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  RETURN TO GRANADA, OCTOBER 27, 1831

My loved country! thee again
I come at length returned to see;
Thy beauteous soil, thy fields where reign
Plenty and joy unceasingly!
Thy radiant sun, thy peaceful skies,
Yes! there extended o’er the plain,
From hill to hill, I see arise
The far-famed city! Noble towers,
Midst groves of ever-blooming flowers;
Kissing her walls are crystal streams,
Her valley lofty heights surround,
And the snow-topp’d Sierra gleams,
Crowning the far horizon’s bound.

Not vain thy memory me pursued
Where’er I stray’d; with that imbued,
Troubling my hopes, my joys, my rest,
The thoughts my heart and soul oppress’d.
On the cold margin of the Thames,
Or Seine, I thought of thee, and sigh’d
Again to view the bank that gems
Thy Henil’s or thy Douro’s tide.
And if perchance my voice essay’d
Some gayer song, for short relief,
Soon for lament the attempts I made
Were check’d, and doubled was my grief.

Vain the delicious Arno show’d,
Offering to me her fruitful shore,
Of peace and loves the soft abode,
With flowers enamell’d o’er.
«More blooming are the plains where flows
The gentle Henil through,
And lovelier still Granada shows
Her pleasant site to view!»
Murmuring such words in mournful thought,
I oft with tearful eyes repined,
Upraised to Heaven, as memory brought
My fathers’ homes and hearths to mind.
At times the solitary view
Of rural scenes more seem’d to soothe;
From cities terror-struck I flew,
And breathless, anxious, o’er the uncouth
Rough Alps I took my way.
But not so pure, so vivid show’d
Their snowy tops the sun’s bright ray,
As from our snow Sierra glow’d
The streams of light, the god of day
O’er earth and heaven bestow’d.

My griefs Pompeii flatter’d more:
Its fearful ruins, silent streets,
Deserted porticos, retreats
Of men with grass run o’er.
And in my troubled mind began
Grave thoughts to rise, how vain is all
The power of miserable man.
To abase his fame, his pride to gall,
How fate delights! and works that vast
He rears, and dares eternal call,
Throws over with a blast!
Today the traveller, as he roves
Along the Tiber, has to trace
Through ruins, where that was high Jove’s
Triumphant city had its place!
The plough breaks up the fruitful mould,
The sacred relics now we see
Of Herculaneum that enfold,
As in a darksome tomb! If be
Pompeii’s walls still standing, yet
Are their foundations undermined
By age, and as the rude winds threat,
They tremble to their fall inclined.

Thus in my youth I saw the tower
Of the superb Alhambra lower,
Broken, and imminent appal
The Douro threatening with its fall.
Each rapid moment of my life
Hasten’d the term with ruin rife;
And of the Alcazar’s sovereign pride,
Where once the Moorish power enchain’d
Their fame as left to ages wide,
Mine eyes may soon not find descried
Its ruins ev’n remain’d.
As that dark image o’er me glooms,
My heart sinks heavy in my breast;
I bow myself before the tombs,
In tears with grief oppress’d.

What is thy magic? what may be
The ineffable enchantment found,
O, country! O, sweet name, in thee?
Ever so dear to man the sound!
The sunburnt African will sigh
For his parch’d sands and burning sky,
Perchance afar, and round the plains
However blooming he disdains.
Ev’n the rude Laplander, if fate
In luckless hour him off has torn
From his own soil, disconsolate
Will to return there longing mourn;
Envying the eternal night’s repose,
His icebound shores and endless snows.

And I, to whom kind fate assign’d
My birth within thy happy fold,
Granada! and my growth as kind
Within thy blissful bounds to mould,
Far from my country, and beset
With griefs, how could I thee forget?
On Africa’s inhuman shore,
To the wreck’d seaman rough and drear,
Thy sacred name I o’er and o’er
Repeated, which the waves to hear
Back to the Spanish regions bore.
On the far Pole’s dark furious sea,
By the Batavian’s energy
Bridled, again thy name was heard:
Heard it the Rhone, the foamy Rhine,
The Pyrenæan heights the word
Repeated with the Apennine,
And in Vesuvius’ burning cave
Then first the sound the echos gave.

Granada, October 27th, 1831

autógrafo

Francisco Martínez de la Rosa
Translation by James Kennedy


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James Kennedy. "Modern poets and poetry of Spain" (1860). Produced by Cornell University Library, 1992.