Iberia Won 25

Iberia Won 25

Then shall Spain consent to be a

Province for the Gaul!

 

 

XV.

 

On came the French light horse--a forage troop--

And dashed impetuous to the ancient square,

Deeming to spoil the town with vulture swoop,

But Blanca’s voice had been before them there!

Beneath the oak the patriot phalanx fair

With volley close receives the deadly shock.

Though trodden down, none yields him to despair,

But light-armed footmen horse and rider mock.

France oft the charge renews; Biscaya stands--a rock!

 

 

XVI.

 

Fiercest amongst the hussars rode Jules, whose friend

Blanca erewhile had with his carbine smote;

He spied her ’neath the oak, and burnt to end

The maid who foiled him in her lightsome boat.

But by her side there stands a youth of note--

Don Carlos named--her father too is nigh.

Stout they received him Carlos--at his throat

Sprang with good sword; and fiery sparkles fly

From blades with master-hand they both wield manfully.

 

 

XVII.

 

But Blanca’s sire with dexterous weapon cut

The Frenchman’s rein, and pricked his foaming steed.

Unchecked, the charger instant wheeled about,

And from the battle fled at utmost speed,

The bridle Jules deserting in his need.

Shouted the enraged hussar, and spurred, and cursed,

But faster flew the horse from guidance freed.

The troop soon followed--of the fray the worst

Was theirs--and from the Basques the cheer of victory burst.

 

 

XVIII.

 

No tongue may tell the transport of delight,

That hailed this triumph of their patriot arms.

A troop from fair Guerníca marched ere night

For San Sebastian, amid War’s alarms

To prove the spirit which the Vascon warms.

And Blanca and her blithe barqueras rowed

Once more to aid the siege with Hebe charms,

While Carlos to whose arm she safety owed

Her shallop bore to San Sebastian, his abode:--

 

 

XIX.

 

“Now thus,” she said, “to Isidora speak,--

Though noblest maid, my foster-sister dear--

Tell her my tongue to express my love is weak,

And this memorial wet with many a tear.

For dire to think how oft I am so near,

But she within and I without the wall

Beleaguered;--you, Don Carlos, need not fear

To enter seaward, but the haughty Gaul

’Gainst Basque barquera soon would hurl the vengeful ball.”

 

 

XX.

 

Then from her beauteous breast the maid drew forth

A silken banneret of pigmy size,

Yet truly figuring--thence was all its worth--

The standard proud of Spain, whose castles rise

With lions rampant to the gazer’s eyes.

And in the centre, broidered all blood-red

Showed the French eagle--arrow-pierced he lies,

Gasping in death, the plumes rent from his head:

“Give this to Isidor,” at parting, “this,” she said.

 

 

XXI.

 

Dark was the night--the horizon pitchy black,

As Carlos with the pass-word reached the town,

And joyous strolled, while War’s dread fire was slack,

With lovely Isidor the rampart down.

More deep ’neath starry pall ne’er fell Night’s frown,

Nor sank repose on Nature and on man.

But hark the rattling musketry, see crown

Each sharp discharge its flash--ere death brief span.

Homeward, poor maiden lorn, sweet Isidora ran!

 

 

XXII.

 

’Twas gallant Rey, who made a night-sortie--

Last effort tried ere come the dire assault.

Our piquets on the Isthmus slaughtered see,

Ta’en by surprise or ere they can cry Halt!

Loud rose the Frenchmen’s _En avant!_ At fault,

Our sentries for a time unaided bleed,

The deadly death-tubes rending the black vault;

But soon a furious contest raged indeed--

Our startled piquets rush, their firelocks flash with speed.

 

 

XXIII.

 

Yet onward the French column densely moved,

Our careful hewn intrenchments filling fast.

Down went banquette and parapet; and proved

Fascine and gabion feeble in the blast.

Soon, as o’er level ground, the trench they passed

While fierce artillery from the rampart roared.

Incessant flashes momentary cast

Made tenfold darkness when their stream was poured,

And shells in beauteous curves of light through æther soared.

 

 

XXIV.

 

But saw great Arthur from the Chofre hills,

And while Graham hurled against the rampart’s height

A fierce reply which all the welkin fills,

Sent our bold columns rapid to the fight.

Morton with joy, and Nial with delight,

The summons heard, and dashing with their men

Plunged through the fitful blazing gloom of night.

Hot was the fire of skirmishers, which then

Maintained on either side bewildered Lyncean ken.

 

 

XXV.

 

For soon so mixed amid the pitchy gloom

Were friend and foe, save when the cannon flashed

To send grim death rimbombing from its womb,

That friend smote friend, and indiscriminate dashed

They on, by that dread peril unabashed.

Hundreds were in the trenches headlong flung,

And bayonets high o’er head and under clashed.

So desperate to their ground the assailants clung,

It seemed as Victory long i’ th’ balance doubtful hung.

 

 

XXVI.

 

And, lo, where ’mid the carnage dire and wide,

Rise rapid fireballs from the citadel,

Whose lurid glare is, sure, to Hell allied,

With strong blue light the darkness to dispel;

And some on the fascines around them fell,

Which fiercely burnt, diffusing terror new

For but an instant. Each his foe can tell,

And musketry now blazes full in view,

Till heaps of corses soon both mound and trenches strew.

 

 

XXVII.

 

By that dread blaze upon the topmost height

A young French chieftain coped with Morton’s sword;

Their clashing blades upon the brow of night

Threw clustering sparkles swift as Brontes poured

’Gainst Steropes whilst Ætna’s forges roared;

And round and round they leapt to every stroke,

And with good will each point of fence explored.

But Morton’s firmer hand his guard soon broke;

The Gaulish chief disarmed the word “Surrender” spoke.

 

 

XXVIII.

 

And Nial coped with yet a hardier chief,

Whose practised valour and whose sinewy arm