FOUR months Massena had his quarters here, When by those lines deterr'd where Wellington Defied the power of France, but loth to leave Rich Lisbon yet unsack'd, he kept his ground, Till from impending famine, and the force Array'd in front, and that consuming war Which still the faithful nation, day and night, And at all hours was waging on his rear, He saw no safety, save in swift retreat. Then of his purpose frustrated, this child Of Hell, so fitlier than of Victory call'd, Gave his own devilish nature scope, and let His devilish army loose. The mournful rolls That chronicle the guilt of humankind, Tell not of aught more hideous than the deeds With which this monster and his kindred troops Track'd their inhuman way; all cruelties, All forms of horror, all deliberate crimes, Which tongue abhors to utter, ear to hear. Let this memorial bear Massena's name For everlasting infamy inscribed.
THE fountains of Onoro which give name To this poor hamlet, were distain'd with blood, What time Massena, driven from Portugal By national virtue in endurance proved, And England's faithful aid, against the land Not long delivered, desperately made
His last fierce effort here. That day, bestreak'd With slaughter Coa and Agueda ran,
So deeply had the open veins of war
Purpled their mountain feeders. Strong in means, With rest, and stores, and numbers reinforced, Came the ferocious enemy, and ween'd Beneath their formidable cavalry.
To trample down resistance. But there fought Against them here, with Britons side by side, The children of regenerate Portugal,
And their own crimes, and all-beholding Heaven. Beaten, and hopeless thenceforth of success The inhuman Marshal, never to be named By Lusitanian lips without a curse
Of clinging infamy, withdrew and left
These Fountains famous for his overthrow.
THOUGH the four quarters of the world have seen The British valour proved triumphantly Upon the French, in many a field far-famed, Yet may the noble Island in her rolls
Of glory write Barrosa's name. For there, Not by the issue of deliberate plans Consulted well, was the fierce conflict won, Nor by the leader's eye intuitive, Nor force of either arm of war, nor art Of skill'd artillerist, nor the discipline Of troops to absolute obedience train'd; But by the spring and impulse of the heart, Brought fairly to the trial, when all else
Seem'd, like a wrestler's garment, thrown aside; By individual courage and the sense
Of honour, their old country's, and their own, There to be forfeited, or there upheld; ..
This warm'd the soldier's soul, and gave his hand The strength that carries with it victory. More to enhance their praise, the day was fought Against all circumstance; a painful march, Through twenty hours of night and day prolong'd, Forespent the British troops; and hope delay'd Had left their spirits pall'd. But when the word
Was given to turn, and charge, and win the heights; The welcome order came to them, like rain
Upon a traveller in the thirsty sands.
Rejoicing, up the ascent, and in the front
Of danger, they with steady step advanced, And with the insupportable bayonet
Drove down the foe. The vanquished Victor saw
And thought of Talavera, and deplored His eagle lost. But England saw well-pleased Her old ascendency that day sustain'd; And Scotland shouting over all her hi.is, Among her worthies rank'd another Graham.
FOR A MONUMENT AT ALBUHERA.
SEVEN thousand men lay bleeding on these heights, When Beresford in strenuous conflict strove Against a foe whom all the accidents
Of battle favoured, and who knew full well To seize all offers that occasion gave. Wounded or dead, seven thousand here were stretch'd, And on the plain around a myriad more, Spaniard and Briton and true Portugueze, Alike approved that day; and in the cause Of France, with her flagitious sons compell'd, Pole and Italian, German, Hollander,
Men of all climes and countries, hither brought, Doing and suffering, for the work of war.
This point by her superior cavalry
France from the Spaniard won, the elements
Aiding her powerful efforts; here awhile
She seem'd to rule the conflict; and from hence The British and the Lusitanian arm
Dislodged with irresistible assault
The enemy, even when he deem'd the day Was written for his own. But not for Soult,
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