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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. 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 +</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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