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!