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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6061-0.txt b/6061-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..25914b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/6061-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2670 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott, by Walter +Scott, Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott + + +Author: Walter Scott + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: May 31, 2020 [eBook #6061] +[This file was first released 30 October 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT*** + + +This eBook was produced by Les Bowler. + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT + + +CONTENTS. + + PAGES +Introduction by Henry Morley ix–xii +The Vision of Don Roderick 133–167 +The Field of Waterloo 168–183 +The Dance of Death 184–188 +Romance of Dunois 189–190 +The Troubadour 190–191 +Pibroch of Donald Dhu 191–192 + + * * * * * + + “_Quid dignum memorare tuis_, _Hispania_, _terris_, + _Vox humana valet_!”—CLAUDIAN. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +Since there is room in this volume for more verses than Colonel Hay’s +{9}, I have added to them a few poems by Sir Walter Scott; the first +written in 1811 at the time of the struggle with Napoleon in the +Peninsula, the second in 1815, after Waterloo. Thus there is over all +this volume a thin haze of battle through which we see only the finer +feelings and the nobler hopes of man. The day is to come when war shall +be no more, but wars have been and may again be necessary to bring on +that day; and it is of such war, not untinged with the light of heaven, +that we have passing shadows in this little book. + +“The Vision of Don Roderick; a Poem, by Walter Scott, Esq.,” was printed +at Edinburgh by James Ballantyne & Co. in 1811. They are the present +representatives of that firm by whom it is here reprinted. It was +originally inscribed “to John Whitmore, Esq., and to the Committee of +Subscribers for relief of the Portuguese Sufferers, in which he +presides,” as a “poem composed for the benefit of the Fund under their +management.” + +The Legend of Don Roderick will be given in the next volume of our +“Companion Poets,” for Robert Southey founded upon it a Romantic Tale in +Verse, which is one of the best tales of the kind in the English +language. Southey’s tale of Roderick himself was written at the same +time when Walter Savage Landor was writing a play upon the subject, and +Scott was, in the piece here reprinted, making it the starting-point of a +vision of the war in the Peninsula. The fatal palace of Don Roderick may +have been a fable connected with the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. The +fable, as translated by Scott from a Spanish History of King Roderick, +was this:— + + “One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among some rocks, + was situated an ancient Tower of magnificent structure, though much + dilapidated by time, which consumes all: four estadoes (_i.e._, four + times a man’s height) below it, there was a Cave with a very narrow + entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a strong + covering of iron, and fastened with many locks; above the gate some + Greek letters are engraved, which, although abbreviated, and of + doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition + of learned men:—_The King who opens this cave and discovers the + wonders will discover both good and evil things_. Many kings desired + to know the mystery of this Tower, and sought to find out the manner + with much care; but when they opened the gate, such a tremendous + noise arose in the Cave that it appeared as if the earth was + bursting; many of those present sickened with fear, and others lost + their lives. In order to prevent such great perils (as they supposed + a dangerous enchantment was contained within), they secured the gate + with new locks, concluding, that though a king was destined to open + it, the fated time was not yet arrived. At last King Don Rodrigo, + led on by his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the Tower; and + some bold attendants whom he had brought with him entered, although + agitated with fear. Having proceeded a good way, they fled back to + the entrance, terrified with a frightful vision which they had + beheld. The King was greatly moved, and ordered many torches, so + contrived that the tempest in the cave could not extinguish them, to + be lighted. Then the King entered, not without fear, before all the + others. He discovered, by degrees, a splendid hall, apparently built + in a very sumptuous manner; in the middle stood a Bronze Statue of + very ferocious appearance, which held a battle-axe in its hands. + With this he struck the floor violently, giving it such heavy blows + that the noise in the Cave was occasioned by the motion of the air. + The King, greatly affrighted and astonished, began to conjure this + terrible vision, promising that he would return without doing any + injury in the Cave, after he had obtained sight of what was contained + in it. The Statue ceased to strike the floor, and the King, with his + followers, somewhat assured, and recovering their courage, proceeded + into the hall; and on the left of the Statue they found this + inscription on the wall: _Unfortunate King_, _thou hast entered here + in an evil hour_. On the right side of the wall the words were + inscribed: _By strange Nations thou shalt be dispossessed_, _and thy + subjects foully degraded_. On the shoulders of the Statue other + words were written, which said, _I call upon __the Arabs_. And upon + his heart was written, _I do my office_. At the entrance of the hall + there was placed a round bowl, from which a great noise, like the + fall of waters, proceeded. They found no other thing in the + hall,—and when the King, sorrowful and greatly affected, had scarcely + turned about to leave the Cavern, the Statue again commenced its + accustomed blows upon the floor. After they had mutually promised to + conceal what they had seen, they again closed the Tower, and blocked + up the gate of the Cavern with earth, that no memory might remain in + the world of such a portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The ensuing + midnight, they heard great cries and clamour from the Cave, + resounding like the noise of Battle, and the ground shaking with a + tremendous roar; the whole edifice of the old Tower fell to the + ground, by which they were greatly affrighted, the Vision which they + had beheld appearing to them as a dream.” + +Scott’s poem on the Field of Waterloo was written to assist the Waterloo +subscription. + + H. M. + + + + +THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. + + +PREFACE. + + +THE following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, bearing, in +general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the +invasion of the Moors was depending, had the temerity to descend into an +ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been denounced as +fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash curiosity +was mortified by an emblematical representation of those Saracens who, in +the year 714, defeated him in battle, and reduced Spain under their +dominion. I have presumed to prolong the Vision of the Revolutions of +Spain down to the present eventful crisis of the Peninsula, and to divide +it, by a supposed change of scene, into, THREE PERIODS. The FIRST of +these represents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and Death of +Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation of the country by the +victors. The SECOND PERIOD embraces the state of the Peninsula when the +conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West Indies had +raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms; sullied, however, +by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the inhumanities of the +Inquisition terminates this picture. The LAST PART of the Poem opens +with the state of Spain previous to the unparalleled treachery of +BUONAPARTE, gives a sketch of the usurpation attempted upon that +unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminates with the arrival of the +British succours. It may be further proper to mention, that the object +of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail particular incidents, than +to exhibit a general and impressive picture of the several periods +brought upon the stage. + + EDINBURGH, _June_ 24, 1811. + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + I. + + LIVES there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire + May rise distinguished o’er the din of war; + Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre + Who sung beleaguered Ilion’s evil star? + Such, WELLINGTON, might reach thee from afar, + Wafting its descant wide o’er Ocean’s range; + Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, + All, as it swelled ’twixt each loud trumpet-change, + That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge! + + II. + + Yes! such a strain, with all o’er-pouring measure, + Might melodise with each tumultuous sound + Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure, + That rings Mondego’s ravaged shores around; + The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crowned, + The female shriek, the ruined peasant’s moan, + The shout of captives from their chains unbound, + The foiled oppressor’s deep and sullen groan, + A Nation’s choral hymn, for tyranny o’erthrown. + + III. + + But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day + Skilled but to imitate an elder page, + Timid and raptureless, can we repay + The debt thou claim’st in this exhausted age? + Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage + Those that could send thy name o’er sea and land, + While sea and land shall last; for Homer’s rage + A theme; a theme for Milton’s mighty hand— + How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band! + + IV. + + Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast + The friends of Scottish freedom found repose; + Ye torrents! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest, + Returning from the field of vanquished foes; + Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close + That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung, + What time their hymn of victory arose, + And Cattraeth’s glens with voice of triumph rung, + And mystic Merlin harped, and grey-haired Llywarch sung? + + V. + + Oh! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, + As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, + When sweeping wild and sinking soft again, + Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp’s wild sway; + If ye can echo such triumphant lay, + Then lend the note to him has loved you long! + Who pious gathered each tradition grey + That floats your solitary wastes along, + And with affection vain gave them new voice in song. + + VI. + + For not till now, how oft soe’er the task + Of truant verse hath lightened graver care, + From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, + In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; + Careless he gave his numbers to the air, + They came unsought for, if applauses came: + Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer; + Let but his verse befit a hero’s fame, + Immortal be the verse!—forgot the poet’s name! + + VII. + + Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost: + “Minstrel! the fame of whose romantic lyre, + Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost, + Like the light flickering of a cottage fire; + If to such task presumptuous thou aspire, + Seek not from us the meed to warrior due: + Age after age has gathered son to sire + Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew, + Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew. + + VIII. + + “Decayed our old traditionary lore, + Save where the lingering fays renew their ring, + By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar, + Or round the marge of Minchmore’s haunted spring; + Save where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing, + That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, + Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging, + And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, + Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne. + + IX. + + “No! search romantic lands, where the near Sun + Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, + Where the rude villager, his labour done, + In verse spontaneous chants some favoured name, + Whether Olalia’s charms his tribute claim, + Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet; + Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Græme, + He sing, to wild Morisco measure set, + Old Albin’s red claymore, green Erin’s bayonet! + + X. + + “Explore those regions, where the flinty crest + Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, + Where in the proud Alhambra’s ruined breast + Barbaric monuments of pomp repose; + Or where the banners of more ruthless foes + Than the fierce Moor, float o’er Toledo’s fane, + From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws + An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain + The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. + + XI. + + “There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark + Still lightens in the sunburnt native’s eye; + The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, + Still mark enduring pride and constancy. + And, if the glow of feudal chivalry + Beam not, as once, thy nobles’ dearest pride, + Iberia! oft thy crestless peasantry + Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, + Have seen, yet dauntless stood—’gainst fortune fought and died. + + XII. + + “And cherished still by that unchanging race, + Are themes for minstrelsy more high than thine; + Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, + Legend and vision, prophecy and sign; + Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine + With Gothic imagery of darker shade, + Forming a model meet for minstrel line. + Go, seek such theme!”—the Mountain Spirit said. + With filial awe I heard—I heard, and I obeyed. + + + +THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. + + + I. + + REARING their crests amid the cloudless skies, + And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, + Toledo’s holy towers and spires arise, + As from a trembling lake of silver white. + Their mingled shadows intercept the sight + Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below, + And nought disturbs the silence of the night; + All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, + All save the heavy swell of Teio’s ceaseless flow. + + II. + + All save the rushing swell of Teio’s tide, + Or, distant heard, a courser’s neigh or tramp; + Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, + To guard the limits of King Roderick’s camp. + For through the river’s night-fog rolling damp + Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, + Which glimmered back, against the moon’s fair lamp, + Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, + And standards proudly pitched, and warders armed between. + + III. + + But of their Monarch’s person keeping ward, + Since last the deep-mouthed bell of vespers tolled, + The chosen soldiers of the royal guard + The post beneath the proud Cathedral hold: + A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, + Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace, + Bear slender darts, and casques bedecked with gold, + While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace, + Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion’s place. + + IV. + + In the light language of an idle court, + They murmured at their master’s long delay, + And held his lengthened orisons in sport:— + “What! will Don Roderick here till morning stay, + To wear in shrift and prayer the night away? + And are his hours in such dull penance past, + For fair Florinda’s plundered charms to pay?” + Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, + And wished the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last. + + V. + + But, far within, Toledo’s Prelate lent + An ear of fearful wonder to the King; + The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent, + So long that sad confession witnessing: + For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, + Such as are lothly uttered to the air, + When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom wring, + And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear, + And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair. + + VI. + + Full on the Prelate’s face, and silver hair, + The stream of failing light was feebly rolled: + But Roderick’s visage, though his head was bare, + Was shadowed by his hand and mantle’s fold. + While of his hidden soul the sins he told, + Proud Alaric’s descendant could not brook, + That mortal man his bearing should behold, + Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook, + Fear tame a monarch’s brow, Remorse a warrior’s look. + + VII. + + The old man’s faded cheek waxed yet more pale, + As many a secret sad the King bewrayed; + As sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale, + When in the midst his faltering whisper stayed. + “Thus royal Witiza was slain,”—he said; + “Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I.” + Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade.— + “Oh, rather deem ’twas stern necessity! + Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. + + VIII. + + “And if Florinda’s shrieks alarmed the air, + If she invoked her absent sire in vain, + And on her knees implored that I would spare, + Yet, reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain! + All is not as it seems—the female train + Know by their bearing to disguise their mood:” + But Conscience here, as if in high disdain, + Sent to the Monarch’s cheek the burning blood— + He stayed his speech abrupt—and up the Prelate stood. + + IX. + + “O hardened offspring of an iron race! + What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say? + What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface + Murder’s dark spot, wash treason’s stain away! + For the foul ravisher how shall I pray, + Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast? + How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, + Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host, + He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be lost?” + + X. + + Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, + And to his brow returned its dauntless gloom; + “And welcome then,” he cried, “be blood for blood, + For treason treachery, for dishonour doom! + Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom. + Show, for thou canst—give forth the fated key, + And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room, + Where, if aught true in old tradition be, + His nation’s future fates a Spanish King shall see.” + + XI. + + “Ill-fated Prince! recall the desperate word, + Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey! + Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford + Never to former Monarch entrance-way; + Nor shall it ever ope, old records say, + Save to a King, the last of all his line, + What time his empire totters to decay, + And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine, + And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine.”— + + XII. + + “Prelate! a Monarch’s fate brooks no delay; + Lead on!”—The ponderous key the old man took, + And held the winking lamp, and led the way, + By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, + Then on an ancient gateway bent his look; + And, as the key the desperate King essayed, + Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook, + And twice he stopped, and twice new effort made, + Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed. + + XIII. + + Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted hall; + Roof, walls, and floor were all of marble stone, + Of polished marble, black as funeral pall, + Carved o’er with signs and characters unknown. + A paly light, as of the dawning, shone + Through the sad bounds, but whence they could not spy; + For window to the upper air was none; + Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry + Wonders that ne’er till then were seen by mortal eye. + + XIV. + + Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, + Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place; + Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall, + Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. + Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race, + That lived and sinned before the avenging flood; + This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace; + This spread his wings for flight, that pondering stood, + Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood. + + XV. + + Fixed was the right-hand Giant’s brazen look + Upon his brother’s glass of shifting sand, + As if its ebb he measured by a book, + Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand; + In which was wrote of many a fallen land + Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven: + And o’er that pair their names in scroll expand— + “Lo, DESTINY and TIME! to whom by Heaven + The guidance of the earth is for a season given.”— + + XVI. + + Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes away; + And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, + That right-hand Giant ’gan his club upsway, + As one that startles from a heavy sleep. + Full on the upper wall the mace’s sweep + At once descended with the force of thunder, + And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, + The marble boundary was rent asunder, + And gave to Roderick’s view new sights of fear and wonder. + + XVII. + + For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach, + Realms as of Spain in visioned prospect laid, + Castles and towers, in due proportion each, + As by some skilful artist’s hand portrayed: + Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra’s shade, + And boundless plains that tire the traveller’s eye; + There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade, + Or deep-embrowned by forests huge and high, + Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly murmured by. + + XVIII. + + And here, as erst upon the antique stage + Passed forth the band of masquers trimly led, + In various forms, and various equipage, + While fitting strains the hearer’s fancy fed; + So, to sad Roderick’s eye in order spread, + Successive pageants filled that mystic scene, + Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, + And issue of events that had not been; + And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between. + + XIX. + + First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek!— + It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call, + For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek.— + Then answered kettle-drum and attabal, + Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal, + The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie’s yell, + Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. + Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell— + “The Moor!” he cried, “the Moor!—ring out the Tocsin bell! + + XX. + + “They come! they come! I see the groaning lands + White with the turbans of each Arab horde; + Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, + Alla and Mahomet their battle-word, + The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword— + See how the Christians rush to arms amain!— + In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared, + The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain— + Now, God and Saint Iago strike, for the good cause of Spain! + + XXI. + + “By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield! + Their coward leader gives for flight the sign! + The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field— + Is not yon steed Orelio?—Yes, ’tis mine! + But never was she turned from battle-line: + Lo! where the recreant spurs o’er stock and stone!— + Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine! + Rivers ingulph him!”—“Hush,” in shuddering tone, + The Prelate said; “rash Prince, yon visioned form’s thine own.” + + XXII. + + Just then, a torrent crossed the flier’s course; + The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried; + But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse, + Swept like benighted peasant down the tide; + And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, + As numerous as their native locust band; + Berber and Ismael’s sons the spoils divide, + With naked scimitars mete out the land, + And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives brand. + + XXIII. + + Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose + The loveliest maidens of the Christian line; + Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes, + Castile’s young nobles held forbidden wine; + Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation’s sign, + By impious hands was from the altar thrown, + And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine + Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone, + The Santon’s frantic dance, the Fakir’s gibbering moan. + + XXIV. + + How fares Don Roderick?—E’en as one who spies + Flames dart their glare o’er midnight’s sable woof, + And hears around his children’s piercing cries, + And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; + While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof, + His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief; + And while above him nods the crumbling roof, + He curses earth and Heaven—himself in chief— + Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven’s relief! + + XXV. + + That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass + And twilight on the landscape closed her wings; + Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, + And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings; + And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs, + Bazars resound as when their marts are met, + In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, + And on the land as evening seemed to set, + The Imaum’s chant was heard from mosque or minaret. + + XXVI. + + So passed that pageant. Ere another came, + The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke + Whose sulph’rous wreaths were crossed by sheets of flame; + With every flash a bolt explosive broke, + Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their yoke, + And waved ’gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone! + For War a new and dreadful language spoke, + Never by ancient warrior heard or known; + Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone. + + XXVII. + + From the dim landscape rolled the clouds away— + The Christians have regained their heritage; + Before the Cross has waned the Crescent’s ray, + And many a monastery decks the stage, + And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage. + The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight,— + The Genii those of Spain for many an age; + This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, + And that was VALOUR named, this BIGOTRY was hight. + + XXVIII. + + VALOUR was harnessed like a chief of old, + Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest; + His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold, + Morena’s eagle plume adorned his crest, + The spoils of Afric’s lion bound his breast. + Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage; + As if of mortal kind to brave the best. + Him followed his Companion, dark and sage, + As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. + + XXIX. + + Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, + In look and language proud as proud might be, + Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame: + Yet was that barefoot Monk more proud than he: + And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, + So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, + And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, + Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renowned, + Honouring his scourge and haircloth, meekly kissed the ground. + + XXX. + + And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless knight, + Who ne’er to King or Kaiser vailed his crest, + Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, + Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, + Stooped ever to that Anchoret’s behest; + Nor reasoned of the right, nor of the wrong, + But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, + And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, + For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. + + XXXI. + + Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world, + That latest sees the sun, or first the morn; + Still at that Wizard’s feet their spoils he hurled,— + Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, + Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, + Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul; + Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, + Bedabbled all with blood.—With grisly scowl + The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl. + + XXXII. + + Then did he bless the offering, and bade make + Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise; + And at his word the choral hymns awake, + And many a hand the silver censer sways, + But with the incense-breath these censers raise, + Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire; + The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays, + And shrieks of agony confound the quire; + While, ’mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire. + + XXXIII. + + Preluding light, were strains of music heard, + As once again revolved that measured sand; + Such sounds as when, for silvan dance prepared, + Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band; + When for the light bolero ready stand + The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha met, + He conscious of his broidered cap and band, + She of her netted locks and light corsette, + Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet. + + XXXIV. + + And well such strains the opening scene became; + For VALOUR had relaxed his ardent look, + And at a lady’s feet, like lion tame, + Lay stretched, full loath the weight of arms to brook; + And softened BIGOTRY, upon his book, + Pattered a task of little good or ill: + But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, + Whistled the muleteer o’er vale and hill, + And rung from village-green the merry seguidille. + + XXXV. + + Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil, + Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold; + And, careless, saw his rule become the spoil + Of a loose Female and her minion bold. + But peace was on the cottage and the fold, + From Court intrigue, from bickering faction far; + Beneath the chestnut-tree Love’s tale was told, + And to the tinkling of the light guitar, + Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star. + + XXXVI. + + As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, + When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, + Came slowly overshadowing Israel’s land, + A while, perchance, bedecked with colours sheen, + While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, + Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, + Till darker folds obscured the blue serene + And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud, + Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud:— + + XXXVII. + + Even so, upon that peaceful scene was poured, + Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, + And HE, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, + And offered peaceful front and open hand, + Veiling the perjured treachery he planned, + By friendship’s zeal and honour’s specious guise, + Until he won the passes of the land; + Then burst were honour’s oath and friendship’s ties! + He clutched his vulture grasp, and called fair Spain his prize. + + XXXVIII. + + An iron crown his anxious forehead bore; + And well such diadem his heart became, + Who ne’er his purpose for remorse gave o’er, + Or checked his course for piety or shame; + Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier’s fame + Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, + Though neither truth nor honour decked his name; + Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch’s throne, + Recked not of Monarch’s faith, or Mercy’s kingly tone. + + XXXIX. + + From a rude isle his ruder lineage came, + The spark, that, from a suburb-hovel’s hearth + Ascending, wraps some capital in flame, + Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. + And for the soul that bade him waste the earth— + The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure + That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, + And by destruction bids its fame endure, + Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure. + + XL. + + Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form; + Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor showed, + With which she beckoned him through fight and storm, + And all he crushed that crossed his desperate road, + Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trode. + Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake, + So oft as e’er she shook her torch abroad— + It was AMBITION bade her terrors wake, + Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take. + + XLI. + + No longer now she spurned at mean revenge, + Or stayed her hand for conquered foeman’s moan; + As when, the fates of aged Rome to change, + By Cæsar’s side she crossed the Rubicon. + Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she won, + As when the banded powers of Greece were tasked + To war beneath the Youth of Macedon: + No seemly veil her modern minion asked, + He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmasked. + + XLII. + + That Prelate marked his march—On banners blazed + With battles won in many a distant land, + On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed; + “And hopest thou, then,” he said, “thy power shall stand? + Oh! thou hast builded on the shifting sand, + And thou hast tempered it with slaughter’s flood; + And know, fell scourge in the Almighty’s hand, + Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud, + And by a bloody death shall die the Man of Blood!” + + XLIII. + + The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train + A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel, + And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, + While trumpets rang, and heralds cried “Castile!” + Not that he loved him—No!—In no man’s weal, + Scarce in his own, e’er joyed that sullen heart; + Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, + That the poor puppet might perform his part, + And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. + + XLIV. + + But on the Natives of that Land misused, + Not long the silence of amazement hung, + Nor brooked they long their friendly faith abused; + For, with a common shriek, the general tongue + Exclaimed, “To arms!”—and fast to arms they sprung. + And VALOUR woke, that Genius of the Land! + Pleasure, and ease, and sloth aside he flung, + As burst the awakening Nazarite his band, + When ’gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful hand. + + XLV. + + That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye + Upon the Satraps that begirt him round, + Now doffed his royal robe in act to fly, + And from his brow the diadem unbound. + So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound, + From Tarik’s walls to Bilboa’s mountains blown, + These martial satellites hard labour found + To guard awhile his substituted throne— + Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. + + XLVI. + + From Alpuhara’s peak that bugle rung, + And it was echoed from Corunna’s wall; + Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, + Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall; + Galicia bade her children fight or fall, + Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, + Valencia roused her at the battle-call, + And, foremost still where Valour’s sons are met, + First started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. + + XLVII. + + But unappalled, and burning for the fight, + The Invaders march, of victory secure; + Skilful their force to sever or unite, + And trained alike to vanquish or endure. + Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure, + Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, + To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure; + While nought against them bring the unpractised foe, + Save hearts for Freedom’s cause, and hands for Freedom’s blow. + + XLVIII. + + Proudly they march—but, oh! they march not forth + By one hot field to crown a brief campaign, + As when their Eagles, sweeping through the North, + Destroyed at every stoop an ancient reign! + Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain; + In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied, + New Patriot armies started from the slain, + High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, + And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. + + XLIX. + + Nor unatoned, where Freedom’s foes prevail, + Remained their savage waste. With blade and brand + By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale, + But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band + Came like night’s tempest, and avenged the land, + And claimed for blood the retribution due, + Probed the hard heart, and lopped the murd’rous hand; + And Dawn, when o’er the scene her beams she threw + ’Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers’ corpses knew. + + L. + + What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, + Amid the visioned strife from sea to sea, + How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, + Still honoured in defeat as victory! + For that sad pageant of events to be + Showed every form of fight by field and flood; + Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, + Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud, + The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with blood! + + LI. + + Then Zaragoza—blighted be the tongue + That names thy name without the honour due! + For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung, + Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true! + Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered ruins knew, + Each art of war’s extremity had room, + Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe withdrew, + And when at length stern fate decreed thy doom, + They won not Zaragoza, but her children’s bloody tomb. + + LII. + + Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though in chains, + Enthralled thou canst not be! Arise, and claim + Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, + For what thou worshippest!—thy sainted dame, + She of the Column, honoured be her name + By all, whate’er their creed, who honour love! + And like the sacred relics of the flame, + That gave some martyr to the blessed above, + To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove! + + LIII. + + Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair! + Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung, + Manning the towers, while o’er their heads the air + Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; + Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung, + Now briefly lightened by the cannon’s flare, + Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, + And reddening now with conflagration’s glare, + While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. + + LIV. + + While all around was danger, strife, and fear, + While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky, + And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear, + Appalled the heart, and stupefied the eye,— + Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, + In which old Albion’s heart and tongue unite, + Whene’er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, + Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, + And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light. + + LV. + + Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud— + A varied scene the changeful vision showed, + For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, + A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. + From mast and stern St. George’s symbol flowed, + Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; + Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed, + And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, + And the wild beach returned the seamen’s jovial cheer. + + LVI. + + It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight! + The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars, + Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, + Legions on legions bright’ning all the shores. + Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, + Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, + Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, + And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, + For, bold in Freedom’s cause, the bands of Ocean come! + + LVII. + + A various host they came—whose ranks display + Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, + The deep battalion locks its firm array, + And meditates his aim the marksman light; + Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright + Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, + Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, + Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed, + That rivals lightning’s flash in ruin and in speed. + + LVIII. + + A various host—from kindred realms they came, + Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown— + For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, + And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. + Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, + And hers their scorn of death in freedom’s cause, + Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, + And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, + And free-born thoughts which league the Soldier with the Laws. + + LIX. + + And, oh! loved warriors of the Minstrel’s land! + Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! + The rugged form may mark the mountain band, + And harsher features, and a mien more grave; + But ne’er in battlefield throbbed heart so brave + As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid; + And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, + And level for the charge your arms are laid, + Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset stayed! + + LX. + + Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, + Mingling wild mirth with war’s stern minstrelsy, + His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, + And moves to death with military glee: + Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free, + In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, + Rough Nature’s children, humorous as she: + And HE, yon Chieftain—strike the proudest tone + Of thy bold harp, green Isle!—the Hero is thine own. + + LXI. + + Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown, + On Talavera’s fight should Roderick gaze, + And hear Corunna wail her battle won, + And see Busaco’s crest with lightning blaze:— + But shall fond fable mix with heroes’ praise? + Hath Fiction’s stage for Truth’s long triumphs room? + And dare her wild flowers mingle with the bays + That claim a long eternity to bloom + Around the warrior’s crest, and o’er the warrior’s tomb! + + LXII. + + Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, + And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil + That hides futurity from anxious hope, + Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, + And painting Europe rousing at the tale + Of Spain’s invaders from her confines hurled, + While kindling nations buckle on their mail, + And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurled, + To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured World! + + LXIII. + + O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, + Since Fate has marked futurity her own: + Yet Fate resigns to worth the glorious past, + The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. + Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone, + King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, + Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun, + Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, + One note of pride and fire, a Patriot’s parting strain! + + + +CONCLUSION. + + + I. + + “Who shall command Estrella’s mountain-tide + Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie? + Who, when Gascogne’s vexed gulf is raging wide, + Shall hush it as a nurse her infant’s cry? + His magic power let such vain boaster try, + And when the torrent shall his voice obey, + And Biscay’s whirlwinds list his lullaby, + Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles’ way, + And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay. + + II. + + “Else ne’er to stoop, till high on Lisbon’s towers + They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, + And their own sea hath whelmed yon red-cross powers!” + Thus, on the summit of Alverca’s rock + To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul’s Leader spoke. + While downward on the land his legions press, + Before them it was rich with vine and flock, + And smiled like Eden in her summer dress;— + Behind their wasteful march a reeking wilderness. + + III. + + And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word, + Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the land, + Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, + Though Britons arm and WELLINGTON command! + No! grim Busaco’s iron ridge shall stand + An adamantine barrier to his force; + And from its base shall wheel his shattered band, + As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse + Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course. + + IV. + + Yet not because Alcoba’s mountain-hawk + Hath on his best and bravest made her food, + In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk + His Lord’s imperial thirst for spoil and blood: + For full in view the promised conquest stood, + And Lisbon’s matrons from their walls might sum + The myriads that had half the world subdued, + And hear the distant thunders of the drum, + That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come. + + V. + + Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled, + Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey, + As famished wolves survey a guarded fold— + But in the middle path a Lion lay! + At length they move—but not to battle-fray, + Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight; + Beacons of infamy, they light the way + Where cowardice and cruelty unite + To damn with double shame their ignominious flight. + + VI. + + O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath! + Ne’er to be told, yet ne’er to be forgot, + What wanton horrors marked their wreckful path! + The peasant butchered in his ruined cot, + The hoary priest even at the altar shot, + Childhood and age given o’er to sword and flame, + Woman to infamy;—no crime forgot, + By which inventive demons might proclaim + Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God’s great name! + + VII. + + The rudest sentinel, in Britain born, + With horror paused to view the havoc done, + Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn, + Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun. + Nor with less zeal shall Britain’s peaceful son + Exult the debt of sympathy to pay; + Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, + Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, + Nor the poor peasant’s mite, nor bard’s more worthless lay. + + VIII. + + But thou—unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, + Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in vain! + Can vantage-ground no confidence create, + Marcella’s pass, nor Guarda’s mountain-chain? + Vainglorious fugitive! yet turn again! + Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, + Flows Honour’s Fountain, {164} as foredoomed the stain + From thy dishonoured name and arms to clear— + Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here! + + IX. + + Yet, ere thou turn’st, collect each distant aid; + Those chief that never heard the lion roar! + Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed + Of Talavera or Mondego’s shore! + Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more; + Of war’s fell stratagems exhaust the whole; + Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour, + Legion on legion on thy foeman roll, + And weary out his arm—thou canst not quell his soul. + + X. + + O vainly gleams with steel Agueda’s shore, + Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava’s plain, + And front the flying thunders as they roar, + With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain! + And what avails thee that, for CAMERON slain, + Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given— + Vengeance and grief gave mountain-range the rein, + And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, + Thy Despot’s giant guards fled like the rack of heaven. + + XI. + + Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood + To plead at thine imperious master’s throne, + Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood, + Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own; + Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown, + By British skill and valour were outvied; + Last say, thy conqueror was WELLINGTON! + And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried— + God and our cause to friend, the venture we’ll abide. + + XII. + + But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day, + How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown, + His meed to each victorious leader pay, + Or bind on every brow the laurels won? + Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, + O’er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave; + And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own, + Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave + ’Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. + + XIII. + + Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, + To give each Chief and every field its fame: + Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD, + And Red Barosa shouts for dauntless GRÆME! + O for a verse of tumult and of flame, + Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, + To bid the world re-echo to their fame! + For never, upon gory battle-ground, + With conquest’s well-bought wreath were braver victors crowned! + + XIV. + + O who shall grudge him Albuera’s bays, + Who brought a race regenerate to the field, + Roused them to emulate their fathers’ praise, + Tempered their headlong rage, their courage steeled, + And raised fair Lusitania’s fallen shield, + And gave new edge to Lusitania’s sword, + And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield— + Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord, + If it forget thy worth, victorious BERESFORD! + + XV. + + Not on that bloody field of battle won, + Though Gaul’s proud legions rolled like mist away, + Was half his self-devoted valour shown,— + He gaged but life on that illustrious day; + But when he toiled those squadrons to array, + Who fought like Britons in the bloody game, + Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, + He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, + And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier’s fame. + + XVI. + + Nor be his praise o’erpast who strove to hide + Beneath the warrior’s vest affection’s wound, + Whose wish Heaven for his country’s weal denied; + Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. + From clime to clime, where’er war’s trumpets sound, + The wanderer went; yet Caledonia! still + Thine was his thought in march and tented ground; + He dreamed ’mid Alpine cliffs of Athole’s hill, + And heard in Ebro’s roar his Lyndoch’s lovely rill. + + XVII. + + O hero of a race renowned of old, + Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell, + Since first distinguished in the onset bold, + Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! + By Wallace’ side it rung the Southron’s knell, + Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame, + Tummell’s rude pass can of its terrors tell, + But ne’er from prouder field arose the name + Than when wild Ronda learned the conquering shout of GRÆME! + + XVIII. + + But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, + (With Spenser’s parable I close my tale,) + By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous bark, + And landward now I drive before the gale. + And now the blue and distant shore I hail, + And nearer now I see the port expand, + And now I gladly furl my weary sail, + And, as the prow light touches on the strand, + I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff to land. + + + + +THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. + + + I. + + FAIR Brussels, thou art far behind, + Though, lingering on the morning wind, + We yet may hear the hour + Pealed over orchard and canal, + With voice prolonged and measured fall, + From proud St. Michael’s tower; + Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now, + Where the tall beeches’ glossy bough + For many a league around, + With birch and darksome oak between, + Spreads deep and far a pathless screen, + Of tangled forest ground. + Stems planted close by stems defy + The adventurous foot—the curious eye + For access seeks in vain; + And the brown tapestry of leaves, + Strewed on the blighted ground, receives + Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. + No opening glade dawns on our way, + No streamlet, glancing to the ray, + Our woodland path has crossed; + And the straight causeway which we tread + Prolongs a line of dull arcade, + Unvarying through the unvaried shade + Until in distance lost. + + II. + + A brighter, livelier scene succeeds; + In groups the scattering wood recedes, + Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, + And corn-fields glance between; + The peasant, at his labour blithe, + Plies the hooked staff and shortened scythe:— + But when these ears were green, + Placed close within destruction’s scope, + Full little was that rustic’s hope + Their ripening to have seen! + And, lo, a hamlet and its fane:— + Let not the gazer with disdain + Their architecture view; + For yonder rude ungraceful shrine, + And disproportioned spire, are thine, + Immortal WATERLOO! + + III. + + Fear not the heat, though full and high + The sun has scorched the autumn sky, + And scarce a forest straggler now + To shade us spreads a greenwood bough; + These fields have seen a hotter day + Than e’er was fired by sunny ray, + Yet one mile on—yon shattered hedge + Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge + Looks on the field below, + And sinks so gently on the dale + That not the folds of Beauty’s veil + In easier curves can flow. + Brief space from thence, the ground again + Ascending slowly from the plain + Forms an opposing screen, + Which, with its crest of upland ground, + Shuts the horizon all around. + The softened vale between + Slopes smooth and fair for courser’s tread; + Not the most timid maid need dread + To give her snow-white palfrey head + On that wide stubble-ground; + Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush are there, + Her course to intercept or scare, + Nor fosse nor fence are found, + Save where, from out her shattered bowers, + Rise Hougomont’s dismantled towers. + + IV. + + Now, see’st thou aught in this lone scene + Can tell of that which late hath been?— + A stranger might reply, + “The bare extent of stubble-plain + Seems lately lightened of its grain; + And yonder sable tracks remain + Marks of the peasant’s ponderous wain, + When harvest-home was nigh. + On these broad spots of trampled ground, + Perchance the rustics danced such round + As Teniers loved to draw; + And where the earth seems scorched by flame, + To dress the homely feast they came, + And toiled the kerchiefed village dame + Around her fire of straw.” + + V. + + So deem’st thou—so each mortal deems, + Of that which is from that which seems:— + But other harvest here + Than that which peasant’s scythe demands, + Was gathered in by sterner hands, + With bayonet, blade, and spear. + No vulgar crop was theirs to reap, + No stinted harvest thin and cheap! + Heroes before each fatal sweep + Fell thick as ripened grain; + And ere the darkening of the day, + Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay + The ghastly harvest of the fray, + The corpses of the slain. + + VI. + + Ay, look again—that line, so black + And trampled, marks the bivouac, + Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery’s track, + So often lost and won; + And close beside, the hardened mud + Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood, + The fierce dragoon, through battle’s flood, + Dashed the hot war-horse on. + These spots of excavation tell + The ravage of the bursting shell— + And feel’st thou not the tainted steam, + That reeks against the sultry beam, + From yonder trenchéd mound? + The pestilential fumes declare + That Carnage has replenished there + Her garner-house profound. + + VII. + + Far other harvest-home and feast, + Than claims the boor from scythe released, + On these scorched fields were known! + Death hovered o’er the maddening rout, + And, in the thrilling battle-shout, + Sent for the bloody banquet out + A summons of his own. + Through rolling smoke the Demon’s eye + Could well each destined guest espy, + Well could his ear in ecstasy + Distinguish every tone + That filled the chorus of the fray— + From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray, + From charging squadrons’ wild hurra, + From the wild clang that marked their way,— + Down to the dying groan, + And the last sob of life’s decay, + When breath was all but flown. + + VIII. + + Feast on, stern foe of mortal life, + Feast on!—but think not that a strife, + With such promiscuous carnage rife, + Protracted space may last; + The deadly tug of war at length + Must limits find in human strength, + And cease when these are past. + Vain hope!—that morn’s o’erclouded sun + Heard the wild shout of fight begun + Ere he attained his height, + And through the war-smoke, volumed high, + Still peals that unremitted cry, + Though now he stoops to night. + For ten long hours of doubt and dread, + Fresh succours from the extended head + Of either hill the contest fed; + Still down the slope they drew, + The charge of columns pauséd not, + Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot; + For all that war could do + Of skill and force was proved that day, + And turned not yet the doubtful fray + On bloody Waterloo. + + IX. + + Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine, + When ceaseless from the distant line + Continued thunders came! + Each burgher held his breath, to hear + These forerunners of havoc near, + Of rapine and of flame. + What ghastly sights were thine to meet, + When rolling through thy stately street, + The wounded showed their mangled plight + In token of the unfinished fight, + And from each anguish-laden wain + The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain! + How often in the distant drum + Heard’st thou the fell Invader come, + While Ruin, shouting to his band, + Shook high her torch and gory brand!— + Cheer thee, fair City! From yon stand, + Impatient, still his outstretched hand + Points to his prey in vain, + While maddening in his eager mood, + And all unwont to be withstood, + He fires the fight again. + + X. + + “On! On!” was still his stern exclaim; + “Confront the battery’s jaws of flame! + Rush on the levelled gun! + My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance! + Each Hulan forward with his lance, + My Guard—my Chosen—charge for France, + France and Napoleon!” + Loud answered their acclaiming shout, + Greeting the mandate which sent out + Their bravest and their best to dare + The fate their leader shunned to share. + But HE, his country’s sword and shield, + Still in the battle-front revealed, + Where danger fiercest swept the field, + Came like a beam of light, + In action prompt, in sentence brief— + “Soldiers, stand firm!” exclaimed the Chief, + “England shall tell the fight!” + + XI. + + On came the whirlwind—like the last + But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast— + On came the whirlwind—steel-gleams broke + Like lightning through the rolling smoke; + The war was waked anew, + Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, + And from their throats, with flash and cloud, + Their showers of iron threw. + Beneath their fire, in full career, + Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, + The lancer couched his ruthless spear, + And hurrying as to havoc near, + The cohorts’ eagles flew. + In one dark torrent, broad and strong, + The advancing onset rolled along, + Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, + That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, + Pealed wildly the imperial name. + + XII. + + But on the British heart were lost + The terrors of the charging host; + For not an eye the storm that viewed + Changed its proud glance of fortitude, + Nor was one forward footstep stayed, + As dropped the dying and the dead. + Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, + Fast they renewed each serried square; + And on the wounded and the slain + Closed their diminished files again, + Till from their line scarce spears’-lengths three, + Emerging from the smoke they see + Helmet, and plume, and panoply,— + Then waked their fire at once! + Each musketeer’s revolving knell, + As fast, as regularly fell, + As when they practise to display + Their discipline on festal day. + Then down went helm and lance, + Down were the eagle banners sent, + Down reeling steeds and riders went, + Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent; + And, to augment the fray, + Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, + The English horsemen’s foaming ranks + Forced their resistless way. + Then to the musket-knell succeeds + The clash of swords—the neigh of steeds— + As plies the smith his clanging trade, + Against the cuirass rang the blade; + And while amid their close array + The well-served cannon rent their way, + And while amid their scattered band + Raged the fierce rider’s bloody brand, + Recoiled in common rout and fear, + Lancer and guard and cuirassier, + Horsemen and foot,—a mingled host + Their leaders fall’n, their standards lost. + + XIII. + + Then, WELLINGTON! thy piercing eye + This crisis caught of destiny— + The British host had stood + That morn ’gainst charge of sword and lance + As their own ocean-rocks hold stance, + But when thy voice had said, “Advance!” + They were their ocean’s flood.— + O Thou, whose inauspicious aim + Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame, + Think’st thou thy broken bands will bide + The terrors of yon rushing tide? + Or will thy chosen brook to feel + The British shock of levelled steel, + Or dost thou turn thine eye + Where coming squadrons gleam afar, + And fresher thunders wake the war, + And other standards fly?— + Think not that in yon columns, file + Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle— + Is Blucher yet unknown? + Or dwells not in thy memory still + (Heard frequent in thine hour of ill), + What notes of hate and vengeance thrill + In Prussia’s trumpet-tone?— + What yet remains?—shall it be thine + To head the relics of thy line + In one dread effort more?— + The Roman lore thy leisure loved, + And than canst tell what fortune proved + That Chieftain, who, of yore, + Ambition’s dizzy paths essayed + And with the gladiators’ aid + For empire enterprised— + He stood the cast his rashness played, + Left not the victims he had made, + Dug his red grave with his own blade, + And on the field he lost was laid, + Abhorred—but not despised. + + XIV. + + But if revolves thy fainter thought + On safety—howsoever bought,— + Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, + Though twice ten thousand men have died + On this eventful day + To gild the military fame + Which thou, for life, in traffic tame + Wilt barter thus away. + Shall future ages tell this tale + Of inconsistence faint and frail? + And art thou He of Lodi’s bridge, + Marengo’s field, and Wagram’s ridge! + Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, + That, swelled by winter storm and shower, + Rolls down in turbulence of power, + A torrent fierce and wide; + Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, + Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, + Whose channel shows displayed + The wrecks of its impetuous course, + But not one symptom of the force + By which these wrecks were made! + + XV. + + Spur on thy way!—since now thine ear + Has brooked thy veterans’ wish to hear, + Who, as thy flight they eyed + Exclaimed,—while tears of anguish came, + Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame, + “O that he had but died!” + But yet, to sum this hour of ill, + Look, ere thou leav’st the fatal hill, + Back on yon broken ranks— + Upon whose wild confusion gleams + The moon, as on the troubled streams + When rivers break their banks, + And, to the ruined peasant’s eye, + Objects half seen roll swiftly by, + Down the dread current hurled— + So mingle banner, wain, and gun, + Where the tumultuous flight rolls on + Of warriors, who, when morn begun, + Defied a banded world. + + XVI. + + List—frequent to the hurrying rout, + The stern pursuers’ vengeful shout + Tells, that upon their broken rear + Rages the Prussian’s bloody spear. + So fell a shriek was none, + When Beresina’s icy flood + Reddened and thawed with flame and blood, + And, pressing on thy desperate way, + Raised oft and long their wild hurra, + The children of the Don. + Thine ear no yell of horror cleft + So ominous, when, all bereft + Of aid, the valiant Polack left— + Ay, left by thee—found soldiers grave + In Leipsic’s corpse-encumbered wave. + Fate, in those various perils past, + Reserved thee still some future cast; + On the dread die thou now hast thrown + Hangs not a single field alone, + Nor one campaign—thy martial fame, + Thy empire, dynasty, and name + Have felt the final stroke; + And now, o’er thy devoted head + The last stern vial’s wrath is shed, + The last dread seal is broke. + + XVII. + + Since live thou wilt—refuse not now + Before these demagogues to bow, + Late objects of thy scorn and hate, + Who shall thy once imperial fate + Make wordy theme of vain debate.— + Or shall we say, thou stoop’st less low + In seeking refuge from the foe, + Against whose heart, in prosperous life, + Thine hand hath ever held the knife? + Such homage hath been paid + By Roman and by Grecian voice, + And there were honour in the choice, + If it were freely made. + Then safely come—in one so low,— + So lost,—we cannot own a foe; + Though dear experience bid us end, + In thee we ne’er can hail a friend.— + Come, howsoe’er—but do not hide + Close in thy heart that germ of pride, + Erewhile, by gifted bard espied, + That “yet imperial hope;” + Think not that for a fresh rebound, + To raise ambition from the ground, + We yield thee means or scope. + In safety come—but ne’er again + Hold type of independent reign; + No islet calls thee lord, + We leave thee no confederate band, + No symbol of thy lost command, + To be a dagger in the hand + From which we wrenched the sword. + + XVIII. + + Yet, even in yon sequestered spot, + May worthier conquest be thy lot + Than yet thy life has known; + Conquest, unbought by blood or harm, + That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, + A triumph all thine own. + Such waits thee when thou shalt control + Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, + That marred thy prosperous scene:— + Hear this—from no unmovéd heart, + Which sighs, comparing what THOU ART + With what thou MIGHT’ST HAVE BEEN! + + XIX. + + Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed + Bankrupt a nation’s gratitude, + To thine own noble heart must owe + More than the meed she can bestow. + For not a people’s just acclaim, + Not the full hail of Europe’s fame, + Thy Prince’s smiles, the State’s decree, + The ducal rank, the gartered knee, + Not these such pure delight afford + As that, when hanging up thy sword, + Well may’st thou think, “This honest steel + Was ever drawn for public weal; + And, such was rightful Heaven’s decree, + Ne’er sheathed unless with victory!” + + XX. + + Look forth, once more, with softened heart, + Ere from the field of fame we part; + Triumph and Sorrow border near, + And joy oft melts into a tear. + Alas! what links of love that morn + Has War’s rude hand asunder torn! + For ne’er was field so sternly fought, + And ne’er was conquest dearer bought, + Here piled in common slaughter sleep + Those whom affection long shall weep + Here rests the sire, that ne’er shall strain + His orphans to his heart again; + The son, whom, on his native shore, + The parent’s voice shall bless no more; + The bridegroom, who has hardly pressed + His blushing consort to his breast; + The husband, whom through many a year + Long love and mutual faith endear. + Thou canst not name one tender tie, + But here dissolved its relics lie! + Oh! when thou see’st some mourner’s veil + Shroud her thin form and visage pale, + Or mark’st the Matron’s bursting tears + Stream when the stricken drum she hears; + Or see’st how manlier grief, suppressed, + Is labouring in a father’s breast,— + With no inquiry vain pursue + The cause, but think on Waterloo! + + XXI. + + Period of honour as of woes, + What bright careers ’twas thine to close!— + Marked on thy roll of blood what names + To Britain’s memory, and to Fame’s, + Laid there their last immortal claims! + Thou saw’st in seas of gore expire + Redoubted PICTON’S soul of fire— + Saw’st in the mingled carnage lie + All that of PONSONBY could die— + DE LANCEY change Love’s bridal-wreath + For laurels from the hand of Death— + Saw’st gallant MILLER’S failing eye + Still bent where Albion’s banners fly, + And CAMERON, in the shock of steel, + Die like the offspring of Lochiel; + And generous GORDON, ’mid the strife, + Fall while he watched his leader’s life.— + Ah! though her guardian angel’s shield + Fenced Britain’s hero through the field. + Fate not the less her power made known, + Through his friends’ hearts to pierce his own! + + XXII. + + Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay! + Who may your names, your numbers, say? + What high-strung harp, what lofty line, + To each the dear-earned praise assign, + From high-born chiefs of martial fame + To the poor soldier’s lowlier name? + Lightly ye rose that dawning day, + From your cold couch of swamp and clay, + To fill, before the sun was low, + The bed that morning cannot know.— + Oft may the tear the green sod steep, + And sacred be the heroes’ sleep, + Till time shall cease to run; + And ne’er beside their noble grave, + May Briton pass and fail to crave + A blessing on the fallen brave + Who fought with Wellington! + + XXIII. + + Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face + Wears desolation’s withering trace; + Long shall my memory retain + Thy shattered huts and trampled grain, + With every mark of martial wrong, + That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont! + Yet though thy garden’s green arcade + The marksman’s fatal post was made, + Though on thy shattered beeches fell + The blended rage of shot and shell, + Though from thy blackened portals torn, + Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, + Has not such havoc bought a name + Immortal in the rolls of fame? + Yes—Agincourt may be forgot, + And Cressy be an unknown spot, + And Blenheim’s name be new; + But still in story and in song, + For many an age remembered long, + Shall live the towers of Hougomont + And Field of Waterloo! + + + +CONCLUSION. + + + STERN tide of human Time! that know’st not rest, + But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, + Bear’st ever downward on thy dusky breast + Successive generations to their doom; + While thy capacious stream has equal room + For the gay bark where Pleasure’s steamers sport, + And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, + The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, + Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port;— + + Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious change + Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven! + For ne’er, before, vicissitude so strange + Was to one race of Adam’s offspring given. + And sure such varied change of sea and heaven, + Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe, + Such fearful strife as that where we have striven, + Succeeding ages ne’er again shall know, + Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow. + + Well hast thou stood, my Country!—the brave fight + Hast well maintained through good report and ill; + In thy just cause and in thy native might, + And in Heaven’s grace and justice constant still; + Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill + Of half the world against thee stood arrayed, + Or when, with better views and freer will, + Beside thee Europe’s noblest drew the blade, + Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. + + Well art thou now repaid—though slowly rose, + And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, + While like the dawn that in the orient glows + On the broad wave its earlier lustre came; + Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, + And Maida’s myrtles gleamed beneath its ray, + Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame, + Rivalled the heroes of the watery way, + And washed in foemen’s gore unjust reproach away. + + Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, + And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, + Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, + For thou halt faced, like him, a dragon foe, + And rescued innocence from overthrow, + And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might, + And to the gazing world may’st proudly show + The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, + Who quelled devouring pride and vindicated right. + + Yet ’mid the confidence of just renown, + Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired, + Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down: + ’Tis not alone the heart with valour fired, + The discipline so dreaded and admired, + In many a field of bloody conquest known, + —Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired: + ’Tis constancy in the good cause alone + Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won. + + + + +THE DANCE OF DEATH. +[1815.] + + + I. + + NIGHT and morning were at meeting + Over Waterloo; + Cocks had sung their earliest greeting; + Faint and low they crew, + For no paly beam yet shone + On the heights of Mount Saint John; + Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway + Of timeless darkness over day; + Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower + Marked it a predestined hour. + Broad and frequent through the night + Flashed the sheets of levin-light: + Muskets, glancing lightnings back, + Showed the dreary bivouac + Where the soldier lay, + Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain, + Wishing dawn of morn again, + Though death should come with day. + + II. + + ’Tis at such a tide and hour + Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, + And ghastly forms through mist and shower + Gleam on the gifted ken; + And then the affrighted prophet’s ear + Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear + Presaging death and ruin near + Among the sons of men;— + Apart from Albyn’s war-array, + ’Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay; + Grey Allan, who, for many a day, + Had followed stout and stern, + Where, through battle’s rout and reel, + Storm of shot and edge of steel, + Led the grandson of Lochiel, + Valiant Fassiefern. + Through steel and shot he leads no more, + Low laid ’mid friends’ and foemen’s gore— + But long his native lake’s wild shore, + And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, + And Morven long shall tell, + And proud Bennevis hear with awe + How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, + Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra + Of conquest as he fell. + + III. + + Lone on the outskirts of the host, + The weary sentinel held post, + And heard, through darkness far aloof, + The frequent clang of courser’s hoof, + Where held the cloaked patrol their course, + And spurred ’gainst storm the swerving horse; + But there are sounds in Allan’s ear, + Patrol nor sentinel may hear, + And sights before his eye aghast + Invisible to them have passed, + When down the destined plain, + ’Twixt Britain and the bands of France, + Wild as marsh-borne meteor’s glance, + Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance, + And doomed the future slain.— + Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard, + When Scotland’s James his march prepared + For Flodden’s fatal plain; + Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, + As Choosers of the Slain, adored + The yet unchristened Dane. + An indistinct and phantom band, + They wheeled their ring-dance hand in hand, + With gestures wild and dread; + The Seer, who watched them ride the storm, + Saw through their faint and shadowy form + The lightning’s flash more red; + And still their ghastly roundelay + Was of the coming battle-fray, + And of the destined dead. + + IV. + SONG. + + Wheel the wild dance + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, + And call the brave + To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + + Our airy feet, + So light and fleet, + They do not bend the rye + That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, + And swells again in eddying wave, + As each wild gust blows by; + But still the corn, + At dawn of morn, + Our fatal steps that bore, + At eve lies waste, + A trampled paste + Of blackening mud and gore. + Wheel the wild dance + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, + And call the brave + To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + + V. + + Wheel the wild dance! + Brave sons of France, + For you our ring makes room; + Make space full wide + For martial pride, + For banner, spear, and plume. + Approach, draw near, + Proud cuirassier! + Room for the men of steel! + Through crest and plate + The broadsword’s weight + Both head and heart shall feel. + + VI. + + Wheel the wild dance + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, + And call the brave + To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + + Sons of the spear! + You feel us near + In many a ghastly dream; + With fancy’s eye + Our forms you spy, + And hear our fatal scream. + With clearer sight + Ere falls the night, + Just when to weal or woe + Your disembodied souls take flight + On trembling wing—each startled sprite + Our choir of death shall know. + + VII. + + Wheel the wild dance + While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, + And call the brave + To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + + Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, + Redder rain shall soon be ours— + See the east grows wan— + Yield we place to sterner game, + Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame + Shall the welkin’s thunders shame, + Elemental rage is tame + To the wrath of man. + + VIII. + + At morn, grey Allan’s mates with awe + Heard of the visioned sights he saw, + The legend heard him say; + But the Seer’s gifted eye was dim, + Deafened his ear, and stark his limb, + Ere closed that bloody day. + He sleeps far from his Highland heath, + But often of the Dance of Death + His comrades tell the tale + On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, + And waning watch-fires glow less bright, + And dawn is glimmering pale. + + + + +ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. +FROM THE FRENCH. +[1815.] + + +[The original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript +collection of French Songs, probably compiled by some young officer, +which was found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay and +with blood as sufficiently to indicate what had been the fate of its late +owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a good specimen of +the style of composition to which it belongs. The translation is +strictly literal.] + + IT was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, + But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary’s shrine: + “And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,” was still the Soldier’s prayer; + “That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair.” + + His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword, + And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord; + Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air, + “Be honoured aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair.” + + They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said, + “The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid.— + My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, + For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair.” + + And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary’s shrine, + That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine; + And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there + Cried, “Honoured be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair!” + + + + +THE TROUBADOUR. +FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. +[1815.] + + + GLOWING with love, on fire for fame + A Troubadour that hated sorrow + Beneath his lady’s window came, + And thus he sung his last good-morrow: + “My arm it is my country’s right, + My heart is in my true-love’s bower; + Gaily for love and fame to fight + Befits the gallant Troubadour.” + + And while he marched with helm on head + And harp in hand, the descant rung, + As faithful to his favourite maid, + The minstrel-burden still he sung: + “My arm it is my country’s right, + My heart is in my lady’s bower; + Resolved for love and fame to fight + I come, a gallant Troubadour.” + + Even when the battle-roar was deep, + With dauntless heart he hewed his way, + ’Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, + And still was heard his warrior-lay: + “My life it is my country’s right, + My heart is in my lady’s bower; + For love to die, for fame to fight, + Becomes the valiant Troubadour.” + + Alas! upon the bloody field + He fell beneath the foeman’s glaive, + But still reclining on his shield, + Expiring sung the exulting stave:— + “My life it is my country’s right, + My heart is in my lady’s bower; + For love and fame to fall in fight + Becomes the valiant Troubadour.” + + + + +PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. + + +[This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald. The words +of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are applied, +run thus in Gaelic:— + + Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; + Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; + Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; + Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. + The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, + The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, + The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place at Inverlochy.] + + PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, + Pibroch of Donuil, + Wake thy wild voice anew, + Summon Clan Conuil. + Come away, come away, + Hark to the summons! + Come in your war array, + Gentles and commons. + + Come from deep glen, and + From mountain so rocky, + The war-pipe and pennon + Are at Inverlochy. + Come every hill-plaid, and + True heart that wears one, + Come every steel blade, and + Strong hand that bears one. + + Leave untended the herd, + The flock without shelter; + Leave the corpse uninterr’d, + The bride at the altar; + Leave the deer, leave the steer, + Leave nets and barges: + Come with your fighting gear, + Broadswords and targes. + + Come as the winds come, when + Forests are rended; + Come as the waves come, when + Navies are stranded: + Faster come, faster come, + Faster and faster, + Chief, vassal, page and groom, + Tenant and master. + + Fast they come, fast they come; + See how they gather! + Wide waves the eagle plume, + Blended with heather. + Cast your plaids, draw your blades, + Forward each man set! + Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, + Knell for the onset! + + + + +FOOTNOTES. + + +{9} This eText comes from a book (_Pike Country Ballads and Other +Poems_, 1891 George Routledge) which contains a number of poems by John +Hay. These have been released separately by Project Gutenberg under the +title “Pike Country Ballads and Other Poems” by John Hay. They are not +included here to avoid duplication. + +{164} The literal translation of _Fuentes d’Honoro_. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT*** + + +******* This file should be named 6061-0.txt or 6061-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/0/6/6061 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott + + +Author: Walter Scott + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: May 31, 2020 [eBook #6061] +[This file was first released 30 October 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT*** +</pre> +<p>This eBook was produced by Les Bowler.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/cover.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT</h1> +<h2><span class="smcap">Contents</span>.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGES</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Introduction by Henry Morley</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pageix">ix</a></span>–xii</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Vision of Don Roderick</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span>–167</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Field of Waterloo</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span>–183</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Dance of Death</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>–188</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Romance of Dunois</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span>–190</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Troubadour</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page190">190</a></span>–191</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pibroch of Donald Dhu</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span>–192</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“<i>Quid dignum memorare tuis</i>, +<i>Hispania</i>, <i>terris</i>,<br /> +<i>Vox humana valet</i>!”—<span +class="smcap">Claudian</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span><span +class="smcap">Introduction</span>.</h2> +<p>Since there is room in this volume for more verses than +Colonel Hay’s <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a>, I have added to them a few poems by Sir +Walter Scott; the first written in 1811 at the time of the +struggle with Napoleon in the Peninsula, the second in 1815, +after Waterloo. Thus there is over all this volume a thin +haze of battle through which we see only the finer feelings and +the nobler hopes of man. The day is to come when war shall +be no more, but wars have been and may again be necessary to +bring on that day; <a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +x</span>and it is of such war, not untinged with the light of +heaven, that we have passing shadows in this little book.</p> +<p>“The Vision of Don Roderick; a Poem, by Walter Scott, +Esq.,” was printed at Edinburgh by James Ballantyne & +Co. in 1811. They are the present representatives of that +firm by whom it is here reprinted. It was originally +inscribed “to John Whitmore, Esq., and to the Committee of +Subscribers for relief of the Portuguese Sufferers, in which he +presides,” as a “poem composed for the benefit of the +Fund under their management.”</p> +<p>The Legend of Don Roderick will be given in the next volume of +our “Companion Poets,” for Robert Southey founded +upon it a Romantic Tale in Verse, which is one of the best tales +of the kind in the English language. Southey’s tale +of Roderick himself was written at the same time when Walter +Savage Landor was writing a play upon the subject, and Scott was, +in the piece here reprinted, making it the starting-point of a +vision of the war in the Peninsula. The fatal palace of Don +Roderick may have been a fable connected with the ruins of a +Roman amphitheatre. The fable, as translated by Scott from +a Spanish History of King Roderick, was this:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“One mile on the east side of the city of +Toledo, among some rocks, was situated an ancient Tower of +magnificent structure, though much dilapidated by time, which +consumes all: four estadoes (<i>i.e.</i>, four times a +man’s height) below it, there was a Cave with a very narrow +entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a +strong covering of iron, and fastened with many locks; above the +gate some Greek letters are engraved, which, although +abbreviated, and of doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, +according to the exposition of learned men:—<i>The King who +opens this cave and discovers the wonders will discover both good +and evil things</i>. Many kings desired to know the mystery +of this Tower, and sought to find out the <a +name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xi</span>manner with +much care; but when they opened the gate, such a tremendous noise +arose in the Cave that it appeared as if the earth was bursting; +many of those present sickened with fear, and others lost their +lives. In order to prevent such great perils (as they +supposed a dangerous enchantment was contained within), they +secured the gate with new locks, concluding, that though a king +was destined to open it, the fated time was not yet +arrived. At last King Don Rodrigo, led on by his evil +fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the Tower; and some bold +attendants whom he had brought with him entered, although +agitated with fear. Having proceeded a good way, they fled +back to the entrance, terrified with a frightful vision which +they had beheld. The King was greatly moved, and ordered +many torches, so contrived that the tempest in the cave could not +extinguish them, to be lighted. Then the King entered, not +without fear, before all the others. He discovered, by +degrees, a splendid hall, apparently built in a very sumptuous +manner; in the middle stood a Bronze Statue of very ferocious +appearance, which held a battle-axe in its hands. With this +he struck the floor violently, giving it such heavy blows that +the noise in the Cave was occasioned by the motion of the +air. The King, greatly affrighted and astonished, began to +conjure this terrible vision, promising that he would return +without doing any injury in the Cave, after he had obtained sight +of what was contained in it. The Statue ceased to strike +the floor, and the King, with his followers, somewhat assured, +and recovering their courage, proceeded into the hall; and on the +left of the Statue they found this inscription on the wall: +<i>Unfortunate King</i>, <i>thou hast entered here in an evil +hour</i>. On the right side of the wall the words were +inscribed: <i>By strange Nations thou shalt be dispossessed</i>, +<i>and thy subjects foully degraded</i>. On the shoulders +of the Statue other words were written, which said, <i>I call +upon </i><a name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xii</span><i>the Arabs</i>. And upon his heart was written, +<i>I do my office</i>. At the entrance of the hall there +was placed a round bowl, from which a great noise, like the fall +of waters, proceeded. They found no other thing in the +hall,—and when the King, sorrowful and greatly affected, +had scarcely turned about to leave the Cavern, the Statue again +commenced its accustomed blows upon the floor. After they +had mutually promised to conceal what they had seen, they again +closed the Tower, and blocked up the gate of the Cavern with +earth, that no memory might remain in the world of such a +portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The ensuing midnight, +they heard great cries and clamour from the Cave, resounding like +the noise of Battle, and the ground shaking with a tremendous +roar; the whole edifice of the old Tower fell to the ground, by +which they were greatly affrighted, the Vision which they had +beheld appearing to them as a dream.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Scott’s poem on the Field of Waterloo was written to +assist the Waterloo subscription.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. M.</p> +<h2><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>THE +VISION OF DON RODERICK.</h2> +<h3>PREFACE.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> following Poem is founded upon +a Spanish Tradition, bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the +last Gothic King of Spain, when the invasion of the Moors was +depending, had the temerity to descend into an ancient vault, +near Toledo, the opening of which had been denounced as fatal to +the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash +curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation of +those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and +reduced Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to +prolong the Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the +present eventful crisis of the Peninsula, and to divide it, by a +supposed change of scene, into, <span class="smcap">Three +Periods</span>. The <span class="smcap">First</span> of +these represents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and Death +of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation of the +country by the victors. The <span class="smcap">Second +Period</span> embraces the state of the Peninsula when the +conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West +Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms; +sullied, however, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion +to the <a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this +picture. The <span class="smcap">Last Part</span> of the +Poem opens with the state of Spain previous to the unparalleled +treachery of <span class="smcap">Buonaparte</span>, gives a +sketch of the usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious and +friendly kingdom, and terminates with the arrival of the British +succours. It may be further proper to mention, that the +object of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail particular +incidents, than to exhibit a general and impressive picture of +the several periods brought upon the stage.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>, <i>June</i> 24, 1811.</p> +<h3><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>INTRODUCTION.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Lives</span> there a strain, whose sounds of +mounting fire<br /> + May rise distinguished o’er +the din of war;<br /> + Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre<br /> + Who sung beleaguered Ilion’s +evil star?<br /> + Such, <span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, might +reach thee from afar,<br /> + Wafting its descant wide +o’er Ocean’s range;<br /> + Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could +mar,<br /> + All, as it swelled ’twixt +each loud trumpet-change,<br /> +That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes! such a strain, with all +o’er-pouring measure,<br /> + Might melodise with each +tumultuous sound<br /> + Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure,<br +/> + That rings Mondego’s ravaged +shores around;<br /> + The thundering cry of hosts with conquest +crowned,<br /> + The female shriek, the ruined +peasant’s moan,<br /> + The shout of captives from their chains unbound,<br +/> + The foiled oppressor’s deep +and sullen groan,<br /> +A Nation’s choral hymn, for tyranny o’erthrown.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page136"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 136</span>III.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But we, weak minstrels of a +laggard day<br /> + Skilled but to imitate an elder +page,<br /> + Timid and raptureless, can we repay<br /> + The debt thou claim’st in +this exhausted age?<br /> + Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage<br +/> + Those that could send thy name +o’er sea and land,<br /> + While sea and land shall last; for Homer’s +rage<br /> + A theme; a theme for +Milton’s mighty hand—<br /> +How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Ye mountains stern! within +whose rugged breast<br /> + The friends of Scottish freedom +found repose;<br /> + Ye torrents! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their +rest,<br /> + Returning from the field of +vanquished foes;<br /> + Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close<br /> + That erst the choir of Bards or +Druids flung,<br /> + What time their hymn of victory arose,<br /> + And Cattraeth’s glens with +voice of triumph rung,<br /> +And mystic Merlin harped, and grey-haired Llywarch sung?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">V.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh! if your wilds such +minstrelsy retain,<br /> + As sure your changeful gales seem +oft to say,<br /> + When sweeping wild and sinking soft again,<br /> + Like trumpet-jubilee, or +harp’s wild sway;<br /> + If ye can echo such triumphant lay,<br /> + Then lend the note to him has +loved you long!<br /> + Who pious gathered each tradition grey<br /> + That floats your solitary wastes +along,<br /> +And with affection vain gave them new voice in song.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page137"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 137</span>VI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For not till now, how oft +soe’er the task<br /> + Of truant verse hath lightened +graver care,<br /> + From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask,<br /> + In phrase poetic, inspiration +fair;<br /> + Careless he gave his numbers to the air,<br /> + They came unsought for, if +applauses came:<br /> + Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer;<br /> + Let but his verse befit a +hero’s fame,<br /> +Immortal be the verse!—forgot the poet’s name!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Hark, from yon misty cairn +their answer tost:<br /> + “Minstrel! the fame of whose +romantic lyre,<br /> + Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost,<br /> + Like the light flickering of a +cottage fire;<br /> + If to such task presumptuous thou aspire,<br /> + Seek not from us the meed to +warrior due:<br /> + Age after age has gathered son to sire<br /> + Since our grey cliffs the din of +conflict knew,<br /> +Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Decayed our old +traditionary lore,<br /> + Save where the lingering fays +renew their ring,<br /> + By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar,<br /> + Or round the marge of +Minchmore’s haunted spring;<br /> + Save where their legends grey-haired shepherds +sing,<br /> + That now scarce win a listening +ear but thine,<br /> + Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging,<br /> + And rugged deeds recount in rugged +line,<br /> +Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page138"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 138</span>IX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “No! search romantic +lands, where the near Sun<br /> + Gives with unstinted boon ethereal +flame,<br /> + Where the rude villager, his labour done,<br /> + In verse spontaneous chants some +favoured name,<br /> + Whether Olalia’s charms his tribute claim,<br +/> + Her eye of diamond, and her locks +of jet;<br /> + Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Græme,<br +/> + He sing, to wild Morisco measure +set,<br /> +Old Albin’s red claymore, green Erin’s bayonet!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">X.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Explore those regions, +where the flinty crest<br /> + Of wild Nevada ever gleams with +snows,<br /> + Where in the proud Alhambra’s ruined breast<br +/> + Barbaric monuments of pomp +repose;<br /> + Or where the banners of more ruthless foes<br /> + Than the fierce Moor, float +o’er Toledo’s fane,<br /> + From whose tall towers even now the patriot +throws<br /> + An anxious glance, to spy upon the +plain<br /> +The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “There, of Numantian +fire a swarthy spark<br /> + Still lightens in the sunburnt +native’s eye;<br /> + The stately port, slow step, and visage dark,<br /> + Still mark enduring pride and +constancy.<br /> + And, if the glow of feudal chivalry<br /> + Beam not, as once, thy +nobles’ dearest pride,<br /> + Iberia! oft thy crestless peasantry<br /> + Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit +their side,<br /> +Have seen, yet dauntless stood—’gainst fortune fought +and died.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page139"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 139</span>XII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “And cherished still by +that unchanging race,<br /> + Are themes for minstrelsy more +high than thine;<br /> + Of strange tradition many a mystic trace,<br /> + Legend and vision, prophecy and +sign;<br /> + Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine<br /> + With Gothic imagery of darker +shade,<br /> + Forming a model meet for minstrel line.<br /> + Go, seek such +theme!”—the Mountain Spirit said.<br /> +With filial awe I heard—I heard, and I obeyed.</p> +<h3><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>THE +VISION OF DON RODERICK.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Rearing</span> their crests amid the cloudless +skies,<br /> + And darkly clustering in the pale +moonlight,<br /> + Toledo’s holy towers and spires arise,<br /> + As from a trembling lake of silver +white.<br /> + Their mingled shadows intercept the sight<br /> + Of the broad burial-ground +outstretched below,<br /> + And nought disturbs the silence of the night;<br /> + All sleeps in sullen shade, or +silver glow,<br /> +All save the heavy swell of Teio’s ceaseless flow.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II.</p> +<p class="poetry"> All save the rushing swell of +Teio’s tide,<br /> + Or, distant heard, a +courser’s neigh or tramp;<br /> + Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride,<br +/> + To guard the limits of King +Roderick’s camp.<br /> + For through the river’s night-fog rolling +damp<br /> + Was many a proud pavilion dimly +seen,<br /> + Which glimmered back, against the moon’s fair +lamp,<br /> + Tissues of silk and silver twisted +sheen,<br /> +And standards proudly pitched, and warders armed between.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But of their Monarch’s +person keeping ward,<br /> + Since last the deep-mouthed bell +of vespers tolled,<br /> + The chosen soldiers of the royal guard<br /> + The post beneath the proud +Cathedral hold:<br /> + <a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>A band unlike their Gothic sires of old,<br /> + Who, for the cap of steel and iron +mace,<br /> + Bear slender darts, and casques bedecked with +gold,<br /> + While silver-studded belts their +shoulders grace,<br /> +Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion’s place.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> In the light language of an +idle court,<br /> + They murmured at their +master’s long delay,<br /> + And held his lengthened orisons in sport:—<br +/> + “What! will Don Roderick +here till morning stay,<br /> + To wear in shrift and prayer the night away?<br /> + And are his hours in such dull +penance past,<br /> + For fair Florinda’s plundered charms to +pay?”<br /> + Then to the east their weary eyes +they cast,<br /> +And wished the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">V.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But, far within, +Toledo’s Prelate lent<br /> + An ear of fearful wonder to the +King;<br /> + The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent,<br /> + So long that sad confession +witnessing:<br /> + For Roderick told of many a hidden thing,<br /> + Such as are lothly uttered to the +air,<br /> + When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom wring,<br /> + And Guilt his secret burden cannot +bear,<br /> +And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Full on the Prelate’s +face, and silver hair,<br /> + The stream of failing light was +feebly rolled:<br /> + But Roderick’s visage, though his head was +bare,<br /> + Was shadowed by his hand and +mantle’s fold.<br /> + <a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>While of his hidden soul the sins he told,<br /> + Proud Alaric’s descendant +could not brook,<br /> + That mortal man his bearing should behold,<br /> + Or boast that he had seen, when +Conscience shook,<br /> +Fear tame a monarch’s brow, Remorse a warrior’s +look.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The old man’s faded +cheek waxed yet more pale,<br /> + As many a secret sad the King +bewrayed;<br /> + As sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale,<br +/> + When in the midst his faltering +whisper stayed.<br /> + “Thus royal Witiza was slain,”—he +said;<br /> + “Yet, holy Father, deem not +it was I.”<br /> + Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to +shade.—<br /> + “Oh, rather deem ’twas +stern necessity!<br /> +Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “And if +Florinda’s shrieks alarmed the air,<br /> + If she invoked her absent sire in +vain,<br /> + And on her knees implored that I would spare,<br /> + Yet, reverend Priest, thy sentence +rash refrain!<br /> + All is not as it seems—the female train<br /> + Know by their bearing to disguise +their mood:”<br /> + But Conscience here, as if in high disdain,<br /> + Sent to the Monarch’s cheek +the burning blood—<br /> +He stayed his speech abrupt—and up the Prelate stood.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “O hardened offspring +of an iron race!<br /> + What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, +shall I say?<br /> + What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface<br /> + Murder’s dark spot, wash +treason’s stain away!<br /> + <a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>For the foul ravisher how shall I pray,<br /> + Who, scarce repentant, makes his +crime his boast?<br /> + How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay,<br /> + Unless, in mercy to yon Christian +host,<br /> +He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be +lost?”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">X.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then kindled the dark tyrant +in his mood,<br /> + And to his brow returned its +dauntless gloom;<br /> + “And welcome then,” he cried, “be +blood for blood,<br /> + For treason treachery, for +dishonour doom!<br /> + Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom.<br /> + Show, for thou canst—give +forth the fated key,<br /> + And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room,<br /> + Where, if aught true in old +tradition be,<br /> +His nation’s future fates a Spanish King shall +see.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Ill-fated Prince! +recall the desperate word,<br /> + Or pause ere yet the omen thou +obey!<br /> + Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford<br /> + Never to former Monarch +entrance-way;<br /> + Nor shall it ever ope, old records say,<br /> + Save to a King, the last of all +his line,<br /> + What time his empire totters to decay,<br /> + And treason digs, beneath, her +fatal mine,<br /> +And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine.”—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Prelate! a +Monarch’s fate brooks no delay;<br /> + Lead on!”—The +ponderous key the old man took,<br /> + And held the winking lamp, and led the way,<br /> + By winding stair, dark aisle, and +secret nook,<br /> + <a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>Then on an ancient gateway bent his look;<br /> + And, as the key the desperate King +essayed,<br /> + Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook,<br /> + And twice he stopped, and twice +new effort made,<br /> +Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Long, large, and lofty was +that vaulted hall;<br /> + Roof, walls, and floor were all of +marble stone,<br /> + Of polished marble, black as funeral pall,<br /> + Carved o’er with signs and +characters unknown.<br /> + A paly light, as of the dawning, shone<br /> + Through the sad bounds, but whence +they could not spy;<br /> + For window to the upper air was none;<br /> + Yet, by that light, Don Roderick +could descry<br /> +Wonders that ne’er till then were seen by mortal eye.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Grim sentinels, against the +upper wall,<br /> + Of molten bronze, two Statues held +their place;<br /> + Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall,<br /> + Their frowning foreheads golden +circles grace.<br /> + Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race,<br /> + That lived and sinned before the +avenging flood;<br /> + This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace;<br /> + This spread his wings for flight, +that pondering stood,<br /> +Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Fixed was the right-hand +Giant’s brazen look<br /> + Upon his brother’s glass of +shifting sand,<br /> + As if its ebb he measured by a book,<br /> + Whose iron volume loaded his huge +hand;<br /> + <a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>In which was wrote of many a fallen land<br /> + Of empires lost, and kings to +exile driven:<br /> + And o’er that pair their names in scroll +expand—<br /> + “Lo, <span +class="smcap">Destiny</span> and <span class="smcap">Time</span>! +to whom by Heaven<br /> +The guidance of the earth is for a season +given.”—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Even while they read, the +sand-glass wastes away;<br /> + And, as the last and lagging +grains did creep,<br /> + That right-hand Giant ’gan his club upsway,<br +/> + As one that startles from a heavy +sleep.<br /> + Full on the upper wall the mace’s sweep<br /> + At once descended with the force +of thunder,<br /> + And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap,<br /> + The marble boundary was rent +asunder,<br /> +And gave to Roderick’s view new sights of fear and +wonder.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For they might spy, beyond +that mighty breach,<br /> + Realms as of Spain in visioned +prospect laid,<br /> + Castles and towers, in due proportion each,<br /> + As by some skilful artist’s +hand portrayed:<br /> + Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra’s +shade,<br /> + And boundless plains that tire the +traveller’s eye;<br /> + There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade,<br +/> + Or deep-embrowned by forests huge +and high,<br /> +Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly murmured by.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And here, as erst upon the +antique stage<br /> + Passed forth the band of masquers +trimly led,<br /> + In various forms, and various equipage,<br /> + While fitting strains the +hearer’s fancy fed;<br /> + <a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>So, to sad Roderick’s eye in order spread,<br /> + Successive pageants filled that +mystic scene,<br /> + Showing the fate of battles ere they bled,<br /> + And issue of events that had not +been;<br /> +And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> First shrilled an unrepeated +female shriek!—<br /> + It seemed as if Don Roderick knew +the call,<br /> + For the bold blood was blanching in his +cheek.—<br /> + Then answered kettle-drum and +attabal,<br /> + Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal,<br /> + The Tecbir war-cry, and the +Lelie’s yell,<br /> + Ring wildly dissonant along the hall.<br /> + Needs not to Roderick their dread +import tell—<br /> +“The Moor!” he cried, “the Moor!—ring out +the Tocsin bell!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “They come! they +come! I see the groaning lands<br /> + White with the turbans of each +Arab horde;<br /> + Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands,<br /> + Alla and Mahomet their +battle-word,<br /> + The choice they yield, the Koran or the +Sword—<br /> + See how the Christians rush to +arms amain!—<br /> + In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared,<br /> + The shadowy hosts are closing on +the plain—<br /> +Now, God and Saint Iago strike, for the good cause of Spain!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “By Heaven, the Moors +prevail! the Christians yield!<br /> + Their coward leader gives for +flight the sign!<br /> + The sceptred craven mounts to quit the +field—<br /> + Is not yon steed +Orelio?—Yes, ’tis mine!<br /> + <a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>But never was she turned from battle-line:<br /> + Lo! where the recreant spurs +o’er stock and stone!—<br /> + Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine!<br /> + Rivers ingulph +him!”—“Hush,” in shuddering tone,<br /> +The Prelate said; “rash Prince, yon visioned form’s +thine own.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Just then, a torrent crossed +the flier’s course;<br /> + The dangerous ford the Kingly +Likeness tried;<br /> + But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse,<br +/> + Swept like benighted peasant down +the tide;<br /> + And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide,<br /> + As numerous as their native locust +band;<br /> + Berber and Ismael’s sons the spoils divide,<br +/> + With naked scimitars mete out the +land,<br /> +And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives brand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then rose the grated Harem, +to enclose<br /> + The loveliest maidens of the +Christian line;<br /> + Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes,<br /> + Castile’s young nobles held +forbidden wine;<br /> + Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation’s +sign,<br /> + By impious hands was from the +altar thrown,<br /> + And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine<br /> + Echoed, for holy hymn and +organ-tone,<br /> +The Santon’s frantic dance, the Fakir’s gibbering +moan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXIV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> How fares Don +Roderick?—E’en as one who spies<br /> + Flames dart their glare o’er +midnight’s sable woof,<br /> + And hears around his children’s piercing +cries,<br /> + And sees the pale assistants stand +aloof;<br /> + <a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof,<br /> + His folly, or his crime, have +caused his grief;<br /> + And while above him nods the crumbling roof,<br /> + He curses earth and +Heaven—himself in chief—<br /> +Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven’s relief!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> That scythe-armed Giant +turned his fatal glass<br /> + And twilight on the landscape +closed her wings;<br /> + Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,<br /> + And in their stead rebeck or +timbrel rings;<br /> + And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs,<br +/> + Bazars resound as when their marts +are met,<br /> + In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings,<br /> + And on the land as evening seemed +to set,<br /> +The Imaum’s chant was heard from mosque or minaret.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXVI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So passed that pageant. +Ere another came,<br /> + The visionary scene was wrapped in +smoke<br /> + Whose sulph’rous wreaths were crossed by +sheets of flame;<br /> + With every flash a bolt explosive +broke,<br /> + Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their +yoke,<br /> + And waved ’gainst heaven the +infernal gonfalone!<br /> + For War a new and dreadful language spoke,<br /> + Never by ancient warrior heard or +known;<br /> +Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXVII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> From the dim landscape rolled +the clouds away—<br /> + The Christians have regained their +heritage;<br /> + Before the Cross has waned the Crescent’s +ray,<br /> + And many a monastery decks the +stage,<br /> + <a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage.<br /> + The land obeys a Hermit and a +Knight,—<br /> + The Genii those of Spain for many an age;<br /> + This clad in sackcloth, that in +armour bright,<br /> +And that was <span class="smcap">Valour</span> named, this <span +class="smcap">Bigotry</span> was hight.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXVIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Valour</span> was harnessed like a chief of old,<br +/> + Armed at all points, and prompt +for knightly gest;<br /> + His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold,<br /> + Morena’s eagle plume adorned +his crest,<br /> + The spoils of Afric’s lion bound his +breast.<br /> + Fierce he stepped forward and +flung down his gage;<br /> + As if of mortal kind to brave the best.<br /> + Him followed his Companion, dark +and sage,<br /> +As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXIX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Haughty of heart and brow the +Warrior came,<br /> + In look and language proud as +proud might be,<br /> + Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame:<br +/> + Yet was that barefoot Monk more +proud than he:<br /> + And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree,<br /> + So round the loftiest soul his +toils he wound,<br /> + And with his spells subdued the fierce and free,<br +/> + Till ermined Age and Youth in arms +renowned,<br /> +Honouring his scourge and haircloth, meekly kissed the +ground.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And thus it chanced that +<span class="smcap">Valour</span>, peerless knight,<br /> + Who ne’er to King or Kaiser +vailed his crest,<br /> + Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight,<br /> + Since first his limbs with mail he +did invest,<br /> + <a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>Stooped ever to that Anchoret’s behest;<br /> + Nor reasoned of the right, nor of +the wrong,<br /> + But at his bidding laid the lance in rest,<br /> + And wrought fell deeds the +troubled world along,<br /> +For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oft his proud galleys sought +some new-found world,<br /> + That latest sees the sun, or first +the morn;<br /> + Still at that Wizard’s feet their spoils he +hurled,—<br /> + Ingots of ore from rich Potosi +borne,<br /> + Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn,<br /> + Wrought of rare gems, but broken, +rent, and foul;<br /> + Idols of gold from heathen temples torn,<br /> + Bedabbled all with +blood.—With grisly scowl<br /> +The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then did he bless the +offering, and bade make<br /> + Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and +praise;<br /> + And at his word the choral hymns awake,<br /> + And many a hand the silver censer +sways,<br /> + But with the incense-breath these censers raise,<br +/> + Mix steams from corpses +smouldering in the fire;<br /> + The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays,<br /> + And shrieks of agony confound the +quire;<br /> +While, ’mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes +expire.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Preluding light, were strains +of music heard,<br /> + As once again revolved that +measured sand;<br /> + Such sounds as when, for silvan dance prepared,<br +/> + Gay Xeres summons forth her +vintage band;<br /> + <a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>When for the light bolero ready stand<br /> + The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha +met,<br /> + He conscious of his broidered cap and band,<br /> + She of her netted locks and light +corsette,<br /> +Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXIV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And well such strains the +opening scene became;<br /> + For <span +class="smcap">Valour</span> had relaxed his ardent look,<br /> + And at a lady’s feet, like lion tame,<br /> + Lay stretched, full loath the +weight of arms to brook;<br /> + And softened <span class="smcap">Bigotry</span>, +upon his book,<br /> + Pattered a task of little good or +ill:<br /> + But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook,<br /> + Whistled the muleteer o’er +vale and hill,<br /> +And rung from village-green the merry seguidille.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Grey Royalty, grown impotent +of toil,<br /> + Let the grave sceptre slip his +lazy hold;<br /> + And, careless, saw his rule become the spoil<br /> + Of a loose Female and her minion +bold.<br /> + But peace was on the cottage and the fold,<br /> + From Court intrigue, from +bickering faction far;<br /> + Beneath the chestnut-tree Love’s tale was +told,<br /> + And to the tinkling of the light +guitar,<br /> +Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXVI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> As that sea-cloud, in size +like human hand,<br /> + When first from Carmel by the +Tishbite seen,<br /> + Came slowly overshadowing Israel’s land,<br /> + A while, perchance, bedecked with +colours sheen,<br /> + <a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been,<br /> + Limning with purple and with gold +its shroud,<br /> + Till darker folds obscured the blue serene<br /> + And blotted heaven with one broad +sable cloud,<br /> +Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled +aloud:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXVII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Even so, upon that peaceful +scene was poured,<br /> + Like gathering clouds, full many a +foreign band,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">He</span>, their Leader, +wore in sheath his sword,<br /> + And offered peaceful front and +open hand,<br /> + Veiling the perjured treachery he planned,<br /> + By friendship’s zeal and +honour’s specious guise,<br /> + Until he won the passes of the land;<br /> + Then burst were honour’s +oath and friendship’s ties!<br /> +He clutched his vulture grasp, and called fair Spain his +prize.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXVIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> An iron crown his anxious +forehead bore;<br /> + And well such diadem his heart +became,<br /> + Who ne’er his purpose for remorse gave +o’er,<br /> + Or checked his course for piety or +shame;<br /> + Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier’s +fame<br /> + Might flourish in the wreath of +battles won,<br /> + Though neither truth nor honour decked his name;<br +/> + Who, placed by fortune on a +Monarch’s throne,<br /> +Recked not of Monarch’s faith, or Mercy’s kingly +tone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXXIX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> From a rude isle his ruder +lineage came,<br /> + The spark, that, from a +suburb-hovel’s hearth<br /> + Ascending, wraps some capital in flame,<br /> + Hath not a meaner or more sordid +birth.<br /> + <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>And for the soul that bade him waste the +earth—<br /> + The sable land-flood from some +swamp obscure<br /> + That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth,<br +/> + And by destruction bids its fame +endure,<br /> +Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XL.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Before that Leader strode a +shadowy Form;<br /> + Her limbs like mist, her torch +like meteor showed,<br /> + With which she beckoned him through fight and +storm,<br /> + And all he crushed that crossed +his desperate road,<br /> + Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he +trode.<br /> + Realms could not glut his pride, +blood could not slake,<br /> + So oft as e’er she shook her torch +abroad—<br /> + It was <span +class="smcap">Ambition</span> bade her terrors wake,<br /> +Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XLI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No longer now she spurned at +mean revenge,<br /> + Or stayed her hand for conquered +foeman’s moan;<br /> + As when, the fates of aged Rome to change,<br /> + By Cæsar’s side she +crossed the Rubicon.<br /> + Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she won,<br /> + As when the banded powers of +Greece were tasked<br /> + To war beneath the Youth of Macedon:<br /> + No seemly veil her modern minion +asked,<br /> +He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmasked.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page154"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 154</span>XLII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> That Prelate marked his +march—On banners blazed<br /> + With battles won in many a distant +land,<br /> + On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed;<br /> + “And hopest thou, +then,” he said, “thy power shall stand?<br /> + Oh! thou hast builded on the shifting sand,<br /> + And thou hast tempered it with +slaughter’s flood;<br /> + And know, fell scourge in the Almighty’s +hand,<br /> + Gore-moistened trees shall perish +in the bud,<br /> +And by a bloody death shall die the Man of Blood!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XLIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The ruthless Leader beckoned +from his train<br /> + A wan fraternal Shade, and bade +him kneel,<br /> + And paled his temples with the crown of Spain,<br /> + While trumpets rang, and heralds +cried “Castile!”<br /> + Not that he loved him—No!—In no +man’s weal,<br /> + Scarce in his own, e’er +joyed that sullen heart;<br /> + Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel,<br +/> + That the poor puppet might perform +his part,<br /> +And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XLIV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But on the Natives of that +Land misused,<br /> + Not long the silence of amazement +hung,<br /> + Nor brooked they long their friendly faith +abused;<br /> + For, with a common shriek, the +general tongue<br /> + Exclaimed, “To arms!”—and fast to +arms they sprung.<br /> + And <span +class="smcap">Valour</span> woke, that Genius of the Land!<br /> + Pleasure, and ease, and sloth aside he flung,<br /> + As burst the awakening Nazarite +his band,<br /> +When ’gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful +hand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page155"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 155</span>XLV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> That Mimic Monarch now cast +anxious eye<br /> + Upon the Satraps that begirt him +round,<br /> + Now doffed his royal robe in act to fly,<br /> + And from his brow the diadem +unbound.<br /> + So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound,<br /> + From Tarik’s walls to +Bilboa’s mountains blown,<br /> + These martial satellites hard labour found<br /> + To guard awhile his substituted +throne—<br /> +Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XLVI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> From Alpuhara’s peak +that bugle rung,<br /> + And it was echoed from +Corunna’s wall;<br /> + Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung,<br /> + Grenada caught it in her Moorish +hall;<br /> + Galicia bade her children fight or fall,<br /> + Wild Biscay shook his +mountain-coronet,<br /> + Valencia roused her at the battle-call,<br /> + And, foremost still where +Valour’s sons are met,<br /> +First started to his gun each fiery Miquelet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XLVII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But unappalled, and burning +for the fight,<br /> + The Invaders march, of victory +secure;<br /> + Skilful their force to sever or unite,<br /> + And trained alike to vanquish or +endure.<br /> + Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure,<br /> + Discord to breathe, and jealousy +to sow,<br /> + To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure;<br /> + While nought against them bring +the unpractised foe,<br /> +Save hearts for Freedom’s cause, and hands for +Freedom’s blow.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page156"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 156</span>XLVIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Proudly they march—but, +oh! they march not forth<br /> + By one hot field to crown a brief +campaign,<br /> + As when their Eagles, sweeping through the North,<br +/> + Destroyed at every stoop an +ancient reign!<br /> + Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain;<br /> + In vain the steel, in vain the +torch was plied,<br /> + New Patriot armies started from the slain,<br /> + High blazed the war, and long, and +far, and wide,<br /> +And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XLIX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Nor unatoned, where +Freedom’s foes prevail,<br /> + Remained their savage waste. +With blade and brand<br /> + By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale,<br /> + But, with the darkness, the +Guerilla band<br /> + Came like night’s tempest, and avenged the +land,<br /> + And claimed for blood the +retribution due,<br /> + Probed the hard heart, and lopped the +murd’rous hand;<br /> + And Dawn, when o’er the +scene her beams she threw<br /> +’Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers’ corpses +knew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">L.</p> +<p class="poetry"> What minstrel verse may sing, +or tongue may tell,<br /> + Amid the visioned strife from sea +to sea,<br /> + How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell,<br /> + Still honoured in defeat as +victory!<br /> + For that sad pageant of events to be<br /> + Showed every form of fight by +field and flood;<br /> + Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee,<br /> + Beheld, while riding on the +tempest scud,<br /> +The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with +blood!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page157"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 157</span>LI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then Zaragoza—blighted +be the tongue<br /> + That names thy name without the +honour due!<br /> + For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung,<br /> + Of faith so felly proved, so +firmly true!<br /> + Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered ruins knew,<br /> + Each art of war’s extremity +had room,<br /> + Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe +withdrew,<br /> + And when at length stern fate +decreed thy doom,<br /> +They won not Zaragoza, but her children’s bloody tomb.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet raise thy head, sad +city! Though in chains,<br /> + Enthralled thou canst not +be! Arise, and claim<br /> + Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns,<br +/> + For what thou +worshippest!—thy sainted dame,<br /> + She of the Column, honoured be her name<br /> + By all, whate’er their +creed, who honour love!<br /> + And like the sacred relics of the flame,<br /> + That gave some martyr to the +blessed above,<br /> +To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Nor thine alone such +wreck. Gerona fair!<br /> + Faithful to death thy heroes shall +be sung,<br /> + Manning the towers, while o’er their heads the +air<br /> + Swart as the smoke from raging +furnace hung;<br /> + Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung,<br +/> + Now briefly lightened by the +cannon’s flare,<br /> + Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was +flung,<br /> + And reddening now with +conflagration’s glare,<br /> +While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page158"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 158</span>LIV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> While all around was danger, +strife, and fear,<br /> + While the earth shook, and +darkened was the sky,<br /> + And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear,<br +/> + Appalled the heart, and stupefied +the eye,—<br /> + Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry,<br /> + In which old Albion’s heart +and tongue unite,<br /> + Whene’er her soul is up, and pulse beats +high,<br /> + Whether it hail the wine-cup or +the fight,<br /> +And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Don Roderick turned him as +the shout grew loud—<br /> + A varied scene the changeful +vision showed,<br /> + For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud,<br /> + A gallant navy stemmed the billows +broad.<br /> + From mast and stern St. George’s symbol +flowed,<br /> + Blent with the silver cross to +Scotland dear;<br /> + Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed,<br /> + And flashed the sun on bayonet, +brand, and spear,<br /> +And the wild beach returned the seamen’s jovial cheer.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LVI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It was a dread, yet +spirit-stirring sight!<br /> + The billows foamed beneath a +thousand oars,<br /> + Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite,<br /> + Legions on legions +bright’ning all the shores.<br /> + Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars,<br /> + Then peals the warlike thunder of +the drum,<br /> + Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish +pours,<br /> + And patriot hopes awake, and +doubts are dumb,<br /> +For, bold in Freedom’s cause, the bands of Ocean come!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page159"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 159</span>LVII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> A various host they +came—whose ranks display<br /> + Each mode in which the warrior +meets the fight,<br /> + The deep battalion locks its firm array,<br /> + And meditates his aim the marksman +light;<br /> + Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright<br /> + Where mounted squadrons shake the +echoing mead,<br /> + Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night,<br /> + Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by +rapid steed,<br /> +That rivals lightning’s flash in ruin and in speed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LVIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> A various host—from +kindred realms they came,<br /> + Brethren in arms, but rivals in +renown—<br /> + For yon fair bands shall merry England claim,<br /> + And with their deeds of valour +deck her crown.<br /> + Hers their bold port, and hers their martial +frown,<br /> + And hers their scorn of death in +freedom’s cause,<br /> + Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown,<br /> + And the blunt speech that bursts +without a pause,<br /> +And free-born thoughts which league the Soldier with the +Laws.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LIX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And, oh! loved warriors of +the Minstrel’s land!<br /> + Yonder your bonnets nod, your +tartans wave!<br /> + The rugged form may mark the mountain band,<br /> + And harsher features, and a mien +more grave;<br /> + But ne’er in battlefield throbbed heart so +brave<br /> + As that which beats beneath the +Scottish plaid;<br /> + And when the pibroch bids the battle rave,<br /> + And level for the charge your arms +are laid,<br /> +Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset stayed!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page160"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 160</span>LX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Hark! from yon stately ranks +what laughter rings,<br /> + Mingling wild mirth with +war’s stern minstrelsy,<br /> + His jest while each blithe comrade round him +flings,<br /> + And moves to death with military +glee:<br /> + Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and +free,<br /> + In kindness warm, and fierce in +danger known,<br /> + Rough Nature’s children, humorous as she:<br +/> + And <span class="smcap">He</span>, +yon Chieftain—strike the proudest tone<br /> +Of thy bold harp, green Isle!—the Hero is thine own.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LXI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now on the scene Vimeira +should be shown,<br /> + On Talavera’s fight should +Roderick gaze,<br /> + And hear Corunna wail her battle won,<br /> + And see Busaco’s crest with +lightning blaze:—<br /> + But shall fond fable mix with heroes’ +praise?<br /> + Hath Fiction’s stage for +Truth’s long triumphs room?<br /> + And dare her wild flowers mingle with the bays<br /> + That claim a long eternity to +bloom<br /> +Around the warrior’s crest, and o’er the +warrior’s tomb!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LXII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Or may I give adventurous +Fancy scope,<br /> + And stretch a bold hand to the +awful veil<br /> + That hides futurity from anxious hope,<br /> + Bidding beyond it scenes of glory +hail,<br /> + And painting Europe rousing at the tale<br /> + Of Spain’s invaders from her +confines hurled,<br /> + While kindling nations buckle on their mail,<br /> + And Fame, with clarion-blast and +wings unfurled,<br /> +To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured World!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page161"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 161</span>LXIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O vain, though anxious, is +the glance I cast,<br /> + Since Fate has marked futurity her +own:<br /> + Yet Fate resigns to worth the glorious past,<br /> + The deeds recorded, and the +laurels won.<br /> + Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone,<br /> + King, Prelate, all the phantasms +of my brain,<br /> + Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun,<br /> + Yet grant for faith, for valour, +and for Spain,<br /> +One note of pride and fire, a Patriot’s parting strain!</p> +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Who shall command +Estrella’s mountain-tide<br /> + Back to the source, when +tempest-chafed, to hie?<br /> + Who, when Gascogne’s vexed gulf is raging +wide,<br /> + Shall hush it as a nurse her +infant’s cry?<br /> + His magic power let such vain boaster try,<br /> + And when the torrent shall his +voice obey,<br /> + And Biscay’s whirlwinds list his lullaby,<br +/> + Let him stand forth and bar mine +eagles’ way,<br /> +And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Else ne’er to +stoop, till high on Lisbon’s towers<br /> + They close their wings, the symbol +of our yoke,<br /> + And their own sea hath whelmed yon red-cross +powers!”<br /> + Thus, on the summit of +Alverca’s rock<br /> + <a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul’s Leader +spoke.<br /> + While downward on the land his +legions press,<br /> + Before them it was rich with vine and flock,<br /> + And smiled like Eden in her summer +dress;—<br /> +Behind their wasteful march a reeking wilderness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And shall the boastful Chief +maintain his word,<br /> + Though Heaven hath heard the +wailings of the land,<br /> + Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword,<br /> + Though Britons arm and <span +class="smcap">Wellington</span> command!<br /> + No! grim Busaco’s iron ridge shall stand<br /> + An adamantine barrier to his +force;<br /> + And from its base shall wheel his shattered band,<br +/> + As from the unshaken rock the +torrent hoarse<br /> +Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet not because +Alcoba’s mountain-hawk<br /> + Hath on his best and bravest made +her food,<br /> + In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk<br /> + His Lord’s imperial thirst +for spoil and blood:<br /> + For full in view the promised conquest stood,<br /> + And Lisbon’s matrons from +their walls might sum<br /> + The myriads that had half the world subdued,<br /> + And hear the distant thunders of +the drum,<br /> +That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">V.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Four moons have heard these +thunders idly rolled,<br /> + Have seen these wistful myriads +eye their prey,<br /> + As famished wolves survey a guarded fold—<br +/> + But in the middle path a Lion +lay!<br /> + <a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>At length they move—but not to battle-fray,<br /> + Nor blaze yon fires where meets +the manly fight;<br /> + Beacons of infamy, they light the way<br /> + Where cowardice and cruelty +unite<br /> +To damn with double shame their ignominious flight.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O triumph for the Fiends of +Lust and Wrath!<br /> + Ne’er to be told, yet +ne’er to be forgot,<br /> + What wanton horrors marked their wreckful path!<br +/> + The peasant butchered in his +ruined cot,<br /> + The hoary priest even at the altar shot,<br /> + Childhood and age given o’er +to sword and flame,<br /> + Woman to infamy;—no crime forgot,<br /> + By which inventive demons might +proclaim<br /> +Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God’s great name!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The rudest sentinel, in +Britain born,<br /> + With horror paused to view the +havoc done,<br /> + Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn,<br +/> + Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer +grasped his gun.<br /> + Nor with less zeal shall Britain’s peaceful +son<br /> + Exult the debt of sympathy to +pay;<br /> + Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun,<br /> + Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy +nor the gay,<br /> +Nor the poor peasant’s mite, nor bard’s more +worthless lay.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But thou—unfoughten +wilt thou yield to Fate,<br /> + Minion of Fortune, now miscalled +in vain!<br /> + Can vantage-ground no confidence create,<br /> + Marcella’s pass, nor +Guarda’s mountain-chain?<br /> + <a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>Vainglorious fugitive! yet turn again!<br /> + Behold, where, named by some +prophetic Seer,<br /> + Flows Honour’s Fountain, <a +name="citation164"></a><a href="#footnote164" +class="citation">[164]</a> as foredoomed the stain<br /> + From thy dishonoured name and arms +to clear—<br /> +Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IX.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet, ere thou turn’st, +collect each distant aid;<br /> + Those chief that never heard the +lion roar!<br /> + Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed<br /> + Of Talavera or Mondego’s +shore!<br /> + Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more;<br /> + Of war’s fell stratagems +exhaust the whole;<br /> + Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour,<br /> + Legion on legion on thy foeman +roll,<br /> +And weary out his arm—thou canst not quell his soul.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">X.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O vainly gleams with steel +Agueda’s shore,<br /> + Vainly thy squadrons hide +Assuava’s plain,<br /> + And front the flying thunders as they roar,<br /> + With frantic charge and tenfold +odds, in vain!<br /> + And what avails thee that, for <span +class="smcap">Cameron</span> slain,<br /> + Wild from his plaided ranks the +yell was given—<br /> + Vengeance and grief gave mountain-range the rein,<br +/> + And, at the bloody spear-point +headlong driven,<br /> +Thy Despot’s giant guards fled like the rack of heaven.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Go, baffled boaster! teach +thy haughty mood<br /> + To plead at thine imperious +master’s throne,<br /> + Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood,<br +/> + Deceived his hopes, and frustrated +thine own;<br /> + <a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown,<br /> + By British skill and valour were +outvied;<br /> + Last say, thy conqueror was <span +class="smcap">Wellington</span>!<br /> + And if he chafe, be his own +fortune tried—<br /> +God and our cause to friend, the venture we’ll abide.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But you, ye heroes of that +well-fought day,<br /> + How shall a bard, unknowing and +unknown,<br /> + His meed to each victorious leader pay,<br /> + Or bind on every brow the laurels +won?<br /> + Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone,<br /> + O’er the wide sea to hail +<span class="smcap">Cadogan</span> brave;<br /> + And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own,<br +/> + Mindful of meeting brief that +Fortune gave<br /> +’Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes! hard the task, when +Britons wield the sword,<br /> + To give each Chief and every field +its fame:<br /> + Hark! Albuera thunders <span +class="smcap">Beresford</span>,<br /> + And Red Barosa shouts for +dauntless <span class="smcap">Græme</span>!<br /> + O for a verse of tumult and of flame,<br /> + Bold as the bursting of their +cannon sound,<br /> + To bid the world re-echo to their fame!<br /> + For never, upon gory +battle-ground,<br /> +With conquest’s well-bought wreath were braver victors +crowned!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O who shall grudge him +Albuera’s bays,<br /> + Who brought a race regenerate to +the field,<br /> + Roused them to emulate their fathers’ +praise,<br /> + Tempered their headlong rage, +their courage steeled,<br /> + <a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>And raised fair Lusitania’s fallen shield,<br /> + And gave new edge to +Lusitania’s sword,<br /> + And taught her sons forgotten arms to +wield—<br /> + Shivered my harp, and burst its +every chord,<br /> +If it forget thy worth, victorious <span +class="smcap">Beresford</span>!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Not on that bloody field of +battle won,<br /> + Though Gaul’s proud legions +rolled like mist away,<br /> + Was half his self-devoted valour shown,—<br /> + He gaged but life on that +illustrious day;<br /> + But when he toiled those squadrons to array,<br /> + Who fought like Britons in the +bloody game,<br /> + Sharper than Polish pike or assagay,<br /> + He braved the shafts of censure +and of shame,<br /> +And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier’s fame.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVI.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Nor be his praise +o’erpast who strove to hide<br /> + Beneath the warrior’s vest +affection’s wound,<br /> + Whose wish Heaven for his country’s weal +denied;<br /> + Danger and fate he sought, but +glory found.<br /> + From clime to clime, where’er war’s +trumpets sound,<br /> + The wanderer went; yet Caledonia! +still<br /> + Thine was his thought in march and tented ground;<br +/> + He dreamed ’mid Alpine +cliffs of Athole’s hill,<br /> +And heard in Ebro’s roar his Lyndoch’s lovely +rill.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O hero of a race renowned of +old,<br /> + Whose war-cry oft has waked the +battle-swell,<br /> + Since first distinguished in the onset bold,<br /> + Wild sounding when the Roman +rampart fell!<br /> + <a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>By Wallace’ side it rung the Southron’s +knell,<br /> + Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber +owned its fame,<br /> + Tummell’s rude pass can of its terrors +tell,<br /> + But ne’er from prouder field +arose the name<br /> +Than when wild Ronda learned the conquering shout of <span +class="smcap">Græme</span>!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVIII.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But all too long, through +seas unknown and dark,<br /> + (With Spenser’s parable I +close my tale,)<br /> + By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous bark,<br +/> + And landward now I drive before +the gale.<br /> + And now the blue and distant shore I hail,<br /> + And nearer now I see the port +expand,<br /> + And now I gladly furl my weary sail,<br /> + And, as the prow light touches on +the strand,<br /> +I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff to land.</p> +<h2><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>THE +FIELD OF WATERLOO.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Brussels, thou +art far behind,<br /> +Though, lingering on the morning wind,<br /> + We yet may hear the hour<br /> +Pealed over orchard and canal,<br /> +With voice prolonged and measured fall,<br /> + From proud St. Michael’s tower;<br /> +Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now,<br /> +Where the tall beeches’ glossy bough<br /> + For many a league around,<br /> +With birch and darksome oak between,<br /> +Spreads deep and far a pathless screen,<br /> + Of tangled forest ground.<br /> +Stems planted close by stems defy<br /> +The adventurous foot—the curious eye<br /> + For access seeks in vain;<br /> +And the brown tapestry of leaves,<br /> +Strewed on the blighted ground, receives<br /> + Nor sun, nor air, nor rain.<br /> +No opening glade dawns on our way,<br /> +No streamlet, glancing to the ray,<br /> + Our woodland path has crossed;<br /> +And the straight causeway which we tread<br /> +Prolongs a line of dull arcade,<br /> +Unvarying through the unvaried shade<br /> +Until in distance lost.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page169"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 169</span>II.</p> +<p class="poetry">A brighter, livelier scene succeeds;<br /> +In groups the scattering wood recedes,<br /> +Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads,<br /> + And corn-fields glance between;<br /> +The peasant, at his labour blithe,<br /> +Plies the hooked staff and shortened scythe:—<br /> + But when these ears were green,<br /> +Placed close within destruction’s scope,<br /> +Full little was that rustic’s hope<br /> + Their ripening to have seen!<br /> +And, lo, a hamlet and its fane:—<br /> +Let not the gazer with disdain<br /> + Their architecture view;<br /> +For yonder rude ungraceful shrine,<br /> +And disproportioned spire, are thine,<br /> + Immortal <span class="smcap">Waterloo</span>!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fear not the heat, though full and high<br /> +The sun has scorched the autumn sky,<br /> +And scarce a forest straggler now<br /> +To shade us spreads a greenwood bough;<br /> +These fields have seen a hotter day<br /> +Than e’er was fired by sunny ray,<br /> +Yet one mile on—yon shattered hedge<br /> +Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge<br /> + Looks on the field below,<br /> +And sinks so gently on the dale<br /> +That not the folds of Beauty’s veil<br /> + In easier curves can flow.<br /> +Brief space from thence, the ground again<br /> +Ascending slowly from the plain<br /> + Forms an opposing screen,<br /> +Which, with its crest of upland ground,<br /> +Shuts the horizon all around.<br /> + The softened vale between<br /> +Slopes smooth and fair for courser’s tread;<br /> +Not the most timid maid need dread<br /> +<a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>To give +her snow-white palfrey head<br /> + On that wide stubble-ground;<br /> +Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush are there,<br /> +Her course to intercept or scare,<br /> + Nor fosse nor fence are found,<br /> +Save where, from out her shattered bowers,<br /> +Rise Hougomont’s dismantled towers.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, see’st thou aught in this lone +scene<br /> +Can tell of that which late hath been?—<br /> + A stranger might reply,<br /> +“The bare extent of stubble-plain<br /> +Seems lately lightened of its grain;<br /> +And yonder sable tracks remain<br /> +Marks of the peasant’s ponderous wain,<br /> + When harvest-home was nigh.<br /> +On these broad spots of trampled ground,<br /> +Perchance the rustics danced such round<br /> + As Teniers loved to draw;<br /> +And where the earth seems scorched by flame,<br /> +To dress the homely feast they came,<br /> +And toiled the kerchiefed village dame<br /> + Around her fire of straw.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">V.</p> +<p class="poetry">So deem’st thou—so each mortal +deems,<br /> +Of that which is from that which seems:—<br /> + But other harvest here<br /> +Than that which peasant’s scythe demands,<br /> +Was gathered in by sterner hands,<br /> + With bayonet, blade, and spear.<br /> +No vulgar crop was theirs to reap,<br /> +No stinted harvest thin and cheap!<br /> +Heroes before each fatal sweep<br /> + Fell thick as ripened grain;<br /> +And ere the darkening of the day,<br /> +Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay<br /> +The ghastly harvest of the fray,<br /> + The corpses of the slain.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page171"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 171</span>VI.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ay, look again—that line, so black<br /> +And trampled, marks the bivouac,<br /> +Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery’s track,<br /> + So often lost and won;<br /> +And close beside, the hardened mud<br /> +Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood,<br /> +The fierce dragoon, through battle’s flood,<br /> + Dashed the hot war-horse on.<br /> +These spots of excavation tell<br /> +The ravage of the bursting shell—<br /> +And feel’st thou not the tainted steam,<br /> +That reeks against the sultry beam,<br /> + From yonder trenchéd mound?<br /> +The pestilential fumes declare<br /> +That Carnage has replenished there<br /> + Her garner-house profound.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far other harvest-home and feast,<br /> +Than claims the boor from scythe released,<br /> + On these scorched fields were known!<br /> +Death hovered o’er the maddening rout,<br /> +And, in the thrilling battle-shout,<br /> +Sent for the bloody banquet out<br /> + A summons of his own.<br /> +Through rolling smoke the Demon’s eye<br /> +Could well each destined guest espy,<br /> +Well could his ear in ecstasy<br /> + Distinguish every tone<br /> +That filled the chorus of the fray—<br /> +From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray,<br /> +From charging squadrons’ wild hurra,<br /> +From the wild clang that marked their way,—<br /> + Down to the dying groan,<br /> +And the last sob of life’s decay,<br /> + When breath was all but flown.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page172"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 172</span>VIII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Feast on, stern foe of mortal life,<br /> +Feast on!—but think not that a strife,<br /> +With such promiscuous carnage rife,<br /> + Protracted space may last;<br /> +The deadly tug of war at length<br /> +Must limits find in human strength,<br /> + And cease when these are past.<br /> +Vain hope!—that morn’s o’erclouded sun<br /> +Heard the wild shout of fight begun<br /> + Ere he attained his height,<br /> +And through the war-smoke, volumed high,<br /> +Still peals that unremitted cry,<br /> + Though now he stoops to night.<br /> +For ten long hours of doubt and dread,<br /> +Fresh succours from the extended head<br /> +Of either hill the contest fed;<br /> + Still down the slope they drew,<br /> +The charge of columns pauséd not,<br /> +Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot;<br /> + For all that war could do<br /> +Of skill and force was proved that day,<br /> +And turned not yet the doubtful fray<br /> + On bloody Waterloo.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IX.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were +thine,<br /> +When ceaseless from the distant line<br /> + Continued thunders came!<br /> +Each burgher held his breath, to hear<br /> +These forerunners of havoc near,<br /> + Of rapine and of flame.<br /> +What ghastly sights were thine to meet,<br /> +When rolling through thy stately street,<br /> +The wounded showed their mangled plight<br /> +In token of the unfinished fight,<br /> +And from each anguish-laden wain<br /> +The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain!<br /> +<a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>How +often in the distant drum<br /> +Heard’st thou the fell Invader come,<br /> +While Ruin, shouting to his band,<br /> +Shook high her torch and gory brand!—<br /> +Cheer thee, fair City! From yon stand,<br /> +Impatient, still his outstretched hand<br /> + Points to his prey in vain,<br /> +While maddening in his eager mood,<br /> +And all unwont to be withstood,<br /> + He fires the fight again.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">X.</p> +<p class="poetry">“On! On!” was still his stern +exclaim;<br /> +“Confront the battery’s jaws of flame!<br /> + Rush on the levelled gun!<br /> +My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance!<br /> +Each Hulan forward with his lance,<br /> +My Guard—my Chosen—charge for France,<br /> + France and Napoleon!”<br /> +Loud answered their acclaiming shout,<br /> +Greeting the mandate which sent out<br /> +Their bravest and their best to dare<br /> +The fate their leader shunned to share.<br /> +But <span class="smcap">He</span>, his country’s sword and +shield,<br /> +Still in the battle-front revealed,<br /> +Where danger fiercest swept the field,<br /> + Came like a beam of light,<br /> +In action prompt, in sentence brief—<br /> +“Soldiers, stand firm!” exclaimed the Chief,<br /> + “England shall tell the fight!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XI.</p> +<p class="poetry">On came the whirlwind—like the last<br /> +But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast—<br /> +On came the whirlwind—steel-gleams broke<br /> +Like lightning through the rolling smoke;<br /> + The war was waked anew,<br /> +Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,<br /> +And from their throats, with flash and cloud,<br /> + Their showers of iron threw.<br /> +<a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>Beneath +their fire, in full career,<br /> +Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier,<br /> +The lancer couched his ruthless spear,<br /> +And hurrying as to havoc near,<br /> + The cohorts’ eagles flew.<br /> +In one dark torrent, broad and strong,<br /> +The advancing onset rolled along,<br /> +Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim,<br /> +That, from the shroud of smoke and flame,<br /> +Pealed wildly the imperial name.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XII.</p> +<p class="poetry">But on the British heart were lost<br /> +The terrors of the charging host;<br /> +For not an eye the storm that viewed<br /> +Changed its proud glance of fortitude,<br /> +Nor was one forward footstep stayed,<br /> +As dropped the dying and the dead.<br /> +Fast as their ranks the thunders tear,<br /> +Fast they renewed each serried square;<br /> +And on the wounded and the slain<br /> +Closed their diminished files again,<br /> +Till from their line scarce spears’-lengths three,<br /> +Emerging from the smoke they see<br /> +Helmet, and plume, and panoply,—<br /> + Then waked their fire at once!<br /> +Each musketeer’s revolving knell,<br /> +As fast, as regularly fell,<br /> +As when they practise to display<br /> +Their discipline on festal day.<br /> + Then down went helm and lance,<br /> +Down were the eagle banners sent,<br /> +Down reeling steeds and riders went,<br /> +Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent;<br /> + And, to augment the fray,<br /> +Wheeled full against their staggering flanks,<br /> +The English horsemen’s foaming ranks<br /> + Forced their resistless way.<br /> +Then to the musket-knell succeeds<br /> +The clash of swords—the neigh of steeds—<br /> +<a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>As plies +the smith his clanging trade,<br /> +Against the cuirass rang the blade;<br /> +And while amid their close array<br /> +The well-served cannon rent their way,<br /> +And while amid their scattered band<br /> +Raged the fierce rider’s bloody brand,<br /> +Recoiled in common rout and fear,<br /> +Lancer and guard and cuirassier,<br /> +Horsemen and foot,—a mingled host<br /> +Their leaders fall’n, their standards lost.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, <span class="smcap">Wellington</span>! +thy piercing eye<br /> +This crisis caught of destiny—<br /> + The British host had stood<br /> +That morn ’gainst charge of sword and lance<br /> +As their own ocean-rocks hold stance,<br /> +But when thy voice had said, “Advance!”<br /> + They were their ocean’s flood.—<br /> +O Thou, whose inauspicious aim<br /> +Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame,<br /> +Think’st thou thy broken bands will bide<br /> +The terrors of yon rushing tide?<br /> +Or will thy chosen brook to feel<br /> +The British shock of levelled steel,<br /> + Or dost thou turn thine eye<br /> +Where coming squadrons gleam afar,<br /> +And fresher thunders wake the war,<br /> + And other standards fly?—<br /> +Think not that in yon columns, file<br /> +Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle—<br /> + Is Blucher yet unknown?<br /> +Or dwells not in thy memory still<br /> +(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill),<br /> +What notes of hate and vengeance thrill<br /> + In Prussia’s trumpet-tone?—<br /> +What yet remains?—shall it be thine<br /> +To head the relics of thy line<br /> + In one dread effort more?—<br /> +<a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>The +Roman lore thy leisure loved,<br /> +And than canst tell what fortune proved<br /> + That Chieftain, who, of yore,<br /> +Ambition’s dizzy paths essayed<br /> +And with the gladiators’ aid<br /> + For empire enterprised—<br /> +He stood the cast his rashness played,<br /> +Left not the victims he had made,<br /> +Dug his red grave with his own blade,<br /> +And on the field he lost was laid,<br /> + Abhorred—but not despised.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIV.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if revolves thy fainter thought<br /> +On safety—howsoever bought,—<br /> +Then turn thy fearful rein and ride,<br /> +Though twice ten thousand men have died<br /> + On this eventful day<br /> +To gild the military fame<br /> +Which thou, for life, in traffic tame<br /> + Wilt barter thus away.<br /> +Shall future ages tell this tale<br /> +Of inconsistence faint and frail?<br /> +And art thou He of Lodi’s bridge,<br /> +Marengo’s field, and Wagram’s ridge!<br /> +Or is thy soul like mountain-tide,<br /> +That, swelled by winter storm and shower,<br /> +Rolls down in turbulence of power,<br /> + A torrent fierce and wide;<br /> +Reft of these aids, a rill obscure,<br /> +Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor,<br /> + Whose channel shows displayed<br /> +The wrecks of its impetuous course,<br /> +But not one symptom of the force<br /> + By which these wrecks were made!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XV.</p> +<p class="poetry">Spur on thy way!—since now thine ear<br +/> +Has brooked thy veterans’ wish to hear,<br /> + Who, as thy flight they eyed<br /> +<a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>Exclaimed,—while tears of anguish came,<br /> +Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame,<br /> + “O that he had but died!”<br /> +But yet, to sum this hour of ill,<br /> +Look, ere thou leav’st the fatal hill,<br /> + Back on yon broken ranks—<br /> +Upon whose wild confusion gleams<br /> +The moon, as on the troubled streams<br /> + When rivers break their banks,<br /> +And, to the ruined peasant’s eye,<br /> +Objects half seen roll swiftly by,<br /> + Down the dread current hurled—<br /> +So mingle banner, wain, and gun,<br /> +Where the tumultuous flight rolls on<br /> +Of warriors, who, when morn begun,<br /> + Defied a banded world.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVI.</p> +<p class="poetry">List—frequent to the hurrying rout,<br /> +The stern pursuers’ vengeful shout<br /> +Tells, that upon their broken rear<br /> +Rages the Prussian’s bloody spear.<br /> + So fell a shriek was none,<br /> +When Beresina’s icy flood<br /> +Reddened and thawed with flame and blood,<br /> +And, pressing on thy desperate way,<br /> +Raised oft and long their wild hurra,<br /> + The children of the Don.<br /> +Thine ear no yell of horror cleft<br /> +So ominous, when, all bereft<br /> +Of aid, the valiant Polack left—<br /> +Ay, left by thee—found soldiers grave<br /> +In Leipsic’s corpse-encumbered wave.<br /> +Fate, in those various perils past,<br /> +Reserved thee still some future cast;<br /> +On the dread die thou now hast thrown<br /> +Hangs not a single field alone,<br /> +Nor one campaign—thy martial fame,<br /> +Thy empire, dynasty, and name<br /> + Have felt the final stroke;<br /> +<a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>And now, +o’er thy devoted head<br /> +The last stern vial’s wrath is shed,<br /> + The last dread seal is broke.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Since live thou wilt—refuse not now<br /> +Before these demagogues to bow,<br /> +Late objects of thy scorn and hate,<br /> +Who shall thy once imperial fate<br /> +Make wordy theme of vain debate.—<br /> +Or shall we say, thou stoop’st less low<br /> +In seeking refuge from the foe,<br /> +Against whose heart, in prosperous life,<br /> +Thine hand hath ever held the knife?<br /> + Such homage hath been paid<br /> +By Roman and by Grecian voice,<br /> +And there were honour in the choice,<br /> + If it were freely made.<br /> +Then safely come—in one so low,—<br /> +So lost,—we cannot own a foe;<br /> +Though dear experience bid us end,<br /> +In thee we ne’er can hail a friend.—<br /> +Come, howsoe’er—but do not hide<br /> +Close in thy heart that germ of pride,<br /> +Erewhile, by gifted bard espied,<br /> + That “yet imperial hope;”<br /> +Think not that for a fresh rebound,<br /> +To raise ambition from the ground,<br /> + We yield thee means or scope.<br /> +In safety come—but ne’er again<br /> +Hold type of independent reign;<br /> + No islet calls thee lord,<br /> +We leave thee no confederate band,<br /> +No symbol of thy lost command,<br /> +To be a dagger in the hand<br /> + From which we wrenched the sword.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XVIII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet, even in yon sequestered spot,<br /> +May worthier conquest be thy lot<br /> + Than yet thy life has known;<br /> +<a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>Conquest, unbought by blood or harm,<br /> +That needs nor foreign aid nor arm,<br /> + A triumph all thine own.<br /> +Such waits thee when thou shalt control<br /> +Those passions wild, that stubborn soul,<br /> + That marred thy prosperous scene:—<br /> +Hear this—from no unmovéd heart,<br /> +Which sighs, comparing what <span class="GutSmall">THOU +ART</span><br /> + With what thou <span class="GutSmall">MIGHT’ST +HAVE BEEN</span>!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XIX.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed<br /> +Bankrupt a nation’s gratitude,<br /> +To thine own noble heart must owe<br /> +More than the meed she can bestow.<br /> +For not a people’s just acclaim,<br /> +Not the full hail of Europe’s fame,<br /> +Thy Prince’s smiles, the State’s decree,<br /> +The ducal rank, the gartered knee,<br /> +Not these such pure delight afford<br /> +As that, when hanging up thy sword,<br /> +Well may’st thou think, “This honest steel<br /> +Was ever drawn for public weal;<br /> +And, such was rightful Heaven’s decree,<br /> +Ne’er sheathed unless with victory!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XX.</p> +<p class="poetry">Look forth, once more, with softened heart,<br +/> +Ere from the field of fame we part;<br /> +Triumph and Sorrow border near,<br /> +And joy oft melts into a tear.<br /> +Alas! what links of love that morn<br /> +Has War’s rude hand asunder torn!<br /> +For ne’er was field so sternly fought,<br /> +And ne’er was conquest dearer bought,<br /> +Here piled in common slaughter sleep<br /> +Those whom affection long shall weep<br /> +Here rests the sire, that ne’er shall strain<br /> +His orphans to his heart again;<br /> +<a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>The son, +whom, on his native shore,<br /> +The parent’s voice shall bless no more;<br /> +The bridegroom, who has hardly pressed<br /> +His blushing consort to his breast;<br /> +The husband, whom through many a year<br /> +Long love and mutual faith endear.<br /> +Thou canst not name one tender tie,<br /> +But here dissolved its relics lie!<br /> +Oh! when thou see’st some mourner’s veil<br /> +Shroud her thin form and visage pale,<br /> +Or mark’st the Matron’s bursting tears<br /> +Stream when the stricken drum she hears;<br /> +Or see’st how manlier grief, suppressed,<br /> +Is labouring in a father’s breast,—<br /> +With no inquiry vain pursue<br /> +The cause, but think on Waterloo!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXI.</p> +<p class="poetry">Period of honour as of woes,<br /> +What bright careers ’twas thine to close!—<br /> +Marked on thy roll of blood what names<br /> +To Britain’s memory, and to Fame’s,<br /> +Laid there their last immortal claims!<br /> +Thou saw’st in seas of gore expire<br /> +Redoubted <span class="smcap">Picton’s</span> soul of +fire—<br /> +Saw’st in the mingled carnage lie<br /> +All that of <span class="smcap">Ponsonby</span> could +die—<br /> +<span class="smcap">De Lancey</span> change Love’s +bridal-wreath<br /> +For laurels from the hand of Death—<br /> +Saw’st gallant <span class="smcap">Miller’s</span> +failing eye<br /> +Still bent where Albion’s banners fly,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Cameron</span>, in the shock of steel,<br +/> +Die like the offspring of Lochiel;<br /> +And generous <span class="smcap">Gordon</span>, ’mid the +strife,<br /> +Fall while he watched his leader’s life.—<br /> +Ah! though her guardian angel’s shield<br /> +Fenced Britain’s hero through the field.<br /> +Fate not the less her power made known,<br /> +Through his friends’ hearts to pierce his own!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page181"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 181</span>XXII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay!<br /> +Who may your names, your numbers, say?<br /> +What high-strung harp, what lofty line,<br /> +To each the dear-earned praise assign,<br /> +From high-born chiefs of martial fame<br /> +To the poor soldier’s lowlier name?<br /> +Lightly ye rose that dawning day,<br /> +From your cold couch of swamp and clay,<br /> +To fill, before the sun was low,<br /> +The bed that morning cannot know.—<br /> +Oft may the tear the green sod steep,<br /> +And sacred be the heroes’ sleep,<br /> + Till time shall cease to run;<br /> +And ne’er beside their noble grave,<br /> +May Briton pass and fail to crave<br /> +A blessing on the fallen brave<br /> + Who fought with Wellington!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">XXIII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face<br /> +Wears desolation’s withering trace;<br /> + Long shall my memory retain<br /> +Thy shattered huts and trampled grain,<br /> +With every mark of martial wrong,<br /> +That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont!<br /> +Yet though thy garden’s green arcade<br /> +The marksman’s fatal post was made,<br /> +Though on thy shattered beeches fell<br /> +The blended rage of shot and shell,<br /> +Though from thy blackened portals torn,<br /> +Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn,<br /> +Has not such havoc bought a name<br /> +Immortal in the rolls of fame?<br /> +Yes—Agincourt may be forgot,<br /> +And Cressy be an unknown spot,<br /> + And Blenheim’s name be new;<br /> +But still in story and in song,<br /> +For many an age remembered long,<br /> +Shall live the towers of Hougomont<br /> + And Field of Waterloo!</p> +<h3><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>CONCLUSION.</h3> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Stern</span> tide of human Time! that know’st +not rest,<br /> + But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb,<br /> + Bear’st ever downward on thy dusky breast<br +/> + Successive generations to their doom;<br /> + While thy capacious stream has equal room<br /> + For the gay bark where Pleasure’s steamers +sport,<br /> + And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom,<br /> + The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court,<br +/> +Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port;—</p> +<p class="poetry"> Stern tide of Time! through +what mysterious change<br /> + Of hope and fear have our frail barks been +driven!<br /> + For ne’er, before, vicissitude so strange<br +/> + Was to one race of Adam’s offspring given.<br +/> + And sure such varied change of sea and heaven,<br /> + Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe,<br /> + Such fearful strife as that where we have +striven,<br /> + Succeeding ages ne’er again shall know,<br /> +Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Well hast thou stood, my +Country!—the brave fight<br /> + Hast well maintained through good report and ill;<br +/> + In thy just cause and in thy native might,<br /> + And in Heaven’s grace and justice constant +still;<br /> + <a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill<br /> + Of half the world against thee stood arrayed,<br /> + Or when, with better views and freer will,<br /> + Beside thee Europe’s noblest drew the +blade,<br /> +Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Well art thou now +repaid—though slowly rose,<br /> + And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame,<br +/> + While like the dawn that in the orient glows<br /> + On the broad wave its earlier lustre came;<br /> + Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame,<br /> + And Maida’s myrtles gleamed beneath its +ray,<br /> + Where first the soldier, stung with generous +shame,<br /> + Rivalled the heroes of the watery way,<br /> +And washed in foemen’s gore unjust reproach away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now, Island Empress, wave thy +crest on high,<br /> + And bid the banner of thy Patron flow,<br /> + Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry,<br /> + For thou halt faced, like him, a dragon foe,<br /> + And rescued innocence from overthrow,<br /> + And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might,<br /> + And to the gazing world may’st proudly show<br +/> + The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight,<br /> +Who quelled devouring pride and vindicated right.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet ’mid the confidence +of just renown,<br /> + Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired,<br /> + Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down:<br /> + ’Tis not alone the heart with valour fired,<br +/> + The discipline so dreaded and admired,<br /> + In many a field of bloody conquest known,<br /> + —Such may by fame be lured, by gold be +hired:<br /> + ’Tis constancy in the good cause alone<br /> +Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won.</p> +<h2><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>THE +DANCE OF DEATH.<br /> +[1815.]</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Night</span> and morning +were at meeting<br /> + Over Waterloo;<br /> +Cocks had sung their earliest greeting;<br /> + Faint and low they crew,<br /> +For no paly beam yet shone<br /> +On the heights of Mount Saint John;<br /> +Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway<br /> +Of timeless darkness over day;<br /> +Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower<br /> +Marked it a predestined hour.<br /> +Broad and frequent through the night<br /> +Flashed the sheets of levin-light:<br /> +Muskets, glancing lightnings back,<br /> +Showed the dreary bivouac<br /> + Where the soldier lay,<br /> +Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain,<br /> +Wishing dawn of morn again,<br /> + Though death should come with day.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis at such a tide and hour<br /> +Wizard, witch, and fiend have power,<br /> +And ghastly forms through mist and shower<br /> + Gleam on the gifted ken;<br /> +And then the affrighted prophet’s ear<br /> +Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear<br /> +Presaging death and ruin near<br /> + Among the sons of men;—<br /> +<a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>Apart +from Albyn’s war-array,<br /> +’Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay;<br /> +Grey Allan, who, for many a day,<br /> + Had followed stout and stern,<br /> +Where, through battle’s rout and reel,<br /> +Storm of shot and edge of steel,<br /> +Led the grandson of Lochiel,<br /> + Valiant Fassiefern.<br /> +Through steel and shot he leads no more,<br /> +Low laid ’mid friends’ and foemen’s +gore—<br /> +But long his native lake’s wild shore,<br /> +And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower,<br /> + And Morven long shall tell,<br /> +And proud Bennevis hear with awe<br /> +How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,<br /> +Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra<br /> + Of conquest as he fell.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lone on the outskirts of the host,<br /> +The weary sentinel held post,<br /> +And heard, through darkness far aloof,<br /> +The frequent clang of courser’s hoof,<br /> +Where held the cloaked patrol their course,<br /> +And spurred ’gainst storm the swerving horse;<br /> +But there are sounds in Allan’s ear,<br /> +Patrol nor sentinel may hear,<br /> +And sights before his eye aghast<br /> +Invisible to them have passed,<br /> + When down the destined plain,<br /> +’Twixt Britain and the bands of France,<br /> +Wild as marsh-borne meteor’s glance,<br /> +Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance,<br /> + And doomed the future slain.—<br /> +Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard,<br /> +When Scotland’s James his march prepared<br /> + For Flodden’s fatal plain;<br /> +Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,<br /> +As Choosers of the Slain, adored<br /> + The yet unchristened Dane.<br /> +<a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>An +indistinct and phantom band,<br /> +They wheeled their ring-dance hand in hand,<br /> + With gestures wild and dread;<br /> +The Seer, who watched them ride the storm,<br /> +Saw through their faint and shadowy form<br /> + The lightning’s flash more red;<br /> +And still their ghastly roundelay<br /> +Was of the coming battle-fray,<br /> + And of the destined dead.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV.<br /> +SONG.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wheel the wild dance<br /> +While lightnings glance,<br /> + And thunders rattle loud,<br /> +And call the brave<br /> +To bloody grave,<br /> + To sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our airy feet,<br /> +So light and fleet,<br /> + They do not bend the rye<br /> +That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave,<br /> +And swells again in eddying wave,<br /> + As each wild gust blows by;<br /> +But still the corn,<br /> +At dawn of morn,<br /> + Our fatal steps that bore,<br /> +At eve lies waste,<br /> +A trampled paste<br /> + Of blackening mud and gore.<br /> +Wheel the wild dance<br /> +While lightnings glance,<br /> + And thunders rattle loud,<br /> +And call the brave<br /> +To bloody grave,<br /> + To sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page187"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 187</span>V.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wheel the wild dance!<br /> +Brave sons of France,<br /> + For you our ring makes room;<br /> +Make space full wide<br /> +For martial pride,<br /> + For banner, spear, and plume.<br /> +Approach, draw near,<br /> +Proud cuirassier!<br /> + Room for the men of steel!<br /> +Through crest and plate<br /> +The broadsword’s weight<br /> + Both head and heart shall feel.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VI.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wheel the wild dance<br /> +While lightnings glance,<br /> + And thunders rattle loud,<br /> +And call the brave<br /> +To bloody grave,<br /> + To sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sons of the spear!<br /> +You feel us near<br /> + In many a ghastly dream;<br /> +With fancy’s eye<br /> +Our forms you spy,<br /> + And hear our fatal scream.<br /> +With clearer sight<br /> +Ere falls the night,<br /> + Just when to weal or woe<br /> +Your disembodied souls take flight<br /> +On trembling wing—each startled sprite<br /> + Our choir of death shall know.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VII.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wheel the wild dance<br /> +While lightnings glance,<br /> + And thunders rattle loud,<br /> +<a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>And call +the brave<br /> +To bloody grave,<br /> + To sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p class="poetry">Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,<br /> +Redder rain shall soon be ours—<br /> + See the east grows wan—<br /> +Yield we place to sterner game,<br /> +Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame<br /> +Shall the welkin’s thunders shame,<br /> +Elemental rage is tame<br /> + To the wrath of man.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VIII.</p> +<p class="poetry">At morn, grey Allan’s mates with awe<br +/> +Heard of the visioned sights he saw,<br /> + The legend heard him say;<br /> +But the Seer’s gifted eye was dim,<br /> +Deafened his ear, and stark his limb,<br /> + Ere closed that bloody day.<br /> +He sleeps far from his Highland heath,<br /> +But often of the Dance of Death<br /> + His comrades tell the tale<br /> +On picquet-post, when ebbs the night,<br /> +And waning watch-fires glow less bright,<br /> + And dawn is glimmering pale.</p> +<h2><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>ROMANCE OF DUNOIS.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">FROM THE FRENCH.</span><br /> +[1815.]</h2> +<p>[The original of this little Romance makes part of a +manuscript collection of French Songs, probably compiled by some +young officer, which was found on the field of Waterloo, so much +stained with clay and with blood as sufficiently to indicate what +had been the fate of its late owner. The song is popular in +France, and is rather a good specimen of the style of composition +to which it belongs. The translation is strictly +literal.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was Dunois, the +young and brave, was bound for Palestine,<br /> +But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary’s +shrine:<br /> +“And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,” was still the +Soldier’s prayer;<br /> +“That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest +fair.”</p> +<p class="poetry">His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it +with his sword,<br /> +And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord;<br /> +Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air,<br +/> +“Be honoured aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest +fair.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his +Liege-Lord said,<br /> +“The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be +repaid.—<br /> +My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair,<br /> +For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the +fair.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And then they bound the holy knot before Saint +Mary’s shrine,<br /> +That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine;<br +/> +And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there<br /> +Cried, “Honoured be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest +fair!”</p> +<h2>THE TROUBADOUR.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">FROM THE SAME COLLECTION.</span><br /> +[1815.]</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Glowing</span> with love, +on fire for fame<br /> + A Troubadour that hated sorrow<br /> +Beneath his lady’s window came,<br /> + And thus he sung his last good-morrow:<br /> +“My arm it is my country’s right,<br /> + My heart is in my true-love’s bower;<br /> +Gaily for love and fame to fight<br /> + Befits the gallant Troubadour.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And while he marched with helm on head<br /> + And harp in hand, the descant rung,<br /> +As faithful to his favourite maid,<br /> + The minstrel-burden still he sung:<br /> +“My arm it is my country’s right,<br /> + My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br /> +Resolved for love and fame to fight<br /> + I come, a gallant Troubadour.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +191</span>Even when the battle-roar was deep,<br /> + With dauntless heart he hewed his way,<br /> +’Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep,<br /> + And still was heard his warrior-lay:<br /> +“My life it is my country’s right,<br /> + My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br /> +For love to die, for fame to fight,<br /> + Becomes the valiant Troubadour.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! upon the bloody field<br /> + He fell beneath the foeman’s glaive,<br /> +But still reclining on his shield,<br /> + Expiring sung the exulting stave:—<br /> +“My life it is my country’s right,<br /> + My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br /> +For love and fame to fall in fight<br /> + Becomes the valiant Troubadour.”</p> +<h2>PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU.</h2> +<p>[This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan +MacDonald. The words of the set, theme, or melody, to which +the pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd +Dhonuil;<br /> +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br /> +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br /> +Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi.<br /> +The pipe-summons of Donald the Black,<br /> +The pipe-summons of Donald the Black,<br /> +The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place at +Inverlochy.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pibroch</span> of Donuil +Dhu,<br /> + Pibroch of Donuil,<br /> +Wake thy wild voice anew,<br /> + Summon Clan Conuil.<br /> +Come away, come away,<br /> + Hark to the summons!<br /> +<a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>Come in +your war array,<br /> + Gentles and commons.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come from deep glen, and<br /> + From mountain so rocky,<br /> +The war-pipe and pennon<br /> + Are at Inverlochy.<br /> +Come every hill-plaid, and<br /> + True heart that wears one,<br /> +Come every steel blade, and<br /> + Strong hand that bears one.</p> +<p class="poetry">Leave untended the herd,<br /> + The flock without shelter;<br /> +Leave the corpse uninterr’d,<br /> + The bride at the altar;<br /> +Leave the deer, leave the steer,<br /> + Leave nets and barges:<br /> +Come with your fighting gear,<br /> + Broadswords and targes.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come as the winds come, when<br /> + Forests are rended;<br /> +Come as the waves come, when<br /> + Navies are stranded:<br /> +Faster come, faster come,<br /> + Faster and faster,<br /> +Chief, vassal, page and groom,<br /> + Tenant and master.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fast they come, fast they come;<br /> + See how they gather!<br /> +Wide waves the eagle plume,<br /> + Blended with heather.<br /> +Cast your plaids, draw your blades,<br /> + Forward each man set!<br /> +Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,<br /> + Knell for the onset!</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Footnotes</span>.</h2> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> This eText comes from a book +(<i>Pike Country Ballads and Other Poems</i>, 1891 George +Routledge) which contains a number of poems by John Hay. +These have been released separately by Project Gutenberg under +the title “Pike Country Ballads and Other Poems” by +John Hay. They are not included here to avoid +duplication.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164"></a><a href="#citation164" +class="footnote">[164]</a> The literal translation of +<i>Fuentes d’Honoro</i>.</p> +<pre> + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT*** + + +***** This file should be named 6061-h.htm or 6061-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/0/6/6061 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott + +Author: Sir Walter Scott + +Posting Date: September 22, 2012 [EBook #6061] +Release Date: July, 2004 +First Posted: October 30, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + + +</pre> + +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott, by Sir Walter Scott</a> +</h2> + + +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This eBook was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Contents:<br /> Introduction by Henry Morley.<br /> The +Vision of Don Roderick<br /> The Field of Waterloo<br /> The +Dance of Death<br /> Romance of Dunois<br /> The +Troubadour<br /> Pibroch of Donald Dhu</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h1>INTRODUCTION.</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Since there is room in this volume for more verses than Colonel Hay’s +<a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a>, I have added to +them a few poems by Sir Walter Scott; the first written in 1811 at the +time of the struggle with Napoleon in the Peninsula, the second in 1815, +after Waterloo. Thus there is over all this volume a thin haze +of battle through which we see only the finer feelings and the nobler +hopes of man. The day is to come when war shall be no more, but +wars have been and may again be necessary to bring on that day; and +it is of such war, not untinged with the light of heaven, that we have +passing shadows in this little book.</p> +<p>“The Vision of Don Roderick; a Poem, by Walter Scott, Esq.,” +was printed at Edinburgh by James Ballantyne & Co. in 1811. +They are the present representatives of that firm by whom it is here +reprinted. It was originally inscribed “to John Whitmore, +Esq., and to the Committee of Subscribers for relief of the Portuguese +Sufferers, in which he presides,” as a “poem composed for +the benefit of the Fund under their management.”</p> +<p>The Legend of Don Roderick will be given in the next volume of our +“Companion Poets,” for Robert Southey founded upon it a +Romantic Tale in Verse, which is one of the best tales of the kind in +the English language. Southey’s tale of Roderick himself +was written at the same time when Walter Savage Landor was writing a +play upon the subject, and Scott was, in the piece here reprinted, making +it the starting-point of a vision of the war in the Peninsula. +The fatal palace of Don Roderick may have been a fable connected with +the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. The fable, as translated by +Scott from a Spanish History of King Roderick, was this:-</p> +<p>“One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among some +rocks, was situated an ancient Tower of magnificent structure, though +much dilapidated by time, which consumes all: four estadoes (<i>i.e</i>., +four times a man’s height) below it, there was a Cave with a very +narrow entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a +strong covering of iron, and fastened with many locks; above the gate +some Greek letters are engraved, which, although abbreviated, and of +doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition +of learned men:- <i>The King who opens this cave and discovers the wonders +will discover both good and evil things</i>. Many kings desired +to know the mystery of this Tower, and sought to find out the manner +with much care; but when they opened the gate, such a tremendous noise +arose in the Cave that it appeared as if the earth was bursting; many +of those present sickened with fear, and others lost their lives. +In order to prevent such great perils (as they supposed a dangerous +enchantment was contained within), they secured the gate with new locks, +concluding, that though a king was destined to open it, the fated time +was not yet arrived. At last King Don Rodrigo, led on by his evil +fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the Tower; and some bold attendants +whom he had brought with him entered, although agitated with fear. +Having proceeded a good way, they fled back to the entrance, terrified +with a frightful vision which they had beheld. The King was greatly +moved, and ordered many torches, so contrived that the tempest in the +cave could not extinguish them, to be lighted. Then the King entered, +not without fear, before all the others. He discovered, by degrees, +a splendid hall, apparently built in a very sumptuous manner; in the +middle stood a Bronze Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held +a battle-axe in its hands. With this he struck the floor violently, +giving it such heavy blows that the noise in the Cave was occasioned +by the motion of the air. The King, greatly affrighted and astonished, +began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that he would return +without doing any injury in the Cave, after he had obtained sight of +what was contained in it. The Statue ceased to strike the floor, +and the King, with his followers, somewhat assured, and recovering their +courage, proceeded into the hall; and on the left of the Statue they +found this inscription on the wall: <i>Unfortunate King, thou hast entered +here in an evil hour</i>. On the right side of the wall the words +were inscribed: <i>By strange Nations thou shalt be dispossessed, and +thy subjects foully degraded</i>. On the shoulders of the Statue +other words were written, which said, <i>I call upon the Arabs</i>. +And upon his heart was written, <i>I do my office</i>. At the +entrance of the hall there was placed a round bowl, from which a great +noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. They found no other +thing in the hall, - and when the King, sorrowful and greatly affected, +had scarcely turned about to leave the Cavern, the Statue again commenced +its accustomed blows upon the floor. After they had mutually promised +to conceal what they had seen, they again closed the Tower, and blocked +up the gate of the Cavern with earth, that no memory might remain in +the world of such a portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The ensuing +midnight, they heard great cries and clamour from the Cave, resounding +like the noise of Battle, and the ground shaking with a tremendous roar; +the whole edifice of the old Tower fell to the ground, by which they +were greatly affrighted, the Vision which they had beheld appearing +to them as a dream.”</p> +<p>Scott’s poem on the Field of Waterloo was written to assist +the Waterloo subscription.</p> +<p>H. M.</p> +<p><i>“Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris,<br /> Vox +humana valet!”</i> - CLAUDIAN.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>PREFACE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, bearing, +in general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the +invasion of the Moors was depending, had the temerity to descend into +an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been denounced +as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash +curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation of those Saracens +who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and reduced Spain under +their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the Vision of the Revolutions +of Spain down to the present eventful crisis of the Peninsula, and to +divide it, by a supposed change of scene, into, THREE PERIODS. +The FIRST of these represents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat +and Death of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation of the +country by the victors. The SECOND PERIOD embraces the state of +the Peninsula when the conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in +the East and West Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown +of their arms; sullied, however, by superstition and cruelty. +An allusion to the inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this picture. +The LAST PART of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous to +the unparalleled treachery of BUONAPARTE, gives a sketch of the usurpation +attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminates +with the arrival of the British succours. It may be further proper +to mention, that the object of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail +particular incidents, than to exhibit a general and impressive picture +of the several periods brought upon the stage.</p> +<p>EDINBURGH, <i>June</i> 24, 1811.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I.<br /> Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting +fire<br /> May rise distinguished o’er +the din of war;<br /> Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre<br /> Who +sung beleaguered Ilion’s evil star?<br /> Such, WELLINGTON, +might reach thee from afar,<br /> Wafting its +descant wide o’er Ocean’s range;<br /> Nor shouts, +nor clashing arms, its mood could mar,<br /> All, +as it swelled ’twixt each loud trumpet-change,<br />That clangs +to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge!</p> +<p>II.<br /> Yes! such a strain, with all o’er-pouring +measure,<br /> Might melodise with each tumultuous +sound<br /> Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure,<br /> That +rings Mondego’s ravaged shores around;<br /> The thundering +cry of hosts with conquest crowned,<br /> The +female shriek, the ruined peasant’s moan,<br /> The +shout of captives from their chains unbound,<br /> The +foiled oppressor’s deep and sullen groan,<br />A Nation’s +choral hymn, for tyranny o’erthrown.</p> +<p>III.<br /> But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day<br /> Skilled +but to imitate an elder page,<br /> Timid and raptureless, +can we repay<br /> The debt thou claim’st +in this exhausted age?<br /> Thou givest our lyres a theme, +that might engage<br /> Those that could send +thy name o’er sea and land,<br /> While sea and land +shall last; for Homer’s rage<br /> A theme; +a theme for Milton’s mighty hand -<br />How much unmeet for us, +a faint degenerate band!</p> +<p>IV.<br /> Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast<br /> The +friends of Scottish freedom found repose;<br /> Ye torrents! +whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest,<br /> Returning +from the field of vanquished foes;<br /> Say, have ye lost +each wild majestic close<br /> That erst the +choir of Bards or Druids flung,<br /> What time their hymn +of victory arose,<br /> And Cattraeth’s +glens with voice of triumph rung,<br />And mystic Merlin harped, and +grey-haired Llywarch sung?</p> +<p>V.<br /> Oh! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain,<br /> As +sure your changeful gales seem oft to say,<br /> When sweeping +wild and sinking soft again,<br /> Like trumpet-jubilee, +or harp’s wild sway;<br /> If ye can echo such triumphant +lay,<br /> Then lend the note to him has loved +you long!<br /> Who pious gathered each tradition grey<br /> That +floats your solitary wastes along,<br />And with affection vain gave +them new voice in song.</p> +<p>VI.<br /> For not till now, how oft soe’er the task<br /> Of +truant verse hath lightened graver care,<br /> From Muse +or Sylvan was he wont to ask,<br /> In phrase +poetic, inspiration fair;<br /> Careless he gave his numbers +to the air,<br /> They came unsought for, if +applauses came:<br /> Nor for himself prefers he now the +prayer;<br /> Let but his verse befit a hero’s +fame,<br />Immortal be the verse! - forgot the poet’s name!</p> +<p>VII.<br /> Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost:<br /> “Minstrel! +the fame of whose romantic lyre,<br /> Capricious-swelling +now, may soon be lost,<br /> Like the light flickering +of a cottage fire;<br /> If to such task presumptuous thou +aspire,<br /> Seek not from us the meed to warrior +due:<br /> Age after age has gathered son to sire<br /> Since +our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew,<br />Or, pealing through our +vales, victorious bugles blew.</p> +<p>VIII.<br /> “Decayed our old traditionary lore,<br /> Save +where the lingering fays renew their ring,<br /> By milkmaid +seen beneath the hawthorn hoar,<br /> Or round +the marge of Minchmore’s haunted spring;<br /> Save +where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing,<br /> That +now scarce win a listening ear but thine,<br /> Of feuds +obscure, and Border ravaging,<br /> And rugged +deeds recount in rugged line,<br />Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, +Tweed, or Tyne.</p> +<p>IX.<br /> “No! search romantic lands, where the +near Sun<br /> Gives with unstinted boon ethereal +flame,<br /> Where the rude villager, his labour done,<br /> In +verse spontaneous chants some favoured name,<br /> Whether +Olalia’s charms his tribute claim,<br /> Her +eye of diamond, and her locks of jet;<br /> Or whether, kindling +at the deeds of Græme,<br /> He sing, to +wild Morisco measure set,<br />Old Albin’s red claymore, green +Erin’s bayonet!</p> +<p>X.<br /> “Explore those regions, where the flinty +crest<br /> Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows,<br /> Where +in the proud Alhambra’s ruined breast<br /> Barbaric +monuments of pomp repose;<br /> Or where the banners of more +ruthless foes<br /> Than the fierce Moor, float +o’er Toledo’s fane,<br /> From whose tall towers +even now the patriot throws<br /> An anxious +glance, to spy upon the plain<br />The blended ranks of England, Portugal, +and Spain.</p> +<p>XI.<br /> “There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark<br /> Still +lightens in the sunburnt native’s eye;<br /> The stately +port, slow step, and visage dark,<br /> Still +mark enduring pride and constancy.<br /> And, if the glow +of feudal chivalry<br /> Beam not, as once, thy +nobles’ dearest pride,<br /> Iberia! oft thy crestless +peasantry<br /> Have seen the plumed Hidalgo +quit their side,<br />Have seen, yet dauntless stood - ’gainst +fortune fought and died.</p> +<p>XII.<br /> “And cherished still by that unchanging +race,<br /> Are themes for minstrelsy more high +than thine;<br /> Of strange tradition many a mystic trace,<br /> Legend +and vision, prophecy and sign;<br /> Where wonders wild of +Arabesque combine<br /> With Gothic imagery of +darker shade,<br /> Forming a model meet for minstrel line.<br /> Go, +seek such theme!” - the Mountain Spirit said.<br />With filial +awe I heard - I heard, and I obeyed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.<br /> Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies,<br /> And +darkly clustering in the pale moonlight,<br /> Toledo’s +holy towers and spires arise,<br /> As from a +trembling lake of silver white.<br /> Their mingled shadows +intercept the sight<br /> Of the broad burial-ground +outstretched below,<br /> And nought disturbs the silence +of the night;<br /> All sleeps in sullen shade, +or silver glow,<br />All save the heavy swell of Teio’s ceaseless +flow.</p> +<p>II.<br /> All save the rushing swell of Teio’s tide,<br /> Or, +distant heard, a courser’s neigh or tramp;<br /> Their +changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride,<br /> To +guard the limits of King Roderick’s camp.<br /> For +through the river’s night-fog rolling damp<br /> Was +many a proud pavilion dimly seen,<br /> Which glimmered back, +against the moon’s fair lamp,<br /> Tissues +of silk and silver twisted sheen,<br />And standards proudly pitched, +and warders armed between.</p> +<p>III.<br /> But of their Monarch’s person keeping +ward,<br /> Since last the deep-mouthed bell +of vespers tolled,<br /> The chosen soldiers of the royal +guard<br /> The post beneath the proud Cathedral +hold:<br /> A band unlike their Gothic sires of old,<br /> Who, +for the cap of steel and iron mace,<br /> Bear slender darts, +and casques bedecked with gold,<br /> While silver-studded +belts their shoulders grace,<br />Where ivory quivers ring in the broad +falchion’s place.</p> +<p>IV.<br /> In the light language of an idle court,<br /> They +murmured at their master’s long delay,<br /> And held +his lengthened orisons in sport:-<br /> “What! +will Don Roderick here till morning stay,<br /> To wear in +shrift and prayer the night away?<br /> And are +his hours in such dull penance past,<br /> For fair Florinda’s +plundered charms to pay?”<br /> Then to +the east their weary eyes they cast,<br />And wished the lingering dawn +would glimmer forth at last.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p> But, far within, Toledo’s Prelate lent<br /> An +ear of fearful wonder to the King;<br /> The silver lamp +a fitful lustre sent,<br /> So long that sad +confession witnessing:<br /> For Roderick told of many a +hidden thing,<br /> Such as are lothly uttered +to the air,<br /> When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom +wring,<br /> And Guilt his secret burden cannot +bear,<br />And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair.</p> +<p>VI.<br /> Full on the Prelate’s face, and silver +hair,<br /> The stream of failing light was feebly +rolled:<br /> But Roderick’s visage, though his head +was bare,<br /> Was shadowed by his hand and +mantle’s fold.<br /> While of his hidden soul the sins +he told,<br /> Proud Alaric’s descendant +could not brook,<br /> That mortal man his bearing should +behold,<br /> Or boast that he had seen, when +Conscience shook,<br />Fear tame a monarch’s brow, Remorse a warrior’s +look.</p> +<p>VII.<br /> The old man’s faded cheek waxed yet more +pale,<br /> As many a secret sad the King bewrayed;<br /> As +sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale,<br /> When +in the midst his faltering whisper stayed.<br /> “Thus +royal Witiza was slain,” - he said;<br /> “Yet, +holy Father, deem not it was I.”<br /> Thus still Ambition +strives her crimes to shade. -<br /> “Oh, +rather deem ’twas stern necessity!<br />Self-preservation bade, +and I must kill or die.</p> +<p>VIII.<br /> “And if Florinda’s shrieks alarmed +the air,<br /> If she invoked her absent sire +in vain,<br /> And on her knees implored that I would spare,<br /> Yet, +reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain!<br /> All is +not as it seems - the female train<br /> Know +by their bearing to disguise their mood:”<br /> But +Conscience here, as if in high disdain,<br /> Sent +to the Monarch’s cheek the burning blood -<br />He stayed his +speech abrupt - and up the Prelate stood.</p> +<p>IX.<br /> “O hardened offspring of an iron race!<br /> What +of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say?<br /> What alms, +or prayers, or penance can efface<br /> Murder’s +dark spot, wash treason’s stain away!<br /> For the +foul ravisher how shall I pray,<br /> Who, scarce +repentant, makes his crime his boast?<br /> How hope Almighty +vengeance shall delay,<br /> Unless, in mercy +to yon Christian host,<br />He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless +sheep be lost?”</p> +<p>X.<br /> Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood,<br /> And +to his brow returned its dauntless gloom;<br /> “And +welcome then,” he cried, “be blood for blood,<br /> For +treason treachery, for dishonour doom!<br /> Yet will I know +whence come they, or by whom.<br /> Show, for +thou canst - give forth the fated key,<br /> And guide me, +Priest, to that mysterious room,<br /> Where, +if aught true in old tradition be,<br />His nation’s future fates +a Spanish King shall see.”</p> +<p>XI.<br /> “Ill-fated Prince! recall the desperate +word,<br /> Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey!<br /> Bethink, +yon spell-bound portal would afford<br /> Never +to former Monarch entrance-way;<br /> Nor shall it ever ope, +old records say,<br /> Save to a King, the last +of all his line,<br /> What time his empire totters to decay,<br /> And +treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine,<br />And, high above, impends +avenging wrath divine.” -</p> +<p>XII.<br /> “Prelate! a Monarch’s fate brooks +no delay;<br /> Lead on!” - The ponderous +key the old man took,<br /> And held the winking lamp, and +led the way,<br /> By winding stair, dark aisle, +and secret nook,<br /> Then on an ancient gateway bent his +look;<br /> And, as the key the desperate King +essayed,<br /> Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook,<br /> And +twice he stopped, and twice new effort made,<br />Till the huge bolts +rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed.</p> +<p>XIII.<br /> Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted hall;<br /> Roof, +walls, and floor were all of marble stone,<br /> Of polished +marble, black as funeral pall,<br /> Carved o’er +with signs and characters unknown.<br /> A paly light, as +of the dawning, shone<br /> Through the sad bounds, +but whence they could not spy;<br /> For window to the upper +air was none;<br /> Yet, by that light, Don Roderick +could descry<br />Wonders that ne’er till then were seen by mortal +eye.</p> +<p>XIV.<br /> Grim sentinels, against the upper wall,<br /> Of +molten bronze, two Statues held their place;<br /> Massive +their naked limbs, their stature tall,<br /> Their +frowning foreheads golden circles grace.<br /> Moulded they +seemed for kings of giant race,<br /> That lived +and sinned before the avenging flood;<br /> This grasped +a scythe, that rested on a mace;<br /> This spread +his wings for flight, that pondering stood,<br />Each stubborn seemed +and stern, immutable of mood.</p> +<p>XV.<br /> Fixed was the right-hand Giant’s brazen +look<br /> Upon his brother’s glass of +shifting sand,<br /> As if its ebb he measured by a book,<br /> Whose +iron volume loaded his huge hand;<br /> In which was wrote +of many a fallen land<br /> Of empires lost, +and kings to exile driven:<br /> And o’er that pair +their names in scroll expand -<br /> “Lo, +DESTINY and TIME! to whom by Heaven<br />The guidance of the earth is +for a season given.” -</p> +<p>XVI.<br /> Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes +away;<br /> And, as the last and lagging grains +did creep,<br /> That right-hand Giant ’gan his club +upsway,<br /> As one that startles from a heavy +sleep.<br /> Full on the upper wall the mace’s sweep<br /> At +once descended with the force of thunder,<br /> And hurtling +down at once, in crumbled heap,<br /> The marble +boundary was rent asunder,<br />And gave to Roderick’s view new +sights of fear and wonder.</p> +<p>XVII.<br /> For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach,<br /> Realms +as of Spain in visioned prospect laid,<br /> Castles and +towers, in due proportion each,<br /> As by some +skilful artist’s hand portrayed:<br /> Here, crossed +by many a wild Sierra’s shade,<br /> And +boundless plains that tire the traveller’s eye;<br /> There, +rich with vineyard and with olive glade,<br /> Or +deep-embrowned by forests huge and high,<br />Or washed by mighty streams, +that slowly murmured by.</p> +<p>XVIII.<br /> And here, as erst upon the antique stage<br /> Passed +forth the band of masquers trimly led,<br /> In various forms, +and various equipage,<br /> While fitting strains +the hearer’s fancy fed;<br /> So, to sad Roderick’s +eye in order spread,<br /> Successive pageants +filled that mystic scene,<br /> Showing the fate of battles +ere they bled,<br /> And issue of events that +had not been;<br />And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between.</p> +<p>XIX.<br /> First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek! +-<br /> It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the +call,<br /> For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. +-<br /> Then answered kettle-drum and attabal,<br /> Gong-peal +and cymbal-clank the ear appal,<br /> The Tecbir +war-cry, and the Lelie’s yell,<br /> Ring wildly dissonant +along the hall.<br /> Needs not to Roderick their +dread import tell -<br />“The Moor!” he cried, “the +Moor! - ring out the Tocsin bell!</p> +<p>XX.<br /> “They come! they come! I see the +groaning lands<br /> White with the turbans of +each Arab horde;<br /> Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving +bands,<br /> Alla and Mahomet their battle-word,<br /> The +choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword -<br /> See +how the Christians rush to arms amain! -<br /> In yonder +shout the voice of conflict roared,<br /> The +shadowy hosts are closing on the plain -<br />Now, God and Saint Iago +strike, for the good cause of Spain!</p> +<p>XXI.<br /> “By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians +yield!<br /> Their coward leader gives for flight +the sign!<br /> The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field +-<br /> Is not yon steed Orelio? - Yes, ’tis +mine!<br /> But never was she turned from battle-line:<br /> Lo! +where the recreant spurs o’er stock and stone! -<br /> Curses +pursue the slave, and wrath divine!<br /> Rivers +ingulph him!” - ”Hush,” in shuddering tone,<br />The +Prelate said; “rash Prince, yon visioned form’s thine own.”</p> +<p>XXII.<br /> Just then, a torrent crossed the flier’s +course;<br /> The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness +tried;<br /> But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse,<br /> Swept +like benighted peasant down the tide;<br /> And the proud +Moslemah spread far and wide,<br /> As numerous +as their native locust band;<br /> Berber and Ismael’s +sons the spoils divide,<br /> With naked scimitars +mete out the land,<br />And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives +brand.</p> +<p>XXIII.<br /> Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose<br /> The +loveliest maidens of the Christian line;<br /> Then, menials, +to their misbelieving foes,<br /> Castile’s +young nobles held forbidden wine;<br /> Then, too, the holy +Cross, salvation’s sign,<br /> By impious +hands was from the altar thrown,<br /> And the deep aisles +of the polluted shrine<br /> Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone,<br />The +Santon’s frantic dance, the Fakir’s gibbering moan.</p> +<p>XXIV.<br /> How fares Don Roderick? - E’en as one +who spies<br /> Flames dart their glare o’er +midnight’s sable woof,<br /> And hears around his children’s +piercing cries,<br /> And sees the pale assistants +stand aloof;<br /> While cruel Conscience brings him bitter +proof,<br /> His folly, or his crime, have caused +his grief;<br /> And while above him nods the crumbling roof,<br /> He +curses earth and Heaven - himself in chief -<br />Desperate of earthly +aid, despairing Heaven’s relief!</p> +<p>XXV.<br /> That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass<br /> And +twilight on the landscape closed her wings;<br /> Far to +Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,<br /> And +in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings;<br /> And to the +sound the bell-decked dancer springs,<br /> Bazars +resound as when their marts are met,<br /> In tourney light +the Moor his jerrid flings,<br /> And on the +land as evening seemed to set,<br />The Imaum’s chant was heard +from mosque or minaret.</p> +<p>XXVI.<br /> So passed that pageant. Ere another +came,<br /> The visionary scene was wrapped in +smoke<br /> Whose sulph’rous wreaths were crossed by +sheets of flame;<br /> With every flash a bolt +explosive broke,<br /> Till Roderick deemed the fiends had +burst their yoke,<br /> And waved ’gainst +heaven the infernal gonfalone!<br /> For War a new and dreadful +language spoke,<br /> Never by ancient warrior +heard or known;<br />Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was +her tone.</p> +<p>XXVII.<br /> From the dim landscape rolled the clouds +away -<br /> The Christians have regained their +heritage;<br /> Before the Cross has waned the Crescent’s +ray,<br /> And many a monastery decks the stage,<br /> And +lofty church, and low-browed hermitage.<br /> The +land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, -<br /> The Genii those +of Spain for many an age;<br /> This clad in +sackcloth, that in armour bright,<br />And that was VALOUR named, this +BIGOTRY was hight.</p> +<p>XXVIII.<br /> VALOUR was harnessed like a chief of old,<br /> Armed +at all points, and prompt for knightly gest;<br /> His sword +was tempered in the Ebro cold,<br /> Morena’s +eagle plume adorned his crest,<br /> The spoils of Afric’s +lion bound his breast.<br /> Fierce he stepped +forward and flung down his gage;<br /> As if of mortal kind +to brave the best.<br /> Him followed his Companion, +dark and sage,<br />As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage.</p> +<p>XXIX.<br /> Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came,<br /> In +look and language proud as proud might be,<br /> Vaunting +his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame:<br /> Yet +was that barefoot Monk more proud than he:<br /> And as the +ivy climbs the tallest tree,<br /> So round the +loftiest soul his toils he wound,<br /> And with his spells +subdued the fierce and free,<br /> Till ermined +Age and Youth in arms renowned,<br />Honouring his scourge and haircloth, +meekly kissed the ground.</p> +<p>XXX.<br /> And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless knight,<br /> Who +ne’er to King or Kaiser vailed his crest,<br /> Victorious +still in bull-feast or in fight,<br /> Since +first his limbs with mail he did invest,<br /> Stooped ever +to that Anchoret’s behest;<br /> Nor reasoned +of the right, nor of the wrong,<br /> But at his bidding +laid the lance in rest,<br /> And wrought fell +deeds the troubled world along,<br />For he was fierce as brave, and +pitiless as strong.</p> +<p>XXXI.<br /> Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found +world,<br /> That latest sees the sun, or first +the morn;<br /> Still at that Wizard’s feet their spoils +he hurled, -<br /> Ingots of ore from rich Potosi +borne,<br /> Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn,<br /> Wrought +of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul;<br /> Idols of +gold from heathen temples torn,<br /> Bedabbled +all with blood. - With grisly scowl<br />The Hermit marked the stains, +and smiled beneath his cowl.</p> +<p>XXXII.<br /> Then did he bless the offering, and bade +make<br /> Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and +praise;<br /> And at his word the choral hymns awake,<br /> And +many a hand the silver censer sways,<br /> But with the incense-breath +these censers raise,<br /> Mix steams from corpses +smouldering in the fire;<br /> The groans of prisoned victims +mar the lays,<br /> And shrieks of agony confound +the quire;<br />While, ’mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes +expire.</p> +<p>XXXIII.<br /> Preluding light, were strains of music heard,<br /> As +once again revolved that measured sand;<br /> Such sounds +as when, for silvan dance prepared,<br /> Gay +Xeres summons forth her vintage band;<br /> When for the +light bolero ready stand<br /> The mozo blithe, +with gay muchacha met,<br /> He conscious of his broidered +cap and band,<br /> She of her netted locks and +light corsette,<br />Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet.</p> +<p>XXXIV.<br /> And well such strains the opening scene became;<br /> For +VALOUR had relaxed his ardent look,<br /> And at a lady’s +feet, like lion tame,<br /> Lay stretched, full +loath the weight of arms to brook;<br /> And softened BIGOTRY, +upon his book,<br /> Pattered a task of little +good or ill:<br /> But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook,<br /> Whistled +the muleteer o’er vale and hill,<br />And rung from village-green +the merry seguidille.</p> +<p>XXXV.<br /> Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil,<br /> Let +the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold;<br /> And, careless, +saw his rule become the spoil<br /> Of a loose +Female and her minion bold.<br /> But peace was on the cottage +and the fold,<br /> From Court intrigue, from +bickering faction far;<br /> Beneath the chestnut-tree Love’s +tale was told,<br /> And to the tinkling of the +light guitar,<br />Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening +star.</p> +<p>XXXVI.<br /> As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand,<br /> When +first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen,<br /> Came slowly +overshadowing Israel’s land,<br /> A while, +perchance, bedecked with colours sheen,<br /> While yet the +sunbeams on its skirts had been,<br /> Limning +with purple and with gold its shroud,<br /> Till darker folds +obscured the blue serene<br /> And blotted heaven +with one broad sable cloud,<br />Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds +howled aloud:-</p> +<p>XXXVII.<br /> Even so, upon that peaceful scene was poured,<br /> Like +gathering clouds, full many a foreign band,<br /> And HE, +their Leader, wore in sheath his sword,<br /> And +offered peaceful front and open hand,<br /> Veiling the perjured +treachery he planned,<br /> By friendship’s +zeal and honour’s specious guise,<br /> Until he won +the passes of the land;<br /> Then burst were +honour’s oath and friendship’s ties!<br />He clutched his +vulture grasp, and called fair Spain his prize.</p> +<p>XXXVIII.<br /> An iron crown his anxious forehead bore;<br /> And +well such diadem his heart became,<br /> Who ne’er +his purpose for remorse gave o’er,<br /> Or +checked his course for piety or shame;<br /> Who, trained +a soldier, deemed a soldier’s fame<br /> Might +flourish in the wreath of battles won,<br /> Though neither +truth nor honour decked his name;<br /> Who, +placed by fortune on a Monarch’s throne,<br />Recked not of Monarch’s +faith, or Mercy’s kingly tone.</p> +<p>XXXIX.<br /> From a rude isle his ruder lineage came,<br /> The +spark, that, from a suburb-hovel’s hearth<br /> Ascending, +wraps some capital in flame,<br /> Hath not a +meaner or more sordid birth.<br /> And for the soul that +bade him waste the earth -<br /> The sable land-flood +from some swamp obscure<br /> That poisons the glad husband-field +with dearth,<br /> And by destruction bids its +fame endure,<br />Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.</p> +<p>XL.<br /> Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form;<br /> Her +limbs like mist, her torch like meteor showed,<br /> With +which she beckoned him through fight and storm,<br /> And +all he crushed that crossed his desperate road,<br /> Nor +thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trode.<br /> Realms +could not glut his pride, blood could not slake,<br /> So +oft as e’er she shook her torch abroad -<br /> It +was AMBITION bade her terrors wake,<br />Nor deigned she, as of yore, +a milder form to take.</p> +<p>XLI.<br /> No longer now she spurned at mean revenge,<br /> Or +stayed her hand for conquered foeman’s moan;<br /> As +when, the fates of aged Rome to change,<br /> By +Cæsar’s side she crossed the Rubicon.<br /> Nor +joyed she to bestow the spoils she won,<br /> As +when the banded powers of Greece were tasked<br /> To war +beneath the Youth of Macedon:<br /> No seemly +veil her modern minion asked,<br />He saw her hideous face, and loved +the fiend unmasked.</p> +<p>XLII.<br /> That Prelate marked his march - On banners +blazed<br /> With battles won in many a distant +land,<br /> On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed;<br /> “And +hopest thou, then,” he said, “thy power shall stand?<br /> Oh! +thou hast builded on the shifting sand,<br /> And +thou hast tempered it with slaughter’s flood;<br /> And +know, fell scourge in the Almighty’s hand,<br /> Gore-moistened +trees shall perish in the bud,<br />And by a bloody death shall die +the Man of Blood!”</p> +<p>XLIII.<br /> The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train<br /> A +wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel,<br /> And paled +his temples with the crown of Spain,<br /> While +trumpets rang, and heralds cried “Castile!”<br /> Not +that he loved him - No! - In no man’s weal,<br /> Scarce +in his own, e’er joyed that sullen heart;<br /> Yet +round that throne he bade his warriors wheel,<br /> That +the poor puppet might perform his part,<br />And be a sceptred slave, +at his stern beck to start.</p> +<p>XLIV.<br /> But on the Natives of that Land misused,<br /> Not +long the silence of amazement hung,<br /> Nor brooked they +long their friendly faith abused;<br /> For, +with a common shriek, the general tongue<br /> Exclaimed, +“To arms!” - and fast to arms they sprung.<br /> And +VALOUR woke, that Genius of the Land!<br /> Pleasure, and +ease, and sloth aside he flung,<br /> As burst +the awakening Nazarite his band,<br />When ’gainst his treacherous +foes he clenched his dreadful hand.</p> +<p>XLV.<br /> That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye<br /> Upon +the Satraps that begirt him round,<br /> Now doffed his royal +robe in act to fly,<br /> And from his brow the +diadem unbound.<br /> So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle +wound,<br /> From Tarik’s walls to Bilboa’s +mountains blown,<br /> These martial satellites hard labour +found<br /> To guard awhile his substituted throne +-<br />Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own.</p> +<p>XLVI.<br /> From Alpuhara’s peak that bugle rung,<br /> And +it was echoed from Corunna’s wall;<br /> Stately Seville +responsive war-shot flung,<br /> Grenada caught +it in her Moorish hall;<br /> Galicia bade her children fight +or fall,<br /> Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet,<br /> Valencia +roused her at the battle-call,<br /> And, foremost +still where Valour’s sons are met,<br />First started to his gun +each fiery Miquelet.</p> +<p>XLVII.<br /> But unappalled, and burning for the fight,<br /> The +Invaders march, of victory secure;<br /> Skilful their force +to sever or unite,<br /> And trained alike to +vanquish or endure.<br /> Nor skilful less, cheap conquest +to ensure,<br /> Discord to breathe, and jealousy +to sow,<br /> To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure;<br /> While +nought against them bring the unpractised foe,<br />Save hearts for +Freedom’s cause, and hands for Freedom’s blow.</p> +<p>XLVIII.<br /> Proudly they march - but, oh! they march +not forth<br /> By one hot field to crown a brief +campaign,<br /> As when their Eagles, sweeping through the +North,<br /> Destroyed at every stoop an ancient +reign!<br /> Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain;<br /> In +vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied,<br /> New Patriot +armies started from the slain,<br /> High blazed +the war, and long, and far, and wide,<br />And oft the God of Battles +blest the righteous side.</p> +<p>XLIX.<br /> Nor unatoned, where Freedom’s foes prevail,<br /> Remained +their savage waste. With blade and brand<br /> By day +the Invaders ravaged hill and dale,<br /> But, +with the darkness, the Guerilla band<br /> Came like night’s +tempest, and avenged the land,<br /> And claimed +for blood the retribution due,<br /> Probed the hard heart, +and lopped the murd’rous hand;<br /> And +Dawn, when o’er the scene her beams she threw<br />’Midst +ruins they had made, the spoilers’ corpses knew.</p> +<p>L.<br /> What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell,<br /> Amid +the visioned strife from sea to sea,<br /> How oft the Patriot +banners rose or fell,<br /> Still honoured in +defeat as victory!<br /> For that sad pageant of events to +be<br /> Showed every form of fight by field +and flood;<br /> Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their +glee,<br /> Beheld, while riding on the tempest +scud,<br />The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with blood!</p> +<p>LI.<br /> Then Zaragoza - blighted be the tongue<br /> That +names thy name without the honour due!<br /> For never hath +the harp of Minstrel rung,<br /> Of faith so +felly proved, so firmly true!<br /> Mine, sap, and bomb thy +shattered ruins knew,<br /> Each art of war’s +extremity had room,<br /> Twice from thy half-sacked streets +the foe withdrew,<br /> And when at length stern +fate decreed thy doom,<br />They won not Zaragoza, but her children’s +bloody tomb.</p> +<p>LII.<br /> Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though +in chains,<br /> Enthralled thou canst not be! +Arise, and claim<br /> Reverence from every heart where Freedom +reigns,<br /> For what thou worshippest! - thy +sainted dame,<br /> She of the Column, honoured be her name<br /> By +all, whate’er their creed, who honour love!<br /> And +like the sacred relics of the flame,<br /> That +gave some martyr to the blessed above,<br />To every loyal heart may +thy sad embers prove!</p> +<p>LIII.<br /> Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair!<br /> Faithful +to death thy heroes shall be sung,<br /> Manning the towers, +while o’er their heads the air<br /> Swart +as the smoke from raging furnace hung;<br /> Now thicker +darkening where the mine was sprung,<br /> Now +briefly lightened by the cannon’s flare,<br /> Now +arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung,<br /> And +reddening now with conflagration’s glare,<br />While by the fatal +light the foes for storm prepare.</p> +<p>LIV.<br /> While all around was danger, strife, and fear,<br /> While +the earth shook, and darkened was the sky,<br /> And wide +Destruction stunned the listening ear,<br /> Appalled +the heart, and stupefied the eye, -<br /> Afar was heard +that thrice-repeated cry,<br /> In which old +Albion’s heart and tongue unite,<br /> Whene’er +her soul is up, and pulse beats high,<br /> Whether +it hail the wine-cup or the fight,<br />And bid each arm be strong, +or bid each heart be light.</p> +<p>LV.<br /> Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud +-<br /> A varied scene the changeful vision showed,<br /> For, +where the ocean mingled with the cloud,<br /> A +gallant navy stemmed the billows broad.<br /> From mast and +stern St. George’s symbol flowed,<br /> Blent +with the silver cross to Scotland dear;<br /> Mottling the +sea their landward barges rowed,<br /> And flashed +the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear,<br />And the wild beach returned +the seamen’s jovial cheer.</p> +<p>LVI.<br /> It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight!<br /> The +billows foamed beneath a thousand oars,<br /> Fast as they +land the red-cross ranks unite,<br /> Legions +on legions bright’ning all the shores.<br /> Then banners +rise, and cannon-signal roars,<br /> Then peals +the warlike thunder of the drum,<br /> Thrills the loud fife, +the trumpet-flourish pours,<br /> And patriot +hopes awake, and doubts are dumb,<br />For, bold in Freedom’s +cause, the bands of Ocean come!</p> +<p>LVII.<br /> A various host they came - whose ranks display<br /> Each +mode in which the warrior meets the fight,<br /> The deep +battalion locks its firm array,<br /> And meditates +his aim the marksman light;<br /> Far glance the light of +sabres flashing bright<br /> Where mounted squadrons +shake the echoing mead,<br /> Lacks not artillery breathing +flame and night,<br /> Nor the fleet ordnance +whirled by rapid steed,<br />That rivals lightning’s flash in +ruin and in speed.</p> +<p>LVIII.<br /> A various host - from kindred realms they +came,<br /> Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown +-<br /> For yon fair bands shall merry England claim,<br /> And +with their deeds of valour deck her crown.<br /> Hers their +bold port, and hers their martial frown,<br /> And +hers their scorn of death in freedom’s cause,<br /> Their +eyes of azure, and their locks of brown,<br /> And +the blunt speech that bursts without a pause,<br />And free-born thoughts +which league the Soldier with the Laws.</p> +<p>LIX.<br /> And, oh! loved warriors of the Minstrel’s +land!<br /> Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans +wave!<br /> The rugged form may mark the mountain band,<br /> And +harsher features, and a mien more grave;<br /> But ne’er +in battlefield throbbed heart so brave<br /> As +that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid;<br /> And when +the pibroch bids the battle rave,<br /> And level +for the charge your arms are laid,<br />Where lives the desperate foe +that for such onset stayed!</p> +<p>LX.<br /> Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings,<br /> Mingling +wild mirth with war’s stern minstrelsy,<br /> His jest +while each blithe comrade round him flings,<br /> And +moves to death with military glee:<br /> Boast, Erin, boast +them! tameless, frank, and free,<br /> In kindness +warm, and fierce in danger known,<br /> Rough Nature’s +children, humorous as she:<br /> And HE, yon +Chieftain - strike the proudest tone<br />Of thy bold harp, green Isle! +- the Hero is thine own.</p> +<p>LXI.<br /> Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown,<br /> On +Talavera’s fight should Roderick gaze,<br /> And hear +Corunna wail her battle won,<br /> And see Busaco’s +crest with lightning blaze:-<br /> But shall fond fable mix +with heroes’ praise?<br /> Hath Fiction’s +stage for Truth’s long triumphs room?<br /> And dare +her wild flowers mingle with the bays<br /> That +claim a long eternity to bloom<br />Around the warrior’s crest, +and o’er the warrior’s tomb!</p> +<p>LXII.<br /> Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope,<br /> And +stretch a bold hand to the awful veil<br /> That hides futurity +from anxious hope,<br /> Bidding beyond it scenes +of glory hail,<br /> And painting Europe rousing at the tale<br /> Of +Spain’s invaders from her confines hurled,<br /> While +kindling nations buckle on their mail,<br /> And +Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurled,<br />To Freedom and Revenge +awakes an injured World!</p> +<p>LXIII.<br /> O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast,<br /> Since +Fate has marked futurity her own:<br /> Yet Fate resigns +to worth the glorious past,<br /> The deeds recorded, +and the laurels won.<br /> Then, though the Vault of Destiny +be gone,<br /> King, Prelate, all the phantasms +of my brain,<br /> Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun,<br /> Yet +grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain,<br />One note of pride and +fire, a Patriot’s parting strain!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I.<br /> “Who shall command Estrella’s mountain-tide<br /> Back +to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie?<br /> Who, when +Gascogne’s vexed gulf is raging wide,<br /> Shall +hush it as a nurse her infant’s cry?<br /> His magic +power let such vain boaster try,<br /> And when +the torrent shall his voice obey,<br /> And Biscay’s +whirlwinds list his lullaby,<br /> Let him stand +forth and bar mine eagles’ way,<br />And they shall heed his voice, +and at his bidding stay.</p> +<p>II.<br /> “Else ne’er to stoop, till high +on Lisbon’s towers<br /> They close their +wings, the symbol of our yoke,<br /> And their own sea hath +whelmed yon red-cross powers!”<br /> Thus, +on the summit of Alverca’s rock<br /> To Marshal, Duke, +and Peer, Gaul’s Leader spoke.<br /> While +downward on the land his legions press,<br /> Before them +it was rich with vine and flock,<br /> And smiled +like Eden in her summer dress; -<br />Behind their wasteful march a +reeking wilderness.</p> +<p>III.<br /> And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word,<br /> Though +Heaven hath heard the wailings of the land,<br /> Though +Lusitania whet her vengeful sword,<br /> Though +Britons arm and WELLINGTON command!<br /> No! grim Busaco’s +iron ridge shall stand<br /> An adamantine barrier +to his force;<br /> And from its base shall wheel his shattered +band,<br /> As from the unshaken rock the torrent +hoarse<br />Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course.</p> +<p>IV.<br /> Yet not because Alcoba’s mountain-hawk<br /> Hath +on his best and bravest made her food,<br /> In numbers confident, +yon Chief shall baulk<br /> His Lord’s +imperial thirst for spoil and blood:<br /> For full in view +the promised conquest stood,<br /> And Lisbon’s +matrons from their walls might sum<br /> The myriads that +had half the world subdued,<br /> And hear the +distant thunders of the drum,<br />That bids the bands of France to +storm and havoc come.</p> +<p>V.<br /> Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled,<br /> Have +seen these wistful myriads eye their prey,<br /> As famished +wolves survey a guarded fold -<br /> But in the +middle path a Lion lay!<br /> At length they move - but not +to battle-fray,<br /> Nor blaze yon fires where +meets the manly fight;<br /> Beacons of infamy, they light +the way<br /> Where cowardice and cruelty unite<br />To +damn with double shame their ignominious flight.</p> +<p>VI.<br /> O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath!<br /> Ne’er +to be told, yet ne’er to be forgot,<br /> What wanton +horrors marked their wreckful path!<br /> The +peasant butchered in his ruined cot,<br /> The hoary priest +even at the altar shot,<br /> Childhood and age +given o’er to sword and flame,<br /> Woman to infamy; +- no crime forgot,<br /> By which inventive demons +might proclaim<br />Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God’s great +name!</p> +<p>VII.<br /> The rudest sentinel, in Britain born,<br /> With +horror paused to view the havoc done,<br /> Gave his poor +crust to feed some wretch forlorn,<br /> Wiped +his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun.<br /> Nor with +less zeal shall Britain’s peaceful son<br /> Exult +the debt of sympathy to pay;<br /> Riches nor poverty the +tax shall shun,<br /> Nor prince nor peer, the +wealthy nor the gay,<br />Nor the poor peasant’s mite, nor bard’s +more worthless lay.</p> +<p>VIII.<br /> But thou - unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate,<br /> Minion +of Fortune, now miscalled in vain!<br /> Can vantage-ground +no confidence create,<br /> Marcella’s +pass, nor Guarda’s mountain-chain?<br /> Vainglorious +fugitive! yet turn again!<br /> Behold, where, +named by some prophetic Seer,<br /> Flows Honour’s +Fountain, <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a> as foredoomed +the stain<br /> From thy dishonoured name and +arms to clear -<br />Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour +here!</p> +<p>IX.<br /> Yet, ere thou turn’st, collect each distant +aid;<br /> Those chief that never heard the lion +roar!<br /> Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed<br /> Of +Talavera or Mondego’s shore!<br /> Marshal each band +thou hast, and summon more;<br /> Of war’s +fell stratagems exhaust the whole;<br /> Rank upon rank, +squadron on squadron pour,<br /> Legion on legion +on thy foeman roll,<br />And weary out his arm - thou canst not quell +his soul.</p> +<p>X.<br /> O vainly gleams with steel Agueda’s shore,<br /> Vainly +thy squadrons hide Assuava’s plain,<br /> And front +the flying thunders as they roar,<br /> With +frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain!<br /> And what +avails thee that, for CAMERON slain,<br /> Wild +from his plaided ranks the yell was given -<br /> Vengeance +and grief gave mountain-range the rein,<br /> And, +at the bloody spear-point headlong driven,<br />Thy Despot’s giant +guards fled like the rack of heaven.</p> +<p>XI.<br /> Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood<br /> To +plead at thine imperious master’s throne,<br /> Say, +thou hast left his legions in their blood,<br /> Deceived +his hopes, and frustrated thine own;<br /> Say, that thine +utmost skill and valour shown,<br /> By British +skill and valour were outvied;<br /> Last say, thy conqueror +was WELLINGTON!<br /> And if he chafe, be his +own fortune tried -<br />God and our cause to friend, the venture we’ll +abide.</p> +<p>XII.<br /> But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day,<br /> How +shall a bard, unknowing and unknown,<br /> His meed to each +victorious leader pay,<br /> Or bind on every +brow the laurels won?<br /> Yet fain my harp would wake its +boldest tone,<br /> O’er the wide sea to +hail CADOGAN brave;<br /> And he, perchance, the minstrel-note +might own,<br /> Mindful of meeting brief that +Fortune gave<br />’Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic +rave.</p> +<p>XIII.<br /> Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the +sword,<br /> To give each Chief and every field +its fame:<br /> Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD,<br /> And +Red Barosa shouts for dauntless GRÆME!<br /> O for +a verse of tumult and of flame,<br /> Bold as +the bursting of their cannon sound,<br /> To bid the world +re-echo to their fame!<br /> For never, upon +gory battle-ground,<br />With conquest’s well-bought wreath were +braver victors crowned!</p> +<p>XIV.<br /> O who shall grudge him Albuera’s bays,<br /> Who +brought a race regenerate to the field,<br /> Roused them +to emulate their fathers’ praise,<br /> Tempered +their headlong rage, their courage steeled,<br /> And raised +fair Lusitania’s fallen shield,<br /> And +gave new edge to Lusitania’s sword,<br /> And taught +her sons forgotten arms to wield -<br /> Shivered +my harp, and burst its every chord,<br />If it forget thy worth, victorious +BERESFORD!</p> +<p>XV.<br /> Not on that bloody field of battle won,<br /> Though +Gaul’s proud legions rolled like mist away,<br /> Was +half his self-devoted valour shown, -<br /> He +gaged but life on that illustrious day;<br /> But when he +toiled those squadrons to array,<br /> Who fought +like Britons in the bloody game,<br /> Sharper than Polish +pike or assagay,<br /> He braved the shafts of +censure and of shame,<br />And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier’s +fame.</p> +<p>XVI.<br /> Nor be his praise o’erpast who strove +to hide<br /> Beneath the warrior’s vest +affection’s wound,<br /> Whose wish Heaven for his +country’s weal denied;<br /> Danger and +fate he sought, but glory found.<br /> From clime to clime, +where’er war’s trumpets sound,<br /> The +wanderer went; yet Caledonia! still<br /> Thine was his thought +in march and tented ground;<br /> He dreamed +’mid Alpine cliffs of Athole’s hill,<br />And heard in Ebro’s +roar his Lyndoch’s lovely rill.</p> +<p>XVII.<br /> O hero of a race renowned of old,<br /> Whose +war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell,<br /> Since first +distinguished in the onset bold,<br /> Wild sounding +when the Roman rampart fell!<br /> By Wallace’ side +it rung the Southron’s knell,<br /> Alderne, +Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame,<br /> Tummell’s +rude pass can of its terrors tell,<br /> But +ne’er from prouder field arose the name<br />Than when wild Ronda +learned the conquering shout of GRÆME!</p> +<p>XVIII.<br /> But all too long, through seas unknown and +dark,<br /> (With Spenser’s parable I close +my tale,)<br /> By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous +bark,<br /> And landward now I drive before the +gale.<br /> And now the blue and distant shore I hail,<br /> And +nearer now I see the port expand,<br /> And now I gladly +furl my weary sail,<br /> And, as the prow light +touches on the strand,<br />I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff +to land.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Fair Brussels, thou art far behind,<br />Though, lingering on the +morning wind,<br /> We yet may hear the hour<br />Pealed +over orchard and canal,<br />With voice prolonged and measured fall,<br /> From +proud St. Michael’s tower;<br />Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds +us now,<br />Where the tall beeches’ glossy bough<br /> For +many a league around,<br />With birch and darksome oak between,<br />Spreads +deep and far a pathless screen,<br /> Of tangled forest ground.<br />Stems +planted close by stems defy<br />The adventurous foot - the curious +eye<br /> For access seeks in vain;<br />And the brown tapestry +of leaves,<br />Strewed on the blighted ground, receives<br /> Nor +sun, nor air, nor rain.<br />No opening glade dawns on our way,<br />No +streamlet, glancing to the ray,<br /> Our woodland path has +crossed;<br />And the straight causeway which we tread<br />Prolongs +a line of dull arcade,<br />Unvarying through the unvaried shade<br /> Until +in distance lost.</p> +<p>II.<br />A brighter, livelier scene succeeds;<br />In groups the +scattering wood recedes,<br />Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads,<br /> And +corn-fields glance between;<br />The peasant, at his labour blithe,<br />Plies +the hooked staff and shortened scythe:-<br /> But when these +ears were green,<br />Placed close within destruction’s scope,<br />Full +little was that rustic’s hope<br /> Their ripening +to have seen!<br />And, lo, a hamlet and its fane:-<br />Let not the +gazer with disdain<br /> Their architecture view;<br />For +yonder rude ungraceful shrine,<br />And disproportioned spire, are thine,<br /> Immortal +WATERLOO!</p> +<p>III.<br />Fear not the heat, though full and high<br />The sun has +scorched the autumn sky,<br />And scarce a forest straggler now<br />To +shade us spreads a greenwood bough;<br />These fields have seen a hotter +day<br />Than e’er was fired by sunny ray,<br />Yet one mile on +- yon shattered hedge<br />Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge<br /> Looks +on the field below,<br />And sinks so gently on the dale<br />That not +the folds of Beauty’s veil<br /> In easier curves can +flow.<br />Brief space from thence, the ground again<br />Ascending +slowly from the plain<br /> Forms an opposing screen,<br />Which, +with its crest of upland ground,<br />Shuts the horizon all around.<br /> The +softened vale between<br />Slopes smooth and fair for courser’s +tread;<br />Not the most timid maid need dread<br />To give her snow-white +palfrey head<br /> On that wide stubble-ground;<br />Nor +wood, nor tree, nor bush are there,<br />Her course to intercept or +scare,<br /> Nor fosse nor fence are found,<br />Save where, +from out her shattered bowers,<br />Rise Hougomont’s dismantled +towers.</p> +<p>IV.<br />Now, see’st thou aught in this lone scene<br />Can +tell of that which late hath been? -<br /> A stranger might +reply,<br />“The bare extent of stubble-plain<br />Seems lately +lightened of its grain;<br />And yonder sable tracks remain<br />Marks +of the peasant’s ponderous wain,<br /> When harvest-home +was nigh.<br />On these broad spots of trampled ground,<br />Perchance +the rustics danced such round<br /> As Teniers loved to draw;<br />And +where the earth seems scorched by flame,<br />To dress the homely feast +they came,<br />And toiled the kerchiefed village dame<br /> Around +her fire of straw.”</p> +<p>V.<br />So deem’st thou - so each mortal deems,<br />Of that +which is from that which seems:-<br /> But other harvest +here<br />Than that which peasant’s scythe demands,<br />Was gathered +in by sterner hands,<br /> With bayonet, blade, and spear.<br />No +vulgar crop was theirs to reap,<br />No stinted harvest thin and cheap!<br />Heroes +before each fatal sweep<br /> Fell thick as ripened grain;<br />And +ere the darkening of the day,<br />Piled high as autumn shocks, there +lay<br />The ghastly harvest of the fray,<br /> The corpses +of the slain.</p> +<p>VI.<br />Ay, look again - that line, so black<br />And trampled, +marks the bivouac,<br />Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery’s track,<br /> So +often lost and won;<br />And close beside, the hardened mud<br />Still +shows where, fetlock-deep in blood,<br />The fierce dragoon, through +battle’s flood,<br /> Dashed the hot war-horse on.<br />These +spots of excavation tell<br />The ravage of the bursting shell -<br />And +feel’st thou not the tainted steam,<br />That reeks against the +sultry beam,<br /> From yonder trenchéd mound?<br />The +pestilential fumes declare<br />That Carnage has replenished there<br /> Her +garner-house profound.</p> +<p>VII.<br />Far other harvest-home and feast,<br />Than claims the +boor from scythe released,<br /> On these scorched fields +were known!<br />Death hovered o’er the maddening rout,<br />And, +in the thrilling battle-shout,<br />Sent for the bloody banquet out<br /> A +summons of his own.<br />Through rolling smoke the Demon’s eye<br />Could +well each destined guest espy,<br />Well could his ear in ecstasy<br /> Distinguish +every tone<br />That filled the chorus of the fray -<br />From cannon-roar +and trumpet-bray,<br />From charging squadrons’ wild hurra,<br />From +the wild clang that marked their way, -<br /> Down to the +dying groan,<br />And the last sob of life’s decay,<br /> When +breath was all but flown.</p> +<p>VIII.<br />Feast on, stern foe of mortal life,<br />Feast on! - but +think not that a strife,<br />With such promiscuous carnage rife,<br /> Protracted +space may last;<br />The deadly tug of war at length<br />Must limits +find in human strength,<br /> And cease when these are past.<br />Vain +hope! - that morn’s o’erclouded sun<br />Heard the wild +shout of fight begun<br /> Ere he attained his height,<br />And +through the war-smoke, volumed high,<br />Still peals that unremitted +cry,<br /> Though now he stoops to night.<br />For ten long +hours of doubt and dread,<br />Fresh succours from the extended head<br />Of +either hill the contest fed;<br /> Still down the slope they +drew,<br />The charge of columns pauséd not,<br />Nor ceased +the storm of shell and shot;<br /> For all that war could +do<br />Of skill and force was proved that day,<br />And turned not +yet the doubtful fray<br /> On bloody Waterloo.</p> +<p>IX.<br />Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine,<br />When +ceaseless from the distant line<br /> Continued thunders +came!<br />Each burgher held his breath, to hear<br />These forerunners +of havoc near,<br /> Of rapine and of flame.<br />What ghastly +sights were thine to meet,<br />When rolling through thy stately street,<br />The +wounded showed their mangled plight<br />In token of the unfinished +fight,<br />And from each anguish-laden wain<br />The blood-drops laid +thy dust like rain!<br />How often in the distant drum<br />Heard’st +thou the fell Invader come,<br />While Ruin, shouting to his band,<br />Shook +high her torch and gory brand! -<br />Cheer thee, fair City! From +yon stand,<br />Impatient, still his outstretched hand<br /> Points +to his prey in vain,<br />While maddening in his eager mood,<br />And +all unwont to be withstood,<br /> He fires the fight again.</p> +<p>X.<br />“On! On!” was still his stern exclaim;<br />“Confront +the battery’s jaws of flame!<br /> Rush on the levelled +gun!<br />My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance!<br />Each Hulan forward +with his lance,<br />My Guard - my Chosen - charge for France,<br /> France +and Napoleon!”<br />Loud answered their acclaiming shout,<br />Greeting +the mandate which sent out<br />Their bravest and their best to dare<br />The +fate their leader shunned to share.<br />But HE, his country’s +sword and shield,<br />Still in the battle-front revealed,<br />Where +danger fiercest swept the field,<br /> Came like a beam of +light,<br />In action prompt, in sentence brief -<br />“Soldiers, +stand firm!” exclaimed the Chief,<br /> “England +shall tell the fight!”</p> +<p>XI.<br />On came the whirlwind - like the last<br />But fiercest +sweep of tempest-blast -<br />On came the whirlwind - steel-gleams broke<br />Like +lightning through the rolling smoke;<br /> The war was waked +anew,<br />Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,<br />And from their +throats, with flash and cloud,<br /> Their showers of iron +threw.<br />Beneath their fire, in full career,<br />Rushed on the ponderous +cuirassier,<br />The lancer couched his ruthless spear,<br />And hurrying +as to havoc near,<br /> The cohorts’ eagles flew.<br />In +one dark torrent, broad and strong,<br />The advancing onset rolled +along,<br />Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim,<br />That, from the +shroud of smoke and flame,<br />Pealed wildly the imperial name.</p> +<p>XII.<br />But on the British heart were lost<br />The terrors of +the charging host;<br />For not an eye the storm that viewed<br />Changed +its proud glance of fortitude,<br />Nor was one forward footstep stayed,<br />As +dropped the dying and the dead.<br />Fast as their ranks the thunders +tear,<br />Fast they renewed each serried square;<br />And on the wounded +and the slain<br />Closed their diminished files again,<br />Till from +their line scarce spears’-lengths three,<br />Emerging from the +smoke they see<br />Helmet, and plume, and panoply, -<br /> Then +waked their fire at once!<br />Each musketeer’s revolving knell,<br />As +fast, as regularly fell,<br />As when they practise to display<br />Their +discipline on festal day.<br /> Then down went helm and lance,<br />Down +were the eagle banners sent,<br />Down reeling steeds and riders went,<br />Corslets +were pierced, and pennons rent;<br /> And, to augment the +fray,<br />Wheeled full against their staggering flanks,<br />The English +horsemen’s foaming ranks<br /> Forced their resistless +way.<br />Then to the musket-knell succeeds<br />The clash of swords +- the neigh of steeds -<br />As plies the smith his clanging trade,<br />Against +the cuirass rang the blade;<br />And while amid their close array<br />The +well-served cannon rent their way,<br />And while amid their scattered +band<br />Raged the fierce rider’s bloody brand,<br />Recoiled +in common rout and fear,<br />Lancer and guard and cuirassier,<br />Horsemen +and foot, - a mingled host<br />Their leaders fall’n, their standards +lost.</p> +<p>XIII.<br />Then, WELLINGTON! thy piercing eye<br />This crisis caught +of destiny -<br /> The British host had stood<br />That morn +’gainst charge of sword and lance<br />As their own ocean-rocks +hold stance,<br />But when thy voice had said, “Advance!”<br /> They +were their ocean’s flood. -<br />O Thou, whose inauspicious aim<br />Hath +wrought thy host this hour of shame,<br />Think’st thou thy broken +bands will bide<br />The terrors of yon rushing tide?<br />Or will thy +chosen brook to feel<br />The British shock of levelled steel,<br /> Or +dost thou turn thine eye<br />Where coming squadrons gleam afar,<br />And +fresher thunders wake the war,<br /> And other standards +fly? -<br />Think not that in yon columns, file<br />Thy conquering +troops from distant Dyle -<br /> Is Blucher yet unknown?<br />Or +dwells not in thy memory still<br />(Heard frequent in thine hour of +ill),<br />What notes of hate and vengeance thrill<br /> In +Prussia’s trumpet-tone? -<br />What yet remains? - shall it be +thine<br />To head the relics of thy line<br /> In one dread +effort more? -<br />The Roman lore thy leisure loved,<br />And than +canst tell what fortune proved<br /> That Chieftain, who, +of yore,<br />Ambition’s dizzy paths essayed<br />And with the +gladiators’ aid<br /> For empire enterprised -<br />He +stood the cast his rashness played,<br />Left not the victims he had +made,<br />Dug his red grave with his own blade,<br />And on the field +he lost was laid,<br /> Abhorred - but not despised.</p> +<p>XIV.<br />But if revolves thy fainter thought<br />On safety - howsoever +bought, -<br />Then turn thy fearful rein and ride,<br />Though twice +ten thousand men have died<br /> On this eventful day<br />To +gild the military fame<br />Which thou, for life, in traffic tame<br /> Wilt +barter thus away.<br />Shall future ages tell this tale<br />Of inconsistence +faint and frail?<br />And art thou He of Lodi’s bridge,<br />Marengo’s +field, and Wagram’s ridge!<br />Or is thy soul like mountain-tide,<br />That, +swelled by winter storm and shower,<br />Rolls down in turbulence of +power,<br /> A torrent fierce and wide;<br />Reft of these +aids, a rill obscure,<br />Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor,<br /> Whose +channel shows displayed<br />The wrecks of its impetuous course,<br />But +not one symptom of the force<br /> By which these wrecks +were made!</p> +<p>XV.<br />Spur on thy way! - since now thine ear<br />Has brooked +thy veterans’ wish to hear,<br /> Who, as thy flight +they eyed<br />Exclaimed, - while tears of anguish came,<br />Wrung +forth by pride, and rage, and shame,<br /> “O that +he had but died!”<br />But yet, to sum this hour of ill,<br />Look, +ere thou leav’st the fatal hill,<br /> Back on yon +broken ranks -<br />Upon whose wild confusion gleams<br />The moon, +as on the troubled streams<br /> When rivers break their +banks,<br />And, to the ruined peasant’s eye,<br />Objects half +seen roll swiftly by,<br /> Down the dread current hurled +-<br />So mingle banner, wain, and gun,<br />Where the tumultuous flight +rolls on<br />Of warriors, who, when morn begun,<br /> Defied +a banded world.</p> +<p>XVI.<br />List - frequent to the hurrying rout,<br />The stern pursuers’ +vengeful shout<br />Tells, that upon their broken rear<br />Rages the +Prussian’s bloody spear.<br /> So fell a shriek was +none,<br />When Beresina’s icy flood<br />Reddened and thawed +with flame and blood,<br />And, pressing on thy desperate way,<br />Raised +oft and long their wild hurra,<br /> The children of the +Don.<br />Thine ear no yell of horror cleft<br />So ominous, when, all +bereft<br />Of aid, the valiant Polack left -<br />Ay, left by thee +- found soldiers grave<br />In Leipsic’s corpse-encumbered wave.<br />Fate, +in those various perils past,<br />Reserved thee still some future cast;<br />On +the dread die thou now hast thrown<br />Hangs not a single field alone,<br />Nor +one campaign - thy martial fame,<br />Thy empire, dynasty, and name<br /> Have +felt the final stroke;<br />And now, o’er thy devoted head<br />The +last stern vial’s wrath is shed,<br /> The last dread +seal is broke.</p> +<p>XVII.<br />Since live thou wilt - refuse not now<br />Before these +demagogues to bow,<br />Late objects of thy scorn and hate,<br />Who +shall thy once imperial fate<br />Make wordy theme of vain debate. -<br />Or +shall we say, thou stoop’st less low<br />In seeking refuge from +the foe,<br />Against whose heart, in prosperous life,<br />Thine hand +hath ever held the knife?<br /> Such homage hath been paid<br />By +Roman and by Grecian voice,<br />And there were honour in the choice,<br /> If +it were freely made.<br />Then safely come - in one so low, -<br />So +lost, - we cannot own a foe;<br />Though dear experience bid us end,<br />In +thee we ne’er can hail a friend. -<br />Come, howsoe’er +- but do not hide<br />Close in thy heart that germ of pride,<br />Erewhile, +by gifted bard espied,<br /> That “yet imperial hope;”<br />Think +not that for a fresh rebound,<br />To raise ambition from the ground,<br /> We +yield thee means or scope.<br />In safety come - but ne’er again<br />Hold +type of independent reign;<br /> No islet calls thee lord,<br />We +leave thee no confederate band,<br />No symbol of thy lost command,<br />To +be a dagger in the hand<br /> From which we wrenched the +sword.</p> +<p>XVIII.<br />Yet, even in yon sequestered spot,<br />May worthier +conquest be thy lot<br /> Than yet thy life has known;<br />Conquest, +unbought by blood or harm,<br />That needs nor foreign aid nor arm,<br /> A +triumph all thine own.<br />Such waits thee when thou shalt control<br />Those +passions wild, that stubborn soul,<br /> That marred thy +prosperous scene:-<br />Hear this - from no unmovéd heart,<br />Which +sighs, comparing what THOU ART<br /> With what thou MIGHT’ST +HAVE BEEN!</p> +<p>XIX.<br />Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed<br />Bankrupt a +nation’s gratitude,<br />To thine own noble heart must owe<br />More +than the meed she can bestow.<br />For not a people’s just acclaim,<br />Not +the full hail of Europe’s fame,<br />Thy Prince’s smiles, +the State’s decree,<br />The ducal rank, the gartered knee,<br />Not +these such pure delight afford<br />As that, when hanging up thy sword,<br />Well +may’st thou think, “This honest steel<br />Was ever drawn +for public weal;<br />And, such was rightful Heaven’s decree,<br />Ne’er +sheathed unless with victory!”</p> +<p>XX.<br />Look forth, once more, with softened heart,<br />Ere from +the field of fame we part;<br />Triumph and Sorrow border near,<br />And +joy oft melts into a tear.<br />Alas! what links of love that morn<br />Has +War’s rude hand asunder torn!<br />For ne’er was field so +sternly fought,<br />And ne’er was conquest dearer bought,<br />Here +piled in common slaughter sleep<br />Those whom affection long shall +weep<br />Here rests the sire, that ne’er shall strain<br />His +orphans to his heart again;<br />The son, whom, on his native shore,<br />The +parent’s voice shall bless no more;<br />The bridegroom, who has +hardly pressed<br />His blushing consort to his breast;<br />The husband, +whom through many a year<br />Long love and mutual faith endear.<br />Thou +canst not name one tender tie,<br />But here dissolved its relics lie!<br />Oh! +when thou see’st some mourner’s veil<br />Shroud her thin +form and visage pale,<br />Or mark’st the Matron’s bursting +tears<br />Stream when the stricken drum she hears;<br />Or see’st +how manlier grief, suppressed,<br />Is labouring in a father’s +breast, -<br />With no inquiry vain pursue<br />The cause, but think +on Waterloo!</p> +<p>XXI.<br />Period of honour as of woes,<br />What bright careers ’twas +thine to close! -<br />Marked on thy roll of blood what names<br />To +Britain’s memory, and to Fame’s,<br />Laid there their last +immortal claims!<br />Thou saw’st in seas of gore expire<br />Redoubted +PICTON’S soul of fire -<br />Saw’st in the mingled carnage +lie<br />All that of PONSONBY could die -<br />DE LANCEY change Love’s +bridal-wreath<br />For laurels from the hand of Death -<br />Saw’st +gallant MILLER’S failing eye<br />Still bent where Albion’s +banners fly,<br />And CAMERON, in the shock of steel,<br />Die like +the offspring of Lochiel;<br />And generous GORDON, ’mid the strife,<br />Fall +while he watched his leader’s life. -<br />Ah! though her guardian +angel’s shield<br />Fenced Britain’s hero through the field.<br />Fate +not the less her power made known,<br />Through his friends’ hearts +to pierce his own!</p> +<p>XXII.<br />Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay!<br />Who may your +names, your numbers, say?<br />What high-strung harp, what lofty line,<br />To +each the dear-earned praise assign,<br />From high-born chiefs of martial +fame<br />To the poor soldier’s lowlier name?<br />Lightly ye +rose that dawning day,<br />From your cold couch of swamp and clay,<br />To +fill, before the sun was low,<br />The bed that morning cannot know. +-<br />Oft may the tear the green sod steep,<br />And sacred be the +heroes’ sleep,<br /> Till time shall cease to run;<br />And +ne’er beside their noble grave,<br />May Briton pass and fail +to crave<br />A blessing on the fallen brave<br /> Who fought +with Wellington!</p> +<p>XXIII.<br />Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face<br />Wears desolation’s +withering trace;<br /> Long shall my memory retain<br />Thy +shattered huts and trampled grain,<br />With every mark of martial wrong,<br />That +scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont!<br />Yet though thy garden’s +green arcade<br />The marksman’s fatal post was made,<br />Though +on thy shattered beeches fell<br />The blended rage of shot and shell,<br />Though +from thy blackened portals torn,<br />Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees +mourn,<br />Has not such havoc bought a name<br />Immortal in the rolls +of fame?<br />Yes - Agincourt may be forgot,<br />And Cressy be an unknown +spot,<br /> And Blenheim’s name be new;<br />But still +in story and in song,<br />For many an age remembered long,<br />Shall +live the towers of Hougomont<br /> And Field of Waterloo!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p> Stern tide of human Time! that know’st not rest,<br /> But, +sweeping from the cradle to the tomb,<br /> Bear’st +ever downward on thy dusky breast<br /> Successive generations +to their doom;<br /> While thy capacious stream has equal +room<br /> For the gay bark where Pleasure’s steamers +sport,<br /> And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom,<br /> The +fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court,<br />Still wafting onward +all to one dark silent port; -</p> +<p> Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious change<br /> Of +hope and fear have our frail barks been driven!<br /> For +ne’er, before, vicissitude so strange<br /> Was to +one race of Adam’s offspring given.<br /> And sure +such varied change of sea and heaven,<br /> Such unexpected +bursts of joy and woe,<br /> Such fearful strife as that +where we have striven,<br /> Succeeding ages ne’er +again shall know,<br />Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to +flow.</p> +<p> Well hast thou stood, my Country! - the brave fight<br /> Hast +well maintained through good report and ill;<br /> In thy +just cause and in thy native might,<br /> And in Heaven’s +grace and justice constant still;<br /> Whether the banded +prowess, strength, and skill<br /> Of half the world against +thee stood arrayed,<br /> Or when, with better views and +freer will,<br /> Beside thee Europe’s noblest drew +the blade,<br />Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid.</p> +<p> Well art thou now repaid - though slowly rose,<br /> And +struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame,<br /> While +like the dawn that in the orient glows<br /> On the broad +wave its earlier lustre came;<br /> Then eastern Egypt saw +the growing flame,<br /> And Maida’s myrtles gleamed +beneath its ray,<br /> Where first the soldier, stung with +generous shame,<br /> Rivalled the heroes of the watery way,<br />And +washed in foemen’s gore unjust reproach away.</p> +<p> Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high,<br /> And +bid the banner of thy Patron flow,<br /> Gallant Saint George, +the flower of Chivalry,<br /> For thou halt faced, like him, +a dragon foe,<br /> And rescued innocence from overthrow,<br /> And +trampled down, like him, tyrannic might,<br /> And to the +gazing world may’st proudly show<br /> The chosen emblem +of thy sainted Knight,<br />Who quelled devouring pride and vindicated +right.</p> +<p> Yet ’mid the confidence of just renown,<br /> Renown +dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired,<br /> Write, Britain, +write the moral lesson down:<br /> ’Tis not alone the +heart with valour fired,<br /> The discipline so dreaded +and admired,<br /> In many a field of bloody conquest known,<br /> - +Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired:<br /> ’Tis +constancy in the good cause alone<br />Best justifies the meed thy valiant +sons have won.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE DANCE OF DEATH. [1815.]</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.<br />Night and morning were at meeting<br /> Over Waterloo;<br />Cocks +had sung their earliest greeting;<br /> Faint and low they +crew,<br />For no paly beam yet shone<br />On the heights of Mount Saint +John;<br />Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway<br />Of timeless darkness +over day;<br />Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower<br />Marked it a +predestined hour.<br />Broad and frequent through the night<br />Flashed +the sheets of levin-light:<br />Muskets, glancing lightnings back,<br />Showed +the dreary bivouac<br /> Where the soldier lay,<br />Chill +and stiff, and drenched with rain,<br />Wishing dawn of morn again,<br /> Though +death should come with day.</p> +<p>II.<br />’Tis at such a tide and hour<br />Wizard, witch, and +fiend have power,<br />And ghastly forms through mist and shower<br /> Gleam +on the gifted ken;<br />And then the affrighted prophet’s ear<br />Drinks +whispers strange of fate and fear<br />Presaging death and ruin near<br /> Among +the sons of men; -<br />Apart from Albyn’s war-array,<br />’Twas +then grey Allan sleepless lay;<br />Grey Allan, who, for many a day,<br /> Had +followed stout and stern,<br />Where, through battle’s rout and +reel,<br />Storm of shot and edge of steel,<br />Led the grandson of +Lochiel,<br /> Valiant Fassiefern.<br />Through steel and +shot he leads no more,<br />Low laid ’mid friends’ and foemen’s +gore -<br />But long his native lake’s wild shore,<br />And Sunart +rough, and high Ardgower,<br /> And Morven long shall tell,<br />And +proud Bennevis hear with awe<br />How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,<br />Brave +Cameron heard the wild hurra<br /> Of conquest as he fell.</p> +<p>III.<br />Lone on the outskirts of the host,<br />The weary sentinel +held post,<br />And heard, through darkness far aloof,<br />The frequent +clang of courser’s hoof,<br />Where held the cloaked patrol their +course,<br />And spurred ’gainst storm the swerving horse;<br />But +there are sounds in Allan’s ear,<br />Patrol nor sentinel may +hear,<br />And sights before his eye aghast<br />Invisible to them have +passed,<br /> When down the destined plain,<br />’Twixt +Britain and the bands of France,<br />Wild as marsh-borne meteor’s +glance,<br />Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance,<br /> And +doomed the future slain. -<br />Such forms were seen, such sounds were +heard,<br />When Scotland’s James his march prepared<br /> For +Flodden’s fatal plain;<br />Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,<br />As +Choosers of the Slain, adored<br /> The yet unchristened +Dane.<br />An indistinct and phantom band,<br />They wheeled their ring-dance +hand in hand,<br /> With gestures wild and dread;<br />The +Seer, who watched them ride the storm,<br />Saw through their faint +and shadowy form<br /> The lightning’s flash more red;<br />And +still their ghastly roundelay<br />Was of the coming battle-fray,<br /> And +of the destined dead.</p> +<p>IV. SONG.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings glance,<br /> And +thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To +sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>Our airy feet,<br />So light and fleet,<br /> They do +not bend the rye<br />That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave,<br />And +swells again in eddying wave,<br /> As each wild gust blows +by;<br />But still the corn,<br />At dawn of morn,<br /> Our +fatal steps that bore,<br />At eve lies waste,<br />A trampled paste<br /> Of +blackening mud and gore.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings +glance,<br /> And thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the +brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>V.<br />Wheel the wild dance!<br />Brave sons of France,<br /> For +you our ring makes room;<br />Make space full wide<br />For martial +pride,<br /> For banner, spear, and plume.<br />Approach, +draw near,<br />Proud cuirassier!<br /> Room for the men +of steel!<br />Through crest and plate<br />The broadsword’s weight<br /> Both +head and heart shall feel.</p> +<p>VI.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings glance,<br /> And +thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To +sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>Sons of the spear!<br />You feel us near<br /> In many +a ghastly dream;<br />With fancy’s eye<br />Our forms you spy,<br /> And +hear our fatal scream.<br />With clearer sight<br />Ere falls the night,<br /> Just +when to weal or woe<br />Your disembodied souls take flight<br />On +trembling wing - each startled sprite<br /> Our choir of +death shall know.</p> +<p>VII.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings glance,<br /> And +thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To +sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,<br />Redder rain shall soon +be ours -<br /> See the east grows wan -<br />Yield we place +to sterner game,<br />Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame<br />Shall +the welkin’s thunders shame,<br />Elemental rage is tame<br /> To +the wrath of man.</p> +<p>VIII.<br />At morn, grey Allan’s mates with awe<br />Heard +of the visioned sights he saw,<br /> The legend heard him +say;<br />But the Seer’s gifted eye was dim,<br />Deafened his +ear, and stark his limb,<br /> Ere closed that bloody day.<br />He +sleeps far from his Highland heath,<br />But often of the Dance of Death<br /> His +comrades tell the tale<br />On picquet-post, when ebbs the night,<br />And +waning watch-fires glow less bright,<br /> And dawn is glimmering +pale.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. FROM THE FRENCH. [1815.]</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>[The original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript collection +of French Songs, probably compiled by some young officer, which was +found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay and with blood +as sufficiently to indicate what had been the fate of its late owner. +The song is popular in France, and is rather a good specimen of the +style of composition to which it belongs. The translation is strictly +literal.]</p> +<p>It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine,<br />But +first he made his orisons before Saint Mary’s shrine:<br />“And +grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,” was still the Soldier’s +prayer;<br />That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest +fair.”</p> +<p>His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword,<br />And +followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord;<br />Where, faithful +to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air,<br />“Be honoured +aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair.”</p> +<p>They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said,<br />“The +heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid. -<br />My daughter +Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair,<br />For thou art bravest of +the brave, she fairest of the fair.”</p> +<p>And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary’s shrine,<br />That +makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine;<br />And every +lord and lady bright that were in chapel there<br />Cried, “Honoured +be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE TROUBADOUR. FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. [1815.]</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Glowing with love, on fire for fame<br /> A Troubadour +that hated sorrow<br />Beneath his lady’s window came,<br /> And +thus he sung his last good-morrow:<br />“My arm it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my true-love’s bower;<br />Gaily +for love and fame to fight<br /> Befits the gallant Troubadour.”</p> +<p>And while he marched with helm on head<br /> And harp +in hand, the descant rung,<br />As faithful to his favourite maid,<br /> The +minstrel-burden still he sung:<br />“My arm it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br />Resolved +for love and fame to fight<br /> I come, a gallant Troubadour.”</p> +<p>Even when the battle-roar was deep,<br /> With dauntless +heart he hewed his way,<br />’Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep,<br /> And +still was heard his warrior-lay:<br />“My life it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br />For +love to die, for fame to fight,<br /> Becomes the valiant +Troubadour.”</p> +<p>Alas! upon the bloody field<br /> He fell beneath the +foeman’s glaive,<br />But still reclining on his shield,<br /> Expiring +sung the exulting stave:-<br />“My life it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br />For +love and fame to fall in fight<br /> Becomes the valiant +Troubadour.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>[This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald. +The words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations +are applied, run thus in Gaelic:-</p> +<p>Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br />Piobaireachd +Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br />Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, +piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br />Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi.<br />The +pipe-summons of Donald the Black,<br />The pipe-summons of Donald the +Black,<br />The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place<br />at +Inverlochy.]</p> +<p> Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,<br /> Pibroch +of Donuil,<br /> Wake thy wild voice anew,<br /> Summon +Clan Conuil.<br /> Come away, come away,<br /> Hark +to the summons!<br /> Come in your war +array,<br /> Gentles and commons.</p> +<p> Come from deep glen, and<br /> From +mountain so rocky,<br /> The war-pipe and +pennon<br /> Are at Inverlochy.<br /> Come +every hill-plaid, and<br /> True +heart that wears one,<br /> Come every +steel blade, and<br /> Strong +hand that bears one.</p> +<p> Leave untended the herd,<br /> The +flock without shelter;<br /> Leave the +corpse uninterr’d,<br /> The +bride at the altar;<br /> Leave the deer, +leave the steer,<br /> Leave +nets and barges:<br /> Come with your fighting +gear,<br /> Broadswords and +targes.</p> +<p> Come as the winds come, when<br /> Forests +are rended;<br /> Come as the waves come, +when<br /> Navies are stranded:<br /> Faster +come, faster come,<br /> Faster +and faster,<br /> Chief, vassal, page and +groom,<br /> Tenant and master.</p> +<p> Fast they come, fast they come;<br /> See +how they gather!<br /> Wide waves the eagle +plume,<br /> Blended with heather.<br /> Cast +your plaids, draw your blades,<br /> Forward +each man set!<br /> Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,<br /> Knell +for the onset!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> This eText +comes from a book (Pike Country Ballads etc.) which contains a number +of poems by John Hay. These have been released separately by Project +Gutenberg under the title “Pike Country Ballads and Other Poems” +by John Hay. They are not included here to avoid duplication.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> The literal +translation of Fuentes d’Honoro.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott, by Sir Walter Scott + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT *** + +***** This file should be named 6061-h.htm or 6061-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/6061/ + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott + +Author: Sir Walter Scott + +Posting Date: September 22, 2012 [EBook #6061] +Release Date: July, 2004 +First Posted: October 30, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + + + + + + +SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT + + + + +Contents: + Introduction by Henry Morley. + The Vision of Don Roderick + The Field of Waterloo + The Dance of Death + Romance of Dunois + The Troubadour + Pibroch of Donald Dhu + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + +Since there is room in this volume for more verses than Colonel +Hay's {1}, I have added to them a few poems by Sir Walter Scott; the +first written in 1811 at the time of the struggle with Napoleon in +the Peninsula, the second in 1815, after Waterloo. Thus there is +over all this volume a thin haze of battle through which we see only +the finer feelings and the nobler hopes of man. The day is to come +when war shall be no more, but wars have been and may again be +necessary to bring on that day; and it is of such war, not untinged +with the light of heaven, that we have passing shadows in this +little book. + +"The Vision of Don Roderick; a Poem, by Walter Scott, Esq.," was +printed at Edinburgh by James Ballantyne & Co. in 1811. They are +the present representatives of that firm by whom it is here +reprinted. It was originally inscribed "to John Whitmore, Esq., and +to the Committee of Subscribers for relief of the Portuguese +Sufferers, in which he presides," as a "poem composed for the +benefit of the Fund under their management." + +The Legend of Don Roderick will be given in the next volume of our +"Companion Poets," for Robert Southey founded upon it a Romantic +Tale in Verse, which is one of the best tales of the kind in the +English language. Southey's tale of Roderick himself was written at +the same time when Walter Savage Landor was writing a play upon the +subject, and Scott was, in the piece here reprinted, making it the +starting-point of a vision of the war in the Peninsula. The fatal +palace of Don Roderick may have been a fable connected with the +ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. The fable, as translated by Scott +from a Spanish History of King Roderick, was this:- + +"One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among some rocks, +was situated an ancient Tower of magnificent structure, though much +dilapidated by time, which consumes all: four estadoes (i.e., four +times a man's height) below it, there was a Cave with a very narrow +entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a strong +covering of iron, and fastened with many locks; above the gate some +Greek letters are engraved, which, although abbreviated, and of +doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition +of learned men:- The King who opens this cave and discovers the +wonders will discover both good and evil things. Many kings desired +to know the mystery of this Tower, and sought to find out the manner +with much care; but when they opened the gate, such a tremendous +noise arose in the Cave that it appeared as if the earth was +bursting; many of those present sickened with fear, and others lost +their lives. In order to prevent such great perils (as they +supposed a dangerous enchantment was contained within), they secured +the gate with new locks, concluding, that though a king was destined +to open it, the fated time was not yet arrived. At last King Don +Rodrigo, led on by his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the +Tower; and some bold attendants whom he had brought with him +entered, although agitated with fear. Having proceeded a good way, +they fled back to the entrance, terrified with a frightful vision +which they had beheld. The King was greatly moved, and ordered many +torches, so contrived that the tempest in the cave could not +extinguish them, to be lighted. Then the King entered, not without +fear, before all the others. He discovered, by degrees, a splendid +hall, apparently built in a very sumptuous manner; in the middle +stood a Bronze Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held a +battle-axe in its hands. With this he struck the floor violently, +giving it such heavy blows that the noise in the Cave was occasioned +by the motion of the air. The King, greatly affrighted and +astonished, began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that he +would return without doing any injury in the Cave, after he had +obtained sight of what was contained in it. The Statue ceased to +strike the floor, and the King, with his followers, somewhat +assured, and recovering their courage, proceeded into the hall; and +on the left of the Statue they found this inscription on the wall: +Unfortunate King, thou hast entered here in an evil hour. On the +right side of the wall the words were inscribed: By strange Nations +thou shalt be dispossessed, and thy subjects foully degraded. On +the shoulders of the Statue other words were written, which said, I +call upon the Arabs. And upon his heart was written, I do my +office. At the entrance of the hall there was placed a round bowl, +from which a great noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. They +found no other thing in the hall,--and when the King, sorrowful and +greatly affected, had scarcely turned about to leave the Cavern, the +Statue again commenced its accustomed blows upon the floor. After +they had mutually promised to conceal what they had seen, they again +closed the Tower, and blocked up the gate of the Cavern with earth, +that no memory might remain in the world of such a portentous and +evil-boding prodigy. The ensuing midnight, they heard great cries +and clamour from the Cave, resounding like the noise of Battle, and +the ground shaking with a tremendous roar; the whole edifice of the +old Tower fell to the ground, by which they were greatly affrighted, +the Vision which they had beheld appearing to them as a dream." + +Scott's poem on the Field of Waterloo was written to assist the +Waterloo subscription. + +H. M. + +"Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris, + Vox humana valet!"--CLAUDIAN. + + + +THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. + + + + +PREFACE + + +The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, bearing, in +general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the +invasion of the Moors was depending, had the temerity to descend +into an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been +denounced as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that +his rash curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation +of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and +reduced Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the +Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the present eventful +crisis of the Peninsula, and to divide it, by a supposed change of +scene, into, THREE PERIODS. The FIRST of these represents the +Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and closes +with the peaceful occupation of the country by the victors. The +SECOND PERIOD embraces the state of the Peninsula when the conquests +of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West Indies had +raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms; sullied, +however, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the +inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this picture. The LAST +PART of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous to the +unparalleled treachery of BUONAPARTE, gives a sketch of the +usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, +and terminates with the arrival of the British succours. It may be +further proper to mention, that the object of the Poem is less to +commemorate or detail particular incidents, than to exhibit a +general and impressive picture of the several periods brought upon +the stage. + +EDINBURGH, June 24, 1811. + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +I. + Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire + May rise distinguished o'er the din of war; + Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre + Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star? + Such, WELLINGTON, might reach thee from afar, + Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range; + Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, + All, as it swelled 'twixt each loud trumpet-change, +That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge! + +II. + Yes! such a strain, with all o'er-pouring measure, + Might melodise with each tumultuous sound + Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure, + That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around; + The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crowned, + The female shriek, the ruined peasant's moan, + The shout of captives from their chains unbound, + The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen groan, +A Nation's choral hymn, for tyranny o'erthrown. + +III. + But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day + Skilled but to imitate an elder page, + Timid and raptureless, can we repay + The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? + Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage + Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land, + While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage + A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty hand - +How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band! + +IV. + Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast + The friends of Scottish freedom found repose; + Ye torrents! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest, + Returning from the field of vanquished foes; + Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close + That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung, + What time their hymn of victory arose, + And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung, +And mystic Merlin harped, and grey-haired Llywarch sung? + +V. + Oh! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, + As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, + When sweeping wild and sinking soft again, + Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway; + If ye can echo such triumphant lay, + Then lend the note to him has loved you long! + Who pious gathered each tradition grey + That floats your solitary wastes along, +And with affection vain gave them new voice in song. + +VI. + For not till now, how oft soe'er the task + Of truant verse hath lightened graver care, + From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, + In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; + Careless he gave his numbers to the air, + They came unsought for, if applauses came: + Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer; + Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, +Immortal be the verse!--forgot the poet's name! + +VII. + Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost: + "Minstrel! the fame of whose romantic lyre, + Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost, + Like the light flickering of a cottage fire; + If to such task presumptuous thou aspire, + Seek not from us the meed to warrior due: + Age after age has gathered son to sire + Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew, +Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew. + +VIII. + "Decayed our old traditionary lore, + Save where the lingering fays renew their ring, + By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar, + Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring; + Save where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing, + That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, + Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging, + And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, +Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne. + +IX. + "No! search romantic lands, where the near Sun + Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, + Where the rude villager, his labour done, + In verse spontaneous chants some favoured name, + Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim, + Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet; + Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme, + He sing, to wild Morisco measure set, +Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet! + +X. + "Explore those regions, where the flinty crest + Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, + Where in the proud Alhambra's ruined breast + Barbaric monuments of pomp repose; + Or where the banners of more ruthless foes + Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, + From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws + An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain +The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. + +XI. + "There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark + Still lightens in the sunburnt native's eye; + The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, + Still mark enduring pride and constancy. + And, if the glow of feudal chivalry + Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, + Iberia! oft thy crestless peasantry + Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, +Have seen, yet dauntless stood--'gainst fortune fought and died. + +XII. + "And cherished still by that unchanging race, + Are themes for minstrelsy more high than thine; + Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, + Legend and vision, prophecy and sign; + Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine + With Gothic imagery of darker shade, + Forming a model meet for minstrel line. + Go, seek such theme!"--the Mountain Spirit said. +With filial awe I heard--I heard, and I obeyed. + + + +THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. + + + +I. + Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies, + And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, + Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, + As from a trembling lake of silver white. + Their mingled shadows intercept the sight + Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below, + And nought disturbs the silence of the night; + All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, +All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow. + +II. + All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, + Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp; + Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, + To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. + For through the river's night-fog rolling damp + Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, + Which glimmered back, against the moon's fair lamp, + Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, +And standards proudly pitched, and warders armed between. + +III. + But of their Monarch's person keeping ward, + Since last the deep-mouthed bell of vespers tolled, + The chosen soldiers of the royal guard + The post beneath the proud Cathedral hold: + A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, + Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace, + Bear slender darts, and casques bedecked with gold, + While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace, +Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's place. + +IV. + In the light language of an idle court, + They murmured at their master's long delay, + And held his lengthened orisons in sport:- + "What! will Don Roderick here till morning stay, + To wear in shrift and prayer the night away? + And are his hours in such dull penance past, + For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay?" + Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, +And wished the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last. + +V. + + But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent + An ear of fearful wonder to the King; + The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent, + So long that sad confession witnessing: + For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, + Such as are lothly uttered to the air, + When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom wring, + And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear, +And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair. + +VI. + Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair, + The stream of failing light was feebly rolled: + But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare, + Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's fold. + While of his hidden soul the sins he told, + Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook, + That mortal man his bearing should behold, + Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook, +Fear tame a monarch's brow, Remorse a warrior's look. + +VII. + The old man's faded cheek waxed yet more pale, + As many a secret sad the King bewrayed; + As sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale, + When in the midst his faltering whisper stayed. + "Thus royal Witiza was slain,"--he said; + "Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I." + Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. - + "Oh, rather deem 'twas stern necessity! +Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. + +VIII. + "And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air, + If she invoked her absent sire in vain, + And on her knees implored that I would spare, + Yet, reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain! + All is not as it seems--the female train + Know by their bearing to disguise their mood:" + But Conscience here, as if in high disdain, + Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood - +He stayed his speech abrupt--and up the Prelate stood. + +IX. + "O hardened offspring of an iron race! + What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say? + What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface + Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away! + For the foul ravisher how shall I pray, + Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast? + How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, + Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host, +He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be lost?" + +X. + Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, + And to his brow returned its dauntless gloom; + "And welcome then," he cried, "be blood for blood, + For treason treachery, for dishonour doom! + Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom. + Show, for thou canst--give forth the fated key, + And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room, + Where, if aught true in old tradition be, +His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see." + +XI. + "Ill-fated Prince! recall the desperate word, + Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey! + Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford + Never to former Monarch entrance-way; + Nor shall it ever ope, old records say, + Save to a King, the last of all his line, + What time his empire totters to decay, + And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine, +And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine." - + +XII. + "Prelate! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay; + Lead on!"--The ponderous key the old man took, + And held the winking lamp, and led the way, + By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, + Then on an ancient gateway bent his look; + And, as the key the desperate King essayed, + Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook, + And twice he stopped, and twice new effort made, +Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed. + +XIII. + Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted hall; + Roof, walls, and floor were all of marble stone, + Of polished marble, black as funeral pall, + Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown. + A paly light, as of the dawning, shone + Through the sad bounds, but whence they could not spy; + For window to the upper air was none; + Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry +Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye. + +XIV. + Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, + Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place; + Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall, + Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. + Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race, + That lived and sinned before the avenging flood; + This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace; + This spread his wings for flight, that pondering stood, +Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood. + +XV. + Fixed was the right-hand Giant's brazen look + Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, + As if its ebb he measured by a book, + Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand; + In which was wrote of many a fallen land + Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven: + And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand - + "Lo, DESTINY and TIME! to whom by Heaven +The guidance of the earth is for a season given." - + +XVI. + Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes away; + And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, + That right-hand Giant 'gan his club upsway, + As one that startles from a heavy sleep. + Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep + At once descended with the force of thunder, + And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, + The marble boundary was rent asunder, +And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and wonder. + +XVII. + For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach, + Realms as of Spain in visioned prospect laid, + Castles and towers, in due proportion each, + As by some skilful artist's hand portrayed: + Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade, + And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye; + There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade, + Or deep-embrowned by forests huge and high, +Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly murmured by. + +XVIII. + And here, as erst upon the antique stage + Passed forth the band of masquers trimly led, + In various forms, and various equipage, + While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed; + So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread, + Successive pageants filled that mystic scene, + Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, + And issue of events that had not been; +And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between. + +XIX. + First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek! - + It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call, + For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. - + Then answered kettle-drum and attabal, + Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal, + The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie's yell, + Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. + Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell - +"The Moor!" he cried, "the Moor!--ring out the Tocsin bell! + +XX. + "They come! they come! I see the groaning lands + White with the turbans of each Arab horde; + Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, + Alla and Mahomet their battle-word, + The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword - + See how the Christians rush to arms amain! - + In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared, + The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain - +Now, God and Saint Iago strike, for the good cause of Spain! + +XXI. + "By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield! + Their coward leader gives for flight the sign! + The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field - + Is not yon steed Orelio?--Yes, 'tis mine! + But never was she turned from battle-line: + Lo! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone! - + Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine! + Rivers ingulph him!"--"Hush," in shuddering tone, +The Prelate said; "rash Prince, yon visioned form's thine own." + +XXII. + Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course; + The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried; + But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse, + Swept like benighted peasant down the tide; + And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, + As numerous as their native locust band; + Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, + With naked scimitars mete out the land, +And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives brand. + +XXIII. + Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose + The loveliest maidens of the Christian line; + Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes, + Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine; + Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign, + By impious hands was from the altar thrown, + And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine + Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone, +The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering moan. + +XXIV. + How fares Don Roderick?--E'en as one who spies + Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable woof, + And hears around his children's piercing cries, + And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; + While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof, + His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief; + And while above him nods the crumbling roof, + He curses earth and Heaven--himself in chief - +Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief! + +XXV. + That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass + And twilight on the landscape closed her wings; + Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, + And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings; + And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs, + Bazars resound as when their marts are met, + In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, + And on the land as evening seemed to set, +The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or minaret. + +XXVI. + So passed that pageant. Ere another came, + The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke + Whose sulph'rous wreaths were crossed by sheets of flame; + With every flash a bolt explosive broke, + Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their yoke, + And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone! + For War a new and dreadful language spoke, + Never by ancient warrior heard or known; +Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone. + +XXVII. + From the dim landscape rolled the clouds away - + The Christians have regained their heritage; + Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray, + And many a monastery decks the stage, + And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage. + The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, - + The Genii those of Spain for many an age; + This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, +And that was VALOUR named, this BIGOTRY was hight. + +XXVIII. + VALOUR was harnessed like a chief of old, + Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest; + His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold, + Morena's eagle plume adorned his crest, + The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. + Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage; + As if of mortal kind to brave the best. + Him followed his Companion, dark and sage, +As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. + +XXIX. + Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, + In look and language proud as proud might be, + Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame: + Yet was that barefoot Monk more proud than he: + And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, + So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, + And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, + Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renowned, +Honouring his scourge and haircloth, meekly kissed the ground. + +XXX. + And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless knight, + Who ne'er to King or Kaiser vailed his crest, + Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, + Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, + Stooped ever to that Anchoret's behest; + Nor reasoned of the right, nor of the wrong, + But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, + And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, +For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. + +XXXI. + Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world, + That latest sees the sun, or first the morn; + Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurled, - + Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, + Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, + Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul; + Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, + Bedabbled all with blood.--With grisly scowl +The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl. + +XXXII. + Then did he bless the offering, and bade make + Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise; + And at his word the choral hymns awake, + And many a hand the silver censer sways, + But with the incense-breath these censers raise, + Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire; + The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays, + And shrieks of agony confound the quire; +While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire. + +XXXIII. + Preluding light, were strains of music heard, + As once again revolved that measured sand; + Such sounds as when, for silvan dance prepared, + Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band; + When for the light bolero ready stand + The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha met, + He conscious of his broidered cap and band, + She of her netted locks and light corsette, +Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet. + +XXXIV. + And well such strains the opening scene became; + For VALOUR had relaxed his ardent look, + And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, + Lay stretched, full loath the weight of arms to brook; + And softened BIGOTRY, upon his book, + Pattered a task of little good or ill: + But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, + Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill, +And rung from village-green the merry seguidille. + +XXXV. + Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil, + Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold; + And, careless, saw his rule become the spoil + Of a loose Female and her minion bold. + But peace was on the cottage and the fold, + From Court intrigue, from bickering faction far; + Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told, + And to the tinkling of the light guitar, +Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star. + +XXXVI. + As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, + When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, + Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, + A while, perchance, bedecked with colours sheen, + While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, + Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, + Till darker folds obscured the blue serene + And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud, +Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud:- + +XXXVII. + Even so, upon that peaceful scene was poured, + Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, + And HE, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, + And offered peaceful front and open hand, + Veiling the perjured treachery he planned, + By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise, + Until he won the passes of the land; + Then burst were honour's oath and friendship's ties! +He clutched his vulture grasp, and called fair Spain his prize. + +XXXVIII. + An iron crown his anxious forehead bore; + And well such diadem his heart became, + Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, + Or checked his course for piety or shame; + Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's fame + Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, + Though neither truth nor honour decked his name; + Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne, +Recked not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone. + +XXXIX. + From a rude isle his ruder lineage came, + The spark, that, from a suburb-hovel's hearth + Ascending, wraps some capital in flame, + Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. + And for the soul that bade him waste the earth - + The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure + That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, + And by destruction bids its fame endure, +Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure. + +XL. + Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form; + Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor showed, + With which she beckoned him through fight and storm, + And all he crushed that crossed his desperate road, + Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trode. + Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake, + So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad - + It was AMBITION bade her terrors wake, +Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take. + +XLI. + No longer now she spurned at mean revenge, + Or stayed her hand for conquered foeman's moan; + As when, the fates of aged Rome to change, + By Caesar's side she crossed the Rubicon. + Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she won, + As when the banded powers of Greece were tasked + To war beneath the Youth of Macedon: + No seemly veil her modern minion asked, +He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmasked. + +XLII. + That Prelate marked his march--On banners blazed + With battles won in many a distant land, + On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed; + "And hopest thou, then," he said, "thy power shall stand? + Oh! thou hast builded on the shifting sand, + And thou hast tempered it with slaughter's flood; + And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand, + Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud, +And by a bloody death shall die the Man of Blood!" + +XLIII. + The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train + A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel, + And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, + While trumpets rang, and heralds cried "Castile!" + Not that he loved him--No!--In no man's weal, + Scarce in his own, e'er joyed that sullen heart; + Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, + That the poor puppet might perform his part, +And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. + +XLIV. + But on the Natives of that Land misused, + Not long the silence of amazement hung, + Nor brooked they long their friendly faith abused; + For, with a common shriek, the general tongue + Exclaimed, "To arms!"--and fast to arms they sprung. + And VALOUR woke, that Genius of the Land! + Pleasure, and ease, and sloth aside he flung, + As burst the awakening Nazarite his band, +When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful hand. + +XLV. + That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye + Upon the Satraps that begirt him round, + Now doffed his royal robe in act to fly, + And from his brow the diadem unbound. + So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound, + From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown, + These martial satellites hard labour found + To guard awhile his substituted throne - +Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. + +XLVI. + From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, + And it was echoed from Corunna's wall; + Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, + Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall; + Galicia bade her children fight or fall, + Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, + Valencia roused her at the battle-call, + And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met, +First started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. + +XLVII. + But unappalled, and burning for the fight, + The Invaders march, of victory secure; + Skilful their force to sever or unite, + And trained alike to vanquish or endure. + Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure, + Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, + To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure; + While nought against them bring the unpractised foe, +Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands for Freedom's blow. + +XLVIII. + Proudly they march--but, oh! they march not forth + By one hot field to crown a brief campaign, + As when their Eagles, sweeping through the North, + Destroyed at every stoop an ancient reign! + Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain; + In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied, + New Patriot armies started from the slain, + High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, +And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. + +XLIX. + Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, + Remained their savage waste. With blade and brand + By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale, + But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band + Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, + And claimed for blood the retribution due, + Probed the hard heart, and lopped the murd'rous hand; + And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw +'Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpses knew. + +L. + What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, + Amid the visioned strife from sea to sea, + How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, + Still honoured in defeat as victory! + For that sad pageant of events to be + Showed every form of fight by field and flood; + Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, + Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud, +The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with blood! + +LI. + Then Zaragoza--blighted be the tongue + That names thy name without the honour due! + For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung, + Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true! + Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered ruins knew, + Each art of war's extremity had room, + Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe withdrew, + And when at length stern fate decreed thy doom, +They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. + +LII. + Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though in chains, + Enthralled thou canst not be! Arise, and claim + Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, + For what thou worshippest!--thy sainted dame, + She of the Column, honoured be her name + By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love! + And like the sacred relics of the flame, + That gave some martyr to the blessed above, +To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove! + +LIII. + Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair! + Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung, + Manning the towers, while o'er their heads the air + Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; + Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung, + Now briefly lightened by the cannon's flare, + Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, + And reddening now with conflagration's glare, +While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. + +LIV. + While all around was danger, strife, and fear, + While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky, + And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear, + Appalled the heart, and stupefied the eye, - + Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, + In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, + Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, + Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, +And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light. + +LV. + Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud - + A varied scene the changeful vision showed, + For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, + A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. + From mast and stern St. George's symbol flowed, + Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; + Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed, + And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, +And the wild beach returned the seamen's jovial cheer. + +LVI. + It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight! + The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars, + Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, + Legions on legions bright'ning all the shores. + Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, + Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, + Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, + And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, +For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come! + +LVII. + A various host they came--whose ranks display + Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, + The deep battalion locks its firm array, + And meditates his aim the marksman light; + Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright + Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, + Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, + Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed, +That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. + +LVIII. + A various host--from kindred realms they came, + Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown - + For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, + And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. + Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, + And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause, + Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, + And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, +And free-born thoughts which league the Soldier with the Laws. + +LIX. + And, oh! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land! + Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! + The rugged form may mark the mountain band, + And harsher features, and a mien more grave; + But ne'er in battlefield throbbed heart so brave + As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid; + And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, + And level for the charge your arms are laid, +Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset stayed! + +LX. + Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, + Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy, + His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, + And moves to death with military glee: + Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free, + In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, + Rough Nature's children, humorous as she: + And HE, yon Chieftain--strike the proudest tone +Of thy bold harp, green Isle!--the Hero is thine own. + +LXI. + Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown, + On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, + And hear Corunna wail her battle won, + And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze:- + But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise? + Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room? + And dare her wild flowers mingle with the bays + That claim a long eternity to bloom +Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's tomb! + +LXII. + Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, + And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil + That hides futurity from anxious hope, + Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, + And painting Europe rousing at the tale + Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurled, + While kindling nations buckle on their mail, + And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurled, +To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured World! + +LXIII. + O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, + Since Fate has marked futurity her own: + Yet Fate resigns to worth the glorious past, + The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. + Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone, + King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, + Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun, + Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, +One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain! + + +CONCLUSION. + + +I. + "Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide + Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie? + Who, when Gascogne's vexed gulf is raging wide, + Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry? + His magic power let such vain boaster try, + And when the torrent shall his voice obey, + And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby, + Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, +And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay. + +II. + "Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers + They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, + And their own sea hath whelmed yon red-cross powers!" + Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock + To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. + While downward on the land his legions press, + Before them it was rich with vine and flock, + And smiled like Eden in her summer dress; - +Behind their wasteful march a reeking wilderness. + +III. + And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word, + Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the land, + Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, + Though Britons arm and WELLINGTON command! + No! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand + An adamantine barrier to his force; + And from its base shall wheel his shattered band, + As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse +Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course. + +IV. + Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk + Hath on his best and bravest made her food, + In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk + His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood: + For full in view the promised conquest stood, + And Lisbon's matrons from their walls might sum + The myriads that had half the world subdued, + And hear the distant thunders of the drum, +That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come. + +V. + Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled, + Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey, + As famished wolves survey a guarded fold - + But in the middle path a Lion lay! + At length they move--but not to battle-fray, + Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight; + Beacons of infamy, they light the way + Where cowardice and cruelty unite +To damn with double shame their ignominious flight. + +VI. + O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath! + Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, + What wanton horrors marked their wreckful path! + The peasant butchered in his ruined cot, + The hoary priest even at the altar shot, + Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame, + Woman to infamy;--no crime forgot, + By which inventive demons might proclaim +Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great name! + +VII. + The rudest sentinel, in Britain born, + With horror paused to view the havoc done, + Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn, + Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun. + Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son + Exult the debt of sympathy to pay; + Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, + Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, +Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless lay. + +VIII. + But thou--unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, + Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in vain! + Can vantage-ground no confidence create, + Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain? + Vainglorious fugitive! yet turn again! + Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, + Flows Honour's Fountain, {2} as foredoomed the stain + From thy dishonoured name and arms to clear - +Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here! + +IX. + Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid; + Those chief that never heard the lion roar! + Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed + Of Talavera or Mondego's shore! + Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more; + Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole; + Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour, + Legion on legion on thy foeman roll, +And weary out his arm--thou canst not quell his soul. + +X. + O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore, + Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, + And front the flying thunders as they roar, + With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain! + And what avails thee that, for CAMERON slain, + Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given - + Vengeance and grief gave mountain-range the rein, + And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, +Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven. + +XI. + Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood + To plead at thine imperious master's throne, + Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood, + Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own; + Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown, + By British skill and valour were outvied; + Last say, thy conqueror was WELLINGTON! + And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried - +God and our cause to friend, the venture we'll abide. + +XII. + But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day, + How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown, + His meed to each victorious leader pay, + Or bind on every brow the laurels won? + Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, + O'er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave; + And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own, + Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave +'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. + +XIII. + Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, + To give each Chief and every field its fame: + Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD, + And Red Barosa shouts for dauntless GRAEME! + O for a verse of tumult and of flame, + Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, + To bid the world re-echo to their fame! + For never, upon gory battle-ground, +With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors crowned! + +XIV. + O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays, + Who brought a race regenerate to the field, + Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, + Tempered their headlong rage, their courage steeled, + And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, + And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, + And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield - + Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord, +If it forget thy worth, victorious BERESFORD! + +XV. + Not on that bloody field of battle won, + Though Gaul's proud legions rolled like mist away, + Was half his self-devoted valour shown, - + He gaged but life on that illustrious day; + But when he toiled those squadrons to array, + Who fought like Britons in the bloody game, + Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, + He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, +And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. + +XVI. + Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide + Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, + Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal denied; + Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. + From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound, + The wanderer went; yet Caledonia! still + Thine was his thought in march and tented ground; + He dreamed 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill, +And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. + +XVII. + O hero of a race renowned of old, + Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell, + Since first distinguished in the onset bold, + Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! + By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, + Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame, + Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell, + But ne'er from prouder field arose the name +Than when wild Ronda learned the conquering shout of GRAEME! + +XVIII. + But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, + (With Spenser's parable I close my tale,) + By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous bark, + And landward now I drive before the gale. + And now the blue and distant shore I hail, + And nearer now I see the port expand, + And now I gladly furl my weary sail, + And, as the prow light touches on the strand, +I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff to land. + + + +THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. + + + +I. + +Fair Brussels, thou art far behind, +Though, lingering on the morning wind, + We yet may hear the hour +Pealed over orchard and canal, +With voice prolonged and measured fall, + From proud St. Michael's tower; +Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now, +Where the tall beeches' glossy bough + For many a league around, +With birch and darksome oak between, +Spreads deep and far a pathless screen, + Of tangled forest ground. +Stems planted close by stems defy +The adventurous foot--the curious eye + For access seeks in vain; +And the brown tapestry of leaves, +Strewed on the blighted ground, receives + Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. +No opening glade dawns on our way, +No streamlet, glancing to the ray, + Our woodland path has crossed; +And the straight causeway which we tread +Prolongs a line of dull arcade, +Unvarying through the unvaried shade + Until in distance lost. + +II. +A brighter, livelier scene succeeds; +In groups the scattering wood recedes, +Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, + And corn-fields glance between; +The peasant, at his labour blithe, +Plies the hooked staff and shortened scythe:- + But when these ears were green, +Placed close within destruction's scope, +Full little was that rustic's hope + Their ripening to have seen! +And, lo, a hamlet and its fane:- +Let not the gazer with disdain + Their architecture view; +For yonder rude ungraceful shrine, +And disproportioned spire, are thine, + Immortal WATERLOO! + +III. +Fear not the heat, though full and high +The sun has scorched the autumn sky, +And scarce a forest straggler now +To shade us spreads a greenwood bough; +These fields have seen a hotter day +Than e'er was fired by sunny ray, +Yet one mile on--yon shattered hedge +Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge + Looks on the field below, +And sinks so gently on the dale +That not the folds of Beauty's veil + In easier curves can flow. +Brief space from thence, the ground again +Ascending slowly from the plain + Forms an opposing screen, +Which, with its crest of upland ground, +Shuts the horizon all around. + The softened vale between +Slopes smooth and fair for courser's tread; +Not the most timid maid need dread +To give her snow-white palfrey head + On that wide stubble-ground; +Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush are there, +Her course to intercept or scare, + Nor fosse nor fence are found, +Save where, from out her shattered bowers, +Rise Hougomont's dismantled towers. + +IV. +Now, see'st thou aught in this lone scene +Can tell of that which late hath been? - + A stranger might reply, +"The bare extent of stubble-plain +Seems lately lightened of its grain; +And yonder sable tracks remain +Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain, + When harvest-home was nigh. +On these broad spots of trampled ground, +Perchance the rustics danced such round + As Teniers loved to draw; +And where the earth seems scorched by flame, +To dress the homely feast they came, +And toiled the kerchiefed village dame + Around her fire of straw." + +V. +So deem'st thou--so each mortal deems, +Of that which is from that which seems:- + But other harvest here +Than that which peasant's scythe demands, +Was gathered in by sterner hands, + With bayonet, blade, and spear. +No vulgar crop was theirs to reap, +No stinted harvest thin and cheap! +Heroes before each fatal sweep + Fell thick as ripened grain; +And ere the darkening of the day, +Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay +The ghastly harvest of the fray, + The corpses of the slain. + +VI. +Ay, look again--that line, so black +And trampled, marks the bivouac, +Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery's track, + So often lost and won; +And close beside, the hardened mud +Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood, +The fierce dragoon, through battle's flood, + Dashed the hot war-horse on. +These spots of excavation tell +The ravage of the bursting shell - +And feel'st thou not the tainted steam, +That reeks against the sultry beam, + From yonder trenched mound? +The pestilential fumes declare +That Carnage has replenished there + Her garner-house profound. + +VII. +Far other harvest-home and feast, +Than claims the boor from scythe released, + On these scorched fields were known! +Death hovered o'er the maddening rout, +And, in the thrilling battle-shout, +Sent for the bloody banquet out + A summons of his own. +Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye +Could well each destined guest espy, +Well could his ear in ecstasy + Distinguish every tone +That filled the chorus of the fray - +From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray, +From charging squadrons' wild hurra, +From the wild clang that marked their way, - + Down to the dying groan, +And the last sob of life's decay, + When breath was all but flown. + +VIII. +Feast on, stern foe of mortal life, +Feast on!--but think not that a strife, +With such promiscuous carnage rife, + Protracted space may last; +The deadly tug of war at length +Must limits find in human strength, + And cease when these are past. +Vain hope!--that morn's o'erclouded sun +Heard the wild shout of fight begun + Ere he attained his height, +And through the war-smoke, volumed high, +Still peals that unremitted cry, + Though now he stoops to night. +For ten long hours of doubt and dread, +Fresh succours from the extended head +Of either hill the contest fed; + Still down the slope they drew, +The charge of columns paused not, +Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot; + For all that war could do +Of skill and force was proved that day, +And turned not yet the doubtful fray + On bloody Waterloo. + +IX. +Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine, +When ceaseless from the distant line + Continued thunders came! +Each burgher held his breath, to hear +These forerunners of havoc near, + Of rapine and of flame. +What ghastly sights were thine to meet, +When rolling through thy stately street, +The wounded showed their mangled plight +In token of the unfinished fight, +And from each anguish-laden wain +The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain! +How often in the distant drum +Heard'st thou the fell Invader come, +While Ruin, shouting to his band, +Shook high her torch and gory brand! - +Cheer thee, fair City! From yon stand, +Impatient, still his outstretched hand + Points to his prey in vain, +While maddening in his eager mood, +And all unwont to be withstood, + He fires the fight again. + +X. +"On! On!" was still his stern exclaim; +"Confront the battery's jaws of flame! + Rush on the levelled gun! +My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance! +Each Hulan forward with his lance, +My Guard--my Chosen--charge for France, + France and Napoleon!" +Loud answered their acclaiming shout, +Greeting the mandate which sent out +Their bravest and their best to dare +The fate their leader shunned to share. +But HE, his country's sword and shield, +Still in the battle-front revealed, +Where danger fiercest swept the field, + Came like a beam of light, +In action prompt, in sentence brief - +"Soldiers, stand firm!" exclaimed the Chief, + "England shall tell the fight!" + +XI. +On came the whirlwind--like the last +But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast - +On came the whirlwind--steel-gleams broke +Like lightning through the rolling smoke; + The war was waked anew, +Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, +And from their throats, with flash and cloud, + Their showers of iron threw. +Beneath their fire, in full career, +Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, +The lancer couched his ruthless spear, +And hurrying as to havoc near, + The cohorts' eagles flew. +In one dark torrent, broad and strong, +The advancing onset rolled along, +Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, +That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, +Pealed wildly the imperial name. + +XII. +But on the British heart were lost +The terrors of the charging host; +For not an eye the storm that viewed +Changed its proud glance of fortitude, +Nor was one forward footstep stayed, +As dropped the dying and the dead. +Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, +Fast they renewed each serried square; +And on the wounded and the slain +Closed their diminished files again, +Till from their line scarce spears'-lengths three, +Emerging from the smoke they see +Helmet, and plume, and panoply, - + Then waked their fire at once! +Each musketeer's revolving knell, +As fast, as regularly fell, +As when they practise to display +Their discipline on festal day. + Then down went helm and lance, +Down were the eagle banners sent, +Down reeling steeds and riders went, +Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent; + And, to augment the fray, +Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, +The English horsemen's foaming ranks + Forced their resistless way. +Then to the musket-knell succeeds +The clash of swords--the neigh of steeds - +As plies the smith his clanging trade, +Against the cuirass rang the blade; +And while amid their close array +The well-served cannon rent their way, +And while amid their scattered band +Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, +Recoiled in common rout and fear, +Lancer and guard and cuirassier, +Horsemen and foot,--a mingled host +Their leaders fall'n, their standards lost. + +XIII. +Then, WELLINGTON! thy piercing eye +This crisis caught of destiny - + The British host had stood +That morn 'gainst charge of sword and lance +As their own ocean-rocks hold stance, +But when thy voice had said, "Advance!" + They were their ocean's flood. - +O Thou, whose inauspicious aim +Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame, +Think'st thou thy broken bands will bide +The terrors of yon rushing tide? +Or will thy chosen brook to feel +The British shock of levelled steel, + Or dost thou turn thine eye +Where coming squadrons gleam afar, +And fresher thunders wake the war, + And other standards fly? - +Think not that in yon columns, file +Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle - + Is Blucher yet unknown? +Or dwells not in thy memory still +(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill), +What notes of hate and vengeance thrill + In Prussia's trumpet-tone? - +What yet remains?--shall it be thine +To head the relics of thy line + In one dread effort more? - +The Roman lore thy leisure loved, +And than canst tell what fortune proved + That Chieftain, who, of yore, +Ambition's dizzy paths essayed +And with the gladiators' aid + For empire enterprised - +He stood the cast his rashness played, +Left not the victims he had made, +Dug his red grave with his own blade, +And on the field he lost was laid, + Abhorred--but not despised. + +XIV. +But if revolves thy fainter thought +On safety--howsoever bought, - +Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, +Though twice ten thousand men have died + On this eventful day +To gild the military fame +Which thou, for life, in traffic tame + Wilt barter thus away. +Shall future ages tell this tale +Of inconsistence faint and frail? +And art thou He of Lodi's bridge, +Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge! +Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, +That, swelled by winter storm and shower, +Rolls down in turbulence of power, + A torrent fierce and wide; +Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, +Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, + Whose channel shows displayed +The wrecks of its impetuous course, +But not one symptom of the force + By which these wrecks were made! + +XV. +Spur on thy way!--since now thine ear +Has brooked thy veterans' wish to hear, + Who, as thy flight they eyed +Exclaimed,--while tears of anguish came, +Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame, + "O that he had but died!" +But yet, to sum this hour of ill, +Look, ere thou leav'st the fatal hill, + Back on yon broken ranks - +Upon whose wild confusion gleams +The moon, as on the troubled streams + When rivers break their banks, +And, to the ruined peasant's eye, +Objects half seen roll swiftly by, + Down the dread current hurled - +So mingle banner, wain, and gun, +Where the tumultuous flight rolls on +Of warriors, who, when morn begun, + Defied a banded world. + +XVI. +List--frequent to the hurrying rout, +The stern pursuers' vengeful shout +Tells, that upon their broken rear +Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. + So fell a shriek was none, +When Beresina's icy flood +Reddened and thawed with flame and blood, +And, pressing on thy desperate way, +Raised oft and long their wild hurra, + The children of the Don. +Thine ear no yell of horror cleft +So ominous, when, all bereft +Of aid, the valiant Polack left - +Ay, left by thee--found soldiers grave +In Leipsic's corpse-encumbered wave. +Fate, in those various perils past, +Reserved thee still some future cast; +On the dread die thou now hast thrown +Hangs not a single field alone, +Nor one campaign--thy martial fame, +Thy empire, dynasty, and name + Have felt the final stroke; +And now, o'er thy devoted head +The last stern vial's wrath is shed, + The last dread seal is broke. + +XVII. +Since live thou wilt--refuse not now +Before these demagogues to bow, +Late objects of thy scorn and hate, +Who shall thy once imperial fate +Make wordy theme of vain debate. - +Or shall we say, thou stoop'st less low +In seeking refuge from the foe, +Against whose heart, in prosperous life, +Thine hand hath ever held the knife? + Such homage hath been paid +By Roman and by Grecian voice, +And there were honour in the choice, + If it were freely made. +Then safely come--in one so low, - +So lost,--we cannot own a foe; +Though dear experience bid us end, +In thee we ne'er can hail a friend. - +Come, howsoe'er--but do not hide +Close in thy heart that germ of pride, +Erewhile, by gifted bard espied, + That "yet imperial hope;" +Think not that for a fresh rebound, +To raise ambition from the ground, + We yield thee means or scope. +In safety come--but ne'er again +Hold type of independent reign; + No islet calls thee lord, +We leave thee no confederate band, +No symbol of thy lost command, +To be a dagger in the hand + From which we wrenched the sword. + +XVIII. +Yet, even in yon sequestered spot, +May worthier conquest be thy lot + Than yet thy life has known; +Conquest, unbought by blood or harm, +That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, + A triumph all thine own. +Such waits thee when thou shalt control +Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, + That marred thy prosperous scene:- +Hear this--from no unmoved heart, +Which sighs, comparing what THOU ART + With what thou MIGHT'ST HAVE BEEN! + +XIX. +Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed +Bankrupt a nation's gratitude, +To thine own noble heart must owe +More than the meed she can bestow. +For not a people's just acclaim, +Not the full hail of Europe's fame, +Thy Prince's smiles, the State's decree, +The ducal rank, the gartered knee, +Not these such pure delight afford +As that, when hanging up thy sword, +Well may'st thou think, "This honest steel +Was ever drawn for public weal; +And, such was rightful Heaven's decree, +Ne'er sheathed unless with victory!" + +XX. +Look forth, once more, with softened heart, +Ere from the field of fame we part; +Triumph and Sorrow border near, +And joy oft melts into a tear. +Alas! what links of love that morn +Has War's rude hand asunder torn! +For ne'er was field so sternly fought, +And ne'er was conquest dearer bought, +Here piled in common slaughter sleep +Those whom affection long shall weep +Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strain +His orphans to his heart again; +The son, whom, on his native shore, +The parent's voice shall bless no more; +The bridegroom, who has hardly pressed +His blushing consort to his breast; +The husband, whom through many a year +Long love and mutual faith endear. +Thou canst not name one tender tie, +But here dissolved its relics lie! +Oh! when thou see'st some mourner's veil +Shroud her thin form and visage pale, +Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears +Stream when the stricken drum she hears; +Or see'st how manlier grief, suppressed, +Is labouring in a father's breast, - +With no inquiry vain pursue +The cause, but think on Waterloo! + +XXI. +Period of honour as of woes, +What bright careers 'twas thine to close! - +Marked on thy roll of blood what names +To Britain's memory, and to Fame's, +Laid there their last immortal claims! +Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire +Redoubted PICTON'S soul of fire - +Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie +All that of PONSONBY could die - +DE LANCEY change Love's bridal-wreath +For laurels from the hand of Death - +Saw'st gallant MILLER'S failing eye +Still bent where Albion's banners fly, +And CAMERON, in the shock of steel, +Die like the offspring of Lochiel; +And generous GORDON, 'mid the strife, +Fall while he watched his leader's life. - +Ah! though her guardian angel's shield +Fenced Britain's hero through the field. +Fate not the less her power made known, +Through his friends' hearts to pierce his own! + +XXII. +Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay! +Who may your names, your numbers, say? +What high-strung harp, what lofty line, +To each the dear-earned praise assign, +From high-born chiefs of martial fame +To the poor soldier's lowlier name? +Lightly ye rose that dawning day, +From your cold couch of swamp and clay, +To fill, before the sun was low, +The bed that morning cannot know. - +Oft may the tear the green sod steep, +And sacred be the heroes' sleep, + Till time shall cease to run; +And ne'er beside their noble grave, +May Briton pass and fail to crave +A blessing on the fallen brave + Who fought with Wellington! + +XXIII. +Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face +Wears desolation's withering trace; + Long shall my memory retain +Thy shattered huts and trampled grain, +With every mark of martial wrong, +That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont! +Yet though thy garden's green arcade +The marksman's fatal post was made, +Though on thy shattered beeches fell +The blended rage of shot and shell, +Though from thy blackened portals torn, +Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, +Has not such havoc bought a name +Immortal in the rolls of fame? +Yes--Agincourt may be forgot, +And Cressy be an unknown spot, + And Blenheim's name be new; +But still in story and in song, +For many an age remembered long, +Shall live the towers of Hougomont + And Field of Waterloo! + + +CONCLUSION. + + + Stern tide of human Time! that know'st not rest, + But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, + Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast + Successive generations to their doom; + While thy capacious stream has equal room + For the gay bark where Pleasure's steamers sport, + And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, + The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, +Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port; - + + Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious change + Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven! + For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange + Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. + And sure such varied change of sea and heaven, + Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe, + Such fearful strife as that where we have striven, + Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know, +Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow. + + Well hast thou stood, my Country!--the brave fight + Hast well maintained through good report and ill; + In thy just cause and in thy native might, + And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still; + Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill + Of half the world against thee stood arrayed, + Or when, with better views and freer will, + Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, +Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. + + Well art thou now repaid--though slowly rose, + And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, + While like the dawn that in the orient glows + On the broad wave its earlier lustre came; + Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, + And Maida's myrtles gleamed beneath its ray, + Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame, + Rivalled the heroes of the watery way, +And washed in foemen's gore unjust reproach away. + + Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, + And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, + Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, + For thou halt faced, like him, a dragon foe, + And rescued innocence from overthrow, + And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might, + And to the gazing world may'st proudly show + The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, +Who quelled devouring pride and vindicated right. + + Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown, + Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired, + Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down: + 'Tis not alone the heart with valour fired, + The discipline so dreaded and admired, + In many a field of bloody conquest known, + --Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired: + 'Tis constancy in the good cause alone +Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won. + + + +THE DANCE OF DEATH. [1815.] + + + +I. +Night and morning were at meeting + Over Waterloo; +Cocks had sung their earliest greeting; + Faint and low they crew, +For no paly beam yet shone +On the heights of Mount Saint John; +Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway +Of timeless darkness over day; +Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower +Marked it a predestined hour. +Broad and frequent through the night +Flashed the sheets of levin-light: +Muskets, glancing lightnings back, +Showed the dreary bivouac + Where the soldier lay, +Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain, +Wishing dawn of morn again, + Though death should come with day. + +II. +'Tis at such a tide and hour +Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, +And ghastly forms through mist and shower + Gleam on the gifted ken; +And then the affrighted prophet's ear +Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear +Presaging death and ruin near + Among the sons of men; - +Apart from Albyn's war-array, +'Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay; +Grey Allan, who, for many a day, + Had followed stout and stern, +Where, through battle's rout and reel, +Storm of shot and edge of steel, +Led the grandson of Lochiel, + Valiant Fassiefern. +Through steel and shot he leads no more, +Low laid 'mid friends' and foemen's gore - +But long his native lake's wild shore, +And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, + And Morven long shall tell, +And proud Bennevis hear with awe +How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, +Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra + Of conquest as he fell. + +III. +Lone on the outskirts of the host, +The weary sentinel held post, +And heard, through darkness far aloof, +The frequent clang of courser's hoof, +Where held the cloaked patrol their course, +And spurred 'gainst storm the swerving horse; +But there are sounds in Allan's ear, +Patrol nor sentinel may hear, +And sights before his eye aghast +Invisible to them have passed, + When down the destined plain, +'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, +Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance, +Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance, + And doomed the future slain. - +Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard, +When Scotland's James his march prepared + For Flodden's fatal plain; +Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, +As Choosers of the Slain, adored + The yet unchristened Dane. +An indistinct and phantom band, +They wheeled their ring-dance hand in hand, + With gestures wild and dread; +The Seer, who watched them ride the storm, +Saw through their faint and shadowy form + The lightning's flash more red; +And still their ghastly roundelay +Was of the coming battle-fray, + And of the destined dead. + +IV. SONG. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +Our airy feet, +So light and fleet, + They do not bend the rye +That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, +And swells again in eddying wave, + As each wild gust blows by; +But still the corn, +At dawn of morn, + Our fatal steps that bore, +At eve lies waste, +A trampled paste + Of blackening mud and gore. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +V. +Wheel the wild dance! +Brave sons of France, + For you our ring makes room; +Make space full wide +For martial pride, + For banner, spear, and plume. +Approach, draw near, +Proud cuirassier! + Room for the men of steel! +Through crest and plate +The broadsword's weight + Both head and heart shall feel. + +VI. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +Sons of the spear! +You feel us near + In many a ghastly dream; +With fancy's eye +Our forms you spy, + And hear our fatal scream. +With clearer sight +Ere falls the night, + Just when to weal or woe +Your disembodied souls take flight +On trembling wing--each startled sprite + Our choir of death shall know. + +VII. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, +Redder rain shall soon be ours - + See the east grows wan - +Yield we place to sterner game, +Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame +Shall the welkin's thunders shame, +Elemental rage is tame + To the wrath of man. + +VIII. +At morn, grey Allan's mates with awe +Heard of the visioned sights he saw, + The legend heard him say; +But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, +Deafened his ear, and stark his limb, + Ere closed that bloody day. +He sleeps far from his Highland heath, +But often of the Dance of Death + His comrades tell the tale +On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, +And waning watch-fires glow less bright, + And dawn is glimmering pale. + + + +ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. FROM THE FRENCH. [1815.] + + + +[The original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript +collection of French Songs, probably compiled by some young officer, +which was found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay +and with blood as sufficiently to indicate what had been the fate of +its late owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a good +specimen of the style of composition to which it belongs. The +translation is strictly literal.] + +It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, +But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's shrine: +"And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven," was still the Soldier's +prayer; +That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair." + +His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword, +And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord; +Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air, +"Be honoured aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair." + +They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said, +"The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid. - +My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, +For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair." + +And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary's shrine, +That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine; +And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there +Cried, "Honoured be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair!" + + + +THE TROUBADOUR. FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. [1815.] + + + +Glowing with love, on fire for fame + A Troubadour that hated sorrow +Beneath his lady's window came, + And thus he sung his last good-morrow: +"My arm it is my country's right, + My heart is in my true-love's bower; +Gaily for love and fame to fight + Befits the gallant Troubadour." + +And while he marched with helm on head + And harp in hand, the descant rung, +As faithful to his favourite maid, + The minstrel-burden still he sung: +"My arm it is my country's right, + My heart is in my lady's bower; +Resolved for love and fame to fight + I come, a gallant Troubadour." + +Even when the battle-roar was deep, + With dauntless heart he hewed his way, +'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, + And still was heard his warrior-lay: +"My life it is my country's right, + My heart is in my lady's bower; +For love to die, for fame to fight, + Becomes the valiant Troubadour." + +Alas! upon the bloody field + He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, +But still reclining on his shield, + Expiring sung the exulting stave:- +"My life it is my country's right, + My heart is in my lady's bower; +For love and fame to fall in fight + Becomes the valiant Troubadour." + + + +PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. + + + +[This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald. The +words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are +applied, run thus in Gaelic:- + +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; +Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. +The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, +The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, +The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place +at Inverlochy.] + + Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, + Pibroch of Donuil, + Wake thy wild voice anew, + Summon Clan Conuil. + Come away, come away, + Hark to the summons! + Come in your war array, + Gentles and commons. + + Come from deep glen, and + From mountain so rocky, + The war-pipe and pennon + Are at Inverlochy. + Come every hill-plaid, and + True heart that wears one, + Come every steel blade, and + Strong hand that bears one. + + Leave untended the herd, + The flock without shelter; + Leave the corpse uninterr'd, + The bride at the altar; + Leave the deer, leave the steer, + Leave nets and barges: + Come with your fighting gear, + Broadswords and targes. + + Come as the winds come, when + Forests are rended; + Come as the waves come, when + Navies are stranded: + Faster come, faster come, + Faster and faster, + Chief, vassal, page and groom, + Tenant and master. + + Fast they come, fast they come; + See how they gather! + Wide waves the eagle plume, + Blended with heather. + Cast your plaids, draw your blades, + Forward each man set! + Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, + Knell for the onset! + + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} This eText comes from a book (Pike Country Ballads etc.) which +contains a number of poems by John Hay. These have been released +separately by Project Gutenberg under the title "Pike Country +Ballads and Other Poems" by John Hay. They are not included here +to avoid duplication. + +{2} The literal translation of Fuentes d'Honoro. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott, by Sir Walter Scott + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT *** + +***** This file should be named 6061.txt or 6061.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/6061/ + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott + +Author: Sir Walter Scott + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6061] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 30, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + +SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT + + + + +Contents: + Introduction by Henry Morley. + The Vision of Don Roderick + The Field of Waterloo + The Dance of Death + Romance of Dunois + The Troubadour + Pibroch of Donald Dhu + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + +Since there is room in this volume for more verses than Colonel +Hay's {1}, I have added to them a few poems by Sir Walter Scott; the +first written in 1811 at the time of the struggle with Napoleon in +the Peninsula, the second in 1815, after Waterloo. Thus there is +over all this volume a thin haze of battle through which we see only +the finer feelings and the nobler hopes of man. The day is to come +when war shall be no more, but wars have been and may again be +necessary to bring on that day; and it is of such war, not untinged +with the light of heaven, that we have passing shadows in this +little book. + +"The Vision of Don Roderick; a Poem, by Walter Scott, Esq.," was +printed at Edinburgh by James Ballantyne & Co. in 1811. They are +the present representatives of that firm by whom it is here +reprinted. It was originally inscribed "to John Whitmore, Esq., and +to the Committee of Subscribers for relief of the Portuguese +Sufferers, in which he presides," as a "poem composed for the +benefit of the Fund under their management." + +The Legend of Don Roderick will be given in the next volume of our +"Companion Poets," for Robert Southey founded upon it a Romantic +Tale in Verse, which is one of the best tales of the kind in the +English language. Southey's tale of Roderick himself was written at +the same time when Walter Savage Landor was writing a play upon the +subject, and Scott was, in the piece here reprinted, making it the +starting-point of a vision of the war in the Peninsula. The fatal +palace of Don Roderick may have been a fable connected with the +ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. The fable, as translated by Scott +from a Spanish History of King Roderick, was this:- + +"One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among some rocks, +was situated an ancient Tower of magnificent structure, though much +dilapidated by time, which consumes all: four estadoes (i.e., four +times a man's height) below it, there was a Cave with a very narrow +entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a strong +covering of iron, and fastened with many locks; above the gate some +Greek letters are engraved, which, although abbreviated, and of +doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition +of learned men:- The King who opens this cave and discovers the +wonders will discover both good and evil things. Many kings desired +to know the mystery of this Tower, and sought to find out the manner +with much care; but when they opened the gate, such a tremendous +noise arose in the Cave that it appeared as if the earth was +bursting; many of those present sickened with fear, and others lost +their lives. In order to prevent such great perils (as they +supposed a dangerous enchantment was contained within), they secured +the gate with new locks, concluding, that though a king was destined +to open it, the fated time was not yet arrived. At last King Don +Rodrigo, led on by his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the +Tower; and some bold attendants whom he had brought with him +entered, although agitated with fear. Having proceeded a good way, +they fled back to the entrance, terrified with a frightful vision +which they had beheld. The King was greatly moved, and ordered many +torches, so contrived that the tempest in the cave could not +extinguish them, to be lighted. Then the King entered, not without +fear, before all the others. He discovered, by degrees, a splendid +hall, apparently built in a very sumptuous manner; in the middle +stood a Bronze Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held a +battle-axe in its hands. With this he struck the floor violently, +giving it such heavy blows that the noise in the Cave was occasioned +by the motion of the air. The King, greatly affrighted and +astonished, began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that he +would return without doing any injury in the Cave, after he had +obtained sight of what was contained in it. The Statue ceased to +strike the floor, and the King, with his followers, somewhat +assured, and recovering their courage, proceeded into the hall; and +on the left of the Statue they found this inscription on the wall: +Unfortunate King, thou hast entered here in an evil hour. On the +right side of the wall the words were inscribed: By strange Nations +thou shalt be dispossessed, and thy subjects foully degraded. On +the shoulders of the Statue other words were written, which said, I +call upon the Arabs. And upon his heart was written, I do my +office. At the entrance of the hall there was placed a round bowl, +from which a great noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. They +found no other thing in the hall,--and when the King, sorrowful and +greatly affected, had scarcely turned about to leave the Cavern, the +Statue again commenced its accustomed blows upon the floor. After +they had mutually promised to conceal what they had seen, they again +closed the Tower, and blocked up the gate of the Cavern with earth, +that no memory might remain in the world of such a portentous and +evil-boding prodigy. The ensuing midnight, they heard great cries +and clamour from the Cave, resounding like the noise of Battle, and +the ground shaking with a tremendous roar; the whole edifice of the +old Tower fell to the ground, by which they were greatly affrighted, +the Vision which they had beheld appearing to them as a dream." + +Scott's poem on the Field of Waterloo was written to assist the +Waterloo subscription. + +H. M. + +"Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris, + Vox humana valet!"--CLAUDIAN. + + + +THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. + + + + +PREFACE + + +The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, bearing, in +general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the +invasion of the Moors was depending, had the temerity to descend +into an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been +denounced as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that +his rash curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation +of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and +reduced Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the +Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the present eventful +crisis of the Peninsula, and to divide it, by a supposed change of +scene, into, THREE PERIODS. The FIRST of these represents the +Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and closes +with the peaceful occupation of the country by the victors. The +SECOND PERIOD embraces the state of the Peninsula when the conquests +of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West Indies had +raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms; sullied, +however, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the +inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this picture. The LAST +PART of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous to the +unparalleled treachery of BUONAPARTE, gives a sketch of the +usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, +and terminates with the arrival of the British succours. It may be +further proper to mention, that the object of the Poem is less to +commemorate or detail particular incidents, than to exhibit a +general and impressive picture of the several periods brought upon +the stage. + +EDINBURGH, June 24, 1811. + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +I. + Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire + May rise distinguished o'er the din of war; + Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre + Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star? + Such, WELLINGTON, might reach thee from afar, + Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range; + Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, + All, as it swelled 'twixt each loud trumpet-change, +That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge! + +II. + Yes! such a strain, with all o'er-pouring measure, + Might melodise with each tumultuous sound + Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure, + That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around; + The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crowned, + The female shriek, the ruined peasant's moan, + The shout of captives from their chains unbound, + The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen groan, +A Nation's choral hymn, for tyranny o'erthrown. + +III. + But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day + Skilled but to imitate an elder page, + Timid and raptureless, can we repay + The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? + Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage + Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land, + While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage + A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty hand - +How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band! + +IV. + Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast + The friends of Scottish freedom found repose; + Ye torrents! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest, + Returning from the field of vanquished foes; + Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close + That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung, + What time their hymn of victory arose, + And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung, +And mystic Merlin harped, and grey-haired Llywarch sung? + +V. + Oh! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, + As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, + When sweeping wild and sinking soft again, + Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway; + If ye can echo such triumphant lay, + Then lend the note to him has loved you long! + Who pious gathered each tradition grey + That floats your solitary wastes along, +And with affection vain gave them new voice in song. + +VI. + For not till now, how oft soe'er the task + Of truant verse hath lightened graver care, + From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, + In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; + Careless he gave his numbers to the air, + They came unsought for, if applauses came: + Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer; + Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, +Immortal be the verse!--forgot the poet's name! + +VII. + Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost: + "Minstrel! the fame of whose romantic lyre, + Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost, + Like the light flickering of a cottage fire; + If to such task presumptuous thou aspire, + Seek not from us the meed to warrior due: + Age after age has gathered son to sire + Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew, +Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew. + +VIII. + "Decayed our old traditionary lore, + Save where the lingering fays renew their ring, + By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar, + Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring; + Save where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing, + That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, + Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging, + And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, +Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne. + +IX. + "No! search romantic lands, where the near Sun + Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, + Where the rude villager, his labour done, + In verse spontaneous chants some favoured name, + Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim, + Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet; + Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme, + He sing, to wild Morisco measure set, +Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet! + +X. + "Explore those regions, where the flinty crest + Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, + Where in the proud Alhambra's ruined breast + Barbaric monuments of pomp repose; + Or where the banners of more ruthless foes + Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, + From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws + An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain +The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. + +XI. + "There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark + Still lightens in the sunburnt native's eye; + The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, + Still mark enduring pride and constancy. + And, if the glow of feudal chivalry + Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, + Iberia! oft thy crestless peasantry + Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, +Have seen, yet dauntless stood--'gainst fortune fought and died. + +XII. + "And cherished still by that unchanging race, + Are themes for minstrelsy more high than thine; + Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, + Legend and vision, prophecy and sign; + Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine + With Gothic imagery of darker shade, + Forming a model meet for minstrel line. + Go, seek such theme!"--the Mountain Spirit said. +With filial awe I heard--I heard, and I obeyed. + + + +THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. + + + +I. + Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies, + And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, + Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, + As from a trembling lake of silver white. + Their mingled shadows intercept the sight + Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below, + And nought disturbs the silence of the night; + All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, +All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow. + +II. + All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, + Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp; + Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, + To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. + For through the river's night-fog rolling damp + Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, + Which glimmered back, against the moon's fair lamp, + Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, +And standards proudly pitched, and warders armed between. + +III. + But of their Monarch's person keeping ward, + Since last the deep-mouthed bell of vespers tolled, + The chosen soldiers of the royal guard + The post beneath the proud Cathedral hold: + A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, + Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace, + Bear slender darts, and casques bedecked with gold, + While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace, +Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's place. + +IV. + In the light language of an idle court, + They murmured at their master's long delay, + And held his lengthened orisons in sport:- + "What! will Don Roderick here till morning stay, + To wear in shrift and prayer the night away? + And are his hours in such dull penance past, + For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay?" + Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, +And wished the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last. + +V. + + But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent + An ear of fearful wonder to the King; + The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent, + So long that sad confession witnessing: + For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, + Such as are lothly uttered to the air, + When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom wring, + And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear, +And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair. + +VI. + Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair, + The stream of failing light was feebly rolled: + But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare, + Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's fold. + While of his hidden soul the sins he told, + Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook, + That mortal man his bearing should behold, + Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook, +Fear tame a monarch's brow, Remorse a warrior's look. + +VII. + The old man's faded cheek waxed yet more pale, + As many a secret sad the King bewrayed; + As sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale, + When in the midst his faltering whisper stayed. + "Thus royal Witiza was slain,"--he said; + "Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I." + Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. - + "Oh, rather deem 'twas stern necessity! +Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. + +VIII. + "And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air, + If she invoked her absent sire in vain, + And on her knees implored that I would spare, + Yet, reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain! + All is not as it seems--the female train + Know by their bearing to disguise their mood:" + But Conscience here, as if in high disdain, + Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood - +He stayed his speech abrupt--and up the Prelate stood. + +IX. + "O hardened offspring of an iron race! + What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say? + What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface + Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away! + For the foul ravisher how shall I pray, + Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast? + How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, + Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host, +He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be lost?" + +X. + Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, + And to his brow returned its dauntless gloom; + "And welcome then," he cried, "be blood for blood, + For treason treachery, for dishonour doom! + Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom. + Show, for thou canst--give forth the fated key, + And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room, + Where, if aught true in old tradition be, +His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see." + +XI. + "Ill-fated Prince! recall the desperate word, + Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey! + Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford + Never to former Monarch entrance-way; + Nor shall it ever ope, old records say, + Save to a King, the last of all his line, + What time his empire totters to decay, + And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine, +And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine." - + +XII. + "Prelate! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay; + Lead on!"--The ponderous key the old man took, + And held the winking lamp, and led the way, + By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, + Then on an ancient gateway bent his look; + And, as the key the desperate King essayed, + Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook, + And twice he stopped, and twice new effort made, +Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed. + +XIII. + Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted hall; + Roof, walls, and floor were all of marble stone, + Of polished marble, black as funeral pall, + Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown. + A paly light, as of the dawning, shone + Through the sad bounds, but whence they could not spy; + For window to the upper air was none; + Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry +Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye. + +XIV. + Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, + Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place; + Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall, + Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. + Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race, + That lived and sinned before the avenging flood; + This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace; + This spread his wings for flight, that pondering stood, +Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood. + +XV. + Fixed was the right-hand Giant's brazen look + Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, + As if its ebb he measured by a book, + Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand; + In which was wrote of many a fallen land + Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven: + And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand - + "Lo, DESTINY and TIME! to whom by Heaven +The guidance of the earth is for a season given." - + +XVI. + Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes away; + And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, + That right-hand Giant 'gan his club upsway, + As one that startles from a heavy sleep. + Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep + At once descended with the force of thunder, + And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, + The marble boundary was rent asunder, +And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and wonder. + +XVII. + For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach, + Realms as of Spain in visioned prospect laid, + Castles and towers, in due proportion each, + As by some skilful artist's hand portrayed: + Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade, + And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye; + There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade, + Or deep-embrowned by forests huge and high, +Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly murmured by. + +XVIII. + And here, as erst upon the antique stage + Passed forth the band of masquers trimly led, + In various forms, and various equipage, + While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed; + So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread, + Successive pageants filled that mystic scene, + Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, + And issue of events that had not been; +And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between. + +XIX. + First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek! - + It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call, + For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. - + Then answered kettle-drum and attabal, + Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal, + The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie's yell, + Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. + Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell - +"The Moor!" he cried, "the Moor!--ring out the Tocsin bell! + +XX. + "They come! they come! I see the groaning lands + White with the turbans of each Arab horde; + Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, + Alla and Mahomet their battle-word, + The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword - + See how the Christians rush to arms amain! - + In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared, + The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain - +Now, God and Saint Iago strike, for the good cause of Spain! + +XXI. + "By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield! + Their coward leader gives for flight the sign! + The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field - + Is not yon steed Orelio?--Yes, 'tis mine! + But never was she turned from battle-line: + Lo! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone! - + Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine! + Rivers ingulph him!"--"Hush," in shuddering tone, +The Prelate said; "rash Prince, yon visioned form's thine own." + +XXII. + Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course; + The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried; + But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse, + Swept like benighted peasant down the tide; + And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, + As numerous as their native locust band; + Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, + With naked scimitars mete out the land, +And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives brand. + +XXIII. + Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose + The loveliest maidens of the Christian line; + Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes, + Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine; + Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign, + By impious hands was from the altar thrown, + And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine + Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone, +The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering moan. + +XXIV. + How fares Don Roderick?--E'en as one who spies + Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable woof, + And hears around his children's piercing cries, + And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; + While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof, + His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief; + And while above him nods the crumbling roof, + He curses earth and Heaven--himself in chief - +Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief! + +XXV. + That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass + And twilight on the landscape closed her wings; + Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, + And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings; + And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs, + Bazars resound as when their marts are met, + In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, + And on the land as evening seemed to set, +The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or minaret. + +XXVI. + So passed that pageant. Ere another came, + The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke + Whose sulph'rous wreaths were crossed by sheets of flame; + With every flash a bolt explosive broke, + Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their yoke, + And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone! + For War a new and dreadful language spoke, + Never by ancient warrior heard or known; +Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone. + +XXVII. + From the dim landscape rolled the clouds away - + The Christians have regained their heritage; + Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray, + And many a monastery decks the stage, + And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage. + The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, - + The Genii those of Spain for many an age; + This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, +And that was VALOUR named, this BIGOTRY was hight. + +XXVIII. + VALOUR was harnessed like a chief of old, + Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest; + His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold, + Morena's eagle plume adorned his crest, + The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. + Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage; + As if of mortal kind to brave the best. + Him followed his Companion, dark and sage, +As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. + +XXIX. + Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, + In look and language proud as proud might be, + Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame: + Yet was that barefoot Monk more proud than he: + And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, + So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, + And with his spells subdued the fierce and free, + Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renowned, +Honouring his scourge and haircloth, meekly kissed the ground. + +XXX. + And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless knight, + Who ne'er to King or Kaiser vailed his crest, + Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, + Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, + Stooped ever to that Anchoret's behest; + Nor reasoned of the right, nor of the wrong, + But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, + And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, +For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. + +XXXI. + Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world, + That latest sees the sun, or first the morn; + Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurled, - + Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, + Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, + Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul; + Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, + Bedabbled all with blood.--With grisly scowl +The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl. + +XXXII. + Then did he bless the offering, and bade make + Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise; + And at his word the choral hymns awake, + And many a hand the silver censer sways, + But with the incense-breath these censers raise, + Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire; + The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays, + And shrieks of agony confound the quire; +While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire. + +XXXIII. + Preluding light, were strains of music heard, + As once again revolved that measured sand; + Such sounds as when, for silvan dance prepared, + Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band; + When for the light bolero ready stand + The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha met, + He conscious of his broidered cap and band, + She of her netted locks and light corsette, +Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet. + +XXXIV. + And well such strains the opening scene became; + For VALOUR had relaxed his ardent look, + And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, + Lay stretched, full loath the weight of arms to brook; + And softened BIGOTRY, upon his book, + Pattered a task of little good or ill: + But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, + Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill, +And rung from village-green the merry seguidille. + +XXXV. + Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil, + Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold; + And, careless, saw his rule become the spoil + Of a loose Female and her minion bold. + But peace was on the cottage and the fold, + From Court intrigue, from bickering faction far; + Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told, + And to the tinkling of the light guitar, +Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star. + +XXXVI. + As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, + When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, + Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, + A while, perchance, bedecked with colours sheen, + While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, + Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, + Till darker folds obscured the blue serene + And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud, +Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud:- + +XXXVII. + Even so, upon that peaceful scene was poured, + Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, + And HE, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, + And offered peaceful front and open hand, + Veiling the perjured treachery he planned, + By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise, + Until he won the passes of the land; + Then burst were honour's oath and friendship's ties! +He clutched his vulture grasp, and called fair Spain his prize. + +XXXVIII. + An iron crown his anxious forehead bore; + And well such diadem his heart became, + Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, + Or checked his course for piety or shame; + Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's fame + Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, + Though neither truth nor honour decked his name; + Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne, +Recked not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone. + +XXXIX. + From a rude isle his ruder lineage came, + The spark, that, from a suburb-hovel's hearth + Ascending, wraps some capital in flame, + Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. + And for the soul that bade him waste the earth - + The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure + That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, + And by destruction bids its fame endure, +Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure. + +XL. + Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form; + Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor showed, + With which she beckoned him through fight and storm, + And all he crushed that crossed his desperate road, + Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trode. + Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake, + So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad - + It was AMBITION bade her terrors wake, +Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take. + +XLI. + No longer now she spurned at mean revenge, + Or stayed her hand for conquered foeman's moan; + As when, the fates of aged Rome to change, + By Caesar's side she crossed the Rubicon. + Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she won, + As when the banded powers of Greece were tasked + To war beneath the Youth of Macedon: + No seemly veil her modern minion asked, +He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmasked. + +XLII. + That Prelate marked his march--On banners blazed + With battles won in many a distant land, + On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed; + "And hopest thou, then," he said, "thy power shall stand? + Oh! thou hast builded on the shifting sand, + And thou hast tempered it with slaughter's flood; + And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand, + Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud, +And by a bloody death shall die the Man of Blood!" + +XLIII. + The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train + A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel, + And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, + While trumpets rang, and heralds cried "Castile!" + Not that he loved him--No!--In no man's weal, + Scarce in his own, e'er joyed that sullen heart; + Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, + That the poor puppet might perform his part, +And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. + +XLIV. + But on the Natives of that Land misused, + Not long the silence of amazement hung, + Nor brooked they long their friendly faith abused; + For, with a common shriek, the general tongue + Exclaimed, "To arms!"--and fast to arms they sprung. + And VALOUR woke, that Genius of the Land! + Pleasure, and ease, and sloth aside he flung, + As burst the awakening Nazarite his band, +When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful hand. + +XLV. + That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye + Upon the Satraps that begirt him round, + Now doffed his royal robe in act to fly, + And from his brow the diadem unbound. + So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound, + From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown, + These martial satellites hard labour found + To guard awhile his substituted throne - +Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. + +XLVI. + From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, + And it was echoed from Corunna's wall; + Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, + Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall; + Galicia bade her children fight or fall, + Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, + Valencia roused her at the battle-call, + And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met, +First started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. + +XLVII. + But unappalled, and burning for the fight, + The Invaders march, of victory secure; + Skilful their force to sever or unite, + And trained alike to vanquish or endure. + Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure, + Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, + To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure; + While nought against them bring the unpractised foe, +Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands for Freedom's blow. + +XLVIII. + Proudly they march--but, oh! they march not forth + By one hot field to crown a brief campaign, + As when their Eagles, sweeping through the North, + Destroyed at every stoop an ancient reign! + Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain; + In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied, + New Patriot armies started from the slain, + High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, +And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. + +XLIX. + Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, + Remained their savage waste. With blade and brand + By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale, + But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band + Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, + And claimed for blood the retribution due, + Probed the hard heart, and lopped the murd'rous hand; + And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw +'Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpses knew. + +L. + What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, + Amid the visioned strife from sea to sea, + How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, + Still honoured in defeat as victory! + For that sad pageant of events to be + Showed every form of fight by field and flood; + Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, + Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud, +The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with blood! + +LI. + Then Zaragoza--blighted be the tongue + That names thy name without the honour due! + For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung, + Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true! + Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered ruins knew, + Each art of war's extremity had room, + Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe withdrew, + And when at length stern fate decreed thy doom, +They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. + +LII. + Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though in chains, + Enthralled thou canst not be! Arise, and claim + Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, + For what thou worshippest!--thy sainted dame, + She of the Column, honoured be her name + By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love! + And like the sacred relics of the flame, + That gave some martyr to the blessed above, +To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove! + +LIII. + Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair! + Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung, + Manning the towers, while o'er their heads the air + Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; + Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung, + Now briefly lightened by the cannon's flare, + Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, + And reddening now with conflagration's glare, +While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. + +LIV. + While all around was danger, strife, and fear, + While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky, + And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear, + Appalled the heart, and stupefied the eye, - + Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, + In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, + Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, + Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, +And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light. + +LV. + Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud - + A varied scene the changeful vision showed, + For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, + A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. + From mast and stern St. George's symbol flowed, + Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; + Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed, + And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, +And the wild beach returned the seamen's jovial cheer. + +LVI. + It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight! + The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars, + Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, + Legions on legions bright'ning all the shores. + Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, + Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, + Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, + And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, +For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come! + +LVII. + A various host they came--whose ranks display + Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, + The deep battalion locks its firm array, + And meditates his aim the marksman light; + Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright + Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, + Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, + Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed, +That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. + +LVIII. + A various host--from kindred realms they came, + Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown - + For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, + And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. + Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, + And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause, + Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, + And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, +And free-born thoughts which league the Soldier with the Laws. + +LIX. + And, oh! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land! + Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! + The rugged form may mark the mountain band, + And harsher features, and a mien more grave; + But ne'er in battlefield throbbed heart so brave + As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid; + And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, + And level for the charge your arms are laid, +Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset stayed! + +LX. + Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, + Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy, + His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, + And moves to death with military glee: + Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free, + In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, + Rough Nature's children, humorous as she: + And HE, yon Chieftain--strike the proudest tone +Of thy bold harp, green Isle!--the Hero is thine own. + +LXI. + Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown, + On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, + And hear Corunna wail her battle won, + And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze:- + But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise? + Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room? + And dare her wild flowers mingle with the bays + That claim a long eternity to bloom +Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's tomb! + +LXII. + Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, + And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil + That hides futurity from anxious hope, + Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, + And painting Europe rousing at the tale + Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurled, + While kindling nations buckle on their mail, + And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurled, +To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured World! + +LXIII. + O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, + Since Fate has marked futurity her own: + Yet Fate resigns to worth the glorious past, + The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. + Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone, + King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, + Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun, + Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, +One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain! + + +CONCLUSION. + + +I. + "Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide + Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie? + Who, when Gascogne's vexed gulf is raging wide, + Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry? + His magic power let such vain boaster try, + And when the torrent shall his voice obey, + And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby, + Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, +And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay. + +II. + "Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers + They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, + And their own sea hath whelmed yon red-cross powers!" + Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock + To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. + While downward on the land his legions press, + Before them it was rich with vine and flock, + And smiled like Eden in her summer dress; - +Behind their wasteful march a reeking wilderness. + +III. + And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word, + Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the land, + Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, + Though Britons arm and WELLINGTON command! + No! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand + An adamantine barrier to his force; + And from its base shall wheel his shattered band, + As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse +Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course. + +IV. + Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk + Hath on his best and bravest made her food, + In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk + His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood: + For full in view the promised conquest stood, + And Lisbon's matrons from their walls might sum + The myriads that had half the world subdued, + And hear the distant thunders of the drum, +That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come. + +V. + Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled, + Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey, + As famished wolves survey a guarded fold - + But in the middle path a Lion lay! + At length they move--but not to battle-fray, + Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight; + Beacons of infamy, they light the way + Where cowardice and cruelty unite +To damn with double shame their ignominious flight. + +VI. + O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath! + Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, + What wanton horrors marked their wreckful path! + The peasant butchered in his ruined cot, + The hoary priest even at the altar shot, + Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame, + Woman to infamy;--no crime forgot, + By which inventive demons might proclaim +Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great name! + +VII. + The rudest sentinel, in Britain born, + With horror paused to view the havoc done, + Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn, + Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun. + Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son + Exult the debt of sympathy to pay; + Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, + Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, +Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless lay. + +VIII. + But thou--unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, + Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in vain! + Can vantage-ground no confidence create, + Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain? + Vainglorious fugitive! yet turn again! + Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, + Flows Honour's Fountain, {2} as foredoomed the stain + From thy dishonoured name and arms to clear - +Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here! + +IX. + Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid; + Those chief that never heard the lion roar! + Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed + Of Talavera or Mondego's shore! + Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more; + Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole; + Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour, + Legion on legion on thy foeman roll, +And weary out his arm--thou canst not quell his soul. + +X. + O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore, + Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, + And front the flying thunders as they roar, + With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain! + And what avails thee that, for CAMERON slain, + Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given - + Vengeance and grief gave mountain-range the rein, + And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, +Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven. + +XI. + Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood + To plead at thine imperious master's throne, + Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood, + Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own; + Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown, + By British skill and valour were outvied; + Last say, thy conqueror was WELLINGTON! + And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried - +God and our cause to friend, the venture we'll abide. + +XII. + But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day, + How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown, + His meed to each victorious leader pay, + Or bind on every brow the laurels won? + Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, + O'er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave; + And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own, + Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave +'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. + +XIII. + Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, + To give each Chief and every field its fame: + Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD, + And Red Barosa shouts for dauntless GRAEME! + O for a verse of tumult and of flame, + Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, + To bid the world re-echo to their fame! + For never, upon gory battle-ground, +With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors crowned! + +XIV. + O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays, + Who brought a race regenerate to the field, + Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, + Tempered their headlong rage, their courage steeled, + And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, + And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, + And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield - + Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord, +If it forget thy worth, victorious BERESFORD! + +XV. + Not on that bloody field of battle won, + Though Gaul's proud legions rolled like mist away, + Was half his self-devoted valour shown, - + He gaged but life on that illustrious day; + But when he toiled those squadrons to array, + Who fought like Britons in the bloody game, + Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, + He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, +And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. + +XVI. + Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide + Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, + Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal denied; + Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. + From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound, + The wanderer went; yet Caledonia! still + Thine was his thought in march and tented ground; + He dreamed 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill, +And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. + +XVII. + O hero of a race renowned of old, + Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell, + Since first distinguished in the onset bold, + Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! + By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, + Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame, + Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell, + But ne'er from prouder field arose the name +Than when wild Ronda learned the conquering shout of GRAEME! + +XVIII. + But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, + (With Spenser's parable I close my tale,) + By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous bark, + And landward now I drive before the gale. + And now the blue and distant shore I hail, + And nearer now I see the port expand, + And now I gladly furl my weary sail, + And, as the prow light touches on the strand, +I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff to land. + + + +THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. + + + +I. + +Fair Brussels, thou art far behind, +Though, lingering on the morning wind, + We yet may hear the hour +Pealed over orchard and canal, +With voice prolonged and measured fall, + From proud St. Michael's tower; +Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now, +Where the tall beeches' glossy bough + For many a league around, +With birch and darksome oak between, +Spreads deep and far a pathless screen, + Of tangled forest ground. +Stems planted close by stems defy +The adventurous foot--the curious eye + For access seeks in vain; +And the brown tapestry of leaves, +Strewed on the blighted ground, receives + Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. +No opening glade dawns on our way, +No streamlet, glancing to the ray, + Our woodland path has crossed; +And the straight causeway which we tread +Prolongs a line of dull arcade, +Unvarying through the unvaried shade + Until in distance lost. + +II. +A brighter, livelier scene succeeds; +In groups the scattering wood recedes, +Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, + And corn-fields glance between; +The peasant, at his labour blithe, +Plies the hooked staff and shortened scythe:- + But when these ears were green, +Placed close within destruction's scope, +Full little was that rustic's hope + Their ripening to have seen! +And, lo, a hamlet and its fane:- +Let not the gazer with disdain + Their architecture view; +For yonder rude ungraceful shrine, +And disproportioned spire, are thine, + Immortal WATERLOO! + +III. +Fear not the heat, though full and high +The sun has scorched the autumn sky, +And scarce a forest straggler now +To shade us spreads a greenwood bough; +These fields have seen a hotter day +Than e'er was fired by sunny ray, +Yet one mile on--yon shattered hedge +Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge + Looks on the field below, +And sinks so gently on the dale +That not the folds of Beauty's veil + In easier curves can flow. +Brief space from thence, the ground again +Ascending slowly from the plain + Forms an opposing screen, +Which, with its crest of upland ground, +Shuts the horizon all around. + The softened vale between +Slopes smooth and fair for courser's tread; +Not the most timid maid need dread +To give her snow-white palfrey head + On that wide stubble-ground; +Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush are there, +Her course to intercept or scare, + Nor fosse nor fence are found, +Save where, from out her shattered bowers, +Rise Hougomont's dismantled towers. + +IV. +Now, see'st thou aught in this lone scene +Can tell of that which late hath been? - + A stranger might reply, +"The bare extent of stubble-plain +Seems lately lightened of its grain; +And yonder sable tracks remain +Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain, + When harvest-home was nigh. +On these broad spots of trampled ground, +Perchance the rustics danced such round + As Teniers loved to draw; +And where the earth seems scorched by flame, +To dress the homely feast they came, +And toiled the kerchiefed village dame + Around her fire of straw." + +V. +So deem'st thou--so each mortal deems, +Of that which is from that which seems:- + But other harvest here +Than that which peasant's scythe demands, +Was gathered in by sterner hands, + With bayonet, blade, and spear. +No vulgar crop was theirs to reap, +No stinted harvest thin and cheap! +Heroes before each fatal sweep + Fell thick as ripened grain; +And ere the darkening of the day, +Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay +The ghastly harvest of the fray, + The corpses of the slain. + +VI. +Ay, look again--that line, so black +And trampled, marks the bivouac, +Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery's track, + So often lost and won; +And close beside, the hardened mud +Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood, +The fierce dragoon, through battle's flood, + Dashed the hot war-horse on. +These spots of excavation tell +The ravage of the bursting shell - +And feel'st thou not the tainted steam, +That reeks against the sultry beam, + From yonder trenched mound? +The pestilential fumes declare +That Carnage has replenished there + Her garner-house profound. + +VII. +Far other harvest-home and feast, +Than claims the boor from scythe released, + On these scorched fields were known! +Death hovered o'er the maddening rout, +And, in the thrilling battle-shout, +Sent for the bloody banquet out + A summons of his own. +Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye +Could well each destined guest espy, +Well could his ear in ecstasy + Distinguish every tone +That filled the chorus of the fray - +From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray, +From charging squadrons' wild hurra, +From the wild clang that marked their way, - + Down to the dying groan, +And the last sob of life's decay, + When breath was all but flown. + +VIII. +Feast on, stern foe of mortal life, +Feast on!--but think not that a strife, +With such promiscuous carnage rife, + Protracted space may last; +The deadly tug of war at length +Must limits find in human strength, + And cease when these are past. +Vain hope!--that morn's o'erclouded sun +Heard the wild shout of fight begun + Ere he attained his height, +And through the war-smoke, volumed high, +Still peals that unremitted cry, + Though now he stoops to night. +For ten long hours of doubt and dread, +Fresh succours from the extended head +Of either hill the contest fed; + Still down the slope they drew, +The charge of columns paused not, +Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot; + For all that war could do +Of skill and force was proved that day, +And turned not yet the doubtful fray + On bloody Waterloo. + +IX. +Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine, +When ceaseless from the distant line + Continued thunders came! +Each burgher held his breath, to hear +These forerunners of havoc near, + Of rapine and of flame. +What ghastly sights were thine to meet, +When rolling through thy stately street, +The wounded showed their mangled plight +In token of the unfinished fight, +And from each anguish-laden wain +The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain! +How often in the distant drum +Heard'st thou the fell Invader come, +While Ruin, shouting to his band, +Shook high her torch and gory brand! - +Cheer thee, fair City! From yon stand, +Impatient, still his outstretched hand + Points to his prey in vain, +While maddening in his eager mood, +And all unwont to be withstood, + He fires the fight again. + +X. +"On! On!" was still his stern exclaim; +"Confront the battery's jaws of flame! + Rush on the levelled gun! +My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance! +Each Hulan forward with his lance, +My Guard--my Chosen--charge for France, + France and Napoleon!" +Loud answered their acclaiming shout, +Greeting the mandate which sent out +Their bravest and their best to dare +The fate their leader shunned to share. +But HE, his country's sword and shield, +Still in the battle-front revealed, +Where danger fiercest swept the field, + Came like a beam of light, +In action prompt, in sentence brief - +"Soldiers, stand firm!" exclaimed the Chief, + "England shall tell the fight!" + +XI. +On came the whirlwind--like the last +But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast - +On came the whirlwind--steel-gleams broke +Like lightning through the rolling smoke; + The war was waked anew, +Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, +And from their throats, with flash and cloud, + Their showers of iron threw. +Beneath their fire, in full career, +Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, +The lancer couched his ruthless spear, +And hurrying as to havoc near, + The cohorts' eagles flew. +In one dark torrent, broad and strong, +The advancing onset rolled along, +Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, +That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, +Pealed wildly the imperial name. + +XII. +But on the British heart were lost +The terrors of the charging host; +For not an eye the storm that viewed +Changed its proud glance of fortitude, +Nor was one forward footstep stayed, +As dropped the dying and the dead. +Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, +Fast they renewed each serried square; +And on the wounded and the slain +Closed their diminished files again, +Till from their line scarce spears'-lengths three, +Emerging from the smoke they see +Helmet, and plume, and panoply, - + Then waked their fire at once! +Each musketeer's revolving knell, +As fast, as regularly fell, +As when they practise to display +Their discipline on festal day. + Then down went helm and lance, +Down were the eagle banners sent, +Down reeling steeds and riders went, +Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent; + And, to augment the fray, +Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, +The English horsemen's foaming ranks + Forced their resistless way. +Then to the musket-knell succeeds +The clash of swords--the neigh of steeds - +As plies the smith his clanging trade, +Against the cuirass rang the blade; +And while amid their close array +The well-served cannon rent their way, +And while amid their scattered band +Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, +Recoiled in common rout and fear, +Lancer and guard and cuirassier, +Horsemen and foot,--a mingled host +Their leaders fall'n, their standards lost. + +XIII. +Then, WELLINGTON! thy piercing eye +This crisis caught of destiny - + The British host had stood +That morn 'gainst charge of sword and lance +As their own ocean-rocks hold stance, +But when thy voice had said, "Advance!" + They were their ocean's flood. - +O Thou, whose inauspicious aim +Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame, +Think'st thou thy broken bands will bide +The terrors of yon rushing tide? +Or will thy chosen brook to feel +The British shock of levelled steel, + Or dost thou turn thine eye +Where coming squadrons gleam afar, +And fresher thunders wake the war, + And other standards fly? - +Think not that in yon columns, file +Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle - + Is Blucher yet unknown? +Or dwells not in thy memory still +(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill), +What notes of hate and vengeance thrill + In Prussia's trumpet-tone? - +What yet remains?--shall it be thine +To head the relics of thy line + In one dread effort more? - +The Roman lore thy leisure loved, +And than canst tell what fortune proved + That Chieftain, who, of yore, +Ambition's dizzy paths essayed +And with the gladiators' aid + For empire enterprised - +He stood the cast his rashness played, +Left not the victims he had made, +Dug his red grave with his own blade, +And on the field he lost was laid, + Abhorred--but not despised. + +XIV. +But if revolves thy fainter thought +On safety--howsoever bought, - +Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, +Though twice ten thousand men have died + On this eventful day +To gild the military fame +Which thou, for life, in traffic tame + Wilt barter thus away. +Shall future ages tell this tale +Of inconsistence faint and frail? +And art thou He of Lodi's bridge, +Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge! +Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, +That, swelled by winter storm and shower, +Rolls down in turbulence of power, + A torrent fierce and wide; +Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, +Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, + Whose channel shows displayed +The wrecks of its impetuous course, +But not one symptom of the force + By which these wrecks were made! + +XV. +Spur on thy way!--since now thine ear +Has brooked thy veterans' wish to hear, + Who, as thy flight they eyed +Exclaimed,--while tears of anguish came, +Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame, + "O that he had but died!" +But yet, to sum this hour of ill, +Look, ere thou leav'st the fatal hill, + Back on yon broken ranks - +Upon whose wild confusion gleams +The moon, as on the troubled streams + When rivers break their banks, +And, to the ruined peasant's eye, +Objects half seen roll swiftly by, + Down the dread current hurled - +So mingle banner, wain, and gun, +Where the tumultuous flight rolls on +Of warriors, who, when morn begun, + Defied a banded world. + +XVI. +List--frequent to the hurrying rout, +The stern pursuers' vengeful shout +Tells, that upon their broken rear +Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. + So fell a shriek was none, +When Beresina's icy flood +Reddened and thawed with flame and blood, +And, pressing on thy desperate way, +Raised oft and long their wild hurra, + The children of the Don. +Thine ear no yell of horror cleft +So ominous, when, all bereft +Of aid, the valiant Polack left - +Ay, left by thee--found soldiers grave +In Leipsic's corpse-encumbered wave. +Fate, in those various perils past, +Reserved thee still some future cast; +On the dread die thou now hast thrown +Hangs not a single field alone, +Nor one campaign--thy martial fame, +Thy empire, dynasty, and name + Have felt the final stroke; +And now, o'er thy devoted head +The last stern vial's wrath is shed, + The last dread seal is broke. + +XVII. +Since live thou wilt--refuse not now +Before these demagogues to bow, +Late objects of thy scorn and hate, +Who shall thy once imperial fate +Make wordy theme of vain debate. - +Or shall we say, thou stoop'st less low +In seeking refuge from the foe, +Against whose heart, in prosperous life, +Thine hand hath ever held the knife? + Such homage hath been paid +By Roman and by Grecian voice, +And there were honour in the choice, + If it were freely made. +Then safely come--in one so low, - +So lost,--we cannot own a foe; +Though dear experience bid us end, +In thee we ne'er can hail a friend. - +Come, howsoe'er--but do not hide +Close in thy heart that germ of pride, +Erewhile, by gifted bard espied, + That "yet imperial hope;" +Think not that for a fresh rebound, +To raise ambition from the ground, + We yield thee means or scope. +In safety come--but ne'er again +Hold type of independent reign; + No islet calls thee lord, +We leave thee no confederate band, +No symbol of thy lost command, +To be a dagger in the hand + From which we wrenched the sword. + +XVIII. +Yet, even in yon sequestered spot, +May worthier conquest be thy lot + Than yet thy life has known; +Conquest, unbought by blood or harm, +That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, + A triumph all thine own. +Such waits thee when thou shalt control +Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, + That marred thy prosperous scene:- +Hear this--from no unmoved heart, +Which sighs, comparing what THOU ART + With what thou MIGHT'ST HAVE BEEN! + +XIX. +Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed +Bankrupt a nation's gratitude, +To thine own noble heart must owe +More than the meed she can bestow. +For not a people's just acclaim, +Not the full hail of Europe's fame, +Thy Prince's smiles, the State's decree, +The ducal rank, the gartered knee, +Not these such pure delight afford +As that, when hanging up thy sword, +Well may'st thou think, "This honest steel +Was ever drawn for public weal; +And, such was rightful Heaven's decree, +Ne'er sheathed unless with victory!" + +XX. +Look forth, once more, with softened heart, +Ere from the field of fame we part; +Triumph and Sorrow border near, +And joy oft melts into a tear. +Alas! what links of love that morn +Has War's rude hand asunder torn! +For ne'er was field so sternly fought, +And ne'er was conquest dearer bought, +Here piled in common slaughter sleep +Those whom affection long shall weep +Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strain +His orphans to his heart again; +The son, whom, on his native shore, +The parent's voice shall bless no more; +The bridegroom, who has hardly pressed +His blushing consort to his breast; +The husband, whom through many a year +Long love and mutual faith endear. +Thou canst not name one tender tie, +But here dissolved its relics lie! +Oh! when thou see'st some mourner's veil +Shroud her thin form and visage pale, +Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears +Stream when the stricken drum she hears; +Or see'st how manlier grief, suppressed, +Is labouring in a father's breast, - +With no inquiry vain pursue +The cause, but think on Waterloo! + +XXI. +Period of honour as of woes, +What bright careers 'twas thine to close! - +Marked on thy roll of blood what names +To Britain's memory, and to Fame's, +Laid there their last immortal claims! +Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire +Redoubted PICTON'S soul of fire - +Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie +All that of PONSONBY could die - +DE LANCEY change Love's bridal-wreath +For laurels from the hand of Death - +Saw'st gallant MILLER'S failing eye +Still bent where Albion's banners fly, +And CAMERON, in the shock of steel, +Die like the offspring of Lochiel; +And generous GORDON, 'mid the strife, +Fall while he watched his leader's life. - +Ah! though her guardian angel's shield +Fenced Britain's hero through the field. +Fate not the less her power made known, +Through his friends' hearts to pierce his own! + +XXII. +Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay! +Who may your names, your numbers, say? +What high-strung harp, what lofty line, +To each the dear-earned praise assign, +From high-born chiefs of martial fame +To the poor soldier's lowlier name? +Lightly ye rose that dawning day, +From your cold couch of swamp and clay, +To fill, before the sun was low, +The bed that morning cannot know. - +Oft may the tear the green sod steep, +And sacred be the heroes' sleep, + Till time shall cease to run; +And ne'er beside their noble grave, +May Briton pass and fail to crave +A blessing on the fallen brave + Who fought with Wellington! + +XXIII. +Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face +Wears desolation's withering trace; + Long shall my memory retain +Thy shattered huts and trampled grain, +With every mark of martial wrong, +That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont! +Yet though thy garden's green arcade +The marksman's fatal post was made, +Though on thy shattered beeches fell +The blended rage of shot and shell, +Though from thy blackened portals torn, +Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, +Has not such havoc bought a name +Immortal in the rolls of fame? +Yes--Agincourt may be forgot, +And Cressy be an unknown spot, + And Blenheim's name be new; +But still in story and in song, +For many an age remembered long, +Shall live the towers of Hougomont + And Field of Waterloo! + + +CONCLUSION. + + + Stern tide of human Time! that know'st not rest, + But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, + Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast + Successive generations to their doom; + While thy capacious stream has equal room + For the gay bark where Pleasure's steamers sport, + And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, + The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, +Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port; - + + Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious change + Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven! + For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange + Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. + And sure such varied change of sea and heaven, + Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe, + Such fearful strife as that where we have striven, + Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know, +Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow. + + Well hast thou stood, my Country!--the brave fight + Hast well maintained through good report and ill; + In thy just cause and in thy native might, + And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still; + Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill + Of half the world against thee stood arrayed, + Or when, with better views and freer will, + Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, +Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. + + Well art thou now repaid--though slowly rose, + And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, + While like the dawn that in the orient glows + On the broad wave its earlier lustre came; + Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, + And Maida's myrtles gleamed beneath its ray, + Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame, + Rivalled the heroes of the watery way, +And washed in foemen's gore unjust reproach away. + + Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, + And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, + Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, + For thou halt faced, like him, a dragon foe, + And rescued innocence from overthrow, + And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might, + And to the gazing world may'st proudly show + The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, +Who quelled devouring pride and vindicated right. + + Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown, + Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired, + Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down: + 'Tis not alone the heart with valour fired, + The discipline so dreaded and admired, + In many a field of bloody conquest known, + --Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired: + 'Tis constancy in the good cause alone +Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won. + + + +THE DANCE OF DEATH. [1815.] + + + +I. +Night and morning were at meeting + Over Waterloo; +Cocks had sung their earliest greeting; + Faint and low they crew, +For no paly beam yet shone +On the heights of Mount Saint John; +Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway +Of timeless darkness over day; +Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower +Marked it a predestined hour. +Broad and frequent through the night +Flashed the sheets of levin-light: +Muskets, glancing lightnings back, +Showed the dreary bivouac + Where the soldier lay, +Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain, +Wishing dawn of morn again, + Though death should come with day. + +II. +'Tis at such a tide and hour +Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, +And ghastly forms through mist and shower + Gleam on the gifted ken; +And then the affrighted prophet's ear +Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear +Presaging death and ruin near + Among the sons of men; - +Apart from Albyn's war-array, +'Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay; +Grey Allan, who, for many a day, + Had followed stout and stern, +Where, through battle's rout and reel, +Storm of shot and edge of steel, +Led the grandson of Lochiel, + Valiant Fassiefern. +Through steel and shot he leads no more, +Low laid 'mid friends' and foemen's gore - +But long his native lake's wild shore, +And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, + And Morven long shall tell, +And proud Bennevis hear with awe +How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, +Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra + Of conquest as he fell. + +III. +Lone on the outskirts of the host, +The weary sentinel held post, +And heard, through darkness far aloof, +The frequent clang of courser's hoof, +Where held the cloaked patrol their course, +And spurred 'gainst storm the swerving horse; +But there are sounds in Allan's ear, +Patrol nor sentinel may hear, +And sights before his eye aghast +Invisible to them have passed, + When down the destined plain, +'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, +Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance, +Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance, + And doomed the future slain. - +Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard, +When Scotland's James his march prepared + For Flodden's fatal plain; +Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, +As Choosers of the Slain, adored + The yet unchristened Dane. +An indistinct and phantom band, +They wheeled their ring-dance hand in hand, + With gestures wild and dread; +The Seer, who watched them ride the storm, +Saw through their faint and shadowy form + The lightning's flash more red; +And still their ghastly roundelay +Was of the coming battle-fray, + And of the destined dead. + +IV. SONG. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +Our airy feet, +So light and fleet, + They do not bend the rye +That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, +And swells again in eddying wave, + As each wild gust blows by; +But still the corn, +At dawn of morn, + Our fatal steps that bore, +At eve lies waste, +A trampled paste + Of blackening mud and gore. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +V. +Wheel the wild dance! +Brave sons of France, + For you our ring makes room; +Make space full wide +For martial pride, + For banner, spear, and plume. +Approach, draw near, +Proud cuirassier! + Room for the men of steel! +Through crest and plate +The broadsword's weight + Both head and heart shall feel. + +VI. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +Sons of the spear! +You feel us near + In many a ghastly dream; +With fancy's eye +Our forms you spy, + And hear our fatal scream. +With clearer sight +Ere falls the night, + Just when to weal or woe +Your disembodied souls take flight +On trembling wing--each startled sprite + Our choir of death shall know. + +VII. +Wheel the wild dance +While lightnings glance, + And thunders rattle loud, +And call the brave +To bloody grave, + To sleep without a shroud. + +Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, +Redder rain shall soon be ours - + See the east grows wan - +Yield we place to sterner game, +Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame +Shall the welkin's thunders shame, +Elemental rage is tame + To the wrath of man. + +VIII. +At morn, grey Allan's mates with awe +Heard of the visioned sights he saw, + The legend heard him say; +But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, +Deafened his ear, and stark his limb, + Ere closed that bloody day. +He sleeps far from his Highland heath, +But often of the Dance of Death + His comrades tell the tale +On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, +And waning watch-fires glow less bright, + And dawn is glimmering pale. + + + +ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. FROM THE FRENCH. [1815.] + + + +[The original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript +collection of French Songs, probably compiled by some young officer, +which was found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay +and with blood as sufficiently to indicate what had been the fate of +its late owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a good +specimen of the style of composition to which it belongs. The +translation is strictly literal.] + +It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, +But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's shrine: +"And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven," was still the Soldier's +prayer; +That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair." + +His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword, +And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord; +Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air, +"Be honoured aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair." + +They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said, +"The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid. - +My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, +For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair." + +And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary's shrine, +That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine; +And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there +Cried, "Honoured be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair!" + + + +THE TROUBADOUR. FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. [1815.] + + + +Glowing with love, on fire for fame + A Troubadour that hated sorrow +Beneath his lady's window came, + And thus he sung his last good-morrow: +"My arm it is my country's right, + My heart is in my true-love's bower; +Gaily for love and fame to fight + Befits the gallant Troubadour." + +And while he marched with helm on head + And harp in hand, the descant rung, +As faithful to his favourite maid, + The minstrel-burden still he sung: +"My arm it is my country's right, + My heart is in my lady's bower; +Resolved for love and fame to fight + I come, a gallant Troubadour." + +Even when the battle-roar was deep, + With dauntless heart he hewed his way, +'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, + And still was heard his warrior-lay: +"My life it is my country's right, + My heart is in my lady's bower; +For love to die, for fame to fight, + Becomes the valiant Troubadour." + +Alas! upon the bloody field + He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, +But still reclining on his shield, + Expiring sung the exulting stave:- +"My life it is my country's right, + My heart is in my lady's bower; +For love and fame to fall in fight + Becomes the valiant Troubadour." + + + +PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. + + + +[This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald. The +words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are +applied, run thus in Gaelic:- + +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; +Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; +Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. +The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, +The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, +The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place +at Inverlochy.] + + Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, + Pibroch of Donuil, + Wake thy wild voice anew, + Summon Clan Conuil. + Come away, come away, + Hark to the summons! + Come in your war array, + Gentles and commons. + + Come from deep glen, and + From mountain so rocky, + The war-pipe and pennon + Are at Inverlochy. + Come every hill-plaid, and + True heart that wears one, + Come every steel blade, and + Strong hand that bears one. + + Leave untended the herd, + The flock without shelter; + Leave the corpse uninterr'd, + The bride at the altar; + Leave the deer, leave the steer, + Leave nets and barges: + Come with your fighting gear, + Broadswords and targes. + + Come as the winds come, when + Forests are rended; + Come as the waves come, when + Navies are stranded: + Faster come, faster come, + Faster and faster, + Chief, vassal, page and groom, + Tenant and master. + + Fast they come, fast they come; + See how they gather! + Wide waves the eagle plume, + Blended with heather. + Cast your plaids, draw your blades, + Forward each man set! + Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, + Knell for the onset! + + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} This eText comes from a book (Pike Country Ballads etc.) which +contains a number of poems by John Hay. These have been released +separately by Project Gutenberg under the title "Pike Country +Ballads and Other Poems" by John Hay. They are not included here +to avoid duplication. + +{2} The literal translation of Fuentes d'Honoro. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT *** + +This file should be named wspm10.txt or wspm10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, wspm11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, wspm10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/wspm10.zip b/old/wspm10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8bcb47b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/wspm10.zip diff --git a/old/wspm10h.htm b/old/wspm10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9988d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/wspm10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1890 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott, by Sir Walter Scott</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott +(#24 in our series by Sir Walter Scott) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott + +Author: Sir Walter Scott + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6061] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 30, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This eBook was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Contents:<br /> Introduction by Henry Morley.<br /> The +Vision of Don Roderick<br /> The Field of Waterloo<br /> The +Dance of Death<br /> Romance of Dunois<br /> The +Troubadour<br /> Pibroch of Donald Dhu</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h1>INTRODUCTION.</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Since there is room in this volume for more verses than Colonel Hay’s +<a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a>, I have added to +them a few poems by Sir Walter Scott; the first written in 1811 at the +time of the struggle with Napoleon in the Peninsula, the second in 1815, +after Waterloo. Thus there is over all this volume a thin haze +of battle through which we see only the finer feelings and the nobler +hopes of man. The day is to come when war shall be no more, but +wars have been and may again be necessary to bring on that day; and +it is of such war, not untinged with the light of heaven, that we have +passing shadows in this little book.</p> +<p>“The Vision of Don Roderick; a Poem, by Walter Scott, Esq.,” +was printed at Edinburgh by James Ballantyne & Co. in 1811. +They are the present representatives of that firm by whom it is here +reprinted. It was originally inscribed “to John Whitmore, +Esq., and to the Committee of Subscribers for relief of the Portuguese +Sufferers, in which he presides,” as a “poem composed for +the benefit of the Fund under their management.”</p> +<p>The Legend of Don Roderick will be given in the next volume of our +“Companion Poets,” for Robert Southey founded upon it a +Romantic Tale in Verse, which is one of the best tales of the kind in +the English language. Southey’s tale of Roderick himself +was written at the same time when Walter Savage Landor was writing a +play upon the subject, and Scott was, in the piece here reprinted, making +it the starting-point of a vision of the war in the Peninsula. +The fatal palace of Don Roderick may have been a fable connected with +the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. The fable, as translated by +Scott from a Spanish History of King Roderick, was this:-</p> +<p>“One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among some +rocks, was situated an ancient Tower of magnificent structure, though +much dilapidated by time, which consumes all: four estadoes (<i>i.e</i>., +four times a man’s height) below it, there was a Cave with a very +narrow entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a +strong covering of iron, and fastened with many locks; above the gate +some Greek letters are engraved, which, although abbreviated, and of +doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition +of learned men:- <i>The King who opens this cave and discovers the wonders +will discover both good and evil things</i>. Many kings desired +to know the mystery of this Tower, and sought to find out the manner +with much care; but when they opened the gate, such a tremendous noise +arose in the Cave that it appeared as if the earth was bursting; many +of those present sickened with fear, and others lost their lives. +In order to prevent such great perils (as they supposed a dangerous +enchantment was contained within), they secured the gate with new locks, +concluding, that though a king was destined to open it, the fated time +was not yet arrived. At last King Don Rodrigo, led on by his evil +fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the Tower; and some bold attendants +whom he had brought with him entered, although agitated with fear. +Having proceeded a good way, they fled back to the entrance, terrified +with a frightful vision which they had beheld. The King was greatly +moved, and ordered many torches, so contrived that the tempest in the +cave could not extinguish them, to be lighted. Then the King entered, +not without fear, before all the others. He discovered, by degrees, +a splendid hall, apparently built in a very sumptuous manner; in the +middle stood a Bronze Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held +a battle-axe in its hands. With this he struck the floor violently, +giving it such heavy blows that the noise in the Cave was occasioned +by the motion of the air. The King, greatly affrighted and astonished, +began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that he would return +without doing any injury in the Cave, after he had obtained sight of +what was contained in it. The Statue ceased to strike the floor, +and the King, with his followers, somewhat assured, and recovering their +courage, proceeded into the hall; and on the left of the Statue they +found this inscription on the wall: <i>Unfortunate King, thou hast entered +here in an evil hour</i>. On the right side of the wall the words +were inscribed: <i>By strange Nations thou shalt be dispossessed, and +thy subjects foully degraded</i>. On the shoulders of the Statue +other words were written, which said, <i>I call upon the Arabs</i>. +And upon his heart was written, <i>I do my office</i>. At the +entrance of the hall there was placed a round bowl, from which a great +noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. They found no other +thing in the hall, - and when the King, sorrowful and greatly affected, +had scarcely turned about to leave the Cavern, the Statue again commenced +its accustomed blows upon the floor. After they had mutually promised +to conceal what they had seen, they again closed the Tower, and blocked +up the gate of the Cavern with earth, that no memory might remain in +the world of such a portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The ensuing +midnight, they heard great cries and clamour from the Cave, resounding +like the noise of Battle, and the ground shaking with a tremendous roar; +the whole edifice of the old Tower fell to the ground, by which they +were greatly affrighted, the Vision which they had beheld appearing +to them as a dream.”</p> +<p>Scott’s poem on the Field of Waterloo was written to assist +the Waterloo subscription.</p> +<p>H. M.</p> +<p><i>“Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris,<br /> Vox +humana valet!”</i> - CLAUDIAN.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>PREFACE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, bearing, +in general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the +invasion of the Moors was depending, had the temerity to descend into +an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been denounced +as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash +curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation of those Saracens +who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and reduced Spain under +their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the Vision of the Revolutions +of Spain down to the present eventful crisis of the Peninsula, and to +divide it, by a supposed change of scene, into, THREE PERIODS. +The FIRST of these represents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat +and Death of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation of the +country by the victors. The SECOND PERIOD embraces the state of +the Peninsula when the conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in +the East and West Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown +of their arms; sullied, however, by superstition and cruelty. +An allusion to the inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this picture. +The LAST PART of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous to +the unparalleled treachery of BUONAPARTE, gives a sketch of the usurpation +attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminates +with the arrival of the British succours. It may be further proper +to mention, that the object of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail +particular incidents, than to exhibit a general and impressive picture +of the several periods brought upon the stage.</p> +<p>EDINBURGH, <i>June</i> 24, 1811.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I.<br /> Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting +fire<br /> May rise distinguished o’er +the din of war;<br /> Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre<br /> Who +sung beleaguered Ilion’s evil star?<br /> Such, WELLINGTON, +might reach thee from afar,<br /> Wafting its +descant wide o’er Ocean’s range;<br /> Nor shouts, +nor clashing arms, its mood could mar,<br /> All, +as it swelled ’twixt each loud trumpet-change,<br />That clangs +to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge!</p> +<p>II.<br /> Yes! such a strain, with all o’er-pouring +measure,<br /> Might melodise with each tumultuous +sound<br /> Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure,<br /> That +rings Mondego’s ravaged shores around;<br /> The thundering +cry of hosts with conquest crowned,<br /> The +female shriek, the ruined peasant’s moan,<br /> The +shout of captives from their chains unbound,<br /> The +foiled oppressor’s deep and sullen groan,<br />A Nation’s +choral hymn, for tyranny o’erthrown.</p> +<p>III.<br /> But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day<br /> Skilled +but to imitate an elder page,<br /> Timid and raptureless, +can we repay<br /> The debt thou claim’st +in this exhausted age?<br /> Thou givest our lyres a theme, +that might engage<br /> Those that could send +thy name o’er sea and land,<br /> While sea and land +shall last; for Homer’s rage<br /> A theme; +a theme for Milton’s mighty hand -<br />How much unmeet for us, +a faint degenerate band!</p> +<p>IV.<br /> Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast<br /> The +friends of Scottish freedom found repose;<br /> Ye torrents! +whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest,<br /> Returning +from the field of vanquished foes;<br /> Say, have ye lost +each wild majestic close<br /> That erst the +choir of Bards or Druids flung,<br /> What time their hymn +of victory arose,<br /> And Cattraeth’s +glens with voice of triumph rung,<br />And mystic Merlin harped, and +grey-haired Llywarch sung?</p> +<p>V.<br /> Oh! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain,<br /> As +sure your changeful gales seem oft to say,<br /> When sweeping +wild and sinking soft again,<br /> Like trumpet-jubilee, +or harp’s wild sway;<br /> If ye can echo such triumphant +lay,<br /> Then lend the note to him has loved +you long!<br /> Who pious gathered each tradition grey<br /> That +floats your solitary wastes along,<br />And with affection vain gave +them new voice in song.</p> +<p>VI.<br /> For not till now, how oft soe’er the task<br /> Of +truant verse hath lightened graver care,<br /> From Muse +or Sylvan was he wont to ask,<br /> In phrase +poetic, inspiration fair;<br /> Careless he gave his numbers +to the air,<br /> They came unsought for, if +applauses came:<br /> Nor for himself prefers he now the +prayer;<br /> Let but his verse befit a hero’s +fame,<br />Immortal be the verse! - forgot the poet’s name!</p> +<p>VII.<br /> Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost:<br /> “Minstrel! +the fame of whose romantic lyre,<br /> Capricious-swelling +now, may soon be lost,<br /> Like the light flickering +of a cottage fire;<br /> If to such task presumptuous thou +aspire,<br /> Seek not from us the meed to warrior +due:<br /> Age after age has gathered son to sire<br /> Since +our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew,<br />Or, pealing through our +vales, victorious bugles blew.</p> +<p>VIII.<br /> “Decayed our old traditionary lore,<br /> Save +where the lingering fays renew their ring,<br /> By milkmaid +seen beneath the hawthorn hoar,<br /> Or round +the marge of Minchmore’s haunted spring;<br /> Save +where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing,<br /> That +now scarce win a listening ear but thine,<br /> Of feuds +obscure, and Border ravaging,<br /> And rugged +deeds recount in rugged line,<br />Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, +Tweed, or Tyne.</p> +<p>IX.<br /> “No! search romantic lands, where the +near Sun<br /> Gives with unstinted boon ethereal +flame,<br /> Where the rude villager, his labour done,<br /> In +verse spontaneous chants some favoured name,<br /> Whether +Olalia’s charms his tribute claim,<br /> Her +eye of diamond, and her locks of jet;<br /> Or whether, kindling +at the deeds of Græme,<br /> He sing, to +wild Morisco measure set,<br />Old Albin’s red claymore, green +Erin’s bayonet!</p> +<p>X.<br /> “Explore those regions, where the flinty +crest<br /> Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows,<br /> Where +in the proud Alhambra’s ruined breast<br /> Barbaric +monuments of pomp repose;<br /> Or where the banners of more +ruthless foes<br /> Than the fierce Moor, float +o’er Toledo’s fane,<br /> From whose tall towers +even now the patriot throws<br /> An anxious +glance, to spy upon the plain<br />The blended ranks of England, Portugal, +and Spain.</p> +<p>XI.<br /> “There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark<br /> Still +lightens in the sunburnt native’s eye;<br /> The stately +port, slow step, and visage dark,<br /> Still +mark enduring pride and constancy.<br /> And, if the glow +of feudal chivalry<br /> Beam not, as once, thy +nobles’ dearest pride,<br /> Iberia! oft thy crestless +peasantry<br /> Have seen the plumed Hidalgo +quit their side,<br />Have seen, yet dauntless stood - ’gainst +fortune fought and died.</p> +<p>XII.<br /> “And cherished still by that unchanging +race,<br /> Are themes for minstrelsy more high +than thine;<br /> Of strange tradition many a mystic trace,<br /> Legend +and vision, prophecy and sign;<br /> Where wonders wild of +Arabesque combine<br /> With Gothic imagery of +darker shade,<br /> Forming a model meet for minstrel line.<br /> Go, +seek such theme!” - the Mountain Spirit said.<br />With filial +awe I heard - I heard, and I obeyed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.<br /> Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies,<br /> And +darkly clustering in the pale moonlight,<br /> Toledo’s +holy towers and spires arise,<br /> As from a +trembling lake of silver white.<br /> Their mingled shadows +intercept the sight<br /> Of the broad burial-ground +outstretched below,<br /> And nought disturbs the silence +of the night;<br /> All sleeps in sullen shade, +or silver glow,<br />All save the heavy swell of Teio’s ceaseless +flow.</p> +<p>II.<br /> All save the rushing swell of Teio’s tide,<br /> Or, +distant heard, a courser’s neigh or tramp;<br /> Their +changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride,<br /> To +guard the limits of King Roderick’s camp.<br /> For +through the river’s night-fog rolling damp<br /> Was +many a proud pavilion dimly seen,<br /> Which glimmered back, +against the moon’s fair lamp,<br /> Tissues +of silk and silver twisted sheen,<br />And standards proudly pitched, +and warders armed between.</p> +<p>III.<br /> But of their Monarch’s person keeping +ward,<br /> Since last the deep-mouthed bell +of vespers tolled,<br /> The chosen soldiers of the royal +guard<br /> The post beneath the proud Cathedral +hold:<br /> A band unlike their Gothic sires of old,<br /> Who, +for the cap of steel and iron mace,<br /> Bear slender darts, +and casques bedecked with gold,<br /> While silver-studded +belts their shoulders grace,<br />Where ivory quivers ring in the broad +falchion’s place.</p> +<p>IV.<br /> In the light language of an idle court,<br /> They +murmured at their master’s long delay,<br /> And held +his lengthened orisons in sport:-<br /> “What! +will Don Roderick here till morning stay,<br /> To wear in +shrift and prayer the night away?<br /> And are +his hours in such dull penance past,<br /> For fair Florinda’s +plundered charms to pay?”<br /> Then to +the east their weary eyes they cast,<br />And wished the lingering dawn +would glimmer forth at last.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p> But, far within, Toledo’s Prelate lent<br /> An +ear of fearful wonder to the King;<br /> The silver lamp +a fitful lustre sent,<br /> So long that sad +confession witnessing:<br /> For Roderick told of many a +hidden thing,<br /> Such as are lothly uttered +to the air,<br /> When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom +wring,<br /> And Guilt his secret burden cannot +bear,<br />And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair.</p> +<p>VI.<br /> Full on the Prelate’s face, and silver +hair,<br /> The stream of failing light was feebly +rolled:<br /> But Roderick’s visage, though his head +was bare,<br /> Was shadowed by his hand and +mantle’s fold.<br /> While of his hidden soul the sins +he told,<br /> Proud Alaric’s descendant +could not brook,<br /> That mortal man his bearing should +behold,<br /> Or boast that he had seen, when +Conscience shook,<br />Fear tame a monarch’s brow, Remorse a warrior’s +look.</p> +<p>VII.<br /> The old man’s faded cheek waxed yet more +pale,<br /> As many a secret sad the King bewrayed;<br /> As +sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale,<br /> When +in the midst his faltering whisper stayed.<br /> “Thus +royal Witiza was slain,” - he said;<br /> “Yet, +holy Father, deem not it was I.”<br /> Thus still Ambition +strives her crimes to shade. -<br /> “Oh, +rather deem ’twas stern necessity!<br />Self-preservation bade, +and I must kill or die.</p> +<p>VIII.<br /> “And if Florinda’s shrieks alarmed +the air,<br /> If she invoked her absent sire +in vain,<br /> And on her knees implored that I would spare,<br /> Yet, +reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain!<br /> All is +not as it seems - the female train<br /> Know +by their bearing to disguise their mood:”<br /> But +Conscience here, as if in high disdain,<br /> Sent +to the Monarch’s cheek the burning blood -<br />He stayed his +speech abrupt - and up the Prelate stood.</p> +<p>IX.<br /> “O hardened offspring of an iron race!<br /> What +of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say?<br /> What alms, +or prayers, or penance can efface<br /> Murder’s +dark spot, wash treason’s stain away!<br /> For the +foul ravisher how shall I pray,<br /> Who, scarce +repentant, makes his crime his boast?<br /> How hope Almighty +vengeance shall delay,<br /> Unless, in mercy +to yon Christian host,<br />He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless +sheep be lost?”</p> +<p>X.<br /> Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood,<br /> And +to his brow returned its dauntless gloom;<br /> “And +welcome then,” he cried, “be blood for blood,<br /> For +treason treachery, for dishonour doom!<br /> Yet will I know +whence come they, or by whom.<br /> Show, for +thou canst - give forth the fated key,<br /> And guide me, +Priest, to that mysterious room,<br /> Where, +if aught true in old tradition be,<br />His nation’s future fates +a Spanish King shall see.”</p> +<p>XI.<br /> “Ill-fated Prince! recall the desperate +word,<br /> Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey!<br /> Bethink, +yon spell-bound portal would afford<br /> Never +to former Monarch entrance-way;<br /> Nor shall it ever ope, +old records say,<br /> Save to a King, the last +of all his line,<br /> What time his empire totters to decay,<br /> And +treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine,<br />And, high above, impends +avenging wrath divine.” -</p> +<p>XII.<br /> “Prelate! a Monarch’s fate brooks +no delay;<br /> Lead on!” - The ponderous +key the old man took,<br /> And held the winking lamp, and +led the way,<br /> By winding stair, dark aisle, +and secret nook,<br /> Then on an ancient gateway bent his +look;<br /> And, as the key the desperate King +essayed,<br /> Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook,<br /> And +twice he stopped, and twice new effort made,<br />Till the huge bolts +rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed.</p> +<p>XIII.<br /> Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted hall;<br /> Roof, +walls, and floor were all of marble stone,<br /> Of polished +marble, black as funeral pall,<br /> Carved o’er +with signs and characters unknown.<br /> A paly light, as +of the dawning, shone<br /> Through the sad bounds, +but whence they could not spy;<br /> For window to the upper +air was none;<br /> Yet, by that light, Don Roderick +could descry<br />Wonders that ne’er till then were seen by mortal +eye.</p> +<p>XIV.<br /> Grim sentinels, against the upper wall,<br /> Of +molten bronze, two Statues held their place;<br /> Massive +their naked limbs, their stature tall,<br /> Their +frowning foreheads golden circles grace.<br /> Moulded they +seemed for kings of giant race,<br /> That lived +and sinned before the avenging flood;<br /> This grasped +a scythe, that rested on a mace;<br /> This spread +his wings for flight, that pondering stood,<br />Each stubborn seemed +and stern, immutable of mood.</p> +<p>XV.<br /> Fixed was the right-hand Giant’s brazen +look<br /> Upon his brother’s glass of +shifting sand,<br /> As if its ebb he measured by a book,<br /> Whose +iron volume loaded his huge hand;<br /> In which was wrote +of many a fallen land<br /> Of empires lost, +and kings to exile driven:<br /> And o’er that pair +their names in scroll expand -<br /> “Lo, +DESTINY and TIME! to whom by Heaven<br />The guidance of the earth is +for a season given.” -</p> +<p>XVI.<br /> Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes +away;<br /> And, as the last and lagging grains +did creep,<br /> That right-hand Giant ’gan his club +upsway,<br /> As one that startles from a heavy +sleep.<br /> Full on the upper wall the mace’s sweep<br /> At +once descended with the force of thunder,<br /> And hurtling +down at once, in crumbled heap,<br /> The marble +boundary was rent asunder,<br />And gave to Roderick’s view new +sights of fear and wonder.</p> +<p>XVII.<br /> For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach,<br /> Realms +as of Spain in visioned prospect laid,<br /> Castles and +towers, in due proportion each,<br /> As by some +skilful artist’s hand portrayed:<br /> Here, crossed +by many a wild Sierra’s shade,<br /> And +boundless plains that tire the traveller’s eye;<br /> There, +rich with vineyard and with olive glade,<br /> Or +deep-embrowned by forests huge and high,<br />Or washed by mighty streams, +that slowly murmured by.</p> +<p>XVIII.<br /> And here, as erst upon the antique stage<br /> Passed +forth the band of masquers trimly led,<br /> In various forms, +and various equipage,<br /> While fitting strains +the hearer’s fancy fed;<br /> So, to sad Roderick’s +eye in order spread,<br /> Successive pageants +filled that mystic scene,<br /> Showing the fate of battles +ere they bled,<br /> And issue of events that +had not been;<br />And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between.</p> +<p>XIX.<br /> First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek! +-<br /> It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the +call,<br /> For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. +-<br /> Then answered kettle-drum and attabal,<br /> Gong-peal +and cymbal-clank the ear appal,<br /> The Tecbir +war-cry, and the Lelie’s yell,<br /> Ring wildly dissonant +along the hall.<br /> Needs not to Roderick their +dread import tell -<br />“The Moor!” he cried, “the +Moor! - ring out the Tocsin bell!</p> +<p>XX.<br /> “They come! they come! I see the +groaning lands<br /> White with the turbans of +each Arab horde;<br /> Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving +bands,<br /> Alla and Mahomet their battle-word,<br /> The +choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword -<br /> See +how the Christians rush to arms amain! -<br /> In yonder +shout the voice of conflict roared,<br /> The +shadowy hosts are closing on the plain -<br />Now, God and Saint Iago +strike, for the good cause of Spain!</p> +<p>XXI.<br /> “By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians +yield!<br /> Their coward leader gives for flight +the sign!<br /> The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field +-<br /> Is not yon steed Orelio? - Yes, ’tis +mine!<br /> But never was she turned from battle-line:<br /> Lo! +where the recreant spurs o’er stock and stone! -<br /> Curses +pursue the slave, and wrath divine!<br /> Rivers +ingulph him!” - ”Hush,” in shuddering tone,<br />The +Prelate said; “rash Prince, yon visioned form’s thine own.”</p> +<p>XXII.<br /> Just then, a torrent crossed the flier’s +course;<br /> The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness +tried;<br /> But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse,<br /> Swept +like benighted peasant down the tide;<br /> And the proud +Moslemah spread far and wide,<br /> As numerous +as their native locust band;<br /> Berber and Ismael’s +sons the spoils divide,<br /> With naked scimitars +mete out the land,<br />And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives +brand.</p> +<p>XXIII.<br /> Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose<br /> The +loveliest maidens of the Christian line;<br /> Then, menials, +to their misbelieving foes,<br /> Castile’s +young nobles held forbidden wine;<br /> Then, too, the holy +Cross, salvation’s sign,<br /> By impious +hands was from the altar thrown,<br /> And the deep aisles +of the polluted shrine<br /> Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone,<br />The +Santon’s frantic dance, the Fakir’s gibbering moan.</p> +<p>XXIV.<br /> How fares Don Roderick? - E’en as one +who spies<br /> Flames dart their glare o’er +midnight’s sable woof,<br /> And hears around his children’s +piercing cries,<br /> And sees the pale assistants +stand aloof;<br /> While cruel Conscience brings him bitter +proof,<br /> His folly, or his crime, have caused +his grief;<br /> And while above him nods the crumbling roof,<br /> He +curses earth and Heaven - himself in chief -<br />Desperate of earthly +aid, despairing Heaven’s relief!</p> +<p>XXV.<br /> That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass<br /> And +twilight on the landscape closed her wings;<br /> Far to +Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,<br /> And +in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings;<br /> And to the +sound the bell-decked dancer springs,<br /> Bazars +resound as when their marts are met,<br /> In tourney light +the Moor his jerrid flings,<br /> And on the +land as evening seemed to set,<br />The Imaum’s chant was heard +from mosque or minaret.</p> +<p>XXVI.<br /> So passed that pageant. Ere another +came,<br /> The visionary scene was wrapped in +smoke<br /> Whose sulph’rous wreaths were crossed by +sheets of flame;<br /> With every flash a bolt +explosive broke,<br /> Till Roderick deemed the fiends had +burst their yoke,<br /> And waved ’gainst +heaven the infernal gonfalone!<br /> For War a new and dreadful +language spoke,<br /> Never by ancient warrior +heard or known;<br />Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was +her tone.</p> +<p>XXVII.<br /> From the dim landscape rolled the clouds +away -<br /> The Christians have regained their +heritage;<br /> Before the Cross has waned the Crescent’s +ray,<br /> And many a monastery decks the stage,<br /> And +lofty church, and low-browed hermitage.<br /> The +land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, -<br /> The Genii those +of Spain for many an age;<br /> This clad in +sackcloth, that in armour bright,<br />And that was VALOUR named, this +BIGOTRY was hight.</p> +<p>XXVIII.<br /> VALOUR was harnessed like a chief of old,<br /> Armed +at all points, and prompt for knightly gest;<br /> His sword +was tempered in the Ebro cold,<br /> Morena’s +eagle plume adorned his crest,<br /> The spoils of Afric’s +lion bound his breast.<br /> Fierce he stepped +forward and flung down his gage;<br /> As if of mortal kind +to brave the best.<br /> Him followed his Companion, +dark and sage,<br />As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage.</p> +<p>XXIX.<br /> Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came,<br /> In +look and language proud as proud might be,<br /> Vaunting +his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame:<br /> Yet +was that barefoot Monk more proud than he:<br /> And as the +ivy climbs the tallest tree,<br /> So round the +loftiest soul his toils he wound,<br /> And with his spells +subdued the fierce and free,<br /> Till ermined +Age and Youth in arms renowned,<br />Honouring his scourge and haircloth, +meekly kissed the ground.</p> +<p>XXX.<br /> And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless knight,<br /> Who +ne’er to King or Kaiser vailed his crest,<br /> Victorious +still in bull-feast or in fight,<br /> Since +first his limbs with mail he did invest,<br /> Stooped ever +to that Anchoret’s behest;<br /> Nor reasoned +of the right, nor of the wrong,<br /> But at his bidding +laid the lance in rest,<br /> And wrought fell +deeds the troubled world along,<br />For he was fierce as brave, and +pitiless as strong.</p> +<p>XXXI.<br /> Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found +world,<br /> That latest sees the sun, or first +the morn;<br /> Still at that Wizard’s feet their spoils +he hurled, -<br /> Ingots of ore from rich Potosi +borne,<br /> Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn,<br /> Wrought +of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul;<br /> Idols of +gold from heathen temples torn,<br /> Bedabbled +all with blood. - With grisly scowl<br />The Hermit marked the stains, +and smiled beneath his cowl.</p> +<p>XXXII.<br /> Then did he bless the offering, and bade +make<br /> Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and +praise;<br /> And at his word the choral hymns awake,<br /> And +many a hand the silver censer sways,<br /> But with the incense-breath +these censers raise,<br /> Mix steams from corpses +smouldering in the fire;<br /> The groans of prisoned victims +mar the lays,<br /> And shrieks of agony confound +the quire;<br />While, ’mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes +expire.</p> +<p>XXXIII.<br /> Preluding light, were strains of music heard,<br /> As +once again revolved that measured sand;<br /> Such sounds +as when, for silvan dance prepared,<br /> Gay +Xeres summons forth her vintage band;<br /> When for the +light bolero ready stand<br /> The mozo blithe, +with gay muchacha met,<br /> He conscious of his broidered +cap and band,<br /> She of her netted locks and +light corsette,<br />Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet.</p> +<p>XXXIV.<br /> And well such strains the opening scene became;<br /> For +VALOUR had relaxed his ardent look,<br /> And at a lady’s +feet, like lion tame,<br /> Lay stretched, full +loath the weight of arms to brook;<br /> And softened BIGOTRY, +upon his book,<br /> Pattered a task of little +good or ill:<br /> But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook,<br /> Whistled +the muleteer o’er vale and hill,<br />And rung from village-green +the merry seguidille.</p> +<p>XXXV.<br /> Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil,<br /> Let +the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold;<br /> And, careless, +saw his rule become the spoil<br /> Of a loose +Female and her minion bold.<br /> But peace was on the cottage +and the fold,<br /> From Court intrigue, from +bickering faction far;<br /> Beneath the chestnut-tree Love’s +tale was told,<br /> And to the tinkling of the +light guitar,<br />Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening +star.</p> +<p>XXXVI.<br /> As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand,<br /> When +first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen,<br /> Came slowly +overshadowing Israel’s land,<br /> A while, +perchance, bedecked with colours sheen,<br /> While yet the +sunbeams on its skirts had been,<br /> Limning +with purple and with gold its shroud,<br /> Till darker folds +obscured the blue serene<br /> And blotted heaven +with one broad sable cloud,<br />Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds +howled aloud:-</p> +<p>XXXVII.<br /> Even so, upon that peaceful scene was poured,<br /> Like +gathering clouds, full many a foreign band,<br /> And HE, +their Leader, wore in sheath his sword,<br /> And +offered peaceful front and open hand,<br /> Veiling the perjured +treachery he planned,<br /> By friendship’s +zeal and honour’s specious guise,<br /> Until he won +the passes of the land;<br /> Then burst were +honour’s oath and friendship’s ties!<br />He clutched his +vulture grasp, and called fair Spain his prize.</p> +<p>XXXVIII.<br /> An iron crown his anxious forehead bore;<br /> And +well such diadem his heart became,<br /> Who ne’er +his purpose for remorse gave o’er,<br /> Or +checked his course for piety or shame;<br /> Who, trained +a soldier, deemed a soldier’s fame<br /> Might +flourish in the wreath of battles won,<br /> Though neither +truth nor honour decked his name;<br /> Who, +placed by fortune on a Monarch’s throne,<br />Recked not of Monarch’s +faith, or Mercy’s kingly tone.</p> +<p>XXXIX.<br /> From a rude isle his ruder lineage came,<br /> The +spark, that, from a suburb-hovel’s hearth<br /> Ascending, +wraps some capital in flame,<br /> Hath not a +meaner or more sordid birth.<br /> And for the soul that +bade him waste the earth -<br /> The sable land-flood +from some swamp obscure<br /> That poisons the glad husband-field +with dearth,<br /> And by destruction bids its +fame endure,<br />Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.</p> +<p>XL.<br /> Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form;<br /> Her +limbs like mist, her torch like meteor showed,<br /> With +which she beckoned him through fight and storm,<br /> And +all he crushed that crossed his desperate road,<br /> Nor +thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trode.<br /> Realms +could not glut his pride, blood could not slake,<br /> So +oft as e’er she shook her torch abroad -<br /> It +was AMBITION bade her terrors wake,<br />Nor deigned she, as of yore, +a milder form to take.</p> +<p>XLI.<br /> No longer now she spurned at mean revenge,<br /> Or +stayed her hand for conquered foeman’s moan;<br /> As +when, the fates of aged Rome to change,<br /> By +Cæsar’s side she crossed the Rubicon.<br /> Nor +joyed she to bestow the spoils she won,<br /> As +when the banded powers of Greece were tasked<br /> To war +beneath the Youth of Macedon:<br /> No seemly +veil her modern minion asked,<br />He saw her hideous face, and loved +the fiend unmasked.</p> +<p>XLII.<br /> That Prelate marked his march - On banners +blazed<br /> With battles won in many a distant +land,<br /> On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed;<br /> “And +hopest thou, then,” he said, “thy power shall stand?<br /> Oh! +thou hast builded on the shifting sand,<br /> And +thou hast tempered it with slaughter’s flood;<br /> And +know, fell scourge in the Almighty’s hand,<br /> Gore-moistened +trees shall perish in the bud,<br />And by a bloody death shall die +the Man of Blood!”</p> +<p>XLIII.<br /> The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train<br /> A +wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel,<br /> And paled +his temples with the crown of Spain,<br /> While +trumpets rang, and heralds cried “Castile!”<br /> Not +that he loved him - No! - In no man’s weal,<br /> Scarce +in his own, e’er joyed that sullen heart;<br /> Yet +round that throne he bade his warriors wheel,<br /> That +the poor puppet might perform his part,<br />And be a sceptred slave, +at his stern beck to start.</p> +<p>XLIV.<br /> But on the Natives of that Land misused,<br /> Not +long the silence of amazement hung,<br /> Nor brooked they +long their friendly faith abused;<br /> For, +with a common shriek, the general tongue<br /> Exclaimed, +“To arms!” - and fast to arms they sprung.<br /> And +VALOUR woke, that Genius of the Land!<br /> Pleasure, and +ease, and sloth aside he flung,<br /> As burst +the awakening Nazarite his band,<br />When ’gainst his treacherous +foes he clenched his dreadful hand.</p> +<p>XLV.<br /> That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye<br /> Upon +the Satraps that begirt him round,<br /> Now doffed his royal +robe in act to fly,<br /> And from his brow the +diadem unbound.<br /> So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle +wound,<br /> From Tarik’s walls to Bilboa’s +mountains blown,<br /> These martial satellites hard labour +found<br /> To guard awhile his substituted throne +-<br />Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own.</p> +<p>XLVI.<br /> From Alpuhara’s peak that bugle rung,<br /> And +it was echoed from Corunna’s wall;<br /> Stately Seville +responsive war-shot flung,<br /> Grenada caught +it in her Moorish hall;<br /> Galicia bade her children fight +or fall,<br /> Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet,<br /> Valencia +roused her at the battle-call,<br /> And, foremost +still where Valour’s sons are met,<br />First started to his gun +each fiery Miquelet.</p> +<p>XLVII.<br /> But unappalled, and burning for the fight,<br /> The +Invaders march, of victory secure;<br /> Skilful their force +to sever or unite,<br /> And trained alike to +vanquish or endure.<br /> Nor skilful less, cheap conquest +to ensure,<br /> Discord to breathe, and jealousy +to sow,<br /> To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure;<br /> While +nought against them bring the unpractised foe,<br />Save hearts for +Freedom’s cause, and hands for Freedom’s blow.</p> +<p>XLVIII.<br /> Proudly they march - but, oh! they march +not forth<br /> By one hot field to crown a brief +campaign,<br /> As when their Eagles, sweeping through the +North,<br /> Destroyed at every stoop an ancient +reign!<br /> Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain;<br /> In +vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied,<br /> New Patriot +armies started from the slain,<br /> High blazed +the war, and long, and far, and wide,<br />And oft the God of Battles +blest the righteous side.</p> +<p>XLIX.<br /> Nor unatoned, where Freedom’s foes prevail,<br /> Remained +their savage waste. With blade and brand<br /> By day +the Invaders ravaged hill and dale,<br /> But, +with the darkness, the Guerilla band<br /> Came like night’s +tempest, and avenged the land,<br /> And claimed +for blood the retribution due,<br /> Probed the hard heart, +and lopped the murd’rous hand;<br /> And +Dawn, when o’er the scene her beams she threw<br />’Midst +ruins they had made, the spoilers’ corpses knew.</p> +<p>L.<br /> What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell,<br /> Amid +the visioned strife from sea to sea,<br /> How oft the Patriot +banners rose or fell,<br /> Still honoured in +defeat as victory!<br /> For that sad pageant of events to +be<br /> Showed every form of fight by field +and flood;<br /> Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their +glee,<br /> Beheld, while riding on the tempest +scud,<br />The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with blood!</p> +<p>LI.<br /> Then Zaragoza - blighted be the tongue<br /> That +names thy name without the honour due!<br /> For never hath +the harp of Minstrel rung,<br /> Of faith so +felly proved, so firmly true!<br /> Mine, sap, and bomb thy +shattered ruins knew,<br /> Each art of war’s +extremity had room,<br /> Twice from thy half-sacked streets +the foe withdrew,<br /> And when at length stern +fate decreed thy doom,<br />They won not Zaragoza, but her children’s +bloody tomb.</p> +<p>LII.<br /> Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though +in chains,<br /> Enthralled thou canst not be! +Arise, and claim<br /> Reverence from every heart where Freedom +reigns,<br /> For what thou worshippest! - thy +sainted dame,<br /> She of the Column, honoured be her name<br /> By +all, whate’er their creed, who honour love!<br /> And +like the sacred relics of the flame,<br /> That +gave some martyr to the blessed above,<br />To every loyal heart may +thy sad embers prove!</p> +<p>LIII.<br /> Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair!<br /> Faithful +to death thy heroes shall be sung,<br /> Manning the towers, +while o’er their heads the air<br /> Swart +as the smoke from raging furnace hung;<br /> Now thicker +darkening where the mine was sprung,<br /> Now +briefly lightened by the cannon’s flare,<br /> Now +arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung,<br /> And +reddening now with conflagration’s glare,<br />While by the fatal +light the foes for storm prepare.</p> +<p>LIV.<br /> While all around was danger, strife, and fear,<br /> While +the earth shook, and darkened was the sky,<br /> And wide +Destruction stunned the listening ear,<br /> Appalled +the heart, and stupefied the eye, -<br /> Afar was heard +that thrice-repeated cry,<br /> In which old +Albion’s heart and tongue unite,<br /> Whene’er +her soul is up, and pulse beats high,<br /> Whether +it hail the wine-cup or the fight,<br />And bid each arm be strong, +or bid each heart be light.</p> +<p>LV.<br /> Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud +-<br /> A varied scene the changeful vision showed,<br /> For, +where the ocean mingled with the cloud,<br /> A +gallant navy stemmed the billows broad.<br /> From mast and +stern St. George’s symbol flowed,<br /> Blent +with the silver cross to Scotland dear;<br /> Mottling the +sea their landward barges rowed,<br /> And flashed +the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear,<br />And the wild beach returned +the seamen’s jovial cheer.</p> +<p>LVI.<br /> It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight!<br /> The +billows foamed beneath a thousand oars,<br /> Fast as they +land the red-cross ranks unite,<br /> Legions +on legions bright’ning all the shores.<br /> Then banners +rise, and cannon-signal roars,<br /> Then peals +the warlike thunder of the drum,<br /> Thrills the loud fife, +the trumpet-flourish pours,<br /> And patriot +hopes awake, and doubts are dumb,<br />For, bold in Freedom’s +cause, the bands of Ocean come!</p> +<p>LVII.<br /> A various host they came - whose ranks display<br /> Each +mode in which the warrior meets the fight,<br /> The deep +battalion locks its firm array,<br /> And meditates +his aim the marksman light;<br /> Far glance the light of +sabres flashing bright<br /> Where mounted squadrons +shake the echoing mead,<br /> Lacks not artillery breathing +flame and night,<br /> Nor the fleet ordnance +whirled by rapid steed,<br />That rivals lightning’s flash in +ruin and in speed.</p> +<p>LVIII.<br /> A various host - from kindred realms they +came,<br /> Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown +-<br /> For yon fair bands shall merry England claim,<br /> And +with their deeds of valour deck her crown.<br /> Hers their +bold port, and hers their martial frown,<br /> And +hers their scorn of death in freedom’s cause,<br /> Their +eyes of azure, and their locks of brown,<br /> And +the blunt speech that bursts without a pause,<br />And free-born thoughts +which league the Soldier with the Laws.</p> +<p>LIX.<br /> And, oh! loved warriors of the Minstrel’s +land!<br /> Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans +wave!<br /> The rugged form may mark the mountain band,<br /> And +harsher features, and a mien more grave;<br /> But ne’er +in battlefield throbbed heart so brave<br /> As +that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid;<br /> And when +the pibroch bids the battle rave,<br /> And level +for the charge your arms are laid,<br />Where lives the desperate foe +that for such onset stayed!</p> +<p>LX.<br /> Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings,<br /> Mingling +wild mirth with war’s stern minstrelsy,<br /> His jest +while each blithe comrade round him flings,<br /> And +moves to death with military glee:<br /> Boast, Erin, boast +them! tameless, frank, and free,<br /> In kindness +warm, and fierce in danger known,<br /> Rough Nature’s +children, humorous as she:<br /> And HE, yon +Chieftain - strike the proudest tone<br />Of thy bold harp, green Isle! +- the Hero is thine own.</p> +<p>LXI.<br /> Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown,<br /> On +Talavera’s fight should Roderick gaze,<br /> And hear +Corunna wail her battle won,<br /> And see Busaco’s +crest with lightning blaze:-<br /> But shall fond fable mix +with heroes’ praise?<br /> Hath Fiction’s +stage for Truth’s long triumphs room?<br /> And dare +her wild flowers mingle with the bays<br /> That +claim a long eternity to bloom<br />Around the warrior’s crest, +and o’er the warrior’s tomb!</p> +<p>LXII.<br /> Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope,<br /> And +stretch a bold hand to the awful veil<br /> That hides futurity +from anxious hope,<br /> Bidding beyond it scenes +of glory hail,<br /> And painting Europe rousing at the tale<br /> Of +Spain’s invaders from her confines hurled,<br /> While +kindling nations buckle on their mail,<br /> And +Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurled,<br />To Freedom and Revenge +awakes an injured World!</p> +<p>LXIII.<br /> O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast,<br /> Since +Fate has marked futurity her own:<br /> Yet Fate resigns +to worth the glorious past,<br /> The deeds recorded, +and the laurels won.<br /> Then, though the Vault of Destiny +be gone,<br /> King, Prelate, all the phantasms +of my brain,<br /> Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun,<br /> Yet +grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain,<br />One note of pride and +fire, a Patriot’s parting strain!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I.<br /> “Who shall command Estrella’s mountain-tide<br /> Back +to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie?<br /> Who, when +Gascogne’s vexed gulf is raging wide,<br /> Shall +hush it as a nurse her infant’s cry?<br /> His magic +power let such vain boaster try,<br /> And when +the torrent shall his voice obey,<br /> And Biscay’s +whirlwinds list his lullaby,<br /> Let him stand +forth and bar mine eagles’ way,<br />And they shall heed his voice, +and at his bidding stay.</p> +<p>II.<br /> “Else ne’er to stoop, till high +on Lisbon’s towers<br /> They close their +wings, the symbol of our yoke,<br /> And their own sea hath +whelmed yon red-cross powers!”<br /> Thus, +on the summit of Alverca’s rock<br /> To Marshal, Duke, +and Peer, Gaul’s Leader spoke.<br /> While +downward on the land his legions press,<br /> Before them +it was rich with vine and flock,<br /> And smiled +like Eden in her summer dress; -<br />Behind their wasteful march a +reeking wilderness.</p> +<p>III.<br /> And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word,<br /> Though +Heaven hath heard the wailings of the land,<br /> Though +Lusitania whet her vengeful sword,<br /> Though +Britons arm and WELLINGTON command!<br /> No! grim Busaco’s +iron ridge shall stand<br /> An adamantine barrier +to his force;<br /> And from its base shall wheel his shattered +band,<br /> As from the unshaken rock the torrent +hoarse<br />Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course.</p> +<p>IV.<br /> Yet not because Alcoba’s mountain-hawk<br /> Hath +on his best and bravest made her food,<br /> In numbers confident, +yon Chief shall baulk<br /> His Lord’s +imperial thirst for spoil and blood:<br /> For full in view +the promised conquest stood,<br /> And Lisbon’s +matrons from their walls might sum<br /> The myriads that +had half the world subdued,<br /> And hear the +distant thunders of the drum,<br />That bids the bands of France to +storm and havoc come.</p> +<p>V.<br /> Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled,<br /> Have +seen these wistful myriads eye their prey,<br /> As famished +wolves survey a guarded fold -<br /> But in the +middle path a Lion lay!<br /> At length they move - but not +to battle-fray,<br /> Nor blaze yon fires where +meets the manly fight;<br /> Beacons of infamy, they light +the way<br /> Where cowardice and cruelty unite<br />To +damn with double shame their ignominious flight.</p> +<p>VI.<br /> O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath!<br /> Ne’er +to be told, yet ne’er to be forgot,<br /> What wanton +horrors marked their wreckful path!<br /> The +peasant butchered in his ruined cot,<br /> The hoary priest +even at the altar shot,<br /> Childhood and age +given o’er to sword and flame,<br /> Woman to infamy; +- no crime forgot,<br /> By which inventive demons +might proclaim<br />Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God’s great +name!</p> +<p>VII.<br /> The rudest sentinel, in Britain born,<br /> With +horror paused to view the havoc done,<br /> Gave his poor +crust to feed some wretch forlorn,<br /> Wiped +his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun.<br /> Nor with +less zeal shall Britain’s peaceful son<br /> Exult +the debt of sympathy to pay;<br /> Riches nor poverty the +tax shall shun,<br /> Nor prince nor peer, the +wealthy nor the gay,<br />Nor the poor peasant’s mite, nor bard’s +more worthless lay.</p> +<p>VIII.<br /> But thou - unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate,<br /> Minion +of Fortune, now miscalled in vain!<br /> Can vantage-ground +no confidence create,<br /> Marcella’s +pass, nor Guarda’s mountain-chain?<br /> Vainglorious +fugitive! yet turn again!<br /> Behold, where, +named by some prophetic Seer,<br /> Flows Honour’s +Fountain, <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a> as foredoomed +the stain<br /> From thy dishonoured name and +arms to clear -<br />Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour +here!</p> +<p>IX.<br /> Yet, ere thou turn’st, collect each distant +aid;<br /> Those chief that never heard the lion +roar!<br /> Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed<br /> Of +Talavera or Mondego’s shore!<br /> Marshal each band +thou hast, and summon more;<br /> Of war’s +fell stratagems exhaust the whole;<br /> Rank upon rank, +squadron on squadron pour,<br /> Legion on legion +on thy foeman roll,<br />And weary out his arm - thou canst not quell +his soul.</p> +<p>X.<br /> O vainly gleams with steel Agueda’s shore,<br /> Vainly +thy squadrons hide Assuava’s plain,<br /> And front +the flying thunders as they roar,<br /> With +frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain!<br /> And what +avails thee that, for CAMERON slain,<br /> Wild +from his plaided ranks the yell was given -<br /> Vengeance +and grief gave mountain-range the rein,<br /> And, +at the bloody spear-point headlong driven,<br />Thy Despot’s giant +guards fled like the rack of heaven.</p> +<p>XI.<br /> Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood<br /> To +plead at thine imperious master’s throne,<br /> Say, +thou hast left his legions in their blood,<br /> Deceived +his hopes, and frustrated thine own;<br /> Say, that thine +utmost skill and valour shown,<br /> By British +skill and valour were outvied;<br /> Last say, thy conqueror +was WELLINGTON!<br /> And if he chafe, be his +own fortune tried -<br />God and our cause to friend, the venture we’ll +abide.</p> +<p>XII.<br /> But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day,<br /> How +shall a bard, unknowing and unknown,<br /> His meed to each +victorious leader pay,<br /> Or bind on every +brow the laurels won?<br /> Yet fain my harp would wake its +boldest tone,<br /> O’er the wide sea to +hail CADOGAN brave;<br /> And he, perchance, the minstrel-note +might own,<br /> Mindful of meeting brief that +Fortune gave<br />’Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic +rave.</p> +<p>XIII.<br /> Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the +sword,<br /> To give each Chief and every field +its fame:<br /> Hark! Albuera thunders BERESFORD,<br /> And +Red Barosa shouts for dauntless GRÆME!<br /> O for +a verse of tumult and of flame,<br /> Bold as +the bursting of their cannon sound,<br /> To bid the world +re-echo to their fame!<br /> For never, upon +gory battle-ground,<br />With conquest’s well-bought wreath were +braver victors crowned!</p> +<p>XIV.<br /> O who shall grudge him Albuera’s bays,<br /> Who +brought a race regenerate to the field,<br /> Roused them +to emulate their fathers’ praise,<br /> Tempered +their headlong rage, their courage steeled,<br /> And raised +fair Lusitania’s fallen shield,<br /> And +gave new edge to Lusitania’s sword,<br /> And taught +her sons forgotten arms to wield -<br /> Shivered +my harp, and burst its every chord,<br />If it forget thy worth, victorious +BERESFORD!</p> +<p>XV.<br /> Not on that bloody field of battle won,<br /> Though +Gaul’s proud legions rolled like mist away,<br /> Was +half his self-devoted valour shown, -<br /> He +gaged but life on that illustrious day;<br /> But when he +toiled those squadrons to array,<br /> Who fought +like Britons in the bloody game,<br /> Sharper than Polish +pike or assagay,<br /> He braved the shafts of +censure and of shame,<br />And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier’s +fame.</p> +<p>XVI.<br /> Nor be his praise o’erpast who strove +to hide<br /> Beneath the warrior’s vest +affection’s wound,<br /> Whose wish Heaven for his +country’s weal denied;<br /> Danger and +fate he sought, but glory found.<br /> From clime to clime, +where’er war’s trumpets sound,<br /> The +wanderer went; yet Caledonia! still<br /> Thine was his thought +in march and tented ground;<br /> He dreamed +’mid Alpine cliffs of Athole’s hill,<br />And heard in Ebro’s +roar his Lyndoch’s lovely rill.</p> +<p>XVII.<br /> O hero of a race renowned of old,<br /> Whose +war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell,<br /> Since first +distinguished in the onset bold,<br /> Wild sounding +when the Roman rampart fell!<br /> By Wallace’ side +it rung the Southron’s knell,<br /> Alderne, +Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame,<br /> Tummell’s +rude pass can of its terrors tell,<br /> But +ne’er from prouder field arose the name<br />Than when wild Ronda +learned the conquering shout of GRÆME!</p> +<p>XVIII.<br /> But all too long, through seas unknown and +dark,<br /> (With Spenser’s parable I close +my tale,)<br /> By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous +bark,<br /> And landward now I drive before the +gale.<br /> And now the blue and distant shore I hail,<br /> And +nearer now I see the port expand,<br /> And now I gladly +furl my weary sail,<br /> And, as the prow light +touches on the strand,<br />I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff +to land.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Fair Brussels, thou art far behind,<br />Though, lingering on the +morning wind,<br /> We yet may hear the hour<br />Pealed +over orchard and canal,<br />With voice prolonged and measured fall,<br /> From +proud St. Michael’s tower;<br />Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds +us now,<br />Where the tall beeches’ glossy bough<br /> For +many a league around,<br />With birch and darksome oak between,<br />Spreads +deep and far a pathless screen,<br /> Of tangled forest ground.<br />Stems +planted close by stems defy<br />The adventurous foot - the curious +eye<br /> For access seeks in vain;<br />And the brown tapestry +of leaves,<br />Strewed on the blighted ground, receives<br /> Nor +sun, nor air, nor rain.<br />No opening glade dawns on our way,<br />No +streamlet, glancing to the ray,<br /> Our woodland path has +crossed;<br />And the straight causeway which we tread<br />Prolongs +a line of dull arcade,<br />Unvarying through the unvaried shade<br /> Until +in distance lost.</p> +<p>II.<br />A brighter, livelier scene succeeds;<br />In groups the +scattering wood recedes,<br />Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads,<br /> And +corn-fields glance between;<br />The peasant, at his labour blithe,<br />Plies +the hooked staff and shortened scythe:-<br /> But when these +ears were green,<br />Placed close within destruction’s scope,<br />Full +little was that rustic’s hope<br /> Their ripening +to have seen!<br />And, lo, a hamlet and its fane:-<br />Let not the +gazer with disdain<br /> Their architecture view;<br />For +yonder rude ungraceful shrine,<br />And disproportioned spire, are thine,<br /> Immortal +WATERLOO!</p> +<p>III.<br />Fear not the heat, though full and high<br />The sun has +scorched the autumn sky,<br />And scarce a forest straggler now<br />To +shade us spreads a greenwood bough;<br />These fields have seen a hotter +day<br />Than e’er was fired by sunny ray,<br />Yet one mile on +- yon shattered hedge<br />Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge<br /> Looks +on the field below,<br />And sinks so gently on the dale<br />That not +the folds of Beauty’s veil<br /> In easier curves can +flow.<br />Brief space from thence, the ground again<br />Ascending +slowly from the plain<br /> Forms an opposing screen,<br />Which, +with its crest of upland ground,<br />Shuts the horizon all around.<br /> The +softened vale between<br />Slopes smooth and fair for courser’s +tread;<br />Not the most timid maid need dread<br />To give her snow-white +palfrey head<br /> On that wide stubble-ground;<br />Nor +wood, nor tree, nor bush are there,<br />Her course to intercept or +scare,<br /> Nor fosse nor fence are found,<br />Save where, +from out her shattered bowers,<br />Rise Hougomont’s dismantled +towers.</p> +<p>IV.<br />Now, see’st thou aught in this lone scene<br />Can +tell of that which late hath been? -<br /> A stranger might +reply,<br />“The bare extent of stubble-plain<br />Seems lately +lightened of its grain;<br />And yonder sable tracks remain<br />Marks +of the peasant’s ponderous wain,<br /> When harvest-home +was nigh.<br />On these broad spots of trampled ground,<br />Perchance +the rustics danced such round<br /> As Teniers loved to draw;<br />And +where the earth seems scorched by flame,<br />To dress the homely feast +they came,<br />And toiled the kerchiefed village dame<br /> Around +her fire of straw.”</p> +<p>V.<br />So deem’st thou - so each mortal deems,<br />Of that +which is from that which seems:-<br /> But other harvest +here<br />Than that which peasant’s scythe demands,<br />Was gathered +in by sterner hands,<br /> With bayonet, blade, and spear.<br />No +vulgar crop was theirs to reap,<br />No stinted harvest thin and cheap!<br />Heroes +before each fatal sweep<br /> Fell thick as ripened grain;<br />And +ere the darkening of the day,<br />Piled high as autumn shocks, there +lay<br />The ghastly harvest of the fray,<br /> The corpses +of the slain.</p> +<p>VI.<br />Ay, look again - that line, so black<br />And trampled, +marks the bivouac,<br />Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery’s track,<br /> So +often lost and won;<br />And close beside, the hardened mud<br />Still +shows where, fetlock-deep in blood,<br />The fierce dragoon, through +battle’s flood,<br /> Dashed the hot war-horse on.<br />These +spots of excavation tell<br />The ravage of the bursting shell -<br />And +feel’st thou not the tainted steam,<br />That reeks against the +sultry beam,<br /> From yonder trenchéd mound?<br />The +pestilential fumes declare<br />That Carnage has replenished there<br /> Her +garner-house profound.</p> +<p>VII.<br />Far other harvest-home and feast,<br />Than claims the +boor from scythe released,<br /> On these scorched fields +were known!<br />Death hovered o’er the maddening rout,<br />And, +in the thrilling battle-shout,<br />Sent for the bloody banquet out<br /> A +summons of his own.<br />Through rolling smoke the Demon’s eye<br />Could +well each destined guest espy,<br />Well could his ear in ecstasy<br /> Distinguish +every tone<br />That filled the chorus of the fray -<br />From cannon-roar +and trumpet-bray,<br />From charging squadrons’ wild hurra,<br />From +the wild clang that marked their way, -<br /> Down to the +dying groan,<br />And the last sob of life’s decay,<br /> When +breath was all but flown.</p> +<p>VIII.<br />Feast on, stern foe of mortal life,<br />Feast on! - but +think not that a strife,<br />With such promiscuous carnage rife,<br /> Protracted +space may last;<br />The deadly tug of war at length<br />Must limits +find in human strength,<br /> And cease when these are past.<br />Vain +hope! - that morn’s o’erclouded sun<br />Heard the wild +shout of fight begun<br /> Ere he attained his height,<br />And +through the war-smoke, volumed high,<br />Still peals that unremitted +cry,<br /> Though now he stoops to night.<br />For ten long +hours of doubt and dread,<br />Fresh succours from the extended head<br />Of +either hill the contest fed;<br /> Still down the slope they +drew,<br />The charge of columns pauséd not,<br />Nor ceased +the storm of shell and shot;<br /> For all that war could +do<br />Of skill and force was proved that day,<br />And turned not +yet the doubtful fray<br /> On bloody Waterloo.</p> +<p>IX.<br />Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine,<br />When +ceaseless from the distant line<br /> Continued thunders +came!<br />Each burgher held his breath, to hear<br />These forerunners +of havoc near,<br /> Of rapine and of flame.<br />What ghastly +sights were thine to meet,<br />When rolling through thy stately street,<br />The +wounded showed their mangled plight<br />In token of the unfinished +fight,<br />And from each anguish-laden wain<br />The blood-drops laid +thy dust like rain!<br />How often in the distant drum<br />Heard’st +thou the fell Invader come,<br />While Ruin, shouting to his band,<br />Shook +high her torch and gory brand! -<br />Cheer thee, fair City! From +yon stand,<br />Impatient, still his outstretched hand<br /> Points +to his prey in vain,<br />While maddening in his eager mood,<br />And +all unwont to be withstood,<br /> He fires the fight again.</p> +<p>X.<br />“On! On!” was still his stern exclaim;<br />“Confront +the battery’s jaws of flame!<br /> Rush on the levelled +gun!<br />My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance!<br />Each Hulan forward +with his lance,<br />My Guard - my Chosen - charge for France,<br /> France +and Napoleon!”<br />Loud answered their acclaiming shout,<br />Greeting +the mandate which sent out<br />Their bravest and their best to dare<br />The +fate their leader shunned to share.<br />But HE, his country’s +sword and shield,<br />Still in the battle-front revealed,<br />Where +danger fiercest swept the field,<br /> Came like a beam of +light,<br />In action prompt, in sentence brief -<br />“Soldiers, +stand firm!” exclaimed the Chief,<br /> “England +shall tell the fight!”</p> +<p>XI.<br />On came the whirlwind - like the last<br />But fiercest +sweep of tempest-blast -<br />On came the whirlwind - steel-gleams broke<br />Like +lightning through the rolling smoke;<br /> The war was waked +anew,<br />Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,<br />And from their +throats, with flash and cloud,<br /> Their showers of iron +threw.<br />Beneath their fire, in full career,<br />Rushed on the ponderous +cuirassier,<br />The lancer couched his ruthless spear,<br />And hurrying +as to havoc near,<br /> The cohorts’ eagles flew.<br />In +one dark torrent, broad and strong,<br />The advancing onset rolled +along,<br />Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim,<br />That, from the +shroud of smoke and flame,<br />Pealed wildly the imperial name.</p> +<p>XII.<br />But on the British heart were lost<br />The terrors of +the charging host;<br />For not an eye the storm that viewed<br />Changed +its proud glance of fortitude,<br />Nor was one forward footstep stayed,<br />As +dropped the dying and the dead.<br />Fast as their ranks the thunders +tear,<br />Fast they renewed each serried square;<br />And on the wounded +and the slain<br />Closed their diminished files again,<br />Till from +their line scarce spears’-lengths three,<br />Emerging from the +smoke they see<br />Helmet, and plume, and panoply, -<br /> Then +waked their fire at once!<br />Each musketeer’s revolving knell,<br />As +fast, as regularly fell,<br />As when they practise to display<br />Their +discipline on festal day.<br /> Then down went helm and lance,<br />Down +were the eagle banners sent,<br />Down reeling steeds and riders went,<br />Corslets +were pierced, and pennons rent;<br /> And, to augment the +fray,<br />Wheeled full against their staggering flanks,<br />The English +horsemen’s foaming ranks<br /> Forced their resistless +way.<br />Then to the musket-knell succeeds<br />The clash of swords +- the neigh of steeds -<br />As plies the smith his clanging trade,<br />Against +the cuirass rang the blade;<br />And while amid their close array<br />The +well-served cannon rent their way,<br />And while amid their scattered +band<br />Raged the fierce rider’s bloody brand,<br />Recoiled +in common rout and fear,<br />Lancer and guard and cuirassier,<br />Horsemen +and foot, - a mingled host<br />Their leaders fall’n, their standards +lost.</p> +<p>XIII.<br />Then, WELLINGTON! thy piercing eye<br />This crisis caught +of destiny -<br /> The British host had stood<br />That morn +’gainst charge of sword and lance<br />As their own ocean-rocks +hold stance,<br />But when thy voice had said, “Advance!”<br /> They +were their ocean’s flood. -<br />O Thou, whose inauspicious aim<br />Hath +wrought thy host this hour of shame,<br />Think’st thou thy broken +bands will bide<br />The terrors of yon rushing tide?<br />Or will thy +chosen brook to feel<br />The British shock of levelled steel,<br /> Or +dost thou turn thine eye<br />Where coming squadrons gleam afar,<br />And +fresher thunders wake the war,<br /> And other standards +fly? -<br />Think not that in yon columns, file<br />Thy conquering +troops from distant Dyle -<br /> Is Blucher yet unknown?<br />Or +dwells not in thy memory still<br />(Heard frequent in thine hour of +ill),<br />What notes of hate and vengeance thrill<br /> In +Prussia’s trumpet-tone? -<br />What yet remains? - shall it be +thine<br />To head the relics of thy line<br /> In one dread +effort more? -<br />The Roman lore thy leisure loved,<br />And than +canst tell what fortune proved<br /> That Chieftain, who, +of yore,<br />Ambition’s dizzy paths essayed<br />And with the +gladiators’ aid<br /> For empire enterprised -<br />He +stood the cast his rashness played,<br />Left not the victims he had +made,<br />Dug his red grave with his own blade,<br />And on the field +he lost was laid,<br /> Abhorred - but not despised.</p> +<p>XIV.<br />But if revolves thy fainter thought<br />On safety - howsoever +bought, -<br />Then turn thy fearful rein and ride,<br />Though twice +ten thousand men have died<br /> On this eventful day<br />To +gild the military fame<br />Which thou, for life, in traffic tame<br /> Wilt +barter thus away.<br />Shall future ages tell this tale<br />Of inconsistence +faint and frail?<br />And art thou He of Lodi’s bridge,<br />Marengo’s +field, and Wagram’s ridge!<br />Or is thy soul like mountain-tide,<br />That, +swelled by winter storm and shower,<br />Rolls down in turbulence of +power,<br /> A torrent fierce and wide;<br />Reft of these +aids, a rill obscure,<br />Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor,<br /> Whose +channel shows displayed<br />The wrecks of its impetuous course,<br />But +not one symptom of the force<br /> By which these wrecks +were made!</p> +<p>XV.<br />Spur on thy way! - since now thine ear<br />Has brooked +thy veterans’ wish to hear,<br /> Who, as thy flight +they eyed<br />Exclaimed, - while tears of anguish came,<br />Wrung +forth by pride, and rage, and shame,<br /> “O that +he had but died!”<br />But yet, to sum this hour of ill,<br />Look, +ere thou leav’st the fatal hill,<br /> Back on yon +broken ranks -<br />Upon whose wild confusion gleams<br />The moon, +as on the troubled streams<br /> When rivers break their +banks,<br />And, to the ruined peasant’s eye,<br />Objects half +seen roll swiftly by,<br /> Down the dread current hurled +-<br />So mingle banner, wain, and gun,<br />Where the tumultuous flight +rolls on<br />Of warriors, who, when morn begun,<br /> Defied +a banded world.</p> +<p>XVI.<br />List - frequent to the hurrying rout,<br />The stern pursuers’ +vengeful shout<br />Tells, that upon their broken rear<br />Rages the +Prussian’s bloody spear.<br /> So fell a shriek was +none,<br />When Beresina’s icy flood<br />Reddened and thawed +with flame and blood,<br />And, pressing on thy desperate way,<br />Raised +oft and long their wild hurra,<br /> The children of the +Don.<br />Thine ear no yell of horror cleft<br />So ominous, when, all +bereft<br />Of aid, the valiant Polack left -<br />Ay, left by thee +- found soldiers grave<br />In Leipsic’s corpse-encumbered wave.<br />Fate, +in those various perils past,<br />Reserved thee still some future cast;<br />On +the dread die thou now hast thrown<br />Hangs not a single field alone,<br />Nor +one campaign - thy martial fame,<br />Thy empire, dynasty, and name<br /> Have +felt the final stroke;<br />And now, o’er thy devoted head<br />The +last stern vial’s wrath is shed,<br /> The last dread +seal is broke.</p> +<p>XVII.<br />Since live thou wilt - refuse not now<br />Before these +demagogues to bow,<br />Late objects of thy scorn and hate,<br />Who +shall thy once imperial fate<br />Make wordy theme of vain debate. -<br />Or +shall we say, thou stoop’st less low<br />In seeking refuge from +the foe,<br />Against whose heart, in prosperous life,<br />Thine hand +hath ever held the knife?<br /> Such homage hath been paid<br />By +Roman and by Grecian voice,<br />And there were honour in the choice,<br /> If +it were freely made.<br />Then safely come - in one so low, -<br />So +lost, - we cannot own a foe;<br />Though dear experience bid us end,<br />In +thee we ne’er can hail a friend. -<br />Come, howsoe’er +- but do not hide<br />Close in thy heart that germ of pride,<br />Erewhile, +by gifted bard espied,<br /> That “yet imperial hope;”<br />Think +not that for a fresh rebound,<br />To raise ambition from the ground,<br /> We +yield thee means or scope.<br />In safety come - but ne’er again<br />Hold +type of independent reign;<br /> No islet calls thee lord,<br />We +leave thee no confederate band,<br />No symbol of thy lost command,<br />To +be a dagger in the hand<br /> From which we wrenched the +sword.</p> +<p>XVIII.<br />Yet, even in yon sequestered spot,<br />May worthier +conquest be thy lot<br /> Than yet thy life has known;<br />Conquest, +unbought by blood or harm,<br />That needs nor foreign aid nor arm,<br /> A +triumph all thine own.<br />Such waits thee when thou shalt control<br />Those +passions wild, that stubborn soul,<br /> That marred thy +prosperous scene:-<br />Hear this - from no unmovéd heart,<br />Which +sighs, comparing what THOU ART<br /> With what thou MIGHT’ST +HAVE BEEN!</p> +<p>XIX.<br />Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed<br />Bankrupt a +nation’s gratitude,<br />To thine own noble heart must owe<br />More +than the meed she can bestow.<br />For not a people’s just acclaim,<br />Not +the full hail of Europe’s fame,<br />Thy Prince’s smiles, +the State’s decree,<br />The ducal rank, the gartered knee,<br />Not +these such pure delight afford<br />As that, when hanging up thy sword,<br />Well +may’st thou think, “This honest steel<br />Was ever drawn +for public weal;<br />And, such was rightful Heaven’s decree,<br />Ne’er +sheathed unless with victory!”</p> +<p>XX.<br />Look forth, once more, with softened heart,<br />Ere from +the field of fame we part;<br />Triumph and Sorrow border near,<br />And +joy oft melts into a tear.<br />Alas! what links of love that morn<br />Has +War’s rude hand asunder torn!<br />For ne’er was field so +sternly fought,<br />And ne’er was conquest dearer bought,<br />Here +piled in common slaughter sleep<br />Those whom affection long shall +weep<br />Here rests the sire, that ne’er shall strain<br />His +orphans to his heart again;<br />The son, whom, on his native shore,<br />The +parent’s voice shall bless no more;<br />The bridegroom, who has +hardly pressed<br />His blushing consort to his breast;<br />The husband, +whom through many a year<br />Long love and mutual faith endear.<br />Thou +canst not name one tender tie,<br />But here dissolved its relics lie!<br />Oh! +when thou see’st some mourner’s veil<br />Shroud her thin +form and visage pale,<br />Or mark’st the Matron’s bursting +tears<br />Stream when the stricken drum she hears;<br />Or see’st +how manlier grief, suppressed,<br />Is labouring in a father’s +breast, -<br />With no inquiry vain pursue<br />The cause, but think +on Waterloo!</p> +<p>XXI.<br />Period of honour as of woes,<br />What bright careers ’twas +thine to close! -<br />Marked on thy roll of blood what names<br />To +Britain’s memory, and to Fame’s,<br />Laid there their last +immortal claims!<br />Thou saw’st in seas of gore expire<br />Redoubted +PICTON’S soul of fire -<br />Saw’st in the mingled carnage +lie<br />All that of PONSONBY could die -<br />DE LANCEY change Love’s +bridal-wreath<br />For laurels from the hand of Death -<br />Saw’st +gallant MILLER’S failing eye<br />Still bent where Albion’s +banners fly,<br />And CAMERON, in the shock of steel,<br />Die like +the offspring of Lochiel;<br />And generous GORDON, ’mid the strife,<br />Fall +while he watched his leader’s life. -<br />Ah! though her guardian +angel’s shield<br />Fenced Britain’s hero through the field.<br />Fate +not the less her power made known,<br />Through his friends’ hearts +to pierce his own!</p> +<p>XXII.<br />Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay!<br />Who may your +names, your numbers, say?<br />What high-strung harp, what lofty line,<br />To +each the dear-earned praise assign,<br />From high-born chiefs of martial +fame<br />To the poor soldier’s lowlier name?<br />Lightly ye +rose that dawning day,<br />From your cold couch of swamp and clay,<br />To +fill, before the sun was low,<br />The bed that morning cannot know. +-<br />Oft may the tear the green sod steep,<br />And sacred be the +heroes’ sleep,<br /> Till time shall cease to run;<br />And +ne’er beside their noble grave,<br />May Briton pass and fail +to crave<br />A blessing on the fallen brave<br /> Who fought +with Wellington!</p> +<p>XXIII.<br />Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face<br />Wears desolation’s +withering trace;<br /> Long shall my memory retain<br />Thy +shattered huts and trampled grain,<br />With every mark of martial wrong,<br />That +scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont!<br />Yet though thy garden’s +green arcade<br />The marksman’s fatal post was made,<br />Though +on thy shattered beeches fell<br />The blended rage of shot and shell,<br />Though +from thy blackened portals torn,<br />Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees +mourn,<br />Has not such havoc bought a name<br />Immortal in the rolls +of fame?<br />Yes - Agincourt may be forgot,<br />And Cressy be an unknown +spot,<br /> And Blenheim’s name be new;<br />But still +in story and in song,<br />For many an age remembered long,<br />Shall +live the towers of Hougomont<br /> And Field of Waterloo!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p> Stern tide of human Time! that know’st not rest,<br /> But, +sweeping from the cradle to the tomb,<br /> Bear’st +ever downward on thy dusky breast<br /> Successive generations +to their doom;<br /> While thy capacious stream has equal +room<br /> For the gay bark where Pleasure’s steamers +sport,<br /> And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom,<br /> The +fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court,<br />Still wafting onward +all to one dark silent port; -</p> +<p> Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious change<br /> Of +hope and fear have our frail barks been driven!<br /> For +ne’er, before, vicissitude so strange<br /> Was to +one race of Adam’s offspring given.<br /> And sure +such varied change of sea and heaven,<br /> Such unexpected +bursts of joy and woe,<br /> Such fearful strife as that +where we have striven,<br /> Succeeding ages ne’er +again shall know,<br />Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to +flow.</p> +<p> Well hast thou stood, my Country! - the brave fight<br /> Hast +well maintained through good report and ill;<br /> In thy +just cause and in thy native might,<br /> And in Heaven’s +grace and justice constant still;<br /> Whether the banded +prowess, strength, and skill<br /> Of half the world against +thee stood arrayed,<br /> Or when, with better views and +freer will,<br /> Beside thee Europe’s noblest drew +the blade,<br />Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid.</p> +<p> Well art thou now repaid - though slowly rose,<br /> And +struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame,<br /> While +like the dawn that in the orient glows<br /> On the broad +wave its earlier lustre came;<br /> Then eastern Egypt saw +the growing flame,<br /> And Maida’s myrtles gleamed +beneath its ray,<br /> Where first the soldier, stung with +generous shame,<br /> Rivalled the heroes of the watery way,<br />And +washed in foemen’s gore unjust reproach away.</p> +<p> Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high,<br /> And +bid the banner of thy Patron flow,<br /> Gallant Saint George, +the flower of Chivalry,<br /> For thou halt faced, like him, +a dragon foe,<br /> And rescued innocence from overthrow,<br /> And +trampled down, like him, tyrannic might,<br /> And to the +gazing world may’st proudly show<br /> The chosen emblem +of thy sainted Knight,<br />Who quelled devouring pride and vindicated +right.</p> +<p> Yet ’mid the confidence of just renown,<br /> Renown +dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired,<br /> Write, Britain, +write the moral lesson down:<br /> ’Tis not alone the +heart with valour fired,<br /> The discipline so dreaded +and admired,<br /> In many a field of bloody conquest known,<br /> - +Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired:<br /> ’Tis +constancy in the good cause alone<br />Best justifies the meed thy valiant +sons have won.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE DANCE OF DEATH. [1815.]</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.<br />Night and morning were at meeting<br /> Over Waterloo;<br />Cocks +had sung their earliest greeting;<br /> Faint and low they +crew,<br />For no paly beam yet shone<br />On the heights of Mount Saint +John;<br />Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway<br />Of timeless darkness +over day;<br />Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower<br />Marked it a +predestined hour.<br />Broad and frequent through the night<br />Flashed +the sheets of levin-light:<br />Muskets, glancing lightnings back,<br />Showed +the dreary bivouac<br /> Where the soldier lay,<br />Chill +and stiff, and drenched with rain,<br />Wishing dawn of morn again,<br /> Though +death should come with day.</p> +<p>II.<br />’Tis at such a tide and hour<br />Wizard, witch, and +fiend have power,<br />And ghastly forms through mist and shower<br /> Gleam +on the gifted ken;<br />And then the affrighted prophet’s ear<br />Drinks +whispers strange of fate and fear<br />Presaging death and ruin near<br /> Among +the sons of men; -<br />Apart from Albyn’s war-array,<br />’Twas +then grey Allan sleepless lay;<br />Grey Allan, who, for many a day,<br /> Had +followed stout and stern,<br />Where, through battle’s rout and +reel,<br />Storm of shot and edge of steel,<br />Led the grandson of +Lochiel,<br /> Valiant Fassiefern.<br />Through steel and +shot he leads no more,<br />Low laid ’mid friends’ and foemen’s +gore -<br />But long his native lake’s wild shore,<br />And Sunart +rough, and high Ardgower,<br /> And Morven long shall tell,<br />And +proud Bennevis hear with awe<br />How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,<br />Brave +Cameron heard the wild hurra<br /> Of conquest as he fell.</p> +<p>III.<br />Lone on the outskirts of the host,<br />The weary sentinel +held post,<br />And heard, through darkness far aloof,<br />The frequent +clang of courser’s hoof,<br />Where held the cloaked patrol their +course,<br />And spurred ’gainst storm the swerving horse;<br />But +there are sounds in Allan’s ear,<br />Patrol nor sentinel may +hear,<br />And sights before his eye aghast<br />Invisible to them have +passed,<br /> When down the destined plain,<br />’Twixt +Britain and the bands of France,<br />Wild as marsh-borne meteor’s +glance,<br />Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance,<br /> And +doomed the future slain. -<br />Such forms were seen, such sounds were +heard,<br />When Scotland’s James his march prepared<br /> For +Flodden’s fatal plain;<br />Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,<br />As +Choosers of the Slain, adored<br /> The yet unchristened +Dane.<br />An indistinct and phantom band,<br />They wheeled their ring-dance +hand in hand,<br /> With gestures wild and dread;<br />The +Seer, who watched them ride the storm,<br />Saw through their faint +and shadowy form<br /> The lightning’s flash more red;<br />And +still their ghastly roundelay<br />Was of the coming battle-fray,<br /> And +of the destined dead.</p> +<p>IV. SONG.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings glance,<br /> And +thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To +sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>Our airy feet,<br />So light and fleet,<br /> They do +not bend the rye<br />That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave,<br />And +swells again in eddying wave,<br /> As each wild gust blows +by;<br />But still the corn,<br />At dawn of morn,<br /> Our +fatal steps that bore,<br />At eve lies waste,<br />A trampled paste<br /> Of +blackening mud and gore.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings +glance,<br /> And thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the +brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>V.<br />Wheel the wild dance!<br />Brave sons of France,<br /> For +you our ring makes room;<br />Make space full wide<br />For martial +pride,<br /> For banner, spear, and plume.<br />Approach, +draw near,<br />Proud cuirassier!<br /> Room for the men +of steel!<br />Through crest and plate<br />The broadsword’s weight<br /> Both +head and heart shall feel.</p> +<p>VI.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings glance,<br /> And +thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To +sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>Sons of the spear!<br />You feel us near<br /> In many +a ghastly dream;<br />With fancy’s eye<br />Our forms you spy,<br /> And +hear our fatal scream.<br />With clearer sight<br />Ere falls the night,<br /> Just +when to weal or woe<br />Your disembodied souls take flight<br />On +trembling wing - each startled sprite<br /> Our choir of +death shall know.</p> +<p>VII.<br />Wheel the wild dance<br />While lightnings glance,<br /> And +thunders rattle loud,<br />And call the brave<br />To bloody grave,<br /> To +sleep without a shroud.</p> +<p>Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,<br />Redder rain shall soon +be ours -<br /> See the east grows wan -<br />Yield we place +to sterner game,<br />Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame<br />Shall +the welkin’s thunders shame,<br />Elemental rage is tame<br /> To +the wrath of man.</p> +<p>VIII.<br />At morn, grey Allan’s mates with awe<br />Heard +of the visioned sights he saw,<br /> The legend heard him +say;<br />But the Seer’s gifted eye was dim,<br />Deafened his +ear, and stark his limb,<br /> Ere closed that bloody day.<br />He +sleeps far from his Highland heath,<br />But often of the Dance of Death<br /> His +comrades tell the tale<br />On picquet-post, when ebbs the night,<br />And +waning watch-fires glow less bright,<br /> And dawn is glimmering +pale.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. FROM THE FRENCH. [1815.]</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>[The original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript collection +of French Songs, probably compiled by some young officer, which was +found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay and with blood +as sufficiently to indicate what had been the fate of its late owner. +The song is popular in France, and is rather a good specimen of the +style of composition to which it belongs. The translation is strictly +literal.]</p> +<p>It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine,<br />But +first he made his orisons before Saint Mary’s shrine:<br />“And +grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,” was still the Soldier’s +prayer;<br />That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest +fair.”</p> +<p>His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword,<br />And +followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord;<br />Where, faithful +to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air,<br />“Be honoured +aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair.”</p> +<p>They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said,<br />“The +heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid. -<br />My daughter +Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair,<br />For thou art bravest of +the brave, she fairest of the fair.”</p> +<p>And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary’s shrine,<br />That +makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine;<br />And every +lord and lady bright that were in chapel there<br />Cried, “Honoured +be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE TROUBADOUR. FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. [1815.]</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Glowing with love, on fire for fame<br /> A Troubadour +that hated sorrow<br />Beneath his lady’s window came,<br /> And +thus he sung his last good-morrow:<br />“My arm it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my true-love’s bower;<br />Gaily +for love and fame to fight<br /> Befits the gallant Troubadour.”</p> +<p>And while he marched with helm on head<br /> And harp +in hand, the descant rung,<br />As faithful to his favourite maid,<br /> The +minstrel-burden still he sung:<br />“My arm it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br />Resolved +for love and fame to fight<br /> I come, a gallant Troubadour.”</p> +<p>Even when the battle-roar was deep,<br /> With dauntless +heart he hewed his way,<br />’Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep,<br /> And +still was heard his warrior-lay:<br />“My life it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br />For +love to die, for fame to fight,<br /> Becomes the valiant +Troubadour.”</p> +<p>Alas! upon the bloody field<br /> He fell beneath the +foeman’s glaive,<br />But still reclining on his shield,<br /> Expiring +sung the exulting stave:-<br />“My life it is my country’s +right,<br /> My heart is in my lady’s bower;<br />For +love and fame to fall in fight<br /> Becomes the valiant +Troubadour.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>[This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald. +The words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations +are applied, run thus in Gaelic:-</p> +<p>Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br />Piobaireachd +Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br />Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, +piobaireachd Dhonuil;<br />Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi.<br />The +pipe-summons of Donald the Black,<br />The pipe-summons of Donald the +Black,<br />The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place<br />at +Inverlochy.]</p> +<p> Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,<br /> Pibroch +of Donuil,<br /> Wake thy wild voice anew,<br /> Summon +Clan Conuil.<br /> Come away, come away,<br /> Hark +to the summons!<br /> Come in your war +array,<br /> Gentles and commons.</p> +<p> Come from deep glen, and<br /> From +mountain so rocky,<br /> The war-pipe and +pennon<br /> Are at Inverlochy.<br /> Come +every hill-plaid, and<br /> True +heart that wears one,<br /> Come every +steel blade, and<br /> Strong +hand that bears one.</p> +<p> Leave untended the herd,<br /> The +flock without shelter;<br /> Leave the +corpse uninterr’d,<br /> The +bride at the altar;<br /> Leave the deer, +leave the steer,<br /> Leave +nets and barges:<br /> Come with your fighting +gear,<br /> Broadswords and +targes.</p> +<p> Come as the winds come, when<br /> Forests +are rended;<br /> Come as the waves come, +when<br /> Navies are stranded:<br /> Faster +come, faster come,<br /> Faster +and faster,<br /> Chief, vassal, page and +groom,<br /> Tenant and master.</p> +<p> Fast they come, fast they come;<br /> See +how they gather!<br /> Wide waves the eagle +plume,<br /> Blended with heather.<br /> Cast +your plaids, draw your blades,<br /> Forward +each man set!<br /> Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,<br /> Knell +for the onset!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> This eText +comes from a book (Pike Country Ballads etc.) which contains a number +of poems by John Hay. These have been released separately by Project +Gutenberg under the title “Pike Country Ballads and Other Poems” +by John Hay. They are not included here to avoid duplication.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> The literal +translation of Fuentes d’Honoro.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named wspm10h.htm or wspm10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, wspm11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, wspm10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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