XVIII.

Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes

Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such,men?
Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes

In variegated maze of mount and glen.
Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen,
To follow half on which the eye dilates

Through views more dazzling unto mortal kent

Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates?

XIX.

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd,
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep,
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd,
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep,
The tender azure of the unruffled deep,
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough,
The torrents that from cliff to valley leap,
The vine on high, the willow branch below,

Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.

XX.

Then slowly climb the many-winding way,
And frequent turn to linger as you go,
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey,
And rest ye at our " Lady's house of woe;" 2
Where frugal monks their little relics show,
And sundry legends to the stranger tell:
Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo!
Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell,
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

XXI.

And here and there, as up the crags you spring,
Mark many rude-carv'd crosses near the path:
Yet deem not these devotion's offering-

These are memorials frail of murderous wrath:

For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath

Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife
Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath;

And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. 3

XXII.

On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath,

Are domes where whilome kings did make repair;
But now the wild flowers round them only breathe:
Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there.

And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair:
There thou too, Vathek! England's wealthiest son,
Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware

When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun.

XXIII.

Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan,

Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow:

But now, as if a thing unblest by Man,
Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou!
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow
To halls deserted, portals gaping wide:
Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how
Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied;

Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide!

XXIV.

Behold the hall where chiefs were late conven'd! 4

Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye!

With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend,

A little fiend that scoffs incessantly,

There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by

His side is hung a seal and sable scroll,

Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry,

And sundry signatures adorn the roll,

Whereat the Urchin points and laughs with all his soul.

XXV.

Convention is the dwarfish demon styl'd

That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome :
Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguil'd,
And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom.
Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume,
And Policy regain'd what arms had lost:
For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom!
Woe to the conqu'ring, not the conquer'd host,
Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast

XXVI.

And ever since that martial synod met,
Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name;

And folks in office at the mention fret,

And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame.
How will posterity the deed proclaim!

Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,

To view these champions cheated of their fame,

By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year?

XXVII.

So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he

Did take his way in solitary guise :

Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee,

More restless than the swallow in the skies:
Though here awhile he learn'd to moralize,
For Meditation fix'd at times on him;
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise
His early youth, mispent in maddest whim;

But as he gaz'd on truth his aching eyes grew dim.