And hate, with malice in her train:—
What other guerdon?—View my chain!
Yet say not that I weep for gold!
No, let it be the robber’s spoil.—
Nor yet, that hate and malice bold
Decry my triumph and my toil.—
I weep but for Spain’s lasting shame;
I weep but for her blackened fame.
No more.—The sunlight leaves the sea;
Farewell, thou never-dying king!