Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   Such the ungentle sport that oft invites
   The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain: 
   Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights
   In vengeance, gloating on another’s pain. 
   What private feuds the troubled village stain! 
   Though now one phalanxed host should meet the foe,
   Enough, alas, in humble homes remain,
   To meditate ’gainst friends the secret blow,
For some slight cause of wrath, whence life’s warm stream must flow.