Iberia Won 28

Iberia Won 28

IBERIA WON.

 

Canto V.

 

 

I.

 

Oh human hearts, that nurture fond designs,

While shattering Fate his iron moulds doth fill!

Oh, loving breasts unwarned by direst signs,

The present joy-burst blindly hugging still!

Impregnable redoubt of Human Will!

Less strong than thine is San Sebastian’s wall.

The ruin-clinging ivy Time can kill,

But not avert thy worship from its thrall,

Till comes the destined hour, and instant bids thee fall!

 

 

II.

 

In summer skies I saw serenely bright

Creation smile o’er pastoral cottage fair.

Effulgent glory dwelt in loveliest light

On copse and garden, hedge and homestead there.

It seemed as exiled from that spot was Care!

Sudden a cloud o’ergathering, fringed with red,

Burst in black thunder bellowing through the air.

A hissing bolt its flame terrific sped;

The cottage ruined lay--its peaceful inmates dead!

 

 

III.

 

Not fairer Hella on the Ægean flood

With her young brother sate the golden fleece,

Than Blanca steered her bark when Morton stood

Within its round, ’mid war discovering peace,

And from his eyes drank love-light without cease;

Nor with more grief was Athamantis torn,

When sank her lovely form ’twixt sunny Greece

And blue Propontis, than made Blanca mourn,

When Morton owned his gage to join the Hope Forlorn.

 

 

IV.

 

“Ah, do not go! _Mi Dios_, thou wilt not go!

“Guillermo, thou wouldst kill thy Blanca. Death

“Is there nigh certain.” William smiled: “Why no,

“Not certain quite. Sweet Blanca, I’ll have breath

“To kiss thee on my return. Why sorroweth

“My love so soon, that was so brave erewhile?”--

“I care not for myself but thee, for saith

“The general voice, tis fatal.”--“See, I smile”--

“Oh God, if aught befal thee, Death may light his pile.”

 

 

V.

 

A trumpet sounded. “’Tis the summons--hark,”

Quoth William. Blanca straight grew lily-pale.

He kist her thrice, then leapt from out the bark.

“Fear not,” he said. “To-morrow without fail

“We meet,” then flew with heart unused to quail.

But Blanca motionless remained behind,

Like calmed Feluca which the dying gale

Hath quite forsook. Oh, Love had tamed her mind,

And pride and patriot thoughts _for him_ were idle wind!

 

 

VI.

 

Now battle’s roar which she had learnt to love,

Or strove to love for liberty to Spain,

Fell on her ear with horror, as the dove

By cry of falcon is transfixed with pain;

And still she numbered William ’mongst the slain,

And every cannon with terrific boom

That maid so bold before made shake amain,

As were his breast the target. Rolled the drum;

“We meet to-morrow.” Ah, that morrow ne’er may come!

 

 

VII.

 

Dire was the chill that fell on Blanca’s soul,

And oft she sighed for Isidora’s ear,

To pour her woes and hear those lips console--

Her foster-sister more than sister dear!

But Isidora’s lot was e’en more drear,

For none might dare from San Sebastian pass;

And shivering from each cannon’s shock with fear,

She longed by Blanca’s side--’twas vain, alas!

To pluck the summer-flowers, and brush the dewy grass,

 

 

VIII.

 

Dark fell the night like thickest, deadliest pall

On Blanca’s bosom fluttering nigh to swoon;

But while she drained her bitterest cup of gall,

O’er fair Biscaya’s bay arose the Moon

In wondrous beauty, and dispelled full soon

Her gloom by enchantment. So serenely bright,

It seemed as ’twere from Heaven a special boon,

And Blanche with tears invoked the Virgin’s might,

And deemed she saw her form within that orb of light!

 

 

IX.

 

A cherry-coloured riband from her head,

Which used to bind and float beneath her hair,

With trembling hand she loosed, and o’er it spread

A golden curl of William’s, tied it there

In fashion of a cross, and with this prayer

Consigned it to her bosom: “Empress-Queen

“Of Heaven, Immaculate Virgin! Spare, oh, spare

“His life. _Mi Madre_, on Isaro’s green

“Thy shrine shall have a crown as fair as e’er was seen.”

 

 

X.

 

At length the foeman’s guns are nearly mute,

The hour doth come for the terrific shock.

Where thou hast sown, Britannia, pluck the fruit;

Sebastian hoary, tremble on thy rock!

With false assault the gallant Rey to mock,

And haply make the veteran spring his mines

(Oh, perilous emprize, where Death will lock

With icy arms the form that fairest shines)

Leap forth a dauntless score of warriors from the lines.

 

 

XI.

 

Oh England! great thy glory, great the love

Thy children bear thee, when to certain death,

Or death nigh certain, dauntlessly they move,

Condensed in shouts for thee their parting breath!

’Tis not one Curce or Ion gloryeth

Thy history to record, one Mutius fierce,

One Regulus self-devoted. Hundreds hath

Each fleet and army, prompt for thee to pierce

Their panting breasts, and choose for bridal bed a hearse!

 

 

XII.

 

Young Nial forward flies with impulse dire--

Of these heroic warriors he the head;

They gain the breach--they mount--they shout--they fire,

Their shouts are drowned in showers of answering lead;

But still unsprung the mines, nor terror fed

A valour calm as sleeps the Ocean near.

Vain is the assault, and stretched full soon lie dead

All who so late upraised that gallant cheer--

All save their leader bold who stalks the trenches near.

 

 

XIII.

 

The hour is come! Breaks heavily the morn

From densest misty shroud. Great Arthur calls

For nigh a thousand hearts that danger scorn

To rush like Ocean-surge against the walls,

And swarm where thickest fly the deadly balls:

“Men who can show what ’tis to mount a breach.”

That voice inspires with valour where it falls;

A thousand men leap forward--heroes each--

With arms to pluck the prize where Romans dare not reach!

 

 

XIV.

 

And winnowed must be Valour’s chosen grain,

Where headlong to a shroud or victory borne,

All brave alike the peril proud disdain,

Yet culled the chosen for a Hope Forlorn!

Mark the doomed band whose plumes seem loftier worn,

Whose cheeks more red for courted wounds and death.

Oh, many a mother’s breast shall soon be torn,

And widowed spouse and sister gasp for breath,

Nigh perishing for them whose requiem Glory saith!

 

 

XV.

 

Hark to the muffled tread, where stealing slow

Adown the trenches musters their array,

While rank on rank in many a bristling row

Is gathering stern as dimly grows the day,

Nor from yon level sun a beam can stray!

The army’s hum, the awakening city’s din,

The dusky masses gilded by no ray,

But dim with curling vapours, ere begin

The cannon’s roar, make each more doubtful who shall win.

 

 

XVI.

 

A moment now the bravest pause in awe,

’Twixt life and death. Next moment--direful clash!

Opens in thunder every dragon-maw

Of fierce artillery with its lightning-flash.

As cleaves Heaven’s thunderbolt the mountain ash,

So hurled in ruins is the battlement.

While Furies with that scourge its granite lash,

Not adamant, I ween, were long unbent,

And wider grows the breach and easier of ascent.