Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way
   Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued: 
   Yet is she free—­the spoiler’s wished-for prey! 
   Soon, soon shall Conquest’s fiery foot intrude,
   Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. 
   Inevitable hour!  ’Gainst fate to strive
   Where Desolation plants her famished brood
   Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre, might yet survive,
And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive.