Page:Translations from Camoens; and Other Poets.pdf/72



H! forget not the hour, when through forest and vale, We returned with our chief to his dear native halls; Through the woody Sierra there sighed not a gale, And the moonbeam was bright on his battlement-walls; And nature lay sleeping, in calmness and light, Round the home of the valiant, that rose on our sight.

We entered that home—all was loneliness round, The stillness, the darkness, the peace of the grave; Not a voice, not a step, bade its echoes resound, Ah! such was the welcome that waited the brave! For the spoilers had passed, like the poison-wind's breath, And the loved of his bosom lay silent in death.

Oh! forget not that hour—let its image be near, In the light of our mirth, in the dreams of our rest, Let its tale awake feelings too deep for a tear, And rouse into vengeance each arm and each breast, Till cloudless the dayspring of liberty shine O'er the plains of the olive, and hills of the vine.