Ting'd the red annals of Maria's reign.
When from the tenderest breast each wayward prieft Could banish mercy and implant a fiend! When cruelty the funeral pyre uprear'd,
And bound religion there, and fir'd the bafe! When the fame blaze, which on each tortur'd limb Fed with luxuriant rage, in every face Triumphant faith appear'd, and fmiling hope. O bleft Eliza! from thy piercing beam
Forth flew this hated fiend, the child of Rome; Driven to the verge of Albion, linger'd there, Then with her James receding, caft behind One angry frown, and fought more fervile climes. Henceforth they ply'd the long-continued tafk Of righteous havock, covering diftant fields With the wrought remnants of the fhatter'd pile. While through the land the mufing pilgrim fees A tract of brighter green, and in the midft Appears a mouldering wall, with ivy crown'd Or Gothic turret, pride of ancient days! Now but of ufe to grace a rural scene; To bound our viftas, and to glad the fons Of George's reign, referv'd for fairer times!
Sed neque Medorum fylvæ, ditiffima terra
"Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Hæmus, "Laudibus Angligenûm certent : non Bactra, nec Indi, Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis."
ET the green olive glad Hesperian shores ; Her tawny citron, and her orange-groves, These let Iberia boast; but if in vain, To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile, The Briton labours, yet our native minds, Our conftant bofoms, thefe, the dazzled world May view with envy; thefe, Iberian dames Survey with fixt efteem and fond defire. Haplefs Elvira! thy difaftrous fate May well this truth explain; nor ill adorn The British lyre; then chiefly, if the Mufe, Nor vain, nor partial, from the fimple guife Of ancient record catch the pensive lay; And in lefs groveling accents give to fame. Elvira lovelieft maid! th' Iberian realm Could boaft no purer breaft, no fprightlier mind, No race more fplendent, and no form so fair. Such was the chance of war, this peerless maid In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the spoil Of British victors, victory's noblest pride! She, fhe alone, amid the wailful train, Of captive maids, affign'd to Henry's care; Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame! T
He, generous youth, with no penurious hand, The tedious moments that unjoyous roll Where freedom's chearful radiance fhines no more, Effay'd to foften; confcious of the pang That beauty feels, to wafte its fleeting hours In fome dim fort, by foreign rule restrain'd, Far from the haunts of men, or eye of day! Sometimes, to cheat her bofom of its cares, Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils Himmelf had worn: the frowns of angry feas, Or hoftile rage, or faithless friend, more fell Than storm or foe: if haply the might find Her cares diminish'd; fruitless fond essay! Now to her lovely hand, with modest awe The tender lute he gave: fhe not averse Nor deftitute of skill, with willing hand Call'd forth angelic ftrains; the facred debt Of gratitude, she said; whose just commands Still might her hand with equal pride obey!
Nor to the melting founds the nymph refus'd Her vocal art; harmonious, as the strain Of fome imprison'd lark, who, daily chear'd By guardian cares, repays them with a fong: Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty refign'd.
The fong, not artless, had she fram'd to paint Difaftrous paffion; how, by tyrant laws Of idiot custom sway'd, fome soft-ey'd fair Lov'd only one: nor dar'd that love reveal! How the foft anguish banish'd from her cheek The damask rose full-blown; a fever came;
And from her bofom forc'd the plaintive tale.
Then, fwift as light, he fought the love-lorn maid, But vainly fought 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 fpring then swift upfprung Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rofe: There might you sce, on gentle toils intent, A train of busy loves; fome pluck the flower, Some twine the garland, fome with grave grimace Around a vacant warrior caft the wreath. 'Twas paint, 'twas life! and fure to piercing eyes The warrior's face depictur'd Henry's mien.
Now had the generous chief with joy perus'd The royal fcroll, which to their native home Their ancient rights, uninjur'd, unredeem'd, Reftor'd the captives. Forth with rapid hafte To glad his fair Elvira's ear, he fprung; Fir'd by the blifs he panted to convey; But fir'd in vain! Ah! what was his amaze, His fond diftrefs, when o'er her pallid face Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flower! Speechlefs fhe stood; at length with accents faint, "Well may my native fhore, fhe faid, refound "Thy monarch's praife; and ere Elvira prove
Of thine forgetful, flowers fhall cease to feel "The foltering breeze, and nature change her laws!"
And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd The British hoft. Around the smiling youths Call'd to their native fcenes, with willing hafte Their fleet unmoor; impatient of the love That weds each bofom to its native foil. The patriot paffion ftrong in every clime, How justly theirs, who find no foreign sweets To diffipate their loves, or match their own. Not fo Elvira! fhe, difaftrous maid,
Was doubly captive! power nor chance could loofe The fubtle bands; the lov'd her generous foe. She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry fmil'd, Could term her native fhore; her native shore By him deferted, fome unfriendly strand, Strange, bleak, forlorn! a defert waste and wild. The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd The fwelling fails, the glittering transports wav'd Their pennants gay, and halcyon's azure wing With flight aufpicious skimm'd the placid main. On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay, And chid th' officious wind, the tempting fea, And wish'd a storm as merciless, as tore Her labouring bofom. Fondly now the ftrove To banish paffion; now the vassal days, The captive moments, that so smoothly paft, By many an art recall'd; now from her lute With trembling fingers call'd the favourite founds Which Henry deign'd to praise; and now effay'd With mimic chains of filken fillets wove To paint her captive ftate; if any fraud
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