XXXIII.

Preluding light, were strains of music heard,

As once again revolved, that measured sand, Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared, Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band; When for the light bolero ready stand

The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met, (9) He conscious of his broider'd cap and band,

She of her netted locks and light corsette, Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the castanet.

XXXIV.

And well such strains the opening scene became;
For valour had relax'd his ardent look,
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame,

Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms to brook; And soften'd Bigotry, upon his book,

Patter'd a task of little good or ill:

But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook,
Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill,
And rung from village-green the merry seguidille.

XXXV.

Gray royalty, grown impotent of toil,

Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold, And careless saw his rule become the spoil Of a loose female and her minion bold. But peace was on the cottage and the fold,

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far;

Beneath the chesnut-tree Love's tale was told,
And to the tinkling of the light guitar

ΧΧΧΙΧ.

From a rude isle his ruder lineage came:

The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth Ascending, wraps some capital in flame,

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. And for the soul that bade him waste the earthThe sable land-flood from some swamp obscure, That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, And by destruction bids its fame endure, Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure. XL.

Before that leader strode a shadowy form:

Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show'd, With which she beckon'd him through fight and storm, And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road, Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what he trode; Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake, So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroadIt was Ambition bade her terrors wake, Nor deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take. XLI.

No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge,

Or staid her hand for conquer'd foeman's moan,
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change,
By Cæsar's side she cross'd the Rubicon;
Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won,

As when the banded powers of Greece were task'd To war beneath the Youth of Macedon:

No seemly veil her modern minion ask'd,

star.

XXXVI.

As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand
When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen,
Came slowly over-shadowing Israel's land,

Awhile, perchance, bedeck'd with colours sheen
While yet the sun-beams on its skirts had been,
Limning with purple and with gold its shroud,
Till darker folds obscured the blue sercne,

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloudThen sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howl'd aloud :

XXXVII.

E'en so upon that peaceful scene was pour'd,

Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band,
And he, their leader, wore in sheath his sword,
And offer'd peaceful front and open hand;
Veiling the perjured treachery he plann'd,

By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise,
Until he won the passes of the land;

Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's tics!

He clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain his prize.

XXXVIII.

An iron crown his anxious forehead bore;

And well such diadem his heart became, Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er,

Or check'd his course for piety or shame; Who, train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, Though neither truth nor honour deck'd his name; Who, placed by fortune on a monarch's throne, Reck'd not of monarch's faith, or merey's kingly tone.

The ruthless leader beckon'd from his train

A wan fraternal shade, and bade him kneel, And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, «Castile !» (10) Not that he loved him-No!-in no man's weal,

Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart; Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, That the poor puppet might perform his part, And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. XLIV.

But on the natives of that land misused

Not long the silence of amazement hung, Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused; For, with a common shriek, the general tongue Exclaim'd, << To arms!» and fast to arms they sprung.

And Valour woke, that genius of the land!

Pleasure and ease, and sloth, aside he flung,

As burst the awakening Nazarite his band,

When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his dreadful hand.

XLV.

That mimic monarch now cast anxious eye
Upon the satraps that begirt him round,
Now doff'd his royal robe in act to fly,

And from his brow the diadem unbound.
So oft, so near, the patriot bugle wound,

From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown. These martial satellites hard labour found,

To guard awhile his substituted throneLight recking of his cause, but battling for their own.

XLVI.

From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung,

And it was echo'd from Corunna's wall; Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung, Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall; Galicia bade her children fight or fall,

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, Valencia roused her at the battle-call,

And foremost still where Valour's sons are met, Fast started to his gun each fiery Miquelet.

XLVII.

But unappall'd, and burning for the fight,
The invaders march, of victory secure;
Skilful their force to sever or unite,

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure.
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure,
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow,
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure :

While nought against them bring the unpractised foe' Save hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for freedom's blow.

XLVIII.

Proudly they march-but O! they march not forth,
By one hot field to crown a brief campaign,
As when their eagles, sweeping through the North,
Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign!
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain;

In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied,

New patriot armies started from the slain,

High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, (11) And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side.

XLIX.

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail,

Remain'd their savage waste. With blade and brand, By day the invaders ravaged hill and dale,

But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, And claim'd for blood the retribution due, Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murd'rous hand, And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw, 'Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpses knew.

L.

What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell,
Amid the vision'd strife from sea to sea,

How oft the patriot banners rose or fell,
Still honour'd in defeat as victory!

For that sad pageant of events to be,

Show'd every form of fight by field and flood; Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, Beheld, while riding on the tempest-scud,

The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd with blood!

LI.

Then Zaragoza-blighted be the tongue

That names thy name without the honour due! For never hath the harp of minstrel rung,

Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true! Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew, Each art of war's extremity had room, Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe withdrew, And when at length stern Fate decreed thy doom, They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. (12)

LII.

Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though in chains, Enthrall'd thou canst not be! Arise and claim Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, For what thou worshippest!-thy sainted dame, She of the column, honour'd be her name,

By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love! And like the sacred reliques of the flame,

That gave some martyr to the bless'd above, To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove! LIII.

Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair!

Faithful to death thy heroes should be sung, Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; Now thicker dark'ning where the mine was sprung, Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare, Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, And redd'ning now with conflagration's glare, While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare.

LIV.

While all around was danger, strife, and fear,

While the earth shook, and darken'd was the sky, And wide destruction stunn'd the listening ear, Appall'd the heart, and stupified the eye,— Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry,

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite,
Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high,
Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight,
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be
light.
LV.

Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew loud-
A varied scene the changeful vision show'd,
For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud,
A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad.
From mast and stern St George's symbol flow'd,
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear;
Mottling the sea their landward barges row'd,
And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear,
And the wild beach return'd the seaman's jovial cheer.

LVI.

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight!

The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars, Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, Legions on legions brightening all the shores. Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean

come!

« WHO shall command Estrella's mountain tide
Back to the source, when tempest-chafed to hie!
Who, when Gascogne's vex'd gulf is raging wide,
Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry!
His magic power let such vain boaster try,
And when the torrent shall his voice obey,
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby,

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way,
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay.
II.

<< Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers
They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke,
And their own sea hath whelm'd yon red-cross powers!»>
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock,

To marshal, duke, and peer, Gaul's leader spoke.
While downward on the land his legions press,
Before them it was rich with vine and flock,

And smiled like Eden in her summer dress;-
Behind their wasteful march a reeking wilderness. (14)

Note 1. Introduction. Stanza iv.

And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung,

And mystic Merlin barp'd and gray-hair'd Llywarch sung. THIS locality may startle those readers who do not recollect, that much of the ancient poetry, preserved in Wales, refers less to the history of the principality to which that name is now limited, than to events which happened in the north-west of England and south-west of Scotland, where the Britons for a long time made a stand against the Saxons. The battle of Cattraeth, lamented by the celebrated Aneurin, is supposed by the learned Dr Leyden to have been fought on the skirts of Ettrick forest. It is known to the English reader by the paraphrase of Gray, beginning,

Had I but the torrent's might,

With headlong rage and wild affright, etc.

But it is not so generally known that the champions, mourned in this beautiful dirge, were the British inhabitants of Edinburgh, who were cut off by the Saxons of Deiria, or Northumberland, about the latter part of the sixth century.-TURNER'S History of the Anglo-Saxons, edition 1799, vol. i, p. 222.-Llywarch, the celebrated bard and monarch, was Prince of Argwood, in Cumberland; and his youthful exploits were performed upon the Border, although in his age he was driven into Powys by the successes of the Anglo-Saxons. As for Merlin Wylle, or the Savage, his name of Caledonia, and his retreat into the Caledonian wood, appropriate him to Scotland. Fordun dedicates the thirty-first chapter of the third book of his Scotochronicon, to a narration of the death of this celebrated bard and prophet near Drummelzier, a village upon Tweed, which is supposed to have derived its name (quasi Tumulus Merlini) from the event. The particular spot in which he is buried is still shown, and appears, from the following quotation, to have partaken of his prophetic qualities:-«There is one thing remarkable here, which is, that the burn,

called Pausayl, runs by the east side of this church-yard into the Tweed; at the side of which burn, a little below the church-yard, the famous prophet Merlin is said to be buried. The particular place of his grave, at the root of a thorn-tree, was shown m many years ago, by the old and reverend minister of the place, Mr Richard Brown; and here was the old prophecy fulfilled, delivered in Scots rhyme, to this purpose:

When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin's grave,
Scotland and England shall one monarch have.

<«<For the same day that our King James the Sixth was crowned King of England, the river Tweed, by an extraordinary flood, so far overflowed its banks, that it met and joined with Pausay] at the said grave, which was never before observed to fall out.»-PENNYCUICK'S Description of Tweeddale, Edinb. 1715, 4. p. 26.

Note 2. Introduction. Stanza viii.

where the lingering fays renew their ring

By milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar,

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring. A belief in the existence and nocturnal revels of the fairies still lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copious fountain upon the ridge of Minchmore, called the Cheesewell, is supposed to be sacred to these fanciful spirits, and it was customary to propitiate them by throwing in something upon passing it. A pin was the usual oblation, and the ceremony is still sometimes practised, though rather in jest than earnest.

Note 3. Introduction. Stanza ix.

-verse spontaneous.

The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish languages, and perhaps the liveliness of their genius, renders these countries distinguished for the talent of improvvisation, which is found even among the lowest of the people. It is mentioned by Baretti and other travellers.

Note 4. Introduction. Stanza ix.
-the deeds of Græme.

Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a poet I have used may be allowed to exercise some power. the freedom, here and elsewhere, to alter the orthography of the name of my gallant countryman, in order to apprise the southern reader of its legitimate sound;Graham being, on the other side of the Tweed, usually pronounced as a dissyllable.

Note 5. Stanza iv.

For fair Florinda's plunder'd charms to pay. Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation committed by Roderick upon Florinda, called by the Moors Caba or Cava. She was the daughter of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, who, when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude of his sovereign, and the dishonour of his daughter, Count Julian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and, forming an alliance with Musa, then the caliph's lieutenant in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Saracens and Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik; the issue of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. Voltaire, in his General History, expresses his doubts of this popu