Iberia Won 38

Iberia Won 38

With one wild shriek of agony she fell

Upon the floor the casement-ledge beside;

And swooned so deep, that but for Isabel

Close within earshot, aidless she had died.

But reached that voice, so piteously it cried,

Salustian’s inmost soul, and called him forth

With Aya, handmaids, servitors, who tried

Full many a remedy in vain:--“Wo worth

“The day that gave, my child, this frantic terror birth!”

 

 

XIII.

 

She oped her eyes, and shuddered slightly--gave

A feeble cry--and uttered Carlos’ name;

Then toward the window glanced, as if to crave

Assistance--sad yet sweet her breathing came--

Then sobs and tears--then sparkling dewy flame,

Her eyes such passion showed as angels feel.

“Carlos--the window!” she doth now exclaim.

Both eye and tongue love’s mystery reveal--

And Carlos soon they find--through _her_, too, past the steel!

 

 

XIV.

 

Long Carlos fluttering lay ’twixt life and death,

But what could Isidora’s balm exclude,

Her dewy fingers’ pressure, violet breath,

Her tender care, and sweet solicitude?

And day by day his growing cure she viewed

Spring ’neath her hand like rarest, frailest flower,

Till the fresh hues of health again exude

Through every pore, and young love’s blooming dower

Glows o’er his rounded cheek, like rose for Beauty’s bower.

 

 

XV.

 

And where is he--the Fratricide? Within

A gloomy convent cloistered, gowned, and shorn,

He strives to curb his passion, shrive his sin--

Against all world-communion deeply sworn.

Yet Isidora’s image oft is borne

Through twilight of the cell before his eye,

Maddening his heart untamed, despairing, lorn;

And though the day of Carlos’ bridal’s nigh,

In hopeless passion’s thrall that monk will changeless die.

 

 

XVI.

 

Now, had they _not_ been brothers of the womb!--

I saw two emmets fight with dire intent,

As nought could slake their vengeance but the tomb--

As each the other’s head had joyous rent,

And gnawed like Ugolino. Why thus bent

On slaughter? For a grain of chaff the strife;

I thought of human blood inglorious spent

In private feud for straws with quarrel rife,

And deadly weapons aimed at God’s best gift of life!

 

 

XVII.

 

But, hark! the din of slaughter; hark! the scream

Of virgin innocence and matron shame.

Of Spain’s defenders see the bayonets gleam,

And lust and plunder the defender’s aim!

Yet haply share not all nor most the blame.

A band of ruffians, vilest scum of War,

By deeds inglorious, crimes without a name,

Sully the brightest rays of Victory’s star,

And send their crimes to blaze with Valour’s fame afar.

 

 

XVIII.

 

Frantic with fear for _her_--his only fear,

Rushed Carlos quick to Isidora’s side;

And when the plunderers villain-eyed drew near,

Barred all Salustian’s house, the horde defied,

And with good rifle to their threats replied.

Long was the contest, oft their firelocks flashed,

But Carlos gaily cheered his destined bride;

And, foiled, the band for rapine further dashed,

But swearing dire revenge, their teeth like tigers gnashed.

 

 

XIX.

 

“Away, away, my life, my love, my joy!

“_Querida_, thou must find secure retreat.

“My peace ’twill, by my father’s dust, destroy,

“If e’er thy charms these rabid dogs should meet.

“_Por Díos_, with steel I will the monsters greet!”

With many a gentle word and heavenly smile

Replied his Isidora, angel-sweet.

Now fell the night, and blazed full many a pile,

And Charles for his adored a shelter sought the while.

 

 

XX.

 

To Santiago’s shrine Don Carlos bore

Salustian and his daughters pale with dread.

A mighty crowd hath filled with life the floor,

And loveliest of them all the maid he led.

Ah, lily cheeks and lips that Beauty fled

At peril’s aspect, colourless were there,

And vows were made at many an altar red

With blood from wounded victims of despair,

And through the Temple rose a wailing voice of prayer.

 

 

XXI.

 

Sudden was heard the appalling cry of--“Fire!”

One moment mortal terror hushed each heart;

The next, outburst a shriek of anguish dire,

For flashed the Demon red o’er every part.

The crackling flames across each window dart,

And cast a lurid glare o’er faces pale

With dread, or screaming till their eyeballs start

Wild, frantic, terrible. The bravest quail,

For, ah, so dense the crowd no means of ’scape avail.

 

 

XXII.

 

“Fire” “Fire!”--the cry of agony again

More shrill ascended--“_ay!_” and “_u!_” the scream;

And women clapt their hands, and hoarsely men

Implored, and piercing shrieks of children stream

Far o’er the tumult to the topmost beam

Of that tall Gothic pile. As in some vast

Disastrous shipwreck, howling winds do seem

With roaring waves to struggle fierce and fast,

And cries of drowning men are mingled with the blast.

 

 

XXIII.

 

Then rushed the crowd, by instinct furious borne

Of life preserving, like the Ocean surge

Towards the great entrance. Trodden down and torn

Was every weaker form, and frantic urge

The merciless hale who fly that fiery scourge;

And heaving to and fro they cried to Heaven,

Still vainly seeking instant to emerge,

Till barriers of the sanctuary were riven,

And to the altar-front the trembling priests were driven.

 

 

XXIV.

 

Now onward rolls the mass, till near the door

More fiercely violent grows the maddened throng

With sight of safety. Hundreds strew the floor

Crushed, bruised, and trampled. O’er the weak the strong

Unpitying stride, and dying shrieks the wrong

With vain reproof attest of selfish man.

But Carlos bore like Hercules along

His Isidor with strength that all outran;

Grasped Isabel his waist--the outer wall they scan.

 

 

XXV.

 

“Now had I known,” the grave Salustian cried,

“That thus the stranger would have Spain defended,

I sooner, by my fathers’ bones, had died,

Than Leon’s fate with Albion thus have blended.

For vain the seas of treasure, blood expended,

If fire and sword our homes and hearths assail.

The standard joint I raised, yet now would rend it.

While England’s lions roar, Castile may wail

Her lions mute; ’tis shrieks are borne upon the gale!”

 

 

XXVI.

 

It was a blessed thought--so Carlos deemed;

A chamber high in the Cathedral tower

His love might harbour while ferocious gleamed

The eye of Rapine. Rude for lady’s bower

Was this abode, where oft huge bells of power

Swung loud, but who may choose in scenes like these?

Cloak and sombrero thrown o’er Beauty’s flower

Disguised the form which, ah! too well could please,

And Carlos guided well their path through danger’s seas.

 

 

XXVII.

 

At deepest night the blaze of burning streets

With horrid gleam doth light like Hell the town;

The lurid glare its fit reflection meets,

Where many a stream of blood runs crimson down!

Ferocious yell and savage war-whoop crown

The pile of dire disaster. Anguished screams

Of terror shrill the roaring noises drown.

Shrieks turn to groaning where the bayonet gleams,

And murdered Sleep wakes wild from sanguinary dreams.

 

 

XXVIII.

 

The tower is reached--quivers with rage suppressed

Don Carlos’ lip--Salustian’s cheek is pale,

And pants fair Isidora’s fluttering breast,

Like linnet o’er whose nest kites sharp-beaked sail.

Well might that night of horrors make thee quail,

Daughter of Vascongada! Rent the air,

Till morning dawned nor ceased ev’n then, the wail

Of hopeless Anguish where the voice of Prayer

Was choked, and shriek on shriek gave utterance to Despair.

 

 

XXIX.

 

“Here sit, my children,” grave Salustian said,

“While Spain’s disasters from their primal source

I briefly trace, and ’midst these horrors dread

Relief pursue by patriot discourse;

For at each shriek my voice doth lose its force,

And highest deeds recounting may sustain

The fainting spirit. Ah! my throat is hoarse,

And parched my lips with heat--to speak yet fain--

Would I had never lived to see this day for Spain!