5. A shot is fired-by foe or friend? Another 'tis to tell The mountain-peasants to descend, And lead us where they dwell. 6. Oh! who in such a night will dare To tempt the wilderness? And who 'mid thunder peals can hear Our signal of distress? 7. And who that heard our shouts would rise To try the dubious road? Nor rather deem from nightly cries That outlaws were abroad. 8. Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour! More fiercely pours the storm! Yet here one thought has still the power To keep my bosom warm. 9. While wand'ring through each broken path, O'er brake and craggy brow; While elements exhaust their wrath, Sweet Florence, where art thou? 10. Not on the sea, not on the sea, Thy bark hath long been gone: Oh, may the storm that pours on me, 11. Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc, When last I pressed thy lip; And long ere now, with foaming shock, Impelled thy gallant ship. 12. Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now Hast trod the shore of Spain; 'Twere hard if ought so fair as thou Should linger on the main. 13. And since I now remember thee In darkness and in dread, As in those hours of revelry Which mirth and music sped; 14. Do thou amidst the fair white walls, If Cadiz yet be free, At times from out her latticed halls Look o'er the dark blue sea; 15. Then think upon Calypso's isles, To others give a thousand smiles, To me a single sigh. 16. And when the admiring circle mark The paleness of thy face, A half formed tear, a transient spark Of melancholy grace, VOL. IV. |