Himself had worn; the frowns of angry seas, Or hostile rage, or faithless friend, more fell Than storm or foe; if haply she might find Her cares diminish'd; fruitless, fond essay ! Now to her lovely hand with modest awe The tender lute he gave; she, not averse, Nor destitute of skill, with willing hand Call'd forth angelic strains; the sacred debt Of gratitude, she said, whose just commands Still might her hand with equal pride obey!
Nor to the melting sounds the nymph refused Her vocal art; harmonious as the strain Of some imprison'd lark, who, daily cheer'd By guardian cares, repays them with a song, Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty resign'd. The song, nor artless, had she framed to paint Disastrous passion; how, by tyrant laws Of idiot custom sway'd, some soft-eyed fair Loved only one, nor dared that love reveal! How the soft anguish banish'd from her cheek The damask-rose full-blown; a fever came, And from her bosom forced the plaintive tale; Then, swift as light, he sought the love-lorn maid, But vainly sought her, torn by swifter fate To join the tenants of the myrtle shade, Love's mournful victims on the plains below. Sometimes, as fancy spoke the pleasing task, She taught her artful needle to display The various pride of spring; then swift upsprung Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rose; There might you see, on gentle toils intent, A train of busy loves: some pluck the flower, Some twine the garland, some with grave grimace Around a vacant warrior cast the wreath. 'Twas pain, 'twas life! and sure to piercing eyes The warrior's face depicted Henry's mien.
Now had the generous chief with joy perused The royal scroll, which to their native home, Their ancient rights, uninjured, unredeem'd, Restored the captives. Forth with rapid haste To glad his fair Elvira's ear he sprung, Fired by the bliss he panted to convey; But fired in vain! ah! what was his amaze, His fond distress, when o'er her pallid face
Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flower! Speechless she stood; at length with accents faint, 'Well may my native shore," she said, "resound Thy monarch's praise; and ere Elvira prove Of thine forgetful, flowers shall cease to feel The fostering breeze, and nature change her laws!" And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd The British host. Around the smiling youths, Call'd to their native scenes, with willing haste Their fleet unmoor, impatient of the love That weds each bosom to its native soil.
The patriot passion! strong in every clime, How justly theirs who find no foreign sweets To dissipate their loves or match their own. Not so Elvira! she, disastrous maid! Was doubly captive: power nor chance could loose
The subtile bands; she loved her generous foe; She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry smiled, Could term her native shore; her native shore By him deserted, some unfriendly strand, Strange, bleak, forlorn! a desert waste and wild. The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd The swelling sails, the glittering transports waved Their pennants gay, and halcyons' azure wing, With flight auspicious, skimm'd the placid main. On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay,
And chid the officious wind, the tempting sea, And wish'd a storm as merciless as tore Her labouring bosom. Fondly now she strove To banish passion; now the vassal days, The captive moments, that so smoothly past, By many an art recall'd; now from her lute With trembling fingers call'd the favourite sounds Which Henry deign'd to praise; and now essay'd, With mimic chains of silken fillets wove, To paint her captive state; if any fraud Might to her love the pleasing scenes prolong, And with the dear idea feast the soul.
But now the chief return'd, prepared to launch On ocean's willing breast, and bid adieu To his fair prisoner. She, soon as she heard His hated errand, now no more conceal'd
The raging flame, but with a spreading blush And rising sigh the latent pang disclosed.
"Yes, generous youth! I see thy bosom glow With virtuous transport, that the task is thine To solve my chains, and to my weeping friends, And every longing relative, restore A soft-eyed maid, a mild, offenceless prey ! But know, brave soldier! never youthful mind, Torn from the lavish joys of wild expense By him he loathed, and in a dungeon bound To languish out his bloom, could match the pains This ill-starr'd freedom gives my tortured mind. What call I freedom ? is it that these limbs, From rigid bolts secure, may wander far From him I love? alas, ere I may boast That sacred blessing, some superior power To mortal kings, to sublunary thrones, Must loose my passion, must unchain my soul: E'en that I loathe: all liberty I loathe! But most the joyless privilege to gaze With cold indifference where desert is love. True, I was born an alien to those eyes I ask alone to please; my fortune's crime! And ah! this flatter'd form, by dress endear'd To Spanish eyes, by dress may thine offend, Whilst I, ill-fated maid! ordain'd to strive With custom's load, beneath its weight expire.
Yet Henry's beauties knew in foreign garb To vanquish me! his form, howe'er disguised, To me were fatal! no fantastic robe That e'er caprice invented, custom wore, Or folly smiled on, could eclipse thy charms. Perhaps by birth decreed, by fortune placed Thy country's foe, Elvira's warmest plea Seems but the subtler accent fraud inspires; My tenderest glances but the specious flowers That shade the viper while she plots her wound. And can the trembling candidate of love Awake thy fears? and can a female breast, By ties of grateful duty bound, ensnare ? Is there no brighter mien, no softer smile For love to wear, to dark deceit unknown? Heaven search my soul! and if through all its cells Lurk the pernicious drop of poisonous guile,
Full on my fenceless head its phial'd wrath May fate exhaust, and for my happiest hour Exalt the vengeance I prepare for thee!
Ah me! nor Henry's nor his country's foe, On thee I gazed, and reason soon dispell'd Dim error's gloom, and to thy favour'd isle Assign'd its total merit, unrestrain❜d. Oh! lovely region to the candid eye!
'Twas there my fancy saw the virtues dwell, The loves, the graces play, and bless'd the soil That nurtured thee! for sure the virtues form'd Thy generous breast, the loves, the graces plann'd Thy shapely limbs. Relation, birth, essay'd Their partial power in vain; again I gazed, And Albion's isle appeared, amidst a track Of savage wastes, the darling of the skies! And thou by nature form'd, by fate assign'd, To paint the genius of thy native shore. "Tis true, with flowers, with many a dazzling scene Of burnish'd plants, to lure a female eye, Iberia glows; but, ah! the genial sun,
That gilds the lemon's fruit, or scents the flower, On Spanish minds, a nation's nobler boast! Beams forth ungentle influences. There Sits jealousy enthroned, and at each ray Exultant lights his slow consuming fires. Not such thy charming region; long before My sweet experience taught me to decide Of English worth, the sound had pleased mine ear. Is there that savage coast, that rude sojourn, Stranger to British worth? the worth which forms The kindest friends, the most tremendous foes; First, best supports of liberty and love! No, let subjected India, while she throws O'er Spanish deeds the veil, your praise resound. Long as I heard, or ere in story read Of English fame, my biass'd partial breast, Wish'd them success; and happiest she, I cried, Of women happiest she, who shares the love, The fame, the virtues, of an English lord. And now, what shall I say? bless'd be the hour Your fair-built vessels touch'd th' Iberian shores: Bless'd, did I say, the time? if I may bless That loved event, let Henry's smiles declare.
Our hearts and cities won, will Henry's youth Forego its nobler conquest ? will he slight The soft endearments of the lovelier spoil ? And yet Iberia's sons, with every vow
Of lasting faith, have sworn these humble charms Were not excelled; the source of all their pains, And love her just desert, who sues for love, But sues to thee, while natives sigh in vain. Perhaps in Henry's eye (for vulgar minds Dissent from his) it spreads an hateful stain On honest fame amid his train to bear
A female friend. Then learn, my gentle youth! Not love himself, with all the pointed pains That store his quiver, shall seduce my soul From honour's laws. Elvira, once denied A consort's name, more swift than lightning flies When elements discordant vex the sky, Shall, blushing, from the form she loves retire. Yet if the specious wish the vulgar voice Has titled prudence, sways a soul like thine, In gems or gold what proud Iberian dame Eclipses me? nor paint the dreary storms
Or hairbreadth scapes that haunt the boundless deep, And force from tender eyes the silent tear; When memory to the pensive maid suggests In full contrast the safe domestic scene For these resign'd. Beyond the frantic rage Of conquering heroes brave, the female mind, When steel'd by love, in love's most horrid way Beholds not danger, or beholding, scorns. Heaven take my life, but let it crown my love!" She ceased; and ere his words her fate decreed, Impatient, watch'd the language of his eye; There pity dwelt, and from its tender sphere, Sent looks of love, and faithless hopes inspired. "Forgive me, gen'rous maid!" the youth return'd, "If by thy accents charm'd, thus long I bore To let such sweetness plead, alas! in vain! Thy virtue merits more than crowns can yield Of solid bliss, or happiest love bestow: But ere from native shores I plough'd the main, To one dear maid, by virtue, and by charms Alone endeared, my plighted vows I gave, To guard my fate, whatever chance should wait
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