Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land, good-night!
He says of the beauty of Lusitania:
Oh Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land.
What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree!
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand!...
The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd,
The cork trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep,
The mountain moss, by scorching skies imbrown'd,