Himself had worn; the frowns of angry seas,
Or hostile rage, or faithless friend, more fell
Than storm or foe; if haply she might find
Her cares diminish'd; fruitless, fond essay !
Now to her lovely hand with modest awe
The tender lute he gave; she, not averse,
Nor destitute of skill, with willing hand
Call'd forth angelic strains; the sacred debt
Of gratitude, she said, whose just commands
Still might her hand with equal pride obey!

Nor to the melting sounds the nymph refused
Her vocal art; harmonious as the strain
Of some imprison'd lark, who, daily cheer'd
By guardian cares, repays them with a song,
Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty resign'd.
The song, nor artless, had she framed to paint
Disastrous passion; how, by tyrant laws
Of idiot custom sway'd, some soft-eyed fair
Loved only one, nor dared that love reveal!
How the soft anguish banish'd from her cheek
The damask-rose full-blown; a fever came,
And from her bosom forced the plaintive tale;
Then, swift as light, he sought the love-lorn maid,
But vainly sought 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 spring; then swift upsprung
Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rose;
There might you see, on gentle toils intent,
A train of busy loves: some pluck the flower,
Some twine the garland, some with grave grimace
Around a vacant warrior cast the wreath.
'Twas pain, 'twas life! and sure to piercing eyes
The warrior's face depicted Henry's mien.

Now had the generous chief with joy perused
The royal scroll, which to their native home,
Their ancient rights, uninjured, unredeem'd,
Restored the captives. Forth with rapid haste
To glad his fair Elvira's ear he sprung,
Fired by the bliss he panted to convey;
But fired in vain! ah! what was his amaze,
His fond distress, when o'er her pallid face

Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand
Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flower!
Speechless she stood; at length with accents faint,
'Well may my native shore," she said, "resound
Thy monarch's praise; and ere Elvira prove
Of thine forgetful, flowers shall cease to feel
The fostering breeze, and nature change her laws!"
And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd
The British host. Around the smiling youths,
Call'd to their native scenes, with willing haste
Their fleet unmoor, impatient of the love
That weds each bosom to its native soil.

The patriot passion! strong in every clime,
How justly theirs who find no foreign sweets
To dissipate their loves or match their own.
Not so Elvira! she, disastrous maid!
Was doubly captive: power nor chance could
loose

The subtile bands; she loved her generous foe;
She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry smiled,
Could term her native shore; her native shore
By him deserted, some unfriendly strand,
Strange, bleak, forlorn! a desert waste and wild.
The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd
The swelling sails, the glittering transports waved
Their pennants gay, and halcyons' azure wing,
With flight auspicious, skimm'd the placid main.
On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay,

And chid the officious wind, the tempting sea,
And wish'd a storm as merciless as tore
Her labouring bosom. Fondly now she strove
To banish passion; now the vassal days,
The captive moments, that so smoothly past,
By many an art recall'd; now from her lute
With trembling fingers call'd the favourite sounds
Which Henry deign'd to praise; and now essay'd,
With mimic chains of silken fillets wove,
To paint her captive state; if any fraud
Might to her love the pleasing scenes prolong,
And with the dear idea feast the soul.

But now the chief return'd, prepared to launch
On ocean's willing breast, and bid adieu
To his fair prisoner. She, soon as she heard
His hated errand, now no more conceal'd

The raging flame, but with a spreading blush
And rising sigh the latent pang disclosed.

"Yes, generous youth! I see thy bosom glow
With virtuous transport, that the task is thine
To solve my chains, and to my weeping friends,
And every longing relative, restore
A soft-eyed maid, a mild, offenceless
prey !
But know, brave soldier! never youthful mind,
Torn from the lavish joys of wild expense
By him he loathed, and in a dungeon bound
To languish out his bloom, could match the pains
This ill-starr'd freedom gives my tortured mind.
What call I freedom ? is it that these limbs,
From rigid bolts secure, may wander far
From him I love? alas, ere I may boast
That sacred blessing, some superior power
To mortal kings, to sublunary thrones,
Must loose my passion, must unchain my soul:
E'en that I loathe: all liberty I loathe!
But most the joyless privilege to gaze
With cold indifference where desert is love.
True, I was born an alien to those eyes
I ask alone to please; my fortune's crime!
And ah! this flatter'd form, by dress endear'd
To Spanish eyes, by dress may thine offend,
Whilst I, ill-fated maid! ordain'd to strive
With custom's load, beneath its weight expire.

Yet Henry's beauties knew in foreign garb To vanquish me! his form, howe'er disguised, To me were fatal! no fantastic robe That e'er caprice invented, custom wore, Or folly smiled on, could eclipse thy charms. Perhaps by birth decreed, by fortune placed Thy country's foe, Elvira's warmest plea Seems but the subtler accent fraud inspires; My tenderest glances but the specious flowers That shade the viper while she plots her wound. And can the trembling candidate of love Awake thy fears? and can a female breast, By ties of grateful duty bound, ensnare ? Is there no brighter mien, no softer smile For love to wear, to dark deceit unknown? Heaven search my soul! and if through all its cells Lurk the pernicious drop of poisonous guile,

Full on my fenceless head its phial'd wrath
May fate exhaust, and for my happiest hour
Exalt the vengeance I prepare for thee!

Ah me! nor Henry's nor his country's foe,
On thee I gazed, and reason soon dispell'd
Dim error's gloom, and to thy favour'd isle
Assign'd its total merit, unrestrain❜d.
Oh! lovely region to the candid eye!

'Twas there my fancy saw the virtues dwell,
The loves, the graces play, and bless'd the soil
That nurtured thee! for sure the virtues form'd
Thy generous breast, the loves, the graces plann'd
Thy shapely limbs. Relation, birth, essay'd
Their partial power in vain; again I gazed,
And Albion's isle appeared, amidst a track
Of savage wastes, the darling of the skies!
And thou by nature form'd, by fate assign'd,
To paint the genius of thy native shore.
"Tis true, with flowers, with many a dazzling scene
Of burnish'd plants, to lure a female eye,
Iberia glows; but, ah! the genial sun,

That gilds the lemon's fruit, or scents the flower,
On Spanish minds, a nation's nobler boast!
Beams forth ungentle influences. There
Sits jealousy enthroned, and at each ray
Exultant lights his slow consuming fires.
Not such thy charming region; long before
My sweet experience taught me to decide
Of English worth, the sound had pleased mine ear.
Is there that savage coast, that rude sojourn,
Stranger to British worth? the worth which forms
The kindest friends, the most tremendous foes;
First, best supports of liberty and love!
No, let subjected India, while she throws
O'er Spanish deeds the veil, your praise resound.
Long as I heard, or ere in story read
Of English fame, my biass'd partial breast,
Wish'd them success; and happiest she, I cried,
Of women happiest she, who shares the love,
The fame, the virtues, of an English lord.
And now, what shall I say? bless'd be the hour
Your fair-built vessels touch'd th' Iberian shores:
Bless'd, did I say, the time? if I may bless
That loved event, let Henry's smiles declare.

Our hearts and cities won, will Henry's youth
Forego its nobler conquest ? will he slight
The soft endearments of the lovelier spoil ?
And yet Iberia's sons, with every vow

Of lasting faith, have sworn these humble charms
Were not excelled; the source of all their pains,
And love her just desert, who sues for love,
But sues to thee, while natives sigh in vain.
Perhaps in Henry's eye (for vulgar minds
Dissent from his) it spreads an hateful stain
On honest fame amid his train to bear

A female friend. Then learn, my gentle youth!
Not love himself, with all the pointed pains
That store his quiver, shall seduce my soul
From honour's laws. Elvira, once denied
A consort's name, more swift than lightning flies
When elements discordant vex the sky,
Shall, blushing, from the form she loves retire.
Yet if the specious wish the vulgar voice
Has titled prudence, sways a soul like thine,
In gems or gold what proud Iberian dame
Eclipses me? nor paint the dreary storms

Or hairbreadth scapes that haunt the boundless deep,
And force from tender eyes the silent tear;
When memory to the pensive maid suggests
In full contrast the safe domestic scene
For these resign'd. Beyond the frantic rage
Of conquering heroes brave, the female mind,
When steel'd by love, in love's most horrid way
Beholds not danger, or beholding, scorns.
Heaven take my life, but let it crown my love!"
She ceased; and ere his words her fate decreed,
Impatient, watch'd the language of his eye;
There pity dwelt, and from its tender sphere,
Sent looks of love, and faithless hopes inspired.
"Forgive me, gen'rous maid!" the youth return'd,
"If by thy accents charm'd, thus long I bore
To let such sweetness plead, alas! in vain!
Thy virtue merits more than crowns can yield
Of solid bliss, or happiest love bestow:
But ere from native shores I plough'd the main,
To one dear maid, by virtue, and by charms
Alone endeared, my plighted vows I gave,
To guard my fate, whatever chance should wait