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their sway,

for aye,

One common cause makes myriads of one Holds back the invader from her soil again.


Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde Slaves of the East, or Helots of the West; Demand her fields as lists to prove the sword; On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurld, Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth The self-same standard streams o’er either Pollute the plains alike abhorring both;

world ;

Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears The Athenian wears again Harmodius' The warlike fathers of a thousand years.

sword ;

That seed is sown and reap d, as oft the Moor The Chili-chief abjures his foreign lord ; Sighs to remember on his dusky shore. The Spartan knows himself once more a Long in the peasant's song or poet's page

Greek ;

Has dwelt the memory of Abencerage, Young Freedom plumes the crest of each The Zegri, and the captive victors, flung


Back to the barbarous realm from whence Debating despots, hemm’d on either shore,

they sprung: Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's But these are gone—their faith, their swords,

roar; Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides Yet left more anti-christian foes than they:


The bigot monarch and the butcher priest, Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of The Inquisition, with her burning fenst,


The Faith's red "auto,” fed with human fuel, Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and While sat the Catholic Moloch,calmly cruel,

would fain Enjoying, with inexorablc eye, Unite Ausonia to the mighty main : That fiery festival of agony ! But driven from thence awhile, yet not The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both

By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was Break o'er th' Ægean, mindful of the day

sloth; Of Salamis—there, there, the waves arise, The long degenerate noble; the debased Not to be lulld by tyrant-victories. Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need But more degraded; the unpeopled realm; By Christians nnto whom they gave their The once proud navy which forgot the helm;


The once impervious phalanx disarray'd; The desolated lands, the ravaged isle, The idle forge that form’d Toledo's blade; The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile, The foreign wealth that flow'd on every The aid evaded, and the cold delay,

shore, Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ;- Save hers who earn'd it with the natives' These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece

gore; can show

The very language, which might vie with The false friend worse than the infuriate foe.

Rome's, But this is well: Greeks only should free And once was known to nations like their Greece,

home's, Not the barbarian, with his mask of peace. Neglected or forgotten :-such was Spain; How should the Autocrat of Bondage be But such she is not, nor shall be again. The king of serfs, and set the nations free? These worst, these home invaders, felt and feel Better still serve the haughty Mussulman, The new Numantine soul of old Castile. Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan; Up! up again! undaunted Tauridor! Better still toil for masters, than await, The bull of Phalaris renews his roar; The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,- Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo ! not in vain Number'd by hordes, a human capital, Revive the cry -"Iago! and close Spain!" A live estate, existing but for thrall, Yes, close her with your armed bosoms Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward

round, For the first courtier in the Czar's regard; And form the barrier which Napoleon While their immediate owner never tastes

found, His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes; The exterminating war; the desert plain; Better succumb even to their own despair, The streets without a tenant, save the slain; And drive the camel than purvey the bear. The wild Sierra, with its wilder troop

Of vulture-plumed Guerillas, on the stoop

For their incessant prey; the desperate wall But not alone within the hoariest clime, Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall; Where Freedom dates her birth with that The man nerved to a spirit, and the maid

of Time; Waving her more than Amazonian blade; And not alone where, plunged in night, a The knife of Arragon, Toledo's steel ;


The famous lance of chivalrvus Castile; or Incas darken to a dabious cloud, The unerring rifle of the Catalan ; The dawn revives : renown'd, romantic The Andalusian courser in the van;

The torch to inake a Moscow of Madrid;



And in each heart the spirit of the Cid:- {Thy good old man, whose world was all Such have been, such shall be, such are.

within Advance,

Thy wall, nor knew the country held him In: Aud win-oot Spain, but thine own freedom, Would that the royal guests it girds about


Were so far like, as never to get out!
Ay, shout! inscribe! rear monuments of

shame, Bat lo! & Congress! What, that hallow'd To tell Oppression that the world is tame!

Crowd to the theatre with loyal rageWhich free'd the Atlantic? May we hope The comedy is not upon the stage;

the same

The show is rich in ribbonry and stars For outworn Europe? With the sound arise, Then gaze upon it through thy dungeonLike Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic

bars; eyes,

Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy, The prophets of young Freedom, summond For thus much still thy fetter'd hands are far

free! From climes of Washington and Bolivar; Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes, Whose thunder shook the Philip of the Resplendent ght! behold the coxcomb seas;

And stoic Franklin's energetic shade, The autocrat of waltzes and of war!
Robed in the lightnings which his hand As eager for a plaudit as a realm,


And just as fit for flirting as the helm; And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake, A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit, To bid us blush for these old chains, or And generous spirit, when 'tis not frost-bit;


Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw, But Who compose this Senate of the few But harden'd back whene'er the morning's That should redeem the inany? W’ho renew

raw ; This consecrated name, till now assign'd With no objection to true liberty, To councils held to benefit mankind ? Except that it would make the nations free, Who now assemble at the holy call ? How well the Imperial Dandy prates of The bless'dAlliance, which says three are all!

peace, An earthly Trinity, which wears the shape How fain, if Greeks wonld be his slaves, Of Heaven's, as man is mimick'd by the ape.

free Greece! A pious unity! in purpose one

How nobly gave he back the Poles their To melt three fools to a Napoleon.

Diet, Why, Egypt's gods were rational to these; Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet! Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees, How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine, And, quiet in their kennel or their shed, With all her pleasant pulks, to lecture Spain; Cared little, so that they were duly fed; How royally show off in proud Madrid But these, more hungry, must have some- His goodly person, from the South long thing more

hid, The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore. A blessing cheaply parchased, the world Ah, how much happier were good Æsop's

knows, frogs

By having Muscovites for friends or foes. Than we! for ours are animated logs, Proceed, thou namesake of Great Philip's son! With ponderous malice swaying to and fro, La Harpe, thine Aristotle, beckons on ; And crushing nations with a stupid blow, And that which Scythia was to him of yore, All dully anxious to leave little work Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore. Unto the revolutionary stork.

Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth,
Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth;

Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be Thrice bless'd Verona! since the holy

thine, three

Many an old woman, but no Catherine. With their imperial presence shine on thee; Spain too hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles_. Honour'd by them, thy treacherous site The bear may rush into the lion's toils.


Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields; The vaunted tomb of “all the Capulets; ” Thinkst thou to thee Napoleon's victor Thy Scaligers—for what was “Dog the

yields ? Great,"

Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords “Can'Grande" (which I venture to translate) To ploughshares, shave and wash thy BashTo these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too,

kir hordes, Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new; Redeem thy realms from slavery and the Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate;

knout, And Dante's exile, shelter'd by thy gate; Than follow headlong in the fatal route,

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not yet

To infest the clime, whose skies and laws And love much rather to be scourged than are pure,

school'd ? With thy foul legions. Spain wants no Ah! thine was not the temper or the taste


For thrones- the table sees the better Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe;

placed : Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago; A mild Epicurean, form’d, at best, And wouldst thou furnish them with fresher To be a kind host and as good a guest,


To talk of letters, and to know by heart Alas! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey. One half the poet's, all the gourmand's art; I am Diogenes, though Russ and Hun A scholar always, now and then a wit, Stand between mine and many a myriad's And gentle when digestion may permit

sun ;

But not to govern lands enslaved or free; But were I not Diogenes, I'd wander The gout was martyrdom enough for thee! Rather a worm than such an Alexander! Be slaves who will, the Cynic shall be free, His tub hath tougher walls than Sinope: Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase Still will he hold his lanthorn up to scan From a bold Briton in her wonted praise ? The face of monarchs for an “honest man.” “Arts-arms—and George-and glory and

the isles

And happy, Britain-wealth and freedom's And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land

smiles -Of ne plus ultra Ultras and their band White cliffs, that held invasion far aloofOf mercenaries ? and her noisy Chambers Contented subjects, all alike tax-proofAnd Tribune, which each orator first Proud Wellington, with eagle-beak so curl'd,


That nose, the hook where he suspends the Before he finds a voice, and, when 'tis

world! found,

And Waterloo-and trade-and--(hush! Hears “the lie" echo for his answer round? Our British Commons sometimes deign to A syllable of imposts or of debt)-


And ne'er (enough) lamented Castlereagh, A Gallic Senate hath more tongue than ear; Whose pen-knife slit a goose-quill t'other Even Constant, their sole master of debate,

dayMust fight next day, bis speech to vindicate. And pilots who have weather'd every But this costs little to true Franks, who

storm had rather (But, no, not even for rhyme's sake, name Combat than listen, were it to their father.

reform).” What is the simple standing of a shot, These are the themes thus sung so oft To listening long, and interrupting not?

before, Though this was not the method of old Methinks we need not sing them any more;


Found in so many volumes far and near, When Tully fulmined o’er each vocal dome, There's no occasion you should find them Demosthenes has sanction'd the transaction,

here. In saying eloquence meant“Action, action!" Yet something may remain perchance to


With reason, and, what's stranger still, But where's the Monarch? hath he dined?

with rhyme; or yet

Even this thy genius, Canning! may permit, Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt? Who, bred a statesman, still was born a wit, Have revolutionary pâtés risen,

And never, even in that dull house, couldst And turu'd the royal entrails to a prison ?

tame Have discontented movements stirr'd the To unleaven'd prose thine own poetic flame;

troops ?

Our last, our best, our only orator, Or have no movements follow'd traiterous Even I can praise thee - Tories do no more,

Nay, not so much ;—they hate thee, man, Have Carbonaro cooks not carbonadoed

because Each course enough? or doctors dire dis- Thy spirit less upholds them than it awes,


The hounds will gather to their huntsman's Repletion? Ah! in thy dejected looks

hollo, I read all-–'s treason in her cooks! And, where he leads, the duteous pack will Good classic- -! is it, canst thou say,

follow; Desirable to be the "--- ?"

But not for love mistake their yelling cry, Why wouldst thou leave calm---'s green Their yelp for game is not an ealogy;


Less faithful far than the four-footed pack, Apician table and Horatian ode,

A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back, To rule a people who will not be ruled, Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure

soups ?

Why would

mess :


Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure; Farmers of war, Dictators of the farm!
The unwieldy old White Horse is apt at last Their ploughshare was the sword in bire-
To stumble, kick,and now and then stick fast

ling hands, With his great self and rider in the mud; Their fields manured by gore of other lands; But what of that? the animal shows blood. Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent

Their brethren out to battle-why? for Rent!

Year after year they voted cent. per cent. Alas, the country! how shall tongue or pen Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millionsBewail her now uncountry-gentlemen ?

why? for Rent! The last to bid the cry of warfare cease, They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they The first to make a malady of peace.

swore they meant For what were all these country-patriots To die for England - why then live ? for born ?

Rent! To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn. The peace has made one general malcontent But corn,like every mortal thing, must fall of these high-market patriots; war was Kings, conquerors, and markets most of all.

Rent ! And must ye fall with every ear of grain? Their love of country,millions all mis-spent,

you trouble Bonaparte's reign? How reconcile ?-by reconciling Rent. He was your great Triptolemus! his vices And will they not repay the treasures lent? Destroy'd but realms, and still maintain’d No: down with every thing, and up with your prices ;

Rent ! He amplified, to every Lord's content, Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or The grand Agrarian Alchymy-high Rent.

discon'ent, Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars, Being, end, aim, religion- Rent, Rent, Rent! And lower wheat to such desponding Thou sold'st thy birth-right, Esau ! for a

quarters ? Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone? Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten The man was worth much more upon his


Now thou hast swill'd thy pottage, thy True, blood and treasure boundlessly were

demands spilt,

Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands. But what of that? the Gaul may bear the Such, landlords, was your appetite for war,


And, gorged with blood, you grumble at But bread was high, the farmer paid his way,

a scar! And acres told upon the appointed day. What, would they spread their earthquake But where is now the goodly audit-ale ?

even o'er Cash ? The purse-proud tenant never known to fail? And when land crumbles, bid firm paper The farm which never yet was left on hand ?

crash ? The marsh reclaim'd to most improving So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall,

land ?

And found on 'Change a Fundling Hospital? The impatient hope of the expiring lease? Lo, Mother Church, while all religion The doubling rental? What an evil's peace!

writhes, In vain the prize excites the ploughman's Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring, Tithes ;


The Prelates go to—where the Saints have In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill ;

gone, The landed interest-(you may understand And proud pluralities subside to one; The phrase much better leaving out the Church,state,and faction, wrestle in the dark,


Toss'd by the Deluge in their common ark. The land self-interest groans from shore to Shorn of her Bishops, banks, and dividends,


Another Babel soars--but Britain ends. For fear that plenty should attain the poor. And why?to pamper the self-seeking wants, Up! up again! ye rents, exalt your notes, And prop the hill of these agrarian ants. Or else the Ministry will lose their votes, “Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be And Patriotism, so delicately nice,

wise;" Her loaves will lower to the market-price; Admire their patience through each sacrifice, For ah !“the loaves and fishes,” once so high, Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride, Are gone, their oven closed, their ocean dry; The price of taxes and of homicide; And nought remains of all the millions spent, Admire their justice, which would fain deny Excepting to grow moderate and content. The debt of nations :- pray, who made it 'They who are not so,had their turn_and turn

high? About still flows from Fortune's equal urn; Now let their virtue be its own reward, And share the blessings which themselves Or turn to sail between those shifting prepared.

rocks, See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm, The new Symplegades - the crushing Stocks,

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Where Midas might again his wish behold Have more of motley than their heavy kings. In real paper or imagined gold.

Jews, authors, generals,charlatans,combine, That magic palace of Alcina shows While Europe wonders at the vast design : More wealth than Britain ever had to lose, There Metternich, power's foremost parasite, Were all her atoms of unleaven'd ore, Cajoles ; there Wellington forgets to fight; And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore. There Chateaubriand forms new books of There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds

martyrs; the stake,

And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid. And the world trembles to bid brokers break.

Tartars ; How rich is Britain ! not indeed in mines, There Montmorency, the sworn foe to Or peace, or plenty, corn, or oil, or wines;

charters, No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, Turns a diplomatist of great eclat, Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money: 'To furnish articles for the “Debats :" But let us not to own the truth refuse, Of war so çertain - yet not quite so sure Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews ? As his dismissal in the "Moniteur." Those parted with their teeth to good King Alas! how could his cabinet thus err ?


Can peace be worth an Ultra-Minister? And now, ye kings! they kindly draw He falls, indeed,-- perhaps to rise again,

your own; “Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain." All states, all things, all sovereigns they

controul, And wast a loan “from Indus to the Pole." Enough of this—a sight more mournful The banker – broker – baron – brethren,


The averted eye of the reluctant Muse. To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need. The imperial daughter, the imperial bride, Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less The imperial victim-sacrifice to pride; Fresh speculations follow each success ; The mother of the hero's hope, the boy, And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain The young Astyanax of modern Troy; Her mild per centage from exhausted Spain. The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen Not without Abraham's seed can Russia That earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;


She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour, 'Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conquer- The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.

or's arch.

Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare Two Jews, a chosen people, can command A daughter?What did France's widow there? In every realm their scripture-promised Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave

land :

Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave. Two Jews keep down the Romans, and But, no,

,- she still must hold a petty reiga, uphold

Flank'd by her formidable Chamberlain ; The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old : The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes Two Jews-but not Samaritans-direct Must watch her through these paltry paThe world, with all the spirit of their sect.

geantries. What is the happiness of earth to them ? What though she share no more and shared A Congress forms their “New Jerusalem,"

in vain Where baronies and orders both invite- A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne, Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight? Which swept from Moscow to the Southern Thy followers mingling with these royal

seas, swine,

Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of Who spit not "on their Jewish gaberdine,"

cheese, But honour them as portion of the show- Where Parma views the traveller resort (Where now, oh, Pope! is thy forsaken toe? To note the trappings of her mimic court. Could it not favour Judah with some kicks? But she appears! Verona sees her shorn Or has it ceased to “kick against the pricks?") of all her beams – while nations gaze and On Shylock's shore behold them stand


Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time To cut from nations' hearts their “pound To chill in their inhospitable clime

of flesh.”

(If e'er those awful ashes'can grow coldBut no,-their embers soon will burst the

mould); Strange sight this Congress! destined to She comes! — the Andromache (but not unite

Racine's, All that's incongruous, all that's opposite. Nor Homer's); lo! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans! I speak not of the Sovereigns--they're alike, Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, A common coin as ever mint could strike: Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre But those who sway the puppets, pull the

through, stringe,

Is offer'd and accepted! Could a slave


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