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Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife,
LXXXVII. Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife: Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe Can act, is acting there against man's life: From flashing scimitar to secret knife, War mouldeth there each weapon to his need So may he guard the sister and the wife,
So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed!
LXXXVIII. Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; Look on the hands with female slaughter red; . Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, Then to the vulture let each corse remain; Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, Let their bleach'd bones, and blood's unbleaching stain,
Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe: Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw!
Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd, While o’er the parent clime prowls Murder unrestrain’d.
Not all the blood at Talavera shed,
Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil!
XCI. And thou, my friend! (19)—since unavailing woe Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strainHad the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Pride might forbid ev'n Friendship to complain : But thus unlaurel'd to descend in vain, By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain,
While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest! What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest ?
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose,
Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage:
Lands that contain the monuments of Eld,
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
COME, blue-eyed maid of heaven!—but thou, alas!
Of men who never felt the sacred glow
Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Are sought in vain, and o’er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.