The Girl of Cadiz

Oh never talk again to meOf northern climes and British ladies;It has not been your lot to see,Like me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz.Although her eye be not of blue,5Nor fair her locks, like English lasses,How far its own expressive hueThe languid azure eye surpasses!

Prometheus-like from heaven she stoleThe fire that through those silken lashes10In darkest glances seems to roll,From eyes that cannot hide their flashes:And as along her bosom stealIn lengthened flow her raven tresses,You'd swear each clustering lock could feel,15And curled to give her neck caresses.

Our English maids are long to woo,And frigid even in possession;And if their charms be fair to view,Their lips are slow at Love's confession;20But, born beneath a brighter sun,For love ordained the Spanish maid is,And who,--when fondly, fairly won,--Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz?

The Spanish maid is no coquette,25Nor joys to see a lover tremble,And if she love, or if she hate,Alike she knows not to dissemble.Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold--Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely;30And, though it will not bend to gold,'Twill love you long and love you dearly.

The Spanish girl that meets your loveNe'er taunts you with a mock denial,For every thought is bent to prove35Her passion in the hour of trial.When thronging foemen menace Spain,She dares the deed and shares the danger;And should her lover press the plain,She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.40

And when, beneath the evening star,She mingles in the gay Bolero,Or sings to her attuned guitarOf Christian knight or Moorish hero,Or counts her beads with fairy hand45Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper,Or joins Devotion's choral band,To chaunt the sweet and hallowed vesper;--

In each her charms the heart must moveOf all who venture to behold her;50Then let not maids less fair reproveBecause her bosom is not colder:Through many a clime 'tis mine to roamWhere many a soft and melting maid is,But none abroad, and few at home,55May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.