LITMIR.BIZ

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tale?60 Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! When granite moulders and when records fail, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date.bw Pride! bend thine eye from Heaven to thine estate, See how the Mighty shrink into a song! 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!

       Lo! Chivalry, your ancient Goddess, cries,

       But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance,

       Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies:

       Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies,

       And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar:

       In every peal she calls—"Awake! arise!"

       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?

       Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath?

       Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote,

       Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath

       Tyrants and Tyrants' slaves?—the fires of Death,

The Bale-fires flash on high:—from rock to rock!bx Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,61 Red Battle stamps his foot, and Nations feel the shock.

      XXXIX.

      Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands,

       His blood-red tresses deepening in the Sun,

       With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,

       And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon;

       Restless it rolls, now fixed, 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.

      XL.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see62 (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery,by 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;63 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;

Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies;64 The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! The Foe, the Victim, and the fond Ally That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,65 Are met—as if at home they could not die— To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, And fertilise the field that each pretends to gain.

      XLII.

There shall they rot—Ambition's honoured fools!bz Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay!66 Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,ca 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?cb 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!cc67 As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim pricked his steed, Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!cd Peace to the perished! may the warrior's meedce And tears of triumph their reward prolong!cf Till others fall where other chieftains lead Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song.cg68

      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 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim

Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good,ch And die, that living might have proved her shame; Perished, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.ci

      XLV.

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely waycj69 Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued:ck Yet is she free? the Spoiler's wished-for prey! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famished brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive

      XLVI.

But all unconscious of the coming doom,70 The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds: Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck71 sounds;cl Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds:cm

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