Look now on that Adventurer* who hath paid His vows to fortune; who, in cruel slight Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right,
Hath follow'd wheresoe'er a way was made By the blind goddess-ruthless, undismay'd; And so hath gain'd 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, if old judgments keep their sacred course, Him from that height shall Heaven precipitate By violent and ignominious death.
Is there a power that can sustain and cheer The captive Chieftain-by a tyrant's doom Forced to descend alive into his tomb,
A dungeon dark!-where he must waste the year, 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.
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 swallow'd up-remote from ken Of pitying human nature? Once again Methinks that we shall hail thee, champion brave, Redeem'd 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 Th' Eternal looks upon her sword that gleams, Like His own lightning, over mountains high, On rampart, and the banks of all her streams.
• The fall of Buonaparte predicted.
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 : This done, a festal company unite
In choral song; and, while the uplifted cross Of Jesus goes before, the child is borne Uncover'd to his grave. Her piteous loss
The lonesome mother cannot choose but mourn; Yet soon by Christian faith is grief subdued, And joy attends upon her fortitude.
FEELINGS OF A NOBLE BISCAYAN AT ONE OF THESE FUNERALS.
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 fashion'd of the pure white rose Becomes not one whose father is a slave : Oh! bear the infant cover'd to his grave! These venerable mountains now inclose 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.
The ancient Oak of Guernica, says Laborde in his Account of Biscay, is a most venerable natural monument. Ferdinand and Isabella, in the year 1476, after hearing mass in the Church of Santa Marie de la Antigua, repaired to this tree, under which they swol 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 OF THE SAME. 1810.
OAK of Guernica! tree of holier
Than that which in Dodona did enshrine
(So faith too fondly deem'd) 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 th' Atlantic sea, The dews of morn, or April's tender shower?
-Stroke merciful and welcome would that be Which would 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.
INDIGNATION OF A HIGH-MINDED SPANIARD.
E can endure that he should waste our lands, espoil our temples,-and by sword and flame turn us to the dust from which we came; ch food a Tyrant's appetite demands:
d we can brook the thought that by his hands ain may be o'erpower'd, and he possess,
his delight, a solemn wilderness, ere all the brave lie dead.
But when of bands, ich he will break for us, he dares to speak,benefits, and of a future day
en our enlighten'd minds shall bless his sway, n, the strain'd heart of fortitude proves weak: groans, our blushes, our pale cheeks declare
he has power t' inflict what we lack strength to bear.
JNT all specious pliancy of mind
en of low degree, all smooth pretence ! er like a blunt indifference
elf-respecting slowness, disinclined
n me at first sight:-and be there join'd
ce and temperance with this high reserve,
ir that knows the path and will not swerve; ons, which, if put to proof, are kind;
iety towards God.-Such men of old
England's native growth; and, throughout Spain, 3 of such do at this day remain ;
or that country let our hopes be bold; tch'd with these shall policy prove vain, s, her strength, her iron, and her gold.
ENING statesmen have full long relied and armies, and external wealth: within proceeds a nation's health;
hall not fail, though poor men cleave with prid aternal floor; or turn aside,
rong'd city, from the walks of gain, all unworthy to detain
contemplation sanctified.
who cannot languish in this strife, of every rank, by whom the good gh course was felt and understood: eir country's cause have bound a life, y solemn consecration given
and to prayer, to Nature and to Heaven.*
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 sustain'd, these dangers past, The roving Spanish bands are reach'd at last, Charged, and dispersed like foam :-but as a flight Of scatter'd 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 i And thus from year to year his walk they thwart, And hang like dreams around his guilty bed.
THEY seek, are sought; to daily battle led, Shrink not, though far out-number'd by their foes: For they have learn'd to open and to close The ridges of grim war; and at their head Are captains such as erst their country bred Or foster'd, 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, nourish'd in the studious shade, With that great leader vies, who, sick of strife And bloodshed, long'd in quiet to be laid In some green island of the Western main.
THE power of armies is a visible thing, Formal, and circumscribed in time and place; But who the limits of that power can trace Which a brave people into light can bring Or hide, at will, fredom combating, By just revenge inflamed? No foot can 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 subtile element can bind, Rising like water from the soil, to find In every nook a lip that it may cheer.
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 depart, That an accursed thing it is to gaze
On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye; Nor, touch'd 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!
Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright, Our aged Sovereign sits to the ebb and flow Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe, Insensible; he sits deprived of sight,
And lamentably wrapp'd in twofold night,
Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind ensued, Through perilous war, with regal fortitude,
Peace that should claim respect from lawless might. Dread King of kings, vouchsafe a ray divino To his forlorn condition! let thy grace
Upon his inner soul in mercy shine; Permit his heart to kindle, and embrace (Though were it only for a moment's space)
The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE!
FOR THE MORNING OF THE DAY APPOINTED FOR A GENERAL THANKSGIVING, JANUARY 18, 1816.
HAIL, universal source of pure delight! Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude On hearts howe'er insensible or rude; Whether thy orient visitations smite The haughty towers where monarchs dwell; Or thou, impartial sun, with presence bright Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's cell. -Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky
« AnteriorContinuar » |