O joy of joys for every British breast! That with that mighty peril full in view,

The Queen of Ocean to lierself was true! That no weak heart, no abject mind possess'd

Her counsels,' to abase her lofty crest,(Then had she sunk in everlasting shame,)

But ready still to succour the oppressid, Her Red-Cross floated on the waves unfurlu, Offeriny Redemption to the groaning world.

Pelayo and the Campeador, 8
With all who, once in battle strong,

Lived still in story and in song.

Against the Moor, age after age, Their stubborn warfare did they wage; Ave after age,

from sire to son, The hallowed sword was handed down;

Nor did they from that warfare cease, And sheathe that hallowed sword in peace,

Until the work was done.

V. First from his trance the heroic Spaniard woke;

His chajns he broke, And casting off his neck the treacherous yoke, He call'd on England, on his generous foe:

For weli he knew that wheresoc'er
Wise policy prevailed, or brave despair,
Thither would Britain's liberal succours tlow,

Her arm be present there.
Then, loo, regenerate Portugal display'd
ller ancient virtue, dormant all too long.

Rising against intolerable wrong,
On England, on her old ally for aid
The faithful nation call'd in her distress:

And well that old ally the call obey'd, Well was that faithful friendship then repaid.

IX.
Thus in the famous days of yore,
Their fathers triumplid o'er the Moor,

They gloried in his overthrow,
But touclid not with reproach bis gallant name;

For fairly, and with hostile aim profest,
The Moor had reard his haughty crest;

honourable foe; But as a friend the treacherous Frenchman came,

And Spain receiv'd him as a guest.
Think what your fathers were ! she cried!

Think what in sufferings tried,
And think of what your sons must be-
Even as ye make them-slaves or free!

An open,

ye are,

VI.
Say from thy trophied field how well,

Vimeiro! rocky Douro tell!
And thou, Busaco, on whose sacred height

The astonishid Carmelite,
While those unwonted thunders shook his cell,
Join'd with his prayers thic fervour of the fight!
Bear witness those Old Towers, 3 where many a day

Waiting with foresighit calm the fitting hour, The Wellesley, gathering strength io wise delay,

Delied the Tyrant's undivided power. Swore not the boastful Frenchman in his might,

Into the sea to drive his Island-foe?

Tagus and Zezere, in the secret night,
Ye saw that host of ruffians take their flight!4

And in the Sun's broad light
Onoro's Springs. beheld their overthrow!

X.
Strains such as these from Spain's three seas,

And from the farthest Pyrenees,
Rung through the region. Vengeance was the word;9

One impulse to all hearts at once was given;

From every voice the sacred cry was heard, And borne abroad by all the Winds of Heaven. Heaven too, to whom the Spaniards look'd for aid,

A spirit equal to the bour bestowd;

And gloriously the debt they paid,
Which to their valiant ancestors they ow'd,
Aud gloriously against the power of France,
Maintain'd their children's proud inheritance.

Their steady purpose no defeat could move,
No borrors could abate their constant mind;
Hope had its source and resting-place above,

And they, to loss of all on earth resign'd,
Suffered, to save their country, and mankind.

What strain heroic mighie suffice to tell,

How Zaragoza stood, and how she fell ?
Ne'er since yon sun began his daily round,
Was higher virtue, holier valour found,

Than on that consecrated ground.

VII.
Patient of loss, profuse of life,
Meantime had Spain endured the strife;

And tho' she saw her cities yield,
Her armies scatter'd in the field,

Her strongest bulwarks fall,
The danger undismay'd she view'd,
Knowing that nouglit could e'er appal

The Spaniards' fortitude. 6
What though the Tyrant, drunk with power,

Might vaunt himself, in impious hour, Lord and Disposer of this earthly ball 17 Her cause is just, and Heaveu is over all.

XI.
Alone the noble Nation stood,
When from Corunna in the main,
The star of England set in blood.

Ere long on Talavera's plain,
That star resplendent rose again;
And though that day was doom'd to be

A day of frustrate victory,

Not vainly bled the brave!
For French and Spaniard there might see
That Eogland's arm was strong to save;
Fair promise there the Wellesley gavc,

And well in sight of Earth and Heaven,
Did hic redeem the pledge which there was given.

VIII. Therefore no thought of fear debased Her judgment, nor her acts disgraced. To every ill, but not to shame resign'd, All sufferings, all calamities she bore. She hade the people call to mind Their heroes of the days of yore,

XII.
Lord of Conquest, heir of Fame,
From rescued Portugal he came.
Rodrigo's walls in vain oppose;

In vain thy bulwarks, Badajoz;

And Salamanca's heights proclaim
The Conqueror's praise, the Wellesley's name.

Oh, had the sun stood still that hour,
When Marmont and his broken power

Fled from their field of shame!
Spain felt through all hier realms the electric blow;

Cadiz in peace expands her gates again;
And Betis, who to bondage long resign'd,
Flow'd mournfully along the silent plaio,

Into her joyful bosom unconfind,
Receives once more the treasures of the main.

That line, whose fostering and paternal sway So many an age thy grateful children blest. The yoke is broken now!-A mightier hand Hath dashd, -in pieces dash'd, -the iron rod.

To meet her Princes, the delivered land

Pours her rejoicing multitudes abroad;
The happy bells from every town and tower,

Roll their glad peals upon the joyful wind;
And from all hearts and tongues, with one consent,
The high thanksgiving strain to Heaven is sent,-

Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!

XIII.
What now shall check the Wellesley, when at length

Onward he goes, rejoicing in his strength?
From Douro, from Castille's extended plain,

The foe, a numerous band,
Retire; amid the heights which overhang
Dark Ebro's bed, they think to make their stand.
He reads their

purpose, and prevents their speed;

And still as they recede,
Impetuously he presses on their way;
Till by Villoria's walls they stood at bay,
And drew their battle up in fair array.

XVII
Egmont and Horn, heard ye that holy cry,
Martyrs of Freedom, from your seats in Heaven?

And William the Deliverer, doth thine eye
Regard from yon empyreal realm the land

For which thy blood was given!
What ills hath that poor Country suffered long!
Deceived, despised, and plunder'd, and oppressid,

Mockery and insult aggravating wrong!
Severely she lier errors hath aloned,

And long in anguish groand, Wearing the patient semblance of despair, While fervent curses rose with every prayer! In mercy Heaven at length its ear inclined; The avenging armies of the North draw night, Joy for the injured Hollander,—the cry

Of Orange rends the sky! All hearts are now in one good cause combined, Once more that flag triumphant floats on high,

Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!

XIV.
Vain their array, their valour vain :
There did the practised Frenchman find

A master arm, a master mind!

Behold the veteran army driven
Like dust before the breath of Heaven,

Like leaves before the autumnal wind! Now, Britain, now thy brow with laurels biud;

Raise now the song of joy for rescued Spain! And Europe, take thou up the awakening strain

Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!

XV.
From Spain the living spark went forth:
The flame hath caught, the flame is spread!
It warms,-it fires the farthest North.

Behold! the awaken a Moscovite
Meets the 'Tyrant in his might; 10
The Brandenburg, at Freedom's call,

Rises more glorious from his fall;
And Frederic, best and greatest of the name,

Treads in the path of duty and of fame.

See Austria from her painful trance awake! The breath of God goes forth,—the dry bones shake!

Up Germany! --with all thy nations risc!

Land of the virtuous and the wise, No longer let that free, that mighty mind, Endure its shame! She rose as from the dead, She broke lier chains upon the oppressor's head—11

Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!

XVII. When shall the Dove go forth? Oh when Shall Peace return among the Sons of Men? Hasten, benignant Heaven, the blessed day!

Justice must go before, And Retribution must make plain the way;

Force must be crushed by Force, The power of Evil by the power of Good, Ere Order bless the suffering world once more

Or Peace return again..
Kold then right on in your auspicious course,
Ye Princes, and ye People, hold right on!

Your task not yet is done :
Pursue the blow,-ye know your foe, -

Complete the happy work so well begun: Hold on and be your aim with all your strength

Loudly proclaim'd and steadily pursued!

So shall this fatal Tyranny at length Before the arms of Freedom fall subdued. Then when the waters of the flood abate, The Dove her resting-place secure may find : And France restored, and shaking off her chain, Shall join the Avengers in the joyful strain, Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!

NOTES.

XVI.
Open thy gates, o Ganover! display

Thy loyal banners to the day; Receive thy old illustrious line once more!

Beneath an Upstart's yoke oppress'u, Long bath it been thy fortune to deplore

Note 1, page 498, col. 1.
That po weak heart, no abject mind possesse)

ller counsels. « Can any man of sense,» said the Edinburgh Review «docs any plain, unaffected man, above the level of a drivelling courtier or a feeble fanatic, dare to say he can look at this impending contest, without trembling every inch of him, for the result ?»— No. XXIV, p. 441.

With all proper deference to so eminent a critic, I would venture to observe, that trembling has been usually supposed to be a symptom of feebleness, and that the case in point has certainly not belied the received opinion.

Note 2 , page 498, col. 1.
And thou, Basaco, on whose sacred beight

The astonish'd Carmelite,
While those unwonted thunders shook his cell,

Join'd with his prayers the fervour of the fight. Of Busaco, which is now as memorable in the military, as it has long been in the monastic history of Portugal, I have given an account in the second volume of Omniana. Dona Bernarda Ferreira's poem upon this venerable place, contains much interesting and some beautiful description. The first intelligence of the battle which reached England was in a letter written from this Convent by a Portuguese Commissary. «I have the happiness to acquaint you,» said the writer, « that this night the French lost nine thousand men near the Convent of Busaco.-I beg you not to consider this news as a fiction,- for 1, from where I am, saw them fall. This place appears like the ante-chamber of Hell.»--What a contrast to the images which the following extracts present!

Cada celda muy pequeña

Encierra probreza grande,
Que en competencia sus dueño;

Gustan de mortificarse.
Despues que alli entró el silencio

No quiso que mas sonase
Ruido que aquel que forma

Entre los ramos el ayre;
El de las fuentes y arroyos,

Y de las parleras aves,
Porque si ellos por Dios lloran,

Ellas sus lagrimas canten.
De corcbo 10300 las puertas,

Tambien de pobreza imagen,
Son mas bellas en sus ojos

Que los Toscanos portales.
Es su cama estrecha tabla

Do apenas tendidos caben,
Porque hasta en ella durmiendo.

Crucificados descansen.
Una Cruz, y calavera

Que tienen siempre delante,
Con asperas disciplinas

Teñidas de propria sangre,
Son albajas de su casa.

Y en aquellas soledades
Hablando con salios mudos

Suelen tal vez aliviarse;
Que á los bijos de Theresa

Tanto los libros aplacen,
Que en los yermos mas remotos

Les dan del dia una parte.
Tiene cada qual en buerto

(porque en el pueda ocuparse)
De árboles de espino, y flores

Siempre de olor liberales.
Libres aosi del tumulto

Que embaraza los mortales,
Ferverosas oraciones

Mandap a Dios cada instante.
Sus devotos exercicios

No se los perturba nadie,
Ni sus penitencias hallan

Testigos que las estranen.
Qual con cadenas de prias

Tan duras como diamantos,
Agudas y rigurosas

Cine su afiigida carne;
Qual con cilicios y sogas

Asperrimas, intractables,
De que jamas se les quitan
Las cavernosas senalos.

nars

Es pequeña aquella Iglesia,

Mas para pohres bastante ;
Pobre de todo aderezo

Con que el rico suele
No ay alli plata, ni oro,
Telas

Y sedas no valen
Donde reyna la pobreza,

Que no para en bienes tales; Asperando a los del Cielo

Los demas tiene por males,
Y rica de altos deseos

Menosprecia vanidades.
En el retablo se mira

El soberano estandarte,
Lecho donde con la Iglesir

Quiso Cristo desposarse ;
La tabla donde se salsa

El misero naufragante
Del piélago de la culpa,

Y á puerto glorioso sale.
Con perfecion y concierto

Se aderezan los aliares
(por manos de aquellos santos)

De bellas flores suaves,
En toscos vasos de corcho

Lustran texidos con arto
Los variados ramilletes

Mas que en el oro el esmalte. La florida rama verde

Que en aquellos bosques nace,
Da colgaduras al templo,

Y los brocados abate.
En dias de mayor fiesta

Esto con excessos hacen,
Y al suelo por alcatifas

Diversas flores reparten.
Huele el divino aposento

Hurtando sutil el ayre
A las rosas y boninas

Mil olores que derrame.
Ilumildes estan las celdas

De aquellos bumildes padres,
Cercando al sacro edificio
Do tienen su caro amapte.

Aquel divino desierto

Que Busaco denomina,
Y es tmbien denominado

Del árbol de nuestra vida, Se muestra sembrado á trechos

De solitarias Ermitas,
Que en espacios desiguales

Unas de las otras distan.
Parece tocan las nubes,

Para servirles de sillas,
Las que coronando peñas

Apenas toca la vista.
Yacen otras por los valles

En las entrañas Iepis nas
De nuestra madre comun

Que bumilds se les inclina. Qual en las con cavidades

De las rocas escondida,
Que labró naturaleza

Con perfecion infinita.
Qual entre las arboledas

De verde rama vestida,
Informándoles de gracias

Sus formas regetativas.
Qual del cristalino arroyo

Las bellas márgenes pisa,
Por lavar los pies descalzos
Entre sus candidas guijas.