Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/115

CANTO I.] LXXXVIII.

Flows there a tear of Pity for the dead?

Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain;

Look on the hands with female slaughter red;

Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain,

Then to the vulture let each corse remain,

Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw;

Let their bleached bones, and blood's unbleaching stain,

Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe:

Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw!

LXXXIX.

Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done;

Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees:

It deepens still, the work is scarce begun,

Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees.

Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees

More than her fell Pizarros once enchained:

Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease

Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustained,

While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unrestrained.