How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 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! LI. Then Zaragoza-blighted be the tongue That names thy name without the honor due! For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung, Of faith so felly 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 doom, [tomb.1 They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody LII. Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though in chains, Enthrall'd thou canst not be! Arise, and claim Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, [dame, For what thou worshippest!-thy sainted She of the Column, honor'd be her name, By all, whate'er their creed, who honor love! And like the sacred relics of the flame, That gave some martyr to the bless'd above, To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove! LIII. Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair! Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung, Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; Now thicker dark'ning where the mine was sprung, Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare, 1 See Appendix, Note M. * MS.-"Don Roderick turn'd him at the sudden cry." MS. Right for the shore unnumber'd barges row'd." 4 Compare with this passage, and the Valor, Bigotry, and Ambition of the previous stanzas, the celebrated personification of War, in the first canto of Childe Harold : "Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon : Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Flashing afar,-and at his iron feet 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. "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. "Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; Are met as if at home they could not die— And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain." Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd, And, O! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land! The landing of the English is admirably described; nor is there any thing finer in the whole poem than the following passage (stanzas lv. lvi, lvii.), with the exception always of the three concluding lines, which appear to us to be very nearly as bad as possible."-JEFFREY. 3 "The three concluding stanzas (lviii. lix. Ix.) are elaborate; but we think, on the whole, successful. They will probably be oftener quoted than any other passage in the poem.”—JEF FREY. MS." His jest each careless comrade round him flings." For details of the battle of Vimeira, fought 21st Aug. 1808 -of Corunna, 16th Jan. 1809-of Talavera, 28th July, 1809and of Busaco, 27th Sept. 1810-See Sir Walter Scott's Life of Napoleon, volume vi. under these dates. LXIII O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. Yet grant for faith, for valor, and for Spain, One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain ! "The nation will arise regenerate; Strong in her second youth and beautiful, And like a spirit that hath shaken off The clog of dull mortality, shall Spain 7 See Appendix, Note N. For a mere introduction to the exploits of our English commanders, the story of Don Roderick's sins and confessions, -the minute description of his army and attendants,—and the whole interest and machinery of the enchanted vault, with the greater part of the Vision itself, are far too long and elaborate. They withdraw our curiosity and attention from the objects for which they had been bespoken, and gradually engage them upon a new and independent series of romantic adventures, in which it is not easy to see how Lord Wellington and Bonaparte can have any concern. But, on the other hand, no sooner is this new interest excited,-no sooner have we surrendered our imaginations into the hands of this dark enchanter, and heated our fancies to the proper pitch for sympathizing in the fortunes of Gothic kings and Moorish invaders, with their imposing accompaniments of harnessed knights, ravished damsels, and enchanted statues, than the whole romantic group vanishes at once from our sight; and we are hurried, with minds yet disturbed with those powerful apparitions, to the comparatively sober and cold narration of Bonaparte's villanies, and to draw battles between mere mortal combatants in IV. Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk And Lisbon's matrons from their walls, might sum The myriads that had half the world subdued, And hear the distant thunders of the drum, That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come. V. Four moons have heard these thunders idly roll'd, Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey, As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold— At length they move-but not to battle fray, Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight; Beacons of infamy, they light the way Where cowardice and cruelty unite [flight! To damn with double shame their ignominious VI. O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath! Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, [path! What wanton horrors mark'd their wreckful The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot, The hoary priest even at the altar shot, [flame, Childhood and age given o'er to sword and Woman to infamy;-no crime forgot, By which inventive demons might proclaim Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great name! VII. The rudest sentinel, in Britain born, With horror paused to view the havoc done, Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn,$ [gun. Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd his Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son Exult the debt of sympathy to pay; English and French uniforms. The vast and elaborate vestibule, in short, in which we had been so long detained, 'Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine has no corresponding palace attached to it; and the long novitiate we are made to serve to the mysterious powers of romance is not repaid, after all, by an introduction to their awful presence."-JEFFREY. MS.-"Who shall command the torrent's headlong tide." 2 See Appendix, Note O. a Ibid. Note P. Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood, And, if he chafe, be his own fortune triedGod and our cause to friend, the venture we'll abide. XII. But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day. How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown, His meed to each victorious leader pay, Or bind on every brow the laurels won? Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, O'er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave; And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own, Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. XIII. Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, To give each Chief and every field its fame: Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD, And Red Barosa shouts for dauntless GRÆME! O for a verse of tumult and of flame, Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, To bid the world re-echo to their fame! For never, upon gory battle-ground, With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors crown'd! XIV O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays," Who brought a race regenerate to the field, Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steel'd, And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield pedantries of his profession-but playing the general and the hero when most of our military commanders would have exhibited the drill sergeant, or at best the adjutant. These campaigns will teach us what we have long needed to know, that success depends not on the nice drilling of regiments, but upon the grand movements and combinations of an army. We have been hitherto polishing hinges, when we should have studied the mechanical union of a huge machine. Now, our army begin to see that the grand secret, as the French call it, consists only in union, joint exertion, and concerted movement. This will enable us to meet the dogs on fair terms as to numbers, and for the rest. My soul and body on the action both.'"-Life, vol. iii. p. 313. 7 See Appendix, Editor's Note T. 8 MS.-"O who shall grudge yon chief the victor's bays." See Appendix, Note U. Shiver'd my harp, and burst its every chord, If it forget thy worth, victorious BERESFORD! XV. Not on that bloody field of battle won, Though Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist away, Was half his self-devoted valor shown, He gaged but life on that illustrious day; But when he toil'd those squadrons to array, Who fought like Britons in the bloody game, Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. XVI. Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal denied;2 Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound, The wanderer went; yet, Caledonia! still3 He dream'd 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill, And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill.* XVII. O hero of a race renown'd of old, Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell Since first distinguish'd in the onset bold, Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber, own'd its fame, Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell, But ne'er from prouder field arose the name, Than when wild Ronda learn'd the conquering shout of GRÆME! XVIII. But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, (With Spenser's parable I close my tale,)" By shoal and rock hath steer'd my venturous bark, And landward now I drive before the gale. And now the blue and distant shore I hail, And nearer now I see the port expand, And now I gladly furl my weary sail, And as the prow light touches on the strand, Thine was his thought in march and tented I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff to ground; 1 MS.-"Not greater on that mount of strife and blood, Not greater when he toil'd yon legions to array, Far dearer than his life, the hero pledged his fame." 2 MS.-" Nor be his meed o'erpast who sadly tried With valor's wreath to hide affection's wound, To whom his wish Heaven for our weal denied." * MS.-" From war to war the wanderer went his round, Yet was his soul in Caledonia still; Hers was his thought," &c. 4 MS. "fairy rill." "These lines excel the noisier and more general panegyrics of the commanders in Portugal, as much as the sweet and thrilling tones of the harp surpass an ordinary flourish of drums and trumpets."-Quarterly Review. Perhaps it is our nationality which makes us like better the tribute to General Grahame-though there is something, we believe, in the softness of the sentiment that will be felt, even by English readers, as a relief from the exceeding clamor and loud boastings of all the surrounding stanzas.”— Edinburgh Review. See Appendix, Note V. "Now, strike your sailes, yee iolly mariners, land." On the long voiage whereto she is bent: Faerie Queene, book i. canto 12. 7 "No comparison can be fairly instituted between compositions so wholly different in style and designation as the present poem and Mr. Scott's former productions. The present poon neither has, nor, from its nature, could have the interest which arises from an eventful plot, or a detailed delineation of character; and we shall arrive at a far more accurate estimation of its merits by comparing it with The Bard' of Gray, or that particular scene of Ariosto, where Bradamante beholds the wonders of Merlin's tomb. To this it has many strong and evident features of resemblance; but, in our opinion, greatly surpasses it both in the dignity of the objects represented, and the picturesque effect of the machinery. "We are inclined to rank The Vision of Don Roderick, not only above The Bard,' but (excepting Adam's Vision from the Mount of Paradise, and the matchless beauties of the sixth book of Virgil) above all the historical and poetical prospects which have come to our knowledge. The scenic representation is at once gorgeous and natural; and the language, and imagery, is altogether as spirited, and bears the stamp of more care and polish than even the most celebrated of the author's former productions. If it please us less than these, we must attribute it in part perhaps to the want of contrivance, and in a still greater degree to the nature of the subject itself, which is deprived of all the interest derived from suspense or sympathy, and, as far as it is connected with modern politics, represents a scene too near our immediate inspection to admit the interposition of the magic glass of fiction and poetry."-Quarterly Review, October, 1811. "The Vision of Don Roderick has been received with less interest by the public than any of the author's other per |