ページの画像
PDF
ePub

God of eternal justice! the false monarch

Has broke his plighted vow!

Enter PIERS wounded.

PIERS.

Fly, fly, my father-the perjured King-fly! fly!

JOHN BALL.

Nay, nay, my child-I dare abide my fate,

Let me bind up thy wounds.

PIERS.

'Tis useless succour :

They seek thy life; fly, fly, my honour'd father.
Fain would I die in peace to hope thee safe.

I shall soon join thee, Tyler!-they are murdering
Our unsuspecting brethren: half unarm'd,
Trusting too fondly to the tyrant's vows,

They were dispersing : -the streets swim with blood.
Oh! save thyself.

Enter Soldiers.

SOLDIER.

This is that old seditious heretic.

SECOND SOLDIER.

Enter Guards with JOHN BALL.

GUARD.

We 've brought the old villain.

SECOND GUARD.

An old mischief-maker

Why there's fifteen hundred of the mob are kill'd,
All through his preaching!

SIR JOHN TRESILIAN.

Prisoner! are you the arch-rebel, John Ball?

JOHN BALL.

I am John Ball; but I am not a rebel.
Take ye the name, who, arrogant in strength,
Rebel against the people's sovereignty.

SIR JOHN TRESILIAN.

John Ball, you are accused of stirring up
The poor deluded people to rebellion;
Not having the fear of God and of the King
Before your eyes; of preaching up strange notions,
Heretical and treasonous; such as saying

That kings have not a right from heaven to govern;
That all mankind are equal, and that ranks,

(Seizes JOHN BALL.) And the distinctions of society,

And here the young spawn of rebellion;
My orders are n't to spare him.

(Stabs PIERS.)

Come you old stirrer up of insurrection,
You bell-wether of the mob-you are n't to die
So easily.

(They lead off JoHN BALL-the tumult increases
-Mob fly across the stage—the Troops pursue
them-loud cries and shouts.)

Scene-Westminster Hall.

KING, WALWORTH, PHILPOT, SIR JOHN TRESILIAN, etc.

WALWORTH.

My liege, 't was wisely order'd to destroy
The dunghill rabble, but take prisoner

That old seditious priest: his strange wild notions
Of this equality, when well exposed,

Will create ridicule, and shame the people,
Of their late tumults.

SIR JOHN TRESILIAN.

Aye, there's nothing like
A fair free open trial, where the King
Can chuse his jury and appoint his judges.

KING.

Walworth, I must thank you for my deliverance:
"T was a bold deed to stab him in the parley!
Kneel down, and rise a knight, Sir William Walworth.

Enter Messenger.

MESSENGER.

I left them hotly at it. Smithfield smoked
With the rebels' blood: your troops fought loyally,
There's not a man of them will lend an ear
To pity.

SIR WILLIAM WALWORTH.

Is John Ball secured?

MESSENGER.

They 've seized him.

[blocks in formation]

That I told them
That all mankind are equal, is most true:
Ye came as helpless infants to the world;
Ye feel alike the infirmities of nature;
And at last inoulder into common clay.
Why then these vain distinctions?-Bears not the earth
Food in abundance?-must your granaries
O'erflow with plenty, while the poor man starves?
Sir Judge, why sit you there clad in your furs?
Why are your cellars stored with choicest wines?
Your larders hung with dainties; while your vassal,
As virtuous, and as able too by nature,
Though by your selfish tyranny deprived
Of mind's improvement, shivers in his rags,
And starves amid the plenty he creates.
I have said this is wrong, and I repeat it-
And there will be a time when this
great truth
Shall be confess'd-be felt by all mankind.

[blocks in formation]

With his French neighbours?-Charles and Richard Fade in its strong effulgence. Flattery's incense

[blocks in formation]

And preaching to them strange and dangerous doctrines; That the law may take vengeance on the rebels.

[blocks in formation]

O joy of joys for every British breast! That with that mighty peril full in view, The Queen of Ocean to herself 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 oppress'd, Her Red-Cross floated on the waves unfurl'd, Offering Redemption to the groaning world.

V.

First from his trance the heroic Spaniard woke;
His chains he broke,

And casting off his neck the treacherous yoke,
He call'd on England, on his generous foe:
For well he knew that wheresoe'er
Wise policy prevailed, or brave despair,
Thither would Britain's liberal succours flow,
Her arm be present there.
Then, too, regenerate Portugal display'd
Iler 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.

VI.

Say from thy trophied field how well,
Vimeiro! rocky Douro tell!

And thou, Busaco, on whose sacred height
The astonish'd Carmelite,

While those unwonted thunders shook his cell, Join'd with his prayers the fervour of the fight!2 Bear witness those Old Towers,3 where many a day Waiting with foresight calm the fitting hour, The Wellesley, gathering strength in wise delay,

Defied 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 Springs5 beheld their overthrow!

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 nought 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 ?7
Her cause is just, and Heaven is over all.

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 bade the people call to mind Their heroes of the days of yore,

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;

Age 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.

IX.

Thus in the famous days of yore,
Their fathers triumph'd o'er the Moor,

They gloried in his overthrow,

But touch'd not with reproach his gallant name;
For fairly, and with hostile aim profest,
The Moor had rear'd his haughty crest;
An open, honourable foe;

But as a friend the treacherous Freuchman came,
And Spain receiv'd him as a guest.
Think what your
fathers were! she cried!
Think what ye are, in sufferings tried,
And think of what your sons must be-
Even as ye make them-slaves or free!

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 hour bestow'd;
And gloriously the debt they paid,
Which to their valiant ancestors they ow'd,
And gloriously against the power of France,
Maintain'd their children's proud inheritance.
Their steady purpose no defeat could move,
No horrors 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 might 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.

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 England's arm was strong to save;
Fair promise there the Wellesley gave,

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

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 her 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 plain,

Into her joyful bosom unconfin'd,

Receives once more the treasures of the main.

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 Vittoria's walls they stood at bay,
And drew their battle up in fair array.

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 bind; Raise now the song of joy for rescued Spain! And Europe, take thou up the awakening strainGlory 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'd 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 rise!
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 her chains upon the oppressor's head-"
Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!

XVI.

Open thy gates, O Hanover! display

Thy loyal banners to the day;

Receive thy old illustrious line once more! Beneath an Upstart's yoke oppress'd, Long hath it been thy fortune to deplore

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

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 oppress'd,
Mockery and insult aggravating wrong!
Severely she her errors hath atoned,
And long in anguish groan'd,
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 nigh,
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!

XVIII.

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..

Hold 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.

Note 1, page 498, col. 1.

That no weak heart, no abject mind possessed

Her counsels.

<< Can any man of sense,» said the Edinburgh Review

«does 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 height
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 I, 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!

Es pequeña aquella Iglesia,
Mas para pobres bastante;
Pobre de todo aderezo

Con que el rico suele ornarse.

No ay alli plata, ni oro,

Telas y sedas no valen
Donde reyna la pobreza,
Que no para en bienes tales;

Asperando á 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 Iglesia
Quiso Cristo desposarse;

La tabla donde se salva

El misero naufragante Del piélago de la culpa, Ya puerto glorioso sale. Con perfecion y concierto

Se aderezan los altares.

(por manos de aquellos santos) De bellas flores suaves.

En toscos vasos de corcho

Lustran texidos con arte
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 amante.

Cada celda muy pequeña
Encierra probreza grande,

Que en competencia sus dueños
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 corcho tosco 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 ásperas disciplinas Teñidas de propria sangre, Son albajas de su casa.

Y en aquellas soledades
Hablando con sabios mudos
Suelen tal vez aliviarse;
Que á los hijos de Theresa

Tanto los libros aplacen,
Que en los yermos mas remotos
Les dan del dia una parte.

Tiene cada qual en huerto

(porque en él pueda ocuparse)
De árboles de espino, y flores
Siempre de olor liberales.
Libres ansi del tumulto

Que embaraza los mortales,
Ferverosas oraciones
Mandan à Dios cada instante.

Sus devotos exercicios

No se los perturba nadie,
Ni sus penitencias hallan
Testigos que las estrañen.
Qual con cadenas de puas

Tan duras como diamantes,
Agudas y rigurosas
Cine su afligida carne;
Qual con cilicios y sogas
Aspérrimas, intractables,
De que jamas se les quitan
Las cavernosas senales.

[merged small][ocr errors]

Que Busaco denomina,
Y es tombien 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 benig nas De nuestra madre comun Que bumilde se les inclina, Qual en las concavidades

De las rocas escondida,
Que labró naturaleza
Con perfecion infinita.
Qual entre las arboledas
De verde rama vestida,
Informándoles de gracias
Sus formas vegetativas.
Qual del cristalino arroyo

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

« 前へ次へ »