Out of the Latin Quarter I came to the lofty door Where the two marble Sphinxes guard The Pavilion de Flore. Two Cockneys stood by the gate, and one Observed, as they turned to go, "No wonder He likes that sort of thing,-- He's a Sphinx himself, you know." I thought as I walked where the garden glowed In the sunset's level fire, Of the Charlatan whom the Frenchmen loathe And the Cockneys all admire. They call him a Sphinx,--it pleases him,-- And if we narrowly read, We will find some truth in the flunkey's praise, The man is a Sphinx indeed. For the Sphinx with breast of woman And face so debonair Had the sleek false paws of a lion, That could furtively seize and tear. So far to the shoulders,--but if you took The Beast in reverse you would find The ignoble form of a craven cur Was all that lay behind. She lived by giving to simple folk A silly riddle to read, And when they failed she drank their blood In cruel and ravenous greed. But at last came one who knew her word, And she perished in pain and shame,-- This bastard Sphinx leads the same base life And his end will be the same. For an Oedipus-People is coming fast With swelled feet limping on, If they shout his true name once aloud His false foul power is gone. Afraid to fight and afraid to fly, He cowers in an abject shiver; The people will come to their own at last,-- God is not mocked forever. The Surrender of Spain I. Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador! Sea-girdled mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power; Cradle of world-grasping Emperors, grave of the reckless invader, How art thou fallen, my Spain! how art thou sunk at this hour! II. Once thy magnanimous sons trod, victors, the portals of Asia, Once the Pacific waves rushed, joyful thy banners to see; For it was Trajan that carried the battle-flushed eagles to Dacia, Cortés that planted thy flag fast by the uttermost sea. III. Has thou forgotten those days illumined with glory and honor, When the far isles of the sea thrilled to the tread of Castile? When every land under Heaven was flecked by the shade of thy banner,-- When every beam of the sun flashed on thy conquering steel? IV. Then through red fields of slaughter, through death and defeat and disaster, Still flared thy banner aloft, tattered, but free from a stain, Now to the upstart Savoyard thou bendest to beg for a master! How the red flush of her shame mars the proud beauty of Spain! V. Has the red blood run cold that boiled by the Xenil and Darro? Are the high deeds of the sires sung to the children no more? On the dun hills of the North hast thou heard of no plough-boy Pizarro? Roams no young swine-herd Cortés hid by the Tagus' wild shore? VI. Once again does Hispania bend low to the yoke of the stranger! Once again will she rise, flinging her gyves in the sea! Princeling of Piedmont! unwitting thou weddest with doubt and with danger, King over men who have learned all that it costs to be free.