Ah, friend, I fear you; for these eyes
Beheld the cards, one, two, and three,
Which once you chose to victimise,
That certain sinners might go free.

Poor sinners! when your rage burst forth,
How did their valour rise to swear
By all their grim moustaches' worth,
Henceforward they would play you fair.

But on the cards, in generous scorn,
Wisely your untamed wrath you broke;
Like the brave bull, that turns his horn,
Not on the cheater, but the cloak.

No doubt, the ruby Lizard-Cross,

Which decks your breast, with many a pang Has vexed you; when your chance was loss, You felt it bite with mortal fang;

Or with its sword-point at your heart
You found it gave a keener sting,
Where grief had cower'd beneath the smart,
Like tender bird with bating wing.

But Heaven forefend, that Cross, which gave Such might to Christian chiefs of yore,

The swarming Moslems to outbrave,

Till streams ran red with Moorish gore,

That ensign fair, St. James of Spain,
Oft borne on royal banners high,
Courage of knight in battle-plain,

And grace of peaceful chivalry,

Should see a comrade of its vow,

Who in its order'd ranks hath stood, Take arms in Pride's bad service now, And burn to shed poor Christians' blood.

Well, after all, no risk I'll fly;

With you at eve I'll walk the town : But, mark me, none shall fight or die, And we will part when day goes down,

At that good hour, when like a king

The mule-boy feasts, his day-work done, And hawks on perch are dieting

On bittern-legs or jay's breast-bone.

Good night! May yours be evermore
Sound sleep, unvex'd by pain or care,
And the grave doctor by your door
Pass on, and find no patient there.

See Hist. and Crit. Essay, Sec. 52.

TO PEDRO DE ANGULO,

STAYING AT GRANADA.

His snow-white hair with dark-leaved poplar crown'd,
Old Genil hears thy pipe, and stills his roar,
Nor envies, while he listens to the sound,

The wealth that Darro rolls in golden ore:
And, should thy reed, like tuneful lute of yore,
Call forth his marble blocks and boulders gray
To rise in walls along his pleasant shore,
The living stones would waken and obey.
Return then, rival of Amphion's lay

In polish'd song, or his, who could recall
The ghosts that roam'd the abyss to upper day:
For Boetis, in whose grot the scant waves fall
Through summer dry, thy absence soon will mourn
With floods of tears outwelling all his urn.

TO LEWIS DE ULLOA,

A GENTLEMAN OF TORO.

High on the front of Spain's embattled brow,
With generous splendour, not vain glory, crown'd,
Fairest of seats which Douro's waters bound,
Stands Toro; and fair Toro's boast art thou:
Why roam thy steps in other regions now,

Love's pilgrim? Vain is flight from arrow's wound, Barb'd with hard steel from mountain caves profound, And temper'd in the fountain's icy flow.

As vainly stricken deer his hurt might hide,

Pierced by the envenom'd shaft. A braver part Be thine at Beauty's feet lay down thy pride. Flight from fair nymph may suit the fearful hart : The gentle spirit hastes, where Love will guide,

To kiss the hand that points the unerring dart.

TO JUAN DE VILLEGAS.

In lowly charge, but no ignoble ease,

Thy good lord's vassals thou dost govern well, Not born to mate with princely dignities,

But where the free-born virtues love to dwell, With honest gentlemen. The Muse's cell

Thy happy age from barbarous din will save, With refuge sweet as Ida's secret dell

From burning Troy to old Anchises gave. Then envy not, dear friend, the silken slave,

Who shines in courts, proud Fortune's minion gay; Harsh is Court-convent law, where no poor knave Finds entrance, but by favour, or for pay.

Content's calm footsteps tread the firm dry shore,
While round Ambition's barque wild breakers roar.

END OF VOLUME I.