Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their yoke, Never by ancient warrior heard or known; Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone. XXVII. From the dim landscape roll the clouds away- This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, XXVIII. VALOUR was harnessed like a Chief of old, Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest: Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage, Him followed his Companion, dark and sage, As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. XXIX. Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 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 renowned, Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kissed the ground, And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless Knight, Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight, Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, Stooped ever to that Anchoret's behest; Nor reasoned 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, Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, Bedabbled all with blood.-With grisly scowl The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl. XXXII. Then did he bless the offering, and bade make And many a hand the silver censer sways. While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire. XXXIII. Preluding light, were strains of music heard, The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met, XXXIV. And well such strains the opening scene became; And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, Lay stretched, full loth the weight of arms to brook; And softened BIGOTRY, upon his book, Pattered a task of little good or ill: But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, XXXV. Grey 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 chestnut-tree Love's tale was told; And to the tinkling of the light guitar, Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star. XXXVI. As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, Awhile, perchance, bedecked with colours sheen, While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, Till darker folds obscured the blue serene, And blotted Heaven with one broad sable cloudThen sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud; XXXVII. Even so upon that peaceful scene was poured, Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, And HE, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, And offered peaceful front and open hand; Veiling the perjured treachery he planned, 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 ties! He clutched his vulture-grasp, and called fair Spain his prize. XXXVIII. An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore; XXXIX. From a rude isle his ruder lineage came: The spark, that, from a superb 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-- 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 showed, With which she beckoned him through fight and storin, And all he crushed that crossed his desperate road, Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trod; Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake, So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad It was AMBITION bade his terrors wake, Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take. XLI. No longer now she spurned at mean revenge, As when, the fates of aged Rome to change, Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she won, As when the banded powers of Greece were tasked, To war beneath the Youth of Macedon: No seemly veil her modern minion asked, He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmasked. XLII. That Prelate marked his march-On banners blazed "And hopest thou, then," he said, "thy power shall stand! O thou hast builded on the shifting sand, And thou hast tempered it with slaughter's flood; And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand! Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud, And, by a bloody death, shall die the Man of Blood!" XLIII. The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train Scarce in his own, e'er joyed that sullen heart; XLIV But on the Natives of that Land misused, Not long the silence of amazement hung, Nor brooked they long their friendly faith abused, As burst the awakening Nazarite his band, When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful hand. XLV. That mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 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 throne Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. XLVI. From A puhara's peak that bugle rung, 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 unappalled and burning for the fight, And trained alike to vanquish or endure. 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 oh! they march not forth High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, XLIX. Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, Remained 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, Probed the hard heart, and lopped the murderous 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, How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, Still honoured in defeat as victory! For that sad pageant of events to be, Showed 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 bedrenched 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! |