Let man’s deep vows be trusted!—though enforced
By all th’ appeals of high remembrances,
And silent claims o’ th’ sepulchres wherein
His fathers with their stainless glory sleep,
On their good swords! Think’st thou I feel no pangs?
He that hath given me sons doth know the heart
Whose treasure he recalls. Of this no more:
’Tis vain. I tell thee that th’ inviolate Cross
Still from our ancient temples must look up
Through the blue heavens of Spain, though at its foot