Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/352

Nothing or great or beautiful he spared,
My country! the young warrior by him fell,
The veteran fell, and vile his war-axe glared,
Pleased all its fury o'er thee to impel.

Ev'n the pure maiden fell beneath the rage
Of the unpitying despot, as the rose
Condemned the summer's burning sun to engage
Her bloom and beauty withering soon must close.

Come, O! ye inhabiters of the earth,
And contemplate my misery! can there,
Tell me, be any found of mortal birth
Bearing the sorrows I am doom'd to bear?

I wretched, banish'd from my native land,
Behold, far from the country I adore,
Her former glories lost and high command,
And only left her sufferings to deplore.

Her children have been fatally betray'd
By treacherous brethren, and a tyrant's power;
And these her lovely fertile plains have made
Fields o'er which lamentations only lower.

Her arms extended wide unhappy Spain,
Her sons imploring in her deep distress:
Her sons they were, but her command was vain,

Unheard the traitor madness to repress.