Iberia Won 48

Iberia Won 48

IBERIA WON.

 

Canto IX.

 

 

I.

 

A youthful Chieftain’s form as Phœbus fair

An instant filled the door--then forward rushed:--

“Back, villains, nor with deeds of carnage dare

To stain the arms that late the Gaul have crushed!

Not men, but demons--where the life-blood gushed

Of all her tribe, this maiden would ye harm?”

’Twas Nial! ’Neath his glance was instant hushed

Each caitiff’s heart. With ill-disguised alarm,

They skulk aloof in awe. Such god-like Virtue’s charm!

 

 

II.

 

He takes the trembling maiden by the hand,

Where huddled in a corner, nigh to swoon,

Shuddering and paralysed, she scarce doth stand,

And ill divineth what a priceless boon

Hath Nial brought her that he came so soon!

For ruffian violence her charms had eyed,

And forward rushed to stain that peerless Moon,

As Nial entered. Better in her pride

A million-fold to have like Isidora died!

 

 

III.

 

But Heaven, I ween, had sent the gallant youth

To rescue Innocence in that dread hour,

And show transcendent courage, manhood, truth

O’er hell-born passion’s momentary power!

He seized her hand--at first from him, her tower

Of strength in peril, she withdrew in fear;

But in his eyes she looked, and when the flower

Of generous youth and beauty stood so near,

Her awe dissolved--her face was bright ’mid many a tear.

 

 

IV.

 

As vines their tendrils curl round sturdy elms,

As delicate flowers their heads bend to the sun,

As ivy twines round oak in forest realms,

As jasmine soft doth o’er the trellis run:

So Isabel her soul doth throw upon

Young Nial’s arm, reposing fearless there.

His hero-heart her confidence hath won.

So brave, so kind he looks that even Despair

His presence flies, and blood less direful hues doth wear.

 

 

V.

 

He spoke brief words--but deep, consoling, tender;

Iberia’s language War’s quick ear had taught;

His thrilling voice new confidence doth lend her,

But tow’rds the floor her eyes an instant brought

Sent back the flood of agonizing thought.

And wild she cried, and frantic was her wail;

And shuddering she nigh fell, till Nial caught

The bruiséd lambkin in his arms, and pale

He bore her through the door, and fanned her in the gale.

 

 

VI.

 

Full slowly she revived, and Nial then

An instant left her in the outer air,

While to the chamber he returned again,

And made her butchered kindred next his care.

Joy! joy! Salustian upright sits, and spare

Thy talons, Death, one victim: deep his wound,

But yet not perilous. Nial straight doth tear

His sash away, and swathe it firmly round

Salustian’s side, the blood he staunched, the gash he bound.

 

 

VII.

 

Salustian deeply groaned:--“Would I had died,

Would Heaven that I had died this fatal hour!

Where are my girls--my girls? Oh God,” he cried,

“One dashed to pieces--in the villains’ power

The other--Slay me! Hellhounds, all devour

That owns me. Slay me! Oh, in mercy slay.

Yet I’ll not leave my daughter sweet, my flower

Of Beauty in their claws. Kites, Kites, I say,

Where, hellkites, is my girl? My sword your lust shall stay?”

 

 

VIII.

 

He scrambled to his feet, then to his knees

Fell weakly; but with sword convulsive grasped,

And energy tremendous, Nial sees

Him drag his body o’er the floor, which rasped

His blade in dire excitement, while he gasped

With nostril panting. Nial’s hand in vain

His movement bars, till Isabel is clasped

In her wild father’s arms, who shrieks amain,

Frantic with joy to think her Honour without stain!

 

 

IX.

 

And told young Isabel the debt she owed

To Nial’s care, which soothed the old man much,

And tears for his relief abundant flowed,

Though thought of Isidora made him clutch

His sword again. Oh villains, it might touch

Your stony hearts, e’en your’s that did this wrong,

To see its dire effect. Methinks, not such

Are England’s men. I ween that ye belong

To some base mongrel breed, against the helpless strong.

 

 

X.

 

And Nial’s gentle voice the old man’s ear

Like music enters. Slowly he doth rise,

And ’neath the hero’s guidance without fear

Father and daughter, yet with many sighs,

A step advance. In vain Salustian tries

The turret to descend--his wound too deep.

A litter Nial’s active zeal supplies;

And careful borne adown the turret steep,

Salustian soon within young Nial’s tent doth weep.

 

 

XI.

 

While Britain’s columns fierce assault the town,

Rages terrific strife without the wall;

The elements with fierce, o’ershadowing frown

Dashed through Pyrene’s wind-compelling hall,

And storm within and storm without appal!

The noble Soult of nobler Moore the foe,

Of San Sebastian strove to avert the fall;

And now Behobia’s broken arch below

By Biriatú he threats the Bidasoa’s flow.

 

 

XII.

 

At Andarlása craggy mount and moor

Girding the rapid stream forbid its verge;

But Oyarzún not yet may sleep secure.

’Twixt Jaizquibel and crested Haya urge

His fiery columns straining to emerge.

See on the crownéd heights our forces rest.

Zugáramurdi, Echallar a dirge

May roar for him who dares the eagle’s nest.

Great Arthur guards the pass with high, heroic breast.

 

 

XIII.

 

Not his the blame for San Sebastian’s deeds;

Upon the mountain-peaks he guides the war.

No warning voice the ravening soldier heeds,

And battling rides the Chief revered afar.

To Fuentarabia’s walls our legions bar

The French approach, and Bidasoa runs

Round tall San Marcial’s foot their path to mar;

And Spain hath banded there her warrior sons,

While o’er the river’s edge France points her thunderous guns.

 

 

XIV.

 

By Biriatú now Reille the river fords,

And climbs San Marcial with his fierce brigades,

But tangled furze and copse impede their swords.

Confusion mixes skirmishers and aids;

The mountain steep their forceful vigour jades;

And dashing down its sides Spain’s columns rush.

Before that charge the might of Jena fades.

As reeds are swept beneath the torrent’s gush,

So headlong falls the Frank, and feels subjection’s blush.

 

 

XV.

 

But rapid Soult who notes the unequal fight

O’er Bidasoa’s stream two bridges throws

On barks securely moored and trestles light,

And, quick, Villatte’s reserves their fronts disclose.

O’er bridge and mount they fly to face their foes.

San Marcial’s sides they climb, his shrine they gain.

Thy line, Castile, an instant backward goes.

But up great Arthur rides--the sons of Spain

Recall their strength, and hurl the foemen to the plain.

 

 

XVI.

 

For ’neath that mighty Chief’s commanding eye

Impossible to sink or droop or quail.

And Aylmer’s British-born brigade is nigh

To baffle France if, Spain, thy sons should fail.

A loud Castilian shout doth rend the gale,

Acknowledging the Hero’s presence there.

Full swift the Gaul is dashed into the vale,

Urged to the brink of Bidasoa fair;

And drowned or slaughtered sink the victims of despair.