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Thy will be done on earth, the victory
Accomplished over Sin as well as Death,
And the great scheme of Providence fulfilled.

XXIV.

FOR THE BANKS OF THE DOURO.

CROSSING, in unexampled enterprise,

This great and perilous stream, the English host Effected here their landing, on the day

When Soult from Porto with his troops was driven.

No sight so joyful ever had been seen

From Douro's banks,—not when the mountains sent
Their generous produce down, or homeward fleets
Entered from distant seas their port desired;
Nor e'er were shouts of such glad mariners
So gladly heard, as then the cannon's peal,
And short, sharp strokes of frequent musketry,
By the delivered habitants that hour.

For they who, beaten then and routed, fled
Before victorious England, in their day

Of triumph, had, like fiends let loose from hell,
Filled yon devoted city with all forms

Of horror, all unutterable crimes;

And vengeance now had reached the inhuman race Accurst. Oh, what a scene did Night behold Within those rescued walls, when festal fires

And torches, blazing through the bloody streets,

Streamed their broad light where horse and man in

death

Unieeded lay outstretched! Eyes, which had wept
In bitterness so long, shed tears of joy,

And from the broken heart thanksgiving mixed
With anguish rose to Heaven. Sir Arthur then
Might feel how precious in a righteous cause
Is victory, how divine the soldier's meed
When grateful nations bless the avenging sword!

XXV.

TALAVERA.

FOR THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

Yox wide-extended town, whose roofs and towers
And poplar avenues are seen far off,
In goodly prospect over scattered woods

Of dusky ilex, boasts among its sons

Of Mariana's name,

- he who hath made

The splendid story of his country's wars
Through all the European kingdoms known.
Yet in his ample annals thou canst find
No braver battle chronicled than here

Was waged, when Joseph, of the stolen crown,
Against the hosts of England and of Spain
His veteran armies brought. By veteran chiefs
Captained, a formidable force they came,
Full fifty thousand. Victor led them on,

A man grown gray in arms, nor e'er in aught
Dishonored, till by this opprobrious cause.
He, over rude Alverche's summer stream
Winning his way, made first upon the right
His hot attack, where Spain's raw levies, ranged
In double line, had taken their strong stand
In yonder broken ground, by olive groves
Covered, and flanked by Tagus. Soon from thence,
As one whose practised eye could apprehend
All vantages in war, his troops he drew;
And on this hill, the battle's vital point,
Bore with collected power, outnumbering

The British ranks twice told. Such fearful odds
Were balanced by Sir Arthur's master mind
And by the British heart. Twice during night
The fatal spot they stormed, and twice fell back,
Before the bayonet driven. Again at morn
They made their fiery onset, and, again
Repelled, again at noon renewed the strife.
Yet was their desperate perseverance vain,
Where skill by equal skill was countervailed,
And numbers by superior courage foiled;
And, when the second night drew over them
Its sheltering cope, in darkness they retired,
At all points beaten. Long in the red page
Of war shall Talavera's famous name
Stand forth. conspicuous. While that name endures.
Bear in thy soul, O Spain! the memory
Of all thou sufferedst from perfidious France,
Of all that England in thy cause achieved.

XXVI.

FOR THE DESERTO DE BUSACO.

READER! thou standest upon holy ground,
Which Penitence hath chosen for itself,
And war, disturbing the deep solitude,
Hath left it doubly sacred. On these heights
The host of Portugal and England stood,
Arrayed against Massena, when the chief,
Proud of Rodrigoo and Almeida won,
Pressed forward, thinking the devoted realm
Full sure should fall a prey. He in his pride
Scorned the poor numbers of the English foe,
And thought the children of the land would fly
From his advance, like sheep before the wolf,
Scattering, and lost in terror. Ill he knew
The Lusitanian spirit! Ill he knew

The arm, the heart, of England! Ill he knew
Her Wellington! He learnt to know them here,
That spirit and that arm, that heart, that mind,
Here on Busaco gloriously displayed,

When, hence repulsed, the beaten boaster wound
Below his course circuitous, and left

His thousands for the beasts and ravenous fowl.
The Carmelite who in his cell recluse

Was wont to sit, and from a skull receive
Death's silent lesson, wheresoe'er he walk,
Henceforth may find his teachers. He shall find
The Frenchmen's bones in glen and grove, on rock *

And height, where'er the wolves and carrion birds Have strewn them, washed in torrents, bare and bleached

By sun and rain, and by the winds of heaven.

XXVII.

FOR THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS.

THROUGH all Iberia, from the Atlantic shores
To far Pyrene, Wellington hath left
His trophies; but no monument records
To after-time a more enduring praise

Than this which marks his triumph here attained
By intellect, and patience to the end

Holding through good and ill its course assigned,
The stamp and seal of greatness. Here the chief
Perceived in foresight Lisbon's sure defence,
A vantage-ground for all reverse prepared,
Where Portugal and England might defy
All strength of hostile numbers. Not for this
Of hostile enterprise did he abate,

Or gallant purpose: witness the proud day

Which saw Soult's murderous host from Porto

Bear witness, Talavera, made by him.

[driven;

Famous for ever; and that later fight
When from Busaco's solitude the birds,
Then first affrighted in their sanctuary,
Fled from the thunders and the fires of war.

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