Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1831.pdf/6

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And it is joy which whispers in the breeze Sent from my own free mountains. Brave Gonzalez! Thou art one to make thy fearless heart a shield Unto thy friend, in the dark stormy hour When knightly crests are trampled, and proud helms Cleft, and strong breast-plates shivered. Thou art one To infuse the soul of gallant fortitude Into the captive's bosom, and beguile The long slow march beneath the burning noon With lofty patience; but for those quick bursts, Those buoyant efforts of the soul to cast Her weight of care to earth, those brief delights Whose source is in a sunbeam, or a sound Which stirs the blood, or a young breeze, whose wing Wanders in chainless joy; for things like these Thou hast no sympathies! And thou, my Zamor, Art wrapt in thought! I welcome thee to this The kingdom of my fathers. Is it not A goodly heritage?

. The land is fair; But he, the archer of the wilderness, Beholdeth not the palms beneath whose shade His tents are scattered, and his camels rest; And therefore is he sad!

. Thou must not pine With that sick yearning of th' impatient heart Which makes the exile's life one fevered dream Of skies, and hills, and voices far away, And faces wearing the familiar hues B 2