XLIII. “Thou wilt not go--thou wilt not, Carlos, leave,” &c. _Clyt._ Ποῦ σ’ αὖθις ὀψόμεθα; ποῦ χρή μ’ ἀθλίαν Ἐλθοῦσαν εὑρεῖν σὴν χὲρ’, ἐπίκουρον κακῶν; _Achil._ Ἡμεῖς σε φύλακες, οὗ χρεὼν, φυλάσσομεν. _Clyt._ “Where shall we again behold thee? Whither must I wretched go to find thy protecting hand?” _Achil._ “We will guard you, when it is needful.” Eurip. _Iphig. in Aul._ 1026. “No danger fear, _mi alma_, blushful rose!” Nè te, Altamoro, entro al pudico letto, Potuto ha ritener la sposa amata. Pianse, percosse il biondo crine e ’l petto, Per distornar la tua fatale andata. “Dunque (dicia) crudel, più che’l mio aspetto “Del mar l’orrida faccia a te fia grata? “Fian l’arme al braccio tuo più caro peso, “Che’l picciol figlio ai dolci scherzi inteso?” Tasso, _Gerus. Lib._ xvii. 26. XLVII. “She leaps--Archangels weep at Virtue’s sacrifice!” Ὦ τύμβος, ὦ νυμφεῖον, ὦ κατασκαφὴς, Οἴκησις αἰείφρουρος * * κάκιστα δὴ μακρῷ Κάτειμι, πρίν μοι μοῖραν ἐξήκειν βίου. Soph. _Antig._ 891. “Oh sepulchre, oh bridal bed, oh earth-dug everlasting dwelling!--by the worst of deaths I perish before the allotted day.” I visited in September last the principal historical scenes recorded in this Canto--the Castle at Bayonne where Napoléon filched the crown with such sinister dexterity from the old King, as well as from Ferdinand VII.; the fine fortress at Badajoz where the miserable Godoy was born; the museum of Armoin at Madrid, where, alas, the sword of Francis the First surrendered at Pavía, _is not_; and the monument in the Prado, erected to the memory of the victims who fell on the _Dos de Maio_. I had previously visited the fields of Roriça and Vimieiro, and made more than one pilgrimage to Corunna. The name of the Maid of Zaragoza (in contradiction to all English writers) I have fixed, upon Spanish authority, as Manuela Sanchez. IBERIA WON. Canto IX. I. A youthful Chieftain’s form as Phœbus fair An instant filled the door--then forward rushed:-- “Back, villains, nor with deeds of carnage dare To stain the arms that late the Gaul have crushed! Not men, but demons--where the life-blood gushed Of all her tribe, this maiden would ye harm?” ’Twas Nial! ’Neath his glance was instant hushed Each caitiff’s heart. With ill-disguised alarm, They skulk aloof in awe. Such god-like Virtue’s charm! II.