32 



Yet one degenerate s©n of Spain was found, 

 (The muse disdains the recreant's name to sound) 

 Who turning round to view the slender train, 

 Thus feebly spoke his soul's degenerate strain ; 

 " Would Heaven recruit our yet — unconquer'd band 

 With eighty Knights, we then might hope to stand." 

 The bold Gonsalo with disdain replied : 



Rather let two be sever'd from our side, 

 Kind Heaven ! that Memory may our feats proclaim, 

 And call our little troop. The Twelve of Fame !" 



Then each with cautious heed his courser try'd, 

 Nor found their wonted mettle yet subside ; 

 And in their saddles firm, with loosen'd rein, 

 They sally forth to meet the hostile train ; 

 Spurring with speed their coursers all abreast, 

 With vizors clos'd, and each his lance in rest. 

 While to the God of Hosts their prayers ascend 

 His servants from perdition to defend. 



As on the barb'rous hordes the Knights advance, 

 The savage tribes, with many a ported lance 

 Prepare to stem their course : their thronging spears 

 Seem'd, as, when Boreas bends the loaded ears 

 By Ceres fiU'd, o'er all the spacious plain 

 Floats a redundant crop of bearded grain. 

 But nought their numbers, nought their rage avail'd, 

 By such impetuous tournament assail'd : 

 O'er falling files the steeds resistless rode, 

 And open'd thro' the line an ample road. 



After feats of almost incredible prowess, seven of the Spaniard* 

 are killed, being overpowered by the arrival of Lautaro with a re- 

 inforcement ; the rest are saved by a sudden storm, which the 

 Poet thus describes ; 



As Maldonadobreath'd his soul away. 

 Unusual darkness hid the face of day. 

 O'er the sun's blotted orb it sail'd along, 

 And o'er the bloody scene portentous hung ; 

 And now the tempest lifts its angry voice 

 With long collected rage, and sweeps the skies ; 

 ' Strain'd by the powerful gust the forests groan. 

 ^ And distant vales return the sullen moan. 



V. 



