XIV.

   On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone,
   And winds are rude in Biscay’s sleepless bay. 
   Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,
   New shores descried make every bosom gay;
   And Cintra’s mountain greets them on their way,
   And Tagus dashing onward to the deep,
   His fabled golden tribute bent to pay;
   And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap,
And steer ’twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap.

XV.

   Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
   What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! 
   What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! 
   What goodly prospects o’er the hills expand! 
   But man would mar them with an impious hand: 
   And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge
   ’Gainst those who most transgress his high command,
   With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge
Gaul’s locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge.

XVI.

   What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! 
   Her image floating on that noble tide,
   Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold,
   But now whereon a thousand keels did ride
   Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,
   And to the Lusians did her aid afford
   A nation swoll’n with ignorance and pride,
   Who lick, yet loathe, the hand that waves the sword. 
To save them from the wrath of Gaul’s unsparing lord.

XVII.

   But whoso entereth within this town,
   That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
   Disconsolate will wander up and down,
   Mid many things unsightly to strange e’e;
   For hut and palace show like filthily;
   The dingy denizens are reared in dirt;
   No personage of high or mean degree
   Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,
Though shent with Egypt’s plague, unkempt, unwashed, unhurt.

XVIII.

   Poor, paltry slaves! yet born midst noblest scenes —
   Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men? 
   Lo!  Cintra’s glorious Eden intervenes
   In variegated maze of mount and glen. 
   Ah me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen,
   To follow half on which the eye dilates
   Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken
   Than those whereof such things the bard relates,
Who to the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium’s gates?

XIX.

   The horrid crags, by toppling convent crowned,
   The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep,
   The mountain moss by scorching skies imbrowned,
   The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep,
   The tender azure of the unruffled deep,
   The orange tints that gild the greenest bough,
   The torrents that from cliff to valley leap,
   The vine on high, the willow branch below,
Mixed in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.