
Who fain in Spanish egret’s blood
    Would dye his beak and bell.
 
  On sounding wings he flew;
    But, ere the chase had closed,        30
The storm with slackening gale withdrew,
    And Mercy interposed.
 
  To low Denia’s bay
    They sailed, to port and tower,
Pride of a Marquess yesterday,        35
    Now graced with Ducal power.
 
  A glance the warder cast,
    And spied far off from shore
The crescent on the Moorish mast,
    The cross the Christians bore.        40
 
  The fort its cannon fired;
    Dark vapors filled the skies;
The baffled Corsair warned retired,
    The port received his prize.
 
  The port’s broad arms between,        45
    Forespent with eager joy,
The tempest-shattered brigantine
    Breathed free from past annoy.
 
  The grateful Leonese
    With garlands wreathed his brow,        50
And glad at heart in words like these
    To Heaven poured forth his vow:
 
  “O port and temple blest,
    Safe home from wayward sea,
Which Time must whelm, ere souls distressed        55
    Shall cease to fly to thee;
 
  “Strong fort, of miscreant Moors
    The terror and disdain;
Firm shield, and sword of royal force
    Right judgment to maintain;        60
 
  “Long live thy princely halls
    Their titled lord to greet;
Low as the waves that bathe thy walls,
    May Envy kiss his feet!
 
  “And lasting be the grace        65
    He from our King hath won;
For well hath merit held the place
    In favor first begun!
 
  “Such service Honor gives;
    Then, while in Mantuan lays        70
The praise of good Achates lives,
    Live faithful Lerma’s praise!”
 
 
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