Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/106

72 Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy,

Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.

LXXX.

Such the ungentle sport that oft invites

The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain.

Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights

In vengeance, gloating on another's pain.

What private feuds the troubled village stain!

Though now one phalanxed host should meet the foe,

Enough, alas! in humble homes remain,

To meditate 'gainst friend the secret blow,

For some slight cause of wrath, whence Life's warm stream must flow.

LXXXI.

But Jealousy has fled: his bars, his bolts,

His withered Centinel, Duenna sage!

And all whereat the generous soul revolts,

Which the stern dotard deemed he could encage,