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Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shattered ruins knew,
Each art of war's extremity had room, Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe withdrew,
And when at length stern Fate decreed thy doom, They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomh.
Enthralled 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, honoured be her name,
By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love! And like the sacred relics of the flame,
That gave some martyr to the blessed above,
Faithful to death thy heroes should be sung,
Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung,
Now briefly lightened by the cannon's ilare, Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was ilung,
And reddening now with conflagration's glare,
While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky, And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear,
Appalled 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,
A varied scene the changeful vision showed,
A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. From mast and stern St. George's symbol flowed,
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed,
And dashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, And the wild beach returned the seaman's jovial cheer.
The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars,
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,
Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight,
And meditates his aim the marksman light; Far glance the lines of sabres flashing bright,
Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night,
Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed,
Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown-
And with their deeds of valour deck her crown.
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
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 throbbed 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,
Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy, His jest while each blithe comrade round him filings,
And moves to death with military glee:
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known,
And He, yon Chieftain-strike the proudest tone Of thy bold harp, green Isle !-the HERO is thine own.
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze,
And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze :--
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ?
Hath Piction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room)
That claim a long eternity to bloom
And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil
Bidding beyond it scenes of glory bail, And painting Europe rousing at the tale
Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurled, While kindling Nations buckle on their mail,
And Faine, with clarion blast and wings unfurled,
Since Fate has marked futurity her own :-
The deeds recorded and the laurels won. Then, though the Vault of Destiny 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,
“Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide
Back to the source, when tempest chafea, to bie ? Who, when Gascogne's vexed 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,
Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way,
They close their wings the symbol of our yoke,
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock,
While downward on the land his legions press,
And smiled like Eden in her summer dress; Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness.
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 !
An adamantine barrier to his force!
As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse
Hath on his best and bravest made her food,
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,
Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled,
Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey,
But in the middle path, a lion lay!
Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight;
Where cowardice and cruelty unite,
Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot,
The peasant butchered in bis ruined cot,
Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame, Woman to infamy ;-no crime forgot,
By which inventive demons might proclaim
With horror paused to view the havoc done,
Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun. Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son
Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun,
Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless lay.
Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in vain !
Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain? Vain-glorious fugitive ! yet turn again !
Behold, where, named by some Prophetic Seer, Flows Honour's Fountain, as fore-doomed the stain
From thy dishonoured name and arms to clearFallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here !
Those chief that never heard the Lion roar !
Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! Marshall 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, And weary out his arm-thou canst not quell his soul.
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 ! And what avails thee that, for CAMERON slain,
Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given-Vengeance and grief gave mountain rage the rein,
And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, The Despot's giant guards filed like the rack of heaven.
Ío plead at thine imperious master's throne !
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.
How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown,
Or bind on every brow the laurels won ?
O'er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave;
Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 'Mid yon far western isles, that hear the Atlantic rave.