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XXI.

<< By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the christians yield!
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign!
The scepter'd craven mounts to quit the field-
Is not yon steed Orelia?—Yes, 't is mine! (8)
But never was she turn'd from battle-line;

Lo! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone! Curses pursue the slave and wrath divine!

Rivers ingulph him!»-« Hush!» in shuddering tone, The prelate said; « rash prince, yon vision'd form's

thine own.»-

XXII.

Just then, a torrent cross'd the flyer's course;

The dangerous ford the kingly likeness tried; But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and horse, Swept like benighted peasant down the tide; And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, As numerous as their native locust band; Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, With naked scymitars mete out the land,

XXVII.

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away-
The christians have regain'd their heritage;
Before the cross has waned the crescent's ray,
And many a monastery decks the stage,
And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage.
The land obeys a hermit and a knight,—
The genii these of Spain for many an age;

This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright,
And that was Valour named, this Bigotry was hight.

XXVIII.

Valour was harness'd like a chief of old,

Arm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly gest; His sword was temper'd in the Ebro cold,

Morena's eagle-plume adorn'd his crest, The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. Fierce he stepp'd forward, and flung down his gage, As if of mortal kind to brave the best. Him follow'd his companion, dark and sage,

And for their bondsmen base the free-born natives As he, my master, sung, the dangerous Archimage.

brand.

XXIII.

Then rose the grated harem, to inclose

The loveliest maidens of the christian line; Then, menials to their misbelieving foes, Castile's nobles held forbidden wine; young Then, too, the holy cross, salvation's sign,

By impious hands was from the altar thrown,

And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine

Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone,

XXIX.

Haughty of heart and brow the warrior came,

In look and language proud as proud might be, Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame,

Yet was that bare-foot monk more proud than he. And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree,

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renown'd,

The santon's frantic dance, the fakir's gibbering moan. Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kiss'd

XXIV.

How fares Don Roderick ?-E'en as one who spies
Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable woof,
And hears around his children's piercing cries,
And sees the pale assistants stand aloof;
While cruel conscience brings him bitter proof,
His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief,
And, while above him nods the crumbling roof,

He curses earth and heaven-himself in chiefDesperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief! XXV.

That scythe-arm'd giant turn'd his fatal glass,

And twilight on the landscape closed her wings; Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings; And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs, Bazaars resound as when their marts are met,

In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings,

And on the land, as evening seem'd to set,

the ground.

XXX.

And thus it chanced that Valour, peerless knight,
Who ne'er to king or kaisar veil'd his crest,
Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight,

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest,
Stoop'd ever to that anchoret's behest;

Nor reason'd of the right, nor of the wrong, But at his bidding laid the lance in rest,

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. XXXI.

Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world,
That latest sees the sun, or first the morn;
Still at that wizard's feet their spoils he hurl'd,-
Ingots of ore, from rich Potosi borne,
Crowns by caciques, aigrettes by omrahs worn,
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul;
Idols of gold, from heathen temples torn,
Bedabbled all with blood.-With grisly scowl,

The imaum's chaunt was heard from mosque or mi- The hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath his

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So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came,

The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke,

cowl.

XXXII.

Then did he bless the offering, and bade make Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise;

Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheets of And at his word the choral hymns awake,

flame;

With every flash a bolt explosive broke,

Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their yoke,
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone!
For War a new and dreadful language spoke,
Never by ancient warrior heard or known;
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her

tone.

And many a hand the silver censer sways. But with the incense breath these censers raise, Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire; The of prison'd victims mar the lays, groans And shrieks of agony confound the quire, While, mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes

expire.

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 earth— The 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 storin, 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 abroad-
It 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,

Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the evening He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmask'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 serene,

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;

XLII.

That prelate mark'd his march-On banners blazed
With battles won in many a distant land,

On cagle-standards and on arms he gazed;

<< And hopest thou then,» he said, «<thy power shall stand?

O thou hast builded on the shifting sand,
And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's flood;
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand!
Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud,
And by a bloody death shall die the man of blood!»-
XLIII.

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, « Cas-
tile!»> (10)

Not that he loved him-No!-in no man's weal,
Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart;

Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel,

ties!

That the poor puppet might perform his part,

He clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain his And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 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 mercy's kingly tone.

XLIV.

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XLV.

That mimic monarch now cast anxious eye
Upon the satraps that begirt him round,
Now doffd 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.

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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.

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LVII.

A various host they came-whose ranks display Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, The deep battalion locks its firm array,

And meditates his aim the marksman light; Far glance the beams of sabres flashing bright, Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night,

Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed,
That rival's lightning's flash in ruin and in speed.
LVIII.

A various host-from kindred realms they came,
Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown-
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim,

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown.
Hers their bold part, and hers their martial frown,
And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause,
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown,

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, And freeborn thoughts, which league the soldier with the laws.

LIX.

And Oh! loved warriors of the minstrel's land!

Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! The rugged form may mark the mountain band, And harsher features, and a mien more grave; But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid, And when the pibroch bids the battle rave,.

And level for the charge your arms are laid, Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset staid!

LX.

Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings,
Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy,
His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings,
And moves to death with military glee:
Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free,
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known,
Rough Nature's children, humorous as she:

And he, yon chieftain-strike the proudest tone Of thy bold harp, green Isle !—the hero is thine own.

LXI.

Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown,
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze,
And hear Corunna wail her battle won,

And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze:-
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise?

Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room?

And dare her flowers mingle with the bays,
That claim a long eternity to bloom

LXIII.

O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast,
Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own:
Yet fate resigns to worth the glorious past,

The deeds recorded, and the laurels won,
Then, though the Vault of Destiny (13) be gone,
King, prelate, all the phantasms of my brain,
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun,

Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, One note of pride and fire, a patriot's parting strain!

CONCLUSION.

I.

WHO shall command Estrella's mountain tide Back to the source, when tempest-chafed to hie! Who, when Gascogne's vex'd gulph 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) III.

And shall the boastful chief maintain his word,
Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the land,
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword,
Though Britons arm, and Wellington command!
No! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand

An adamantine barrier to his force!
And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd band,
As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse

Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course, tomb?

LXII.

Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope,
And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil
That hides futurity from anxious hope,
Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail,
And painting Europe rousing at the tale

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd,
While kindling nations buckle on their mail,

And Fame, with clarion blast and wings unfurl'd, To freedom and revenge awakes an injured world!

IV.

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain hawk,

Hath on his best and bravest made her food, In numbers confident, yon chief shall baulk

His lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood; For full in view the promised conquest stood,

And Lisbon's matrons, from their walls, might sum The myriads that had half the world subdued, And hear the distant thunders of the drum, That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come.

Τ.

Four moons have heard these thunders idly roll'd,
Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey,
As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold-
But in the middle path a lion lay!

At length they move-but not to battle-fray,
Nor blaze you fires where meets the manly fight;
Beacons of infamy they light the way,

Where cowardice and cruelty unite,

To damn with double shame their ignominious flight!

VI.

O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath!
Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot,
What wanton horrors mark'd their wrackful path!
The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot,
The hoary priest e'en at the altar shot,

Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame, Women to infamy;-no crime forgot,

By which inventive demons might proclaim Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great name!

VII.

The rudest sentinel, in Britain born,

With horror paused to view the havoc done,

Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn, (15)
Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd his gun.
Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son
Exult the debt of sympathy to pay;

Riches nor poverty the task shall shun,

Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless lay.

VIII.

But thou-unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate,
Minion of Fortune, now miscall'd in vain?
Can vantage-ground no confidence create,
Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain?
Vain-glorious fugitive! (16) yet turn again!

Behold, where, named by some prophetic seer,
Flows Honour's Fountain' as fore-doom'd the stain
From thy dishonour'd name and arms to clear-
Fall'n Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here!
IX.

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid;
Those chief that never heard the lion roar!
Within whose souls lives not a trace portray'd,
Of Talavera, or Mondego's.shore !
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more;

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole;
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour,
Legion on legion on thy foeman roll,

ΧΙ.

Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood
To plead at thine imperious master's throne;
Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood,

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own;
Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown
By British skill and valour were outvied;
Last say, thy conqueror was WELLINGTON!

And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried-
God and our cause to friend, the venture we 'll abide.

XII.

But ye, the heroes of that well-fought day,
How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown,
His meed to each victorious leader pay,

Or bind on every brow the laurels won? Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, O'er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave; And he, perchance, the minstrel note might own, Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 'Mid far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. yon

XIII.

Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword,
To give each chief and every field its fame;
Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD,

And red Barrosa shouts for dauntless GREME!
O for a verse of tumult and of flame,
Bold as the bursting of their cannon-sound,
To bid the world re-echo, to their fame!
For never, upon gory battle-ground,
With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors
crown'd!

XIV.

O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays,

Who brought a race regenerate to the field,
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise,
Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steel'd,(19)
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield,

And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword,
And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield-
Shiver'd my harp, and burst its every chord,
If it forget thy worth, victorious BERESFORD!

XV.

Not on that bloody field of battle won,
Though Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist away,
Was half his self-devoted valour shown,-

He gaged but life on that illustrious day;
But when he toil'd those squadrons to array,
Who fought like Britons in the bloody game,
Sharper than Polish pike, or assagay,

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame,

And weary out his arm-thou canst not quell his soul. And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame.

X.

O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore,
Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain,
And front the flying thunders as they roar,

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain! (17) And what avails thee that, for CAMERON slain,

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given-(18) Vengeance and grief gave mountain-rage the rein,

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, Thy despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven.

'The literal translation of Fuentes d'Honoro.

XVI.

Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide
Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound,
Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal denied,
Danger and fate he sought, but glory found.
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound,
The wanderer went; yet, Caledonia! still
Thine was his thought in march and tented ground;
Ile dream'd 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill,
And heard in Ebro's oar his Lyndoch's lovely rill.

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