And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight, While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, My native Land-Good Night! A few short hours, and he will rise Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, "Come hither, hither, my little Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye, "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I For I am froin my father gone, And have no friend, save these alone, (1) The convent of "Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Senora de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view. (2) It is a well-known fact, that in the year 1809 the assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to their countrymen, but that Englishmen were daily butchered; and so far from redress being obtained, we were requested not to interfere if we per ceived any compatriot defending himself against his allies. I was once stopped in the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they generally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend. Had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have "adorned a tale" instead of telling one. (3) The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchese Marialva. |