The spear-point pierced him not, the scymitar And bowed before its will. Upon the banks And flanks incarnadined, his poitral smeared Days, months, and years, and generations pass'd, And centuries held their course, before, far off Within a hermitage near Viseu's walls A humble tomb was found, which bore inscribed In ancient characters King Roderick's name. FROM 'THALABA.' He found a Woman in the cave, The pine boughs were cheerfully blazing, The thread she spun it gleam'd like gold In the light of the odorous fire, Yet was it so wonderously thin, That, save when it shone in the light, You might look for it closely in vain. The youth sate watching it, And she observed his wonder, And then again she spake, And still her speech was song; 'Now twine it round thy hands I say, Now twine it round thy hands I pray; My thread is small, my thread is fine, But he must be A stronger than thee, Who can break this thread of mine!' And up she raised her bright blue eyes, And round and round his right hand, Thalaba strove, but the thread She beheld and laugh'd at him, A stronger than thee, Who can break this thread of mine!' And up she raised her bright blue eyes, And fiercely she smiled on him: 'I thank thee, I thank thee, Hodeirah's son! O force of faith! O strength of virtuous will! Behold him in his endless martyrdom, Triumphant still! The Curse still burning in his heart and brain, Patient the while, and tranquil, and content! Such strength the wi'l reveal'd had given Trampling his path through wood and brake, And canes which crackling fall before his way, And tassel-grass, whose silvery feathers play O'ertopping the young trees, On comes the Elephant, to slake Plucking the broad-leaved bough He moves it to and fro. But when that form of beauty meets his sight, The trunk its undulating motion stops, From his forgetful hold the plane-branch drops, Reverent he kneels, and lifts his rational eyes To her as if in prayer; And when she pours her angel voice in song Entranced he listens to the thrilling notes, Till his strong temples, bathed with sudden dews, Their fragrance of delight and love diffuse. Lo! as the voice melodious floats around, The Tigress leaves her toothless cubs to hear; By that enchanting song; The antic Monkeys, whose wild gambols late, When not a breeze waved the tall jungle grass, Shook the whole wood, are hush'd, and silently Hang on the cluster'd tree. All things in wonder and delight are still; Only at times the Nightingale is heard, Not that in emulous skill that sweetest bird Her rival strain would try, A mighty songster, with the Maid to vie; She only bore her part in powerful sympathy. Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid! Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain, Musk-spot, nor sandal-streak, nor scarlet stain, A daughter of the years of innocence. And therefore all things loved her. When she stood Quick as an arrow from all other eyes, Sought not to tempt her from her secret nest, ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOCIATIONS WITH BUONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814. I. Who counsels peace at this momentous hour, When God hath given deliverance to the oppress'd, And to the injured power? Who counsels peace, when Vengeance like a flood From the four corners of the world cries out |