XXXV. Oh, lovely Spain! renown'd, romantic land! 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 matron's 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! 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? 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; 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, All join the chase, but few the triumph share; shall bear the chiefest prize away, And havock scarce for joy can number their array. The grave XLI. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; XLII. There shall they rot-ambition's honour'd fools! 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! Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, XLIV. 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 't were 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 XLVI. But all unconscious of the coming doom, The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; Here folly still his votaries enthralls ; And young-eyed lewdness walks her midnight rounds: Girt with the silent crimes of capitals, Still to the last kind vice clings to the tott'ring walls. XLVII. Not so the rustic-with his trembling mate 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? Of love, romance, devotion, in 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 :-" Viva el Rey !"8 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. XLIX. 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. L. 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: 9 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, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke. LI. At every turn Morena's dusky height And, The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, LII. Portend the deeds to come :-but he whose nod A little moment deigneth to delay : Soon will his legions sweep through these their way; LIII. And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave, 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 manhood's heart of steel? LIV. Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, 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. |