To war beneath the Youth of Macedon:

No séemly veil her modern minion ask'd,

.He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmask'd,

XLII

That Prelate mark'd his march-On banners blazed
With battles won in many a distant land,
On eagle-standards and on arms he gaz'd;

"And hop'st thou, then," he said, "thy power shall
stand?

O thou hast builded on the shifting sand,

And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's flood;
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand!
Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud,
And, by a bloody death; shall die the Man of Blood!"

XLIII

The ruthless Leader beckon'd from his train A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel, And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, "Castile!" Not that he loved him-No!-in no man's weal, Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart; Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, That the poor puppet might perform his part, And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start.

But on the Natives of that Land misused,
Not long the silence of amazement hung,
Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused,
For, with a common shriek, the general tongue
Exclaim'd, "To arms!" and fast to arms they sprang
And VALOUR woke, that Genius of the landl
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung,
As burst the awakening Nazarite his band,"

When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his drea ful hand.

XLV.

That mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye
Upon the Satraps that begirt him round,

Now doff'd his royal robe in act to fly,

And from his brow the diadem unbound.

So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound,

From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown,
These martial satellites hard labour found,

To guard awhile his substituted throne-
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own.

XLVI.

From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung,
And it was echoed from Corunna's wall;
Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung,
Granada caught it in her Moorish hall;
Galicia bade her children fight or fall,
Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet,
Valencia roused her at the battle-call,

And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met,
Fast started to his gun each fiery Miquelet.

XLVII.

But unappall'd, and burning for the fight,
The Invaders march, of victory secure;
Skilful their force to sever or unite,

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure.
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure,
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow,

To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure;

While nought against them bring the unpractised foe, Save hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for freedom's

blow.

XLVIII.

Proudly they march-but O! they march not forth
By one hot field to crown a brief campaign,
As when their eagles, sweeping through the North,
Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign!
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain;
In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied,
New patriot armies started from the slain;

High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, And oft the God of Battles blessed the righteous side.

XLIX.

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prévail,

Remain'd their savage waste. With blade and brand, By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale,

But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land,
And claim'd for blood the retribution due,

Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murderous hand; And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw, Midst ruins they had made the spoilers' corpses knew.

What Minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell,
Amid the vision'd strife. from sea to sea,
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell,
Still honour'd in defeat as victory!
For that sad pageant of events to be,

Show'd every form of fight by field and flood;
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee,

Beheld, while riding on the tempest-scud,

The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd with blood!

LL.

Then Zaragoza-blighted be the tongue

That names thy name without the honour due!
For never hath the harp of minstrel rung,
Of faith so fully proved, so firmly true!

Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew,
Each art of war's extremity had room,

Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe withdrew,
And when at length stern Fate decreed thy dom,
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody to.nb.

LII.

Yet raise thy head, sad City! Though in chains,
Enthrall'd thou canst not be! Arise and clam
Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns,
For what thou worshippest!-thy sainted Dane,
She of the Column, honour'd be her name,

By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love!
And like the sacred relics of the flame,

That gave some martyr to the blest above,
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove!

LIII.

Nor thine alone such wreck. Geronà fair!

Faithful to death thy heroes should be sung,

880

Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air Swart as the smoke from raging furnace bung; Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung, Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flure, Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, And reddening now with conflagration's glare, While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare.

LIV.

While all around was danger, strife, and fear,
While the earth shook, and darken'd was the sky,
And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear,
Appall'd the heart, and stupified the eye,→
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry,

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite,
Whene'er her soul is up and pulse beats high,
Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight,
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light.

LV.

Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew loud-
A varied scene the changeful vision show'd,
For where the ocean mingled with the cloud,
A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad.
From mast and stern St. George's symbol flow'd,
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear;
Mottling the sea their landward barges.row'd,

And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, And the wild beach return'd the seaman's jovial chicer,

LVL

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight!

The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars,
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks un te,
Legions on legions brightening all the shores.
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars,
Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum,
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours,

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come!

LVII.

A various host they came whose ranks display

Each mode in which the warrior meets the tight.

The deep battalion locks its firm array,

And meditates his aim the marksman light;
Far glance the lines of sabres flashing bright,
Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead,
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night,

Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed,
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed.

LVIII.

A various host-from kindred.realms they came,
Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown-
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim,

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown.
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown,
And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause,
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown,

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause,
And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier with the
Laws

LIX.

And O! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land!
Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave;
The rugged form may mark the mountain band,
And harsher features, and a mien more grave;
But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave

As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid,
And when the p.broch bids the battle rave,

And level for the charge your arms are laid,
Where lives the desperate foe, that for such onset staid!

LX.

Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings,
Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy,
His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings,
And moves to death with military glee:
Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free,
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known,
Rough Nature's children, humorous as she:

And HE, yon Chieftain-strike the proudest tone
Of thy bold harp, green Isle!-the Hero is thine own.

LXI.

Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown,
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze,