CONCLUSION. I. "WHO shall command Estrella's mountain-tide Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, II. "Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. And smiled like Eden in her summer dress;- 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, IV. Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come. V. Four moons have heard these thunders idly roll'd, As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold- At length they move-but not to battle-fray, Where cowardice and cruelty unite To damn with double shame their ignominious flight! VI. O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath! What wanton horrors mark'd their wreckful path!— Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame, 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,14 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 tax 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, Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, IX. Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid; Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore! Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more; And weary out his arm-thou canst not quell his soul. a The literal translation of Fuentes d'Honoro. X. O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore, With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain !10 And what avails thee that, for CAMERON slain,17 Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was givenVengeance 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. XI. Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried- XII. But you, ye 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 yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. XIII. Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, And Red Barossa shouts for dauntless GRÆME! 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,18 And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, And taught her sons forgotten arms to wieldShiver'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, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. 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; He dream'd 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill. And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. XVII. O hero of a race renown'd of old, Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell, Since first distinguish'd in the onset bold, Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber, own'd its fame, Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell, But ne'er from prouder field arose the name, Than when wild Ronda learn'd the conquering shout of GRÆME! 19 XVIII. But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, And as the prow light touches on the strand, |