V.

Peace!--I will dash these fond regrets to earth, Even as an eagle shakes the cumbering rain From his strong pinion. Thou that gavest me birth, And lineage, and once home,--my native Spain! My own bright land--my fathers’ land--my child’s! What hath thy son brought from thee to the wilds? He hath brought marks of torture and the chain-- Traces of things which pass not as a breeze; A blighted name, dark thoughts, wrath, woe--thy gifts are these!