Iberia Won 44

Iberia Won 44

 “Unconquered Zaragoza shuts her gates;

No fortress her’s, and scarce a circling wall.

Enough that from her soul the foe she hates,

And ’neath her ruined towers hath sworn to fall,

Or ere she live a foreign tyrant’s thrall.

Sublime devotion! Palafox prepares

The proud defence. His gallant soldiers all

Obey his voice: ‘Who loves me with me shares

‘The city’s doom!’ Till death they guard their lion-lairs.

 

 

XXI.

 

“And many a rampart raised the citizens,

Their puny wall with bristling men defending;

And Tio Jorge and Marin from their dens

Emerge their energies plebeian lending.

On many a dire assault her efforts spending

By Carmen and Portillo, still repelled,

France hurls her shells the town terrific rending.

The Moorish Cosso’s blown in air, and yelled

Is many a dying shriek, but still the rampart’s held.

 

 

XXII.

 

“Engracia’s stormed--the summons to despair

Is oft repeated but as oft disdained.

Though Zaragoza burn--though tortures tear,

Her vigorous arms shall ne’er by France be chained!

The foe hath entered and the Cosso gained;

But desperate is the fight which there doth rage.

Francisco’s convent burns, yet death fires rained

More fiercely glare--such war did man ne’er wage.

Beside Numantine fame ’twill sound through many an age!

 

 

XXIII.

 

“Within the Cosso’s wide and central street

The foemen fierce contend from side to side.

From roof and window hostile volleys meet;

Each house a fortress, where assault is tried

In vain--the very women far and wide

Rain household gear and scalding water down.

The black and shattered walls with blood are dyed.

The dead in heaps putrescent grimly frown;

And pestilence doth threat the death-devoted town.

 

 

XXIV.

 

“In every street are rival batteries placed.

Entrenched behind a bulwark of the slain,

See where yon Zaragozan death has faced,

Resolved a cannon of the Frank to gain.

’Neath corse-heaped covert he hath passed a chain

Round the huge gun--its end his comrades take--

Their lusty sinews pull with might and main--

The monster moves--but, ah, the chain doth break;

Yet soon as Night doth fall the prize their own they make.

 

 

XXV.

 

“Terrific sight--the hospital is fired,

And maniacs issue from the blazing walls;

Gibbering and mouthing ’mongst the soldiers tired,

Even more than War their screaming wild appals.

Some frantic laugh while of their number falls

A victim smote--some mope--some mutterings blend;

Some dance and sing amid the hissing balls,

Some with hyæna yells the welkin rend,

And drivelling idiots cry while warriors fierce contend.

 

 

XXVI.

 

“Glorious resistance! See--the French recede;

To far Pamplona o’er the plain they pass.

Heroic town! not vainly thou dost bleed,

For thou art free, though all one bruiséd mass.

No monument of marble or of brass

Can rival, sufferer, thy eternal fame!

Nor ’mongst thy patriots be forgotten Sass,

The hero-priest who to the dying came

Now with the Host, and now against the foe took aim!

 

 

XXVII.

 

“Nor dauntless Manuela be unsung,

Who when her townsmen from the battery fled,

With burning linstock to the rampart sprung,

And mounting on the cannon vowed till dead

Ne’er through the siege to leave its Gorgon head.

Penthesiléa not more beautiful!

Nor thou, Burita, sprung from noblest bed,

And delicate as fair--of courage full--

’Mid showering shot and shell, as Hebe bountiful!

 

 

XXVIII.

 

“And, gallant Palafox, let bright-eyed Fame

Thy praise resound, whom nought could turn or bend;

For when no mandate but the word of shame

‘Capitulation!’ France would deign to send,

‘War to the knife!’ thy answer straight was penned.

Worthy was all the heroic times of old.

And monks were seen a warlike arm to lend,

And cloistered sisters the cartouche to mould.

Though History rend each page, this, this shall be enrolled!

 

 

XXIX.

 

“Her tercios Aragon, the Catalan

His bold Somátenés equipped for war.

Spain’s arméd peasants all her fields o’erran,

But strife amongst the chiefs too oft a bar,

And Valour weak indiscipline doth mar.

At Rio Seco see the furious charge

Of France’s chivalry like Aias’ car

Mow thousands down beside the streamlet’s marge,

While o’er the affrighted plain their broken lines enlarge.

 

 

XXX.

 

“But Vengeance comes! Beneath Morena’s shade,

At Baylen see on Andaluzan plains

Where sinks Dupont by olive-circled glade

And deep ravine where blood like water rains,

And wears his mighty host dishonouring chains.

Castaños, Reding, bright your laurels shine,

While prostrate ’neath your arm the Gaul remains;

But, ah, perfidious snares your glory mine,

And butchery stains the steel which Conquest lit divine,

 

 

XXXI.

 

“See--see, the Intrusive King o’er Ebro flies,

In pale affright by Baylen’s victory driven;

But tall Pyrene’s bulwarks o’er him rise,

A shield impregnable to despots given.

Dissolve, dissolve that towering rampart, Heaven!

And aid our vengeful spear to hurl him back.

By Spain’s right arm be Spain’s rude fetters riven.

Our warriors move--of zeal there is no lack.

The Invaders feel their ire, like gathering thunder black.

 

 

XXXII.

 

“And hangs upon their skirt with fierce annoy

The mountain Guerrillero tiger-springing,

The Chapelchurri burning to destroy,

From heights around Bilbaö vengeance winging,

The Chapelgorri with his musket ringing,

A dearer Chacolin--the Frenchman’s blood--

Thirsting to pour, the rich libation flinging

O’er crag and spray--their dainty flesh the food

Of vulture screaming fierce, and kite, and raven’s brood.

 

 

XXXIII.

 

“But weak the impulse, uncombined the assault;

Divisions, jealousies, our councils blight.

Too oft on Victory’s field our leaders halt,

And leave unplucked the fruit that gleams in sight:

Oh, that our men had Chiefs to lead them right.

In vain! France rallies through the land once more.

Our peasant warriors gather to the fight,

But compact serried legions gall them sore.

The soiled Escorial holds the Usurper as before!

 

 

XXXIV.

 

“To Albion now Hesperia turns her eyes;

Though bloodshot all and weeping, proud her gaze;

For still her spirit doth unconquered rise,

And still she struggles to the world’s amaze.

Swift Albion answers to the call we raise,

And sends to aid our arms a gallant host.

Around her swords the light triumphant plays

Of many a field where perished Gallia’s boast,

And see her fleet descend on Lusitania’s coast.

 

 

XXXV.

 

“For vain, too, there hath Gaul her efforts found.

Our kinsmen scorn to wear a foreign chain.

Indignantly they rise their Tyrants round,

And bear the Freeman’s threatening port, like Spain.

But feeble, too, the bands of Lusitain

’Gainst veteran cohorts battling all through life.

Great Arthur comes from England to maintain

Thy contest, Liberty. With ardour rife

His warriors reach the shore, and gird them for the strife.

 

 

XXXVI.

 

“Upon thy beauteous banks, Mondégo, where

The cry of murdered Iñez lingers still,

And faithful Pedro’s grief the breeze doth bear

In many a sigh from fair Coimbra’s hill,

There Albion’s heroes land. Rude blasts and chill

Blow from the Atlantic. On Boarcos’ crags

Full many a soldier perisheth. But will

Indomitable their’s--nor Lusia lags;

Priest, student, peasant, crowd ’neath azure-crimson flags.