Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

And ever since that martial synod met,
Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name;
And folks in office at the mention fret,
And fain would blush, if blush they could,
for shame.

How will posterity the deed proclaim!
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,
To view these champions cheated of their
fame,
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors
here,
Where Scorn her finger points through ma-
ny a coming year?
So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains
he

Did take his way in solitary guise :
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to
flee,

More restless than the swallow in the skies:
Though here awhile he learn'd to moralize,
For Meditation fix'd at times on him;
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise
His early youth, mispent in maddest whim;
But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes
grew dim.

sheen, That men forget the blood which she hath spilt. And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt.

O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills,

(Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race!) Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place.

Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,

And marvel men should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace,

Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air, And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share.

More bleak to view the hills at length recede, And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend: Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed! Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend

Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the tra der knows

Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend : For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's woes.

Where Lusitania and her sister meet,
Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide?
Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet,
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide?
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride?
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall?-
Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide,
Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall,
Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land
from Gaul.

[blocks in formation]

In every peal she calls-"Awake! arise!" Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore?

Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful

note?

Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath

Tyrants and tyrants' slaves?—the fires of death,

The bale-fires flash on high:-from rock to rock Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe;

Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.

Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Flashing afar,—and at his iron feet Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done;

For on this morn three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there)

Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the air! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair,

And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey!

All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies;

The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory!

The foe, the victim, and the fond ally
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,
Are met-as if at home they could not die-
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,
And fertilize the field that each pretends
to gain.

There shall they rot-Ambition's honour'd

fools!

Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay!

Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,

The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts-to what?-a dream
alone.

Can despots compass aught that hails their sway?

Or call with truth one span of earth their own, Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone?

Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief! As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed,

Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!

Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed And tears of triumph their reward prolong! Till others fall where other chieftains lead Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,

And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song!

Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame:

Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, Though thousands fall to deck some single

name.

In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good,

And die, that living might have proved her shame;

Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued : Yet is she free-the spoiler's wish'd-for prey! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude.

Inevitable hour! "Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famished brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive.

But all unconscious of the coming doom, The feast, she song, the revel here abounds; Strange modes of merriment the hours con

sume,

Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds:

Not here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds:

Here Folly still his votaries enthralls; And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds:

[blocks in formation]

How carols now the lusty muleteer?
Of love, romance, devotion is his lay,
As whilome he was wont the leagues to
cheer,

His quick bells wildly jingling on the
way?
No! as he speeds, he chaunts: "Vivå el Rey!”
And checks his song to execrate Godoy,
The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day
When first Spain's queen beheld the black-
eyed boy,

And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate joy.

On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest,

Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground;

And, scathed by fire, the green sward's darken'd vest

Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host,

Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest;

Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.

And whomsoe'er along the path you meet
Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue,
Which tells you whom to shun and whom to
greet:

Woe to the man that walks in public view
Without of loyalty this token true:
Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke;
And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue,
If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke,
Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the
cannon's smoke.

At every turn Morena's dusky height
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'er-flow'd,
The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch,
The magazine in rocky durance stow'd,
The holster'd steed beneath the shed of
thatch,

Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals,
Still to the last kind Vice clings to the The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing

tott'ring walls.

match,

Portend the deeds to come:-but he whose nod | Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod;
A little moment deigneth to delay:
Soon will his legions sweep through these
their way;

The West must own the Scourger of the
world.

Ah,Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning-day,
When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings

unfurl'd,

But form'd for all the witching arts of love:
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons,
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move,
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate:
In softness as in firmness far above
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate;
Her mind is nobler sure, her charms per-
chance as great.

And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to The seal Love's dimpling finger hath im

Hades hurl'd.

And must they fall? the young, the proud,
the brave,
To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome
reign?

No step between submission and a grave?
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain?
And doth the Power that man adores ordain
Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal?
Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain?
And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal,
The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, and Man-
hood's heart of steel?

Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused,
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar,
And, all unsex'd, the Anlace hath espoused,
Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of
war?

And she, whom once the semblance of a scar
Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread,
Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar,
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm
dead

Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might
quake to tread.

Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale,
Oh! had you known her in her softer hour,
Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-
black veil,
Heard her light,lively tones in Lady's bower,
Seen her long locks that foil the painter's

power,
Her fairy form, with more than female grace, |
Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower
Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face,
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's
fearful chase.

Her lover sinks—she sheds no ill-timed tear;
Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post;
Her fellows flee-she checks their base ca-

reer;

The foe retires--she heads the sallying host:
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall?
What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope
is lost?

Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd
wall?

pressed
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his
touch:

Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest,
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such:
Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much
Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her
cheek,

Which glows yet smoother from his amorous
clutch!

Who round the North for paler dames would seek?

How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak!

Match me,yeclimes! which poets love to laud;
Match me, ye harams of the land, where now
I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud
Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow;
Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce
allow

To taste the gale lest Love should ride the
wind,

With Spain's dark - glancing daughters— deign to know, There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind.

Oh, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey,
Not in the phrenzy of a dreamer's eye,
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay,
But soaring snow-clad through thy native
sky,

In the wild pomp of mountain-majesty!
What marvel if I thus essay to sing?
The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by
Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his
string,

Though from thy heights no more one Muse
will wave her wing.

Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious

name

Who knows not, knows not man's divinest
lore:
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame
That I in feeblest accents must adore.
When I recount thy worshippers of yore
I tremble, and can only bend the knee;
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy
In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee!

[blocks in formation]

Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair,
Others along the safer Turnpike fly;
Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to
Ware,

And many to the steep of Highgate hie.
Ask ye, Boeotian shades! the reason why?
'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn,
Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery,
In whose dread name both men and maids are
sworn,

When Paphos fell by Time-accursed Time! And consecrate the oath with draught, and The queen who conquers all must yield to

thee

The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime;

And Venue, constant to her native sea,
Tonought else constant,hither deign'd to flee;
And fix'd her shrine within these walls of
white:

Though not to one dome circumscribeth she
Her worship, but, devoted to her rite,
A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing
bright.

dance till morn.

All have their fooleries-not alike are thine,
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea!
Soon as the matin-bell proclaimeth nine,
Thy saint adorers count the rosary:
Much is the VIRGIN teazed to shrive them free
(Well do I ween the only virgin there)
From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be;
Then to the crowded circus forth they fare,
Young, old, high, low, at once the same
diversion share.

« PreviousContinue »