HISPANIA! O, Hispania! once my home — br How hath thy fall degraded every son br Who owns thee for a birth-place. They who walk br Thy marbled courts and holy sanctuaries, br Or tread thy olive groves, and pluck the grapes br That cluster there — or dance the saraband br By moonlight, to some Moorish melody — br Or whistle with the Muleteer, along br Thy goat-climbed rocks and awful precipices; br How do the nations scorn them and deride! br And they who wander where a Spanish tongue br Was never heard, and where a Spanish heart br Had never beat before, how poor, how shunned, br Avoided, undervalued, and debased, br Move they among the foreign multitudes! br Once I was bright to the world's eye, and passed br Among the nobles of my native land br In Spain's armorial bearings, decked and stampt br With Royalty's insignia, and I claimed br And took the station of my high descent; br But the cold world has cut a cantle out br From my escutcheon— and now here I am, br A poor, depreciated pistareen.