XXXII. Where Lusitania and her sister meet, Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide? Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, 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: XXXIII. But these between a silver streamlet glides, "Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. (6) XXXIV. But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd, Dark Guadiana rolls his power along In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, So noted ancient roundelays among. Whilome upon his banks did legions throng Of Moor and knight, in mailed splendour drest: Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong; The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppress'd. XXXV. Oh, lovely Spain! renown'd, romantic land! When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore? (7) Where are those bloody banners which of yore Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore? Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' wail. XXXVI. Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? Can Volume, Pillar, Pile preserve thee great? Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong? XXXVII. Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance! And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore? XXXVIII. Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. XXXIX. 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 that scorcheth all it glares upon; eye 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. XL. 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 Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. XLI. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; The foe, the victim, and the fond ally That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. |