Great Arthur sad surveyed the ruin round,
And at the sight a tear his eye o’erran,
For every house was now a blackened mound,
And Solitude more grim where Life so late was found.
XIX.
Round Santa Clara’s isle that instant came
The Basque barqueras in their shallops slight;
Their graceful oaring still was plied the same,
But one fair pinnace less careered in sight.
Ah, where is she—their glory and delight?