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 * Not from the hands that wield Iberia's spear,

Not from the hands that Gaul's proud thunders bear, Nor those that turn on Albion's breast the sword Beat down of late by Albion when it gored Their own, who impious doom their parent's fall Beneath the world's great foe th' insidious Gaul; Yes, not from these the immedicable wound Of Albion—Other is the bane profound Destined alone to touch her mortal part; Herself is sick and poisoned at the heart.


 * O'er Tago's banks where'er I roll mine eyes

The gallant deeds of ancient days arise; The scenes the Lusian Muses fond display'd Before me oft, as oft at eve I stray'd By Isis' hallowed stream. Oft now the strand Where Gama march'd his death-devoted band,

While