And leaves so dead a calm that not a leaf
Moves on the silent spray. The passing air
Bore with it from the woodland undisturb’d
The ringdove’s wooing, and the quiet voice
Of waters warbling near.
Son of a race
Of Heroes and of Kings! the Primate thus
Address’d him, Thou in whom the Gothic blood,
Mingling with old Iberia’s, hath restored
To Spain a ruler of her native line,