Page:England and Spain.pdf/15



Genius of chivalry! whose early days Tradition still recounts in artless lays; Whose faded splendours fancy oft recalls— The floating banners and the lofty halls, The gallant feats thy festivals display'd, The tilt, the tournament, the long crusade; Whose ancient pride Romance delights to hail, In fabling numbers, or heroic tale: Those times are fled, when stern thy castles frown'd, Their stately towers with feudal grandeur crown'd; Those times are fled, when fair Iberia's clime Beheld thy Gothic reign, thy pomp sublime; And all thy glories, all thy deeds of yore, Live but in legends wild, and poet's lore. Lo! where thy silent harp neglected lies, Light o'er its chords the murmuring zephyr sighs; Thy solemn courts, where once the minstrel sung, The choral voice of mirth and music rung; Now, with the ivy clad, forsaken, lone, Hear but the breeze and echo to its moan: Thy lonely towers deserted fall away, Thy broken shield is mouldering in decay.