XXXIV. But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd, Whilome upon his banks did legions throng 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?* Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, XXXVI. Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great? When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong? Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders: he has, perhaps, changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predecessors. -1812. Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius preserved his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his followers, after some centuries, completed their struggle by the conquest of Grenada. XXXVII. Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance! XXXVIII. Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. XXXIX. Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; 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 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. XLI. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, Are met To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, XLII. 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? XLIII. Oh, Albuera, glorious field of grief! As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed! And tears of triumph their reward prolong! And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song. XLIV. Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: Fame that will scarce re-animate 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. XLV. Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood XLVI. But all unconscious of the coming doom, And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds: Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls. XLVII. Not so the rustic with his trembling mate No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star Fandango twirls his jocund castanet: Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth ye mar, Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret; The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy yet! XLVIII. How carols now the lusty muleteer? The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day XLIX. On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost. • "Viva el Rey Fernando!" Long live King Ferdinand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. They are chiefly in dispraise of the old king Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I have heard many of them: some of the airs are beautiful. Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an ancient but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish guards; till his person attracted the queen's eyes, and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. &c. It is to this man that the Spaniards universally impute the ruin of their country. |