Iberia Won 21

Iberia Won 21

Strove Arthur long to learn which youth he owed

For safety and deliverance gratitude;

But Nial said ’twas Morton forward strode

The first, and Morton urged that Nial viewed

The peril soonest--Friendship’s generous feud!

Where each desired that each the prize should hoard;

And eyes that witnessed it were tear-bedewed.

Great Arthur gave each noble youth a sword,

That bore his mighty name--magnificent reward!

 

 

XXXVII.

 

But thirsteth Pride for San Sebastian’s towers,

For foiled one effort to surmount her wall;

And Death that sweeps each host had swept down our’s

A moon before in numbers to appal.

’Tis Honour’s voice, then, bids each bastion fall;

Such man’s decree! The galleries swift advance.

A triple mine upheaves the firm sea-wall

With fierce sulphureous shock. Rocks heavenward dance

To ope our troops a path against the sons of France.

 

 

XXXVIII.

 

And pant for glory ’midst their brave compeers

Nial and Morton--keen as curbéd steed.

Though soft their souls in love to melt in tears,

In war they could unmoved see hundreds bleed.

Of passionate fervour was their patriot creed,

And next to Heaven they loved their native land.

With Blanca there to fly, when Spain was freed,

Before the frowning wall young Morton planned,

And murmur thus his lips while waits his eager band:--

 

 

The Glory of Islands.

 

 

1.

 

Forbid the linnet from its nest,

And crush its homeward aspirations--

As vain to chide the heaving breast,

And woo repose in foreign nations!

No, England, no! beyond the foam,

Around thy beauteous shore that circles,

I would not fix my lasting home

For every gem that brightest sparkles!

 

 

2.

 

More cloudless bend Italian skies;

Burgundian fruits more richly cluster;

Iberia’s slopes more gently rise,

And shine her stars with purer lustre.

O’er Adria’s coast, o’er fair Stamboul,

O’er soft Mæonia show’rs more splendour.

Out, sunk ’neath Slavery’s abject rule!

’Tis _thou_ art Freedom’s grand defender!

 

 

3.

 

Far sunnier Isles the South make glad,

From Palma’s gulf to the Ægean;

Idalia rose and myrtle clad,

Sicilian shores, and bowers Dictæan;

The Cyclades that shine to snare,

From Lemnos old to Rhodes romantic;

And far Funchál, whose balmy air

Swells earth’s best vine ’mid the Atlantic.

 

 

4.

 

But, oh loved land! what magic lifts

Thee high above all rival glory,

Fills up the void of Nature’s gifts,

And makes thy deeds the pride of story?

What charm endues thy talisman,

Thou chrysolite amid the waters,

And deifies the power of man?

The genius of thy sons and daughters!

 

 

5.

 

The vigorous thought, the spirit firm,

The pride of truth, the deep devotion,

The labouring head and stalwart arm,

That crown thee Queen of Earth and Ocean!

That clothe with grain thy rugged steeps,

Thy factory piles make teem prolific,

And man the fleet each sea that sweeps

To make its trembling shores pacific.

 

 

6.

 

Illustrious land! Yet more than this,

Thou harbourest all life’s solid graces--

No fiends that murder with a kiss--

No treacherous breasts ’neath smiling faces!

Oh! still be thine the bold, the true,

The honest, manly, independent;

In mind, in heart, in sinew, too,

O’er every other land transcendent!

 

 

XXXIX.

 

Nor slow was Rey the city to defend,

Exhausting all the arts that War supplies.

A yawning chasm within the breach doth end;

Loopholed with fire a counterwall defies

Approach;--where’er the rampart broken lies,

A traverse cuts it off--the streets are trenched;

Mines trebly charged prepare to blot the skies

With shattered limb, and head from shoulder wrenched,

Of him who dares the assault, yet not a cheek is blenched!

 

 

XL.

 

And strongest whetstone of fierce Valour’s edge

Thy name, Napoléon! For thee would dare

Thy Guard to leap adown Destruction’s ledge,

For thee would scoff in mockery of Despair!

Genius and energy thou well couldst share

With all thy Chiefs, and courage give thy men,

That scorned to yield with life their lion-lair.

A barbarous strife thou didst require--what then?

The last Barbarian thou that rushed from Scythian den!

 

 

XLI.

 

Meteor of Conquest! terribly endowed

With every faculty to bless or mar,

With voice to speak to Man like trumpet loud,

And eagle-eye with ken for peace or war

Omnipotent, save when Heaven dealt the scar!

Thy course for bale that might have been for bliss,

Thy darling Victory streamed a crimson star.

Around thy laurelled forehead serpents hiss;

And closed thy glory’s dawn, Destroyer, choice like this!

 

 

XLII.

 

Trampler on Human Liberty! Thy plan

Embraced no welfare save thine own; thy aim

A pyramid--each stone a sword-hewn man,--

Rivers of blood o’er Earth to write thy name.

Gigantic was thy crime--as great thy shame!

Even now with gory talon to the North

Thou fliest, the elements but canst not tame;

And there, to teach the peaceful victor’s worth,

Men rigid as their frosts have sent thee howling forth!

 

 

XLIII.

 

Scourge of the Nations! thy appointed time

Is near its close--exhausted is thy quiver.

Vain is thy complex thought, thy grasp sublime;

Nor whirlwind, plague, nor tyrant lasts for ever!

Couldst thou not from the ground one blade dissever

Of joyous herbage, save with butchering steel,

Nor give one glory to the Eternal Giver?

Couldst thou but wound that mightst so nobly heal?

I see thy end begin--for Man thou didst not feel!

 

 

XLIV.