22
SEBASTIAN OF PORTUGAL.
That on the sick man's weary couch he lay,
Pining to share my battles!—
(Music heard within, and voices.)
Chorus.
Ye wlnds, that sweep
The conquered billows of the Western Deep,
Or wander where the morn
'Midst the resplendent Indian Heavens is born,
Waft o'er bright isles and glorious Worlds the fame
Of the crowned Spaniard's name:
Till in each glowing zone,
Its might the nations own,
And bow to him the vassal knee,
Whose sceptre shadows realms from Sea to Sea!
Sebastian.
Away, away!—this is no place for him
Whose name hath thus resounded, but is now
A word of desolation!Exit.
