Iberia Won 20

Iberia Won 20

And pealed their shouts incessant through the gloom,

With clamour wounding the dull ear of Night,

Till as in churchyards peopled grows each tomb

To midnight wanderers, rose their souls to fright

Infernal Phantoms! On each towering height

Seemed demons sprung with torches from their den,

Their footsteps to mislead with Hellish light;

Till Morning rose, and showed the mount and glen

All strewn with faces wan and worn and wearied men.

 

 

XXI.

 

But daylight woke their hearts to hope and joy;

Refreshment needful cheered their bivouac.

The column they rejoined without annoy:

And there of gladness was, I ween, no lack,

Where soldiers hailed their former comrades back.

Now Soult by perils prest hath outlet none,

Save by Maria’s pass with omens black;

And swiftly, near Lizasso, Hill hath won

Upon his rear, unchecked by Leo’s burning sun.

 

 

XXII.

 

His cannon opened loud with bellowing sound,

And ’neath its deadly roar the French ascend;

Till near the summit of the pass they found

A wood that stretched its branches to befriend.

Yet see, they turn, and skirmishers defend

The steep, but Stewart leads the stern assault.

Soon broke their files, their menace soon doth end.

Headlong they fly, and dareth none to halt--

But thickest mist doth fall--and leave our men at fault.

 

 

XXIII.

 

Thus Menelaüs, while his brazen spear

Thirsting for Paris’ blood is brandished high,

No longer sees the slender youth appear,

But riseth cloud to thwart his vengeance nigh,

Which Aphrodite gliding from the sky

(So sings Mæonia’s bard) doth interpose;

And even while glares Atrides’ conquering eye,

And to his men the adulterer’s helm he throws,

The mist o’erspreads his form and shields from deathful blows.

 

 

XXIV.

 

But o’er the heights that gird the fearful pass

Our troops are gathered soon, and France doth quake,

For now the terrible defile in mass

Her legions enter. Many a brow doth ache.

Our warriors’ death-shots direful havoc make.

They quail--they fly--confused disorder reigns.

Rank upon rank doth every instant break,

Nor Soult’s commanding voice the rout restrains.

They pass, but many a captive leave to mourn his chains.

 

 

XXV.

 

To Yanzi now! where narrower still the cleft

Which France must pass. By Zubiéta came

Our Light Division, ne’er of hope bereft

To reach the ground ere Gaul can thwart the aim

That there full terrible her pride shall tame.

Our warriors through Elgoriága glide,

Fatigue exhausting many a wearied frame,

And toil they faintly up the mountain-side;

But Morton urged their zeal, and Nial touched their pride.

 

 

XXVI.

 

Light-hearted chieftain-boys! No knapsacks they,

No firelock’s weight, no full cartouches bore.

The promptings of their valour they obey;

And Leo’s sun in vain o’er them doth pour

His maddening rays--for courage warms them more!

But clambering Santa Cruz’s torrid steep,

Full many a soldier fell convulsed, while gore

And froth commixed their parchéd mouths o’erleap,

And respite found from toil in Death’s eternal sleep!

 

 

XXVII.

 

And leaned their comrades on their firelocks then,

Whose spirits stern had ne’er before been quelled;

And muttered, “What could more be asked of men?”

And for an instant’s time almost rebelled.

But rose a tear to Morton’s eye, and held

His forehead Nial aching at the sight

Of warriors whom fatigue like death-shot felled.

When saw the men their leaders felt aright,

A hearty cheer they gave, and scaled the fearful height.

 

 

XXVIII.

 

A precipice beneath o’erhung the bridge

Of Yanzi. Hurrying past the French were seen

Along the dread defile. Upon the ridge

His men by Morton ranged their firelocks keen

Discharged. ’Mongst clustering shrubs his rifles green

Did Nial gather lower down the steep.

Oh, dire the calls of duty oft had been,

But direst this! The chieftains almost weep;

The men avert their heads, Death’s harvest while they reap.

 

 

XXIX.

 

For pistol-shot might reach the hastening throng,

Who through the horrid chasm defenceless crowd.

The wounded men on branches borne along

Were flung to earth--in vain their voices loud

Implored for aid, all trampled in the shroud

That wrapt them blood-besmeared. Confusion dire

Possest the ranks. The bravest horsemen cowed

Charged up the pass to escape the avenger’s ire;

The footman ’gainst the hussar was forced to turn his fire.

 

 

XXX.

 

And many a stalwart cavalier and horse

Was headlong flung in Echallara’s stream,

And many an ailing man was soon a corse;

From many a musket fires defensive teem,

Held skyward--but in vain their flashes gleam,

For terrible our vantage. Some too rushed

In veteran might o’er Yanzi’s bridge, and deem

Our flank to gall, but soon their fire was hushed.

The wounded quarter sued--’twas given by conquerors flushed.

 

 

XXXI.

 

And prisoners fell by thousands in our hands,

And all the convoy, treasure, spoil was our’s.

At Echallar and Ivantelly stands

The foe once more, and tempts the leaguering powers;

But daring Barnes upon the mountain towers

With lion-heart, and smites the clustering foe.

Though five to one their number ’gainst us lours,

In vain the arméd throng withstands the blow.

The fortress-crag is won--the French are hurled below.

 

 

XXXII.

 

On Ivantelly’s giant peak they fling

Their last defiance--soon their hope doth melt,

Like hoar upon a sunny morn in Spring,

For there our light brigades their way have felt

Through mist thick gathering, as erewhile it dwelt

Upon Lizasso’s brow, but not to arrest

Again our footsteps. Many a blow they dealt,

Though viewless fatal. Through the clouds they guest

The foeman’s shadowy form, and scaled the mountain’s breast.

 

 

XXXIII.

 

Through misty veil that crowns the topmost crags

Doth Nial with his rifles plunge amain;

Nor Morton with his light battalion lags.

Gaul’s chosen grenadiers Clausel with pain

Sees from the mist emerging to the plain.

Sharp rings the rifle;--with sonorous roll