CANTO I.

"YE verdant shades, that gently bow
Your welcome o'er this throbbing brow,
And soft beneath my burning tread
In flowery moss a carpet spread,
Joyous I hail sweet nature's throne,

Untainted by the breath of men;
These echoes know no mortal tone,

No step unhallowed prints the glen;
All silent, save the feathery throat,
Warbling its wild untutored note,
The rustling leaf, and fluttering wing,
And murmurs of this cooling spring,
Whose silver tides their freshness roll,
Like mercy to a parching soul."
So spake the pilgrim youth, who strayed
To where those limpid waters played;
Laid his light musquet on the bank,
Bowed with uncovered head, and drank.

Ere from the stream his lip can part,
A savage growl, resounding nigh,
Thrills through the traveller's beating heart;
Starting he views the blood-shot eye:
The jaguar in his wrath is there,

The red ball rolls its fiery glare,

But threats not him :-beneath the shade
The victim in repose is laid;
Native his garb,-while zephyr sighed
O'er his young cheek, and fanned his rest,
Waving the ringlet's glossy pride,

And sporting with the lightsome vest,
Death from his ambush marked the prey;
A moment-and he wakes no more:
The murderer bares, in dread array,
Those grinding fangs to quaff his gore;
Type of the lurking foes, who scan
The heedless hour of dreaming man!
But help is nigh-with purpose true,
Swift to its aim, a death-shot flew ;
The howling monster ploughs the wood,
And tracks it with a stream of blood.

Upstarts the sleeper, lightnings flash
Beneath the long and sable lash:
"Iberian blood-hound! darest thou creep,
Thou soul of crime, on sacred sleep?"
The glittering dirk is brandished high,

But all unmoved the pilgrim stands: "No blood-hound, no Iberian I,—

My breath was drawn from fairer lands,
Where treachery lurks not: lo, the deed
That succoured thee at utmost need,
Yet moves thine ire." The fact was plain,
The branches rent, the crimson stain,
Dying the spot where couched the foe,
And roots uptorn, their comment show.

A rapid glance that scene surveys,
Then meets the traveller's stedfast gaze.
"Too scant the grace to bid thee live,
Stranger, I did the wrong-forgive:
Well hast thou 'scaped my knife; the meed
Is to thy birth, and not thy deed.

I ween this bold exploit was shown
Less for my safety than thine own.
Yet what thy nation? quickly tell;

This alien tongue of pompous Spain,
Detested accent! suits thee well;

Freely the dear-loved accents flow That echo through his sea-girt isle.

"Then thus I sheath my trusty blade, And plight a hand that ne'er betrayed, Though rightful meed, with biting steel, It erst hath dealt, and yet shall deal. Izram, whose soul the dart hath torn, Yet hurls it back with double scorn; Izram the wronged, who ever yet With full arrear hath paid the debt Of human hate, nor shrinking swerved From vengeful deed-by thee preserved, A grateful guerdon shall not fail, If hand or counsel aught avail."

"I take thy proffer, freely made; Conduct me to thy dwelling's shade; Fain would I rest till morning's ray, For I have trod a toilsome way: Entangled here, thy better skill May guide me to the distant hill, The eastern mount, whose borders sweep Even to the rude and briny deep."

The Briton meets with placid heed The piercing glance that fain would read His inmost thought. "The choice is new To wind this dreary forest through, When broad, beyond its utmost bound, Lies many a league of beaten ground. What lured thee from th' accustomed road, To pierce the serpent's dark abode ? Methinks it were for reason good, If man prefer this wildering wood."

"I marvel not such pathway sought Should waken a mistrustful thought; But while at ease our frames are laid Beneath this aloe's beauteous shade, Hear thou my story, sad and brief:

Thou know'st the creed of erring Spain, Whose votaries clasp in blind belief

The dreams of a distempered brain, And deem the corn that crowns the sod Transmuted to the living God.

"In our fair isle the Lord hath given, Unerring guide! the light from heaven; It gleams from forth the written page, On clown and noble, youth and age: Taught by the rule of truth, we turn From fabling tales, the idol spurn, And, holding fast th' eternal word, Confess no Saviour but the Lord.

"Twin brothers, linked in two-fold band, Peaceful we sought this fatal strand,

Nor dreamt such murderous hate could shame The beauty of the Christian name.

Soon were we marked, through every scene

Our steps were traced, the watch was set, But still in act and purpose clean,

We trampled on the viewless net.

"At length, on some high festal day, Heedless we urged our wonted way: The host was there, the blinded crowd Before their senseless idol bowed, And bent the knee, and drooped the head, In homage to a god of bread. Erect amid the prostrate throng, We bore us, as it passed along; With deafening shouts the clamour rose, And fiercely pressed our bigot foes; We could not kneel: the Lord hath spoke, And cursed is each idol yoke.

"One, deep in crime as high in place, Blot of his office and his race, With frantic rage his poinard drew, And aimed it with a thrust so true, That ere I heaved a second breath, My brother's eyes were dark in death."

"Remorseless fiend! accursed blow!" "The Christian doth not curse a foe; No, not such foe as he, who stood Red in young Ulric's streaming blood, Nor sated with one harmless life, Upraised o'er me the murderous knife But Heaven was pleased to spare-I fled, Turned hitherward my dubious tread, And sure had passed thy slumbers by, But for the jaguar's threatening eye, That marked thee for his prey. I crave Thy guidance toward the eastern wave, Where haply floats, beside the strand, Some banner of my native land."

"Izram hath sworn, and he will bide In truth and fealty by thy side. But say, for well my soul doth ken The brood of yon Iberian den, What name bears he, the hound of death, Who checked thy brother's vital breath?" "Almarez Gondolph, high in rank,”— Upstarting from the mossy bank, With arm extended Izram stood, Like the roused monarch of the wood: His eye-balls shot with crimson fire, Each reddening feature flashed with ire, While joy's triumphant wildness shone In the stern glance, and swelled the tone.

"Now hear, thou blazing god of day, Unfaltering in thy destined way, Who rollest on thy fiery path, Blasting the rebel climes in wrath,