Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   And ever since that martial synod met,
   Britannia sickens, Cintra, at thy name;
   And folks in office at the mention fret,
   And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame. 
   How will posterity the deed proclaim! 
   Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,
   To view these champions cheated of their fame,
   By foes in fight o’erthrown, yet victors here,
Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year?