XLII.

HAT Prelate mark'd his march-On

banners blazed

With battles won in many a distant land, On eagle-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.

HE 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 ! "+

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.

UT 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 th' awakening Nazarite his band, When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his dreadful hand.

HAT

XLV.

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 Bilbao's mountains

blown,

These martial satellites hard labour found,

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

XLVI.

ROM Alpuhara's peak that bugle

rung,

And it was echo'd from Corunna's wall; Stately Seville responsive war-shot 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,

First started to his gun each fiery Miquelet.

XLVII.

UT 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.

ROUDLY 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,+

And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous

side.

XLIX.

OR 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