362 of the poem opens with the state of Spain previous to the unparalleled treachery of Bounaparte; gives a sketch of the usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminates with the arrival of the British succours. It may be farther proper to mention, that the object of the poem is less to commemorate or detail particular incidents, than to exhibit a general and impressive picture of the several periods brought upon the stage. I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, especially by one who has already experienced more than ordinary indulgence, to offer any apology for the inferiority of the poetry to the subject it is chiefly designed to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to mention, that, while I was hastily executing a work, written for a temporary purpose, and on passing events, the task was most cruelly interrupted by the successive deaths of Lord President Blair, and Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished characters, I had not only to regret persons whose lives were most important to Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage honoured my entrance upon active life; and I may add, with melancholy pride who permitted my more advanced age to claim no common share in their friendship. Under such interruptions, the following verses, which my best and happiest efforts must have left far unworthy of their theme, have, I am myself sensible, an appearance of negligence and coherence, which, in other circumstances, I might have been able to remove. EDINBURGH, June 24th, 1811. THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, “Quid dignum memorare tuis,Hispania, terris. INTRODUCTION, I. LIVES there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire, Or died it with yon master of the lyre, Such, Wellington, might reach thee from afar, Wafting its descant wide o'er ocean's range; Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, All as it swell'd 'twixt each loud trumpet-change, That clangs to Britain, victory,-to Portugal, revengel II. Yes! such a strain, with all-o'erpowering measure, Might melodize with each tumultuous sound, Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure, That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around; The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crown'd, The female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's moan, The shout of captives from their chains unbound, The foil'd oppressor's deep and sullen groan, A nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthrown. III. But we weak minstrels of a laggard day, The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? Thou giv'st our lyres a theme, that might engage Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty handHow much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band. IV. Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast, Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close, That erst the choir of bards or druids flung, That time their hymn of victory arose, And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung, And mystic Merlin harp'd, and grey-hair'd Llywarch sung V. O! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, When sweeping wild and sinking soft again, Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway; If ye can echo such triumphant lay, Then lend the note to him has loved you long Who pious gather'd each tradition grey, That floats your solitary wastes along, And with affection vain gave them new voice in song VI. For not till now, how oft soe'er the task Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver care, Careless he gave his numbers to the air, They came unsought for, if applauses came Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer; Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, Immortal be the verse,-forgot the poet's nama. VIL Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer toss'd: "Minstrel! the fame of whose romantic lyre, Capricious swelling now, may soon be lost, Like the light flickering of a cottage fire: Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew, VIIL "Decay'd our old traditionary lore, Save where the lingering fays renew their ring, By milk-maid scen beneath the hawthorn hoar, Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring; Save where their legends grey-hair'd shepherds sing, That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, Of feuds obscure, and border ravaging, And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, IX. "No! search romantic lands, where the ncer sun Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet; X "Explore those regions, where the flinty crest Or where the banners of more ruthless foes Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. XL "There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side; Have seen, yet dauntless stood-'gainst fortune fought and died. XIL "And cherish'd still by that unchanging race, Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, Legend and vision, prophecy and sign; Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine Go, seek such theme!"-the Mountain Spirit said: With filial awe I heard-I heard, and I obey'd THE VISION. L Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies, As from a trembling lake of silver white; Of the broad burial-ground outstretch'd below, II. All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramps |