Sweet Nymph, O rightly of the mountains named !!

Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound

And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound; Like Echo, when the hunter train at dawn Have roused her from her sleep: and forestlawn,

Cliffs, woods and caves, her viewless steps resound

And babble of her pastime !-On, dread Power! With such invisible motion speed thy flight, Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height,

Through the green vales and through the herdsman's bower

That all the Alps may gladden in thy might, Here, there, and in all places at one hour.

XI.

FEELINGS OF THE TYROLESE.
THE Land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit, or die;
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.
That which we would perform in arms-we
must!

We read the dictate in the infant's eve;
In the wife's smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the silent dust
Of them that were before us.-Sing aloud
Old songs, the precious music of the heart!
Give, herds and flocks, your voices to the

wind!

While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd,

XIV.

O'ER the wide earth, on mountain and on plain,
Dwells in the affections and the soul of man
A Godhead, like the universal PAN;
But more exalted, with a brighter train:
And shall his bounty be dispensed in vain,
Showered equally on city and on field,
And neither hope nor steadfast promise yield
In these usurping times of fear and pain?
Such doom awaits us. Nay, forbid ít, Heaven!
We know the arduous strife, the eternal laws
To which the triumph of all good is given,
High sacrifice, and labour without pause,
Even to the death:--else wherefore should the
eye

Of man converse with immortality?

XIII.

AND is it among rude untutored Dales,
There, and there only, that the heart is true?
And, rising to repel or to subdue,

Is it by rocks and woods that man prevails?
Ah no! though Nature's dread protection fails,
This knew

There is a bulwark in the soul.
Iberian Burghers when the sword they drew
In Zaragoza, naked to the gales

Of fiercely-breathing war. The truth was felt
By Palafox, and many a brave compeer,
Like him of noble birth and noble mind;
By ladies, meek-eyed women without fear;
And wanderers of the street, to whom is dealt
The bread which without industry they find.

ye rise

For perfect triumph o'er your Enemies.

XVI.

HAIL, Zaragoza! If with unwet eye
We can approach, thy sorrow to behold,
Yet is the heart not pitiless nor cold;
Such spectacle demands not tear or sigh.
These desolate remains are trophies high
Of more than martial courage in the breast
Of peaceful civic virtue: they attest
Thy matchless worth to all posterity.
Blood flowed before thy sight without remorse;
Disease consumed thy vitals; War upheaved
The ground beneath thee with volcanic force :
Till not a wreck of help or hope remained,
Dread trials! yet encountered and sustained
And law was from necessity received.

XVII.

SAY, what is Honour?-'Tis the finest sense
Of justice which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence
Suffered or done. When lawless violence
Invades a Realm, so pressed that in the scale
Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail,
Honour is hopeful elevation, whence
Glory, and triumph. Yet with politic skill
Endangered States may yield to terms unjust;
Stoop their proud heads, but not unto the dust-
A Foc's most favourite purpose to fulfil :
Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust
Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.

Yet see (the mighty tumult overpast)
Austria a Daughter of her Throne hath sold!
And her Tyrolean Champion we behold
Murdered, like one ashore by shipwreck cast,
Murdered without relief. Oh! blind as bold,
To think that such assurance can stand fast!
XIX.

BRAVE Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight

From Prussia's timid region. Go, and rest
With heroes, 'mid the islands of the Blest,
Or in the fields of empyrean light.

A meteor wert thou crossing a dark night:
Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime,
Stand in the spacious firmament of time,
Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right.
Alas! it may not be: for earthly fame
Is Fortune's frail dependent; yet there lives
A Judge who, as man claims by merit, gives;
To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim,
Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed;
In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed.

Look now on that Adventurer who hath paid
His vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slight
Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right,
Hath followed wheresoe'er a way was made
By the blind Goddess,-ruthless, undismayed;
And so hath gained at length a prosperous
height,

Round which the elements of worldly might
Beneath his haughty feet, like clouds, are laid.
O joyless power that stands by lawless force!
Curses are his dire portion, scorn, and hate,
Internal darkness and unquiet breath;
And, ifold judgments keep their sacred course,
Him from that height shall Heaven precipitate
By violent and ignominious death.

And lie cut off from all his heart holds dear;
What time his injured country is a stage
Whereon deliberate Valour and the rage
Of righteous Vengeance side by side appear,
Filling from morn to night the heroic scene
With deeds of hope and everlasting praise :-
Say can he think of this with mind serene
And silent fetters? Yes, if visions bright
Shine on his soul, reflected from the days
When he himself was tried in open light.

XXIII.

1810.

AH! where is Palafox? Nor tongue nor pen
Reports of him, his dwelling or his grave!
Does yet the unheard-of vessel ride the wave?
Or is she swallowed up, remote from ken
Of pitying human nature? Once again
Methinks that we shall hail thee, Champion
brave,

Redeemed to baffle that imperial Slave,
And through all Europe cheer desponding men
With new-born hope. Unbounded is the might
Of martyrdom, and fortitude, and right.
Hark, how thy Country triumphs!-Smilingly
The Eternal books upon her sword that gleams,
Like his own lightning, over mountains high,
On rampart, and the banks of all her streams.

XXIV.

IN due observance of an ancient rite,
The rude Biscayans, when their children lie
Dead in the sinless time of infancy,
Attire the peaceful corse in vestments white:
And, in like sign of cloudless triumph bright,
They bind the unoffending creature's brows
With happy garlands of the pure white rose :
Then do a festal company unite

In choral song; and, while the uplifted cross
Of Jesus goes before, the child is borne
Uncovered to his grave: 'tis closed,-her loss
The Mother then mourns, as she needs must

YET, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes With firmer soul, yet labour to regain

Our ancient freedom; else 'twere worse than vain

To gather round the bier these festal shows.
A garland fashioned of the
pure white rose
Becomes not one whose father is a slave:
Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave!
These venerable mountains now enclose
A people sunk in apathy and fear.
If this endure, farewell, for us, all good!
The awful light of heavenly innocence
Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier;
And guilt and shame, from which is no defence,
Descend on all that issues from our blood.

XXVI.

THE OAK OF GUERNICA.

The ancient oak of Guernica, says Laborde in his account of Biscay, is a most venerable

N

194

natural monument. Ferdinand and Isabella, | in the year 1476, after hearing mass in the church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, repaired to this tree, under which they swore to the Biscayans to maintain their fueros (privileges). What other interest belongs to it in the minds of this people will appear from the following

SUPPOSED ADDRESS TO THE SAME.

1810.

OAK of Guernica! Tree of holier power
Than that which in Dodona did enshrine
(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine
Heard from the depths of its aërial bower-
How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour?
What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee,
Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea,
The dews of morn, or April's tender shower
Stroke merciful and welcome would that be
Which should extend thy branches on the
ground,

If never more within their shady round
Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet,
Peasant and lord, in their appointed seat,
Guardians of Biscay's ancient liberty.

XXVII.

INDIGNATION OF A HIGH-MINDED SPANIARD.

1810.

WE can endure that He should waste our lands,
Despoil our temples, and by sword and flame
Return us to the dust from which we came ;
Such food a Tyrant's appetite demands:
And we can brook the thought that by his hands
Spain may be overpowered, and he possess,
For his delight, a solemn wilderness

Where all the brave lie dead. But, when of bands

Which he will break for us he dares to speak,
Of benefits, and of a future day
When our enlightened minds shall bless his

sway;

Then, the strained heart of fortitude proves weak ;

Our groans, our blushes, our pale cheeks de

clare

That he has power to inflict what we lack strength to bear.

But from within proceeds a Nation's health; Which shall not fail, though poor men cleave with pride

To the paternal floor; or turn aside,
In the thronged city, from the walks of gain,
As being all unworthy to detain
A Soul by contemplation sanctified.
There are who cannot languish in this strife,
Spaniards of every rank, by whom the good
Of such high course was felt and understood;
Who to their Country's cause have bound a life
Erewhile, by solemn consecration, given
To labour, and to prayer, to nature, and to
heaven.

XXX.

THE FRENCH AND THE SPANISH GUERILLAS.

HUNGER, and sultry heat, and nipping blast From bleak hill-top, and length of march by night

Through heavy swamp, or over snow-clad height

These hardships ill-sustained, these dangers past,

The roving Spanish Bands are reached at last, Charged, and dispersed like foam: but as a flight

Of scattered quails by signs do reunite,
So these,and, heard of once again, are chased
With combinations of long-practised art
And newly-kindled hope; but they are fled-
Gone are they, viewless as the buried dead:
Where now?-Their sword is at the Foeman's
heart!

And thus from year to year his walk they thwart,
And hang like dreams around his guilty bed.

XXXI.

SPANISH GUERILLA.

1811.

THEY seek, are sought; to daily battle led,
Shrink not, though far outnumbered by their
Foes,

For they have learnt to open and to close
The ridges of grim war; and at their head
Are captains such as erst their country bred
Or fostered, self-supported chiefs,-like those
Whom hardy Rome was fearful to oppose:
Whose desperate shock the Carthaginian fled.
In One who lived unknown a shepherd's life
Redoubted Viriatus breathes again;
And Mina, nourished in the studious shade,
With that great Leader* vies, who, sick of strife
And bloodshed, longed in quiet to be laid
In some green island of the western main.

XXXII. 1811.

THE power of Armies is a visible thing,
Formal, and circumscribed in time and space;
But who the limits of that power shall trace
Which a brave People into light can bring
Or hide, at will,-for freedom combating
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,
No eye can follow, to a fatal place
That power, that spirit, whether on the wing
Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind
Within its awful caves.-From year to year
Springs this indigenous produce far and near;
No craft this subtle element can bind,

* Sertorius.

Rising like water from the soil, to find In every nook a lip that it may cheer.

XXXIII.

1811.

HERE pause: the poet claims at least this praise,

That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope

In the worst moment of these evil days; From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays,

For its own honour, on man's suffering heart. Never may from our souls one truth departThat an accursed thing it is to gaze

On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye; Nor-touched with due abhorrence of their guilt

For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt,

And justice labours in extremity

Forget thy weakness, upon which is built,
O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!

XXXIV.

THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA.

1812-13.

HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,
As though his weakness were disturbed by pain:
Or, if a juster fancy should allow
An undisputed symbol of commanu,
The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,
Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand.
These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn;
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.
For he it was-dread Winter! who beset,
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
That host, when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal-
That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human
pride!

As fathers persecute rebellious sons,

He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;
He called on Frost's inexorable tooth
Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;
Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs;
For why-unless for liberty enrolled

XXXV.

ON THE SAME OCCASION.

YE Storms, resound the praises of your King!
And ye mild Seasons-in a sunny clime,
Midway on some high hill, while father Time
Looks on delighted-meet in festal ring,
And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!
Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits
and flowers,

Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,

And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!
Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass;
With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your
gain;

Whisper it to the billows of the main,
And to the aërial zephyrs as they pass,
That old decrepit Winter-He hath slain
That Host, which rendered all your bounties
vain!

Resting upon his arms each warrior stood,
Checked in the very act and deed of blood,
With breath suspended, like a listening scout.
O Silence! thou wert mother of a shout
That through the texture of yon azure dome
Cleaves its glad way, a cry of harvest home
Uttered to Heaven in ecstacy devout!

The barrier Rhine hath flashed, through battlesmoke,

On men who gaze heart-smitten by the view, As if all Germany had felt the shock!

be bold?

Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed, But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind, Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed, And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind, And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride, And to the battle ride. No pitying voice commands a halt, No courage can repel the dire assault; Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind, Whole legions sink-and, in one instant, find Burial and death: look for them-and descry, When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,

A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!

WHEN the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch

On the tired household of corporeal sense,
And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch,
Was free her choicest favours to dispense :
I saw, in wondrous pérspective displayed,
A landscape more august than happiest skill
Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade;
An intermingled pomp of vale and hill,
City, and naval stream, suburban grove,
And stately forest where the wild deer rove;
Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns,
And scattered rural farms of aspect bright;
And, here and there, between the pastoral
downs,

The azure sea upswelled upon the sight.
Fair prospect, such as Britain only shows!
But not a living creature could be seen
Through its wide circuit, that, in deep repose,
And, even to sadness, lonely and serene,
Lay hushed; till-through a portal in the sky
Brighter than brightest loop-hole, in a storm,
Opening before the sun's triumphant eye-
Issued, to sudden view, a glorious Form!
Earthward it glided with a swift descent:
Saint George himself this Visitant must be ;
And, ere a thought could ask on what intent
He sought the regions of humanity,
A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified
City and field and flood:-aloud it cried-

"Though from my celestial home,
Like a Champion, armed I come;
On my helm the dragon crest,
And the red cross on my breast;
I, the Guardian of this Land,
Speak not now of toilsome duty;
Well obeyed was that command-
Whence bright days of festive beauty;

Haste, Virgins, haste !-the flowers which sum

Anon before my sight a palace rose Built of all precious substances,so pure And exquisite that sleep alone bestows Ability like splendour to endure:

Entered, with streaming thousands, through the gate,

I saw the banquet spread beneath a Dome of

state,

A lofty Dome, that dared to emulate
The heaven of sable night

With starry lustre: yet had power to throw
Solemn effulgence, clear as solar light,
Upon a princely company below,
While the vault rang with choral harmony,
Like some nymph-haunted grot beneath the
roaring sea.

-No sooner ceased that peal, than on the verge
Of exultation hung a dirge

Breathed from a soft and lonely instrument,

That kindled recollections

Of agonised affections;

And, though some tears the strain attended,
The mournful passion ended

In peace of spirit, and sublime content!