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 From bondage rescued and the foreign sword, And Independence and the Throne restored!


 * Hark, what low sound from Cintra's rock! the air

Trembles with horror; fainting lightnings glare; Shrill crows the cock, the dogs give dismal yell; And with the whirlwind's roar full comes the swell; Convulsive staggers rock th' eternal ground, And heave the Tagus from his bed profound; A dark red cloud the towers of Lisboa veils; Ah heaven, what dreadful groan! the rising gales Bring light; and Lisboa smoking in the dust Lies fall'n.—The wide-spread ruins, still august, Still shew the footsteps where the dreadful God Of earthquake, cloth'd in howling darkness, trod; Where mid foul weeds the heaps of marble tell From what proud height the spacious temples fell; And penury and sloth of squalid mien Beneath the roofless palace walls are seen In