XX.

And Spain her Guerrilleros--Dorian race-- Sent to the conflict with unconquered hearts, And eyes that Tyranny could ne’er abase, Unerringly to guide their fiery darts, Where Vengeance winged with every shot departs. And hasting to the War, whose sacred cry Was “Death to the Invader!”, warm while starts The big round tear from fair Pastora’s eye, The peasant-soldier thus with Heaven made an ally:--

The Guerrillero to his Mistress.

1.

While spin the amber beads Beneath thy rosy finger, And nought thy spirit heeds Save thoughts that Heav’nward linger; At Isidoro’s shrine, Upon the floor of marble, While move thy lips divine, For me an Ave warble!

2.

And while, the Virgin’s Hours In softest tones reciting, You bend the Heav’nly Powers, Their blessed aid inviting; Breathe then for me a prayer, That, moved amidst her splendour, Our Lady of Vejer May crown my wishes tender.

3.

If spirits pure as thine Weave idly their petition, What talisman for mine, To shield it from perdition? Oh, Mary, thou alone Canst ope the path before me, Canst give my heart a tone, Canst shed a blessing o’er me!

4.

The Seraph forms are fair, In Heav’nly chorus swelling, But thine as well in prayer Becomes its earthly dwelling. Thou look’st a clouded Moon, When veiled for solemn duty; If thou’rt refused a boon, Why give thee so much beauty?