If sad in soul, didst quit all else for me,
When stars, the stars that earliest rise, are shining,
How their soft glance unseals each thought of thee!
For on our flight they smiled; their dewy rays,
Through the last olives, lit thy tearful gaze
Back to the home we never more might see.
So pass’d we on, like earth’s first exiles, turning
Fond looks where hung the sword above their Eden burning.
XXXI.
It was a woe to say, “Farewell, my Spain!