Sinks o’er his golden sands, and sighing wears the chain.
XXXVII.
“Where were thy men—where, Lusitain, were they?
Entranced, appalled—with none to lead or guide.
Thy coward Princes fled like hinds away—
Thy caitiff Nobles crost the Ocean-tide.
No sword in the Invader’s blood was dyed!
Thy Chiefs and Patriarchs basely kist the rod;
Thy sacred banner of Saint George the pride,