Curses are his dire portion, scorn, and hate,
Internal darkness and unquiet breath;
And, if old judgments keep their sacred course,
Him from that height shall Heaven precipitate
By violent and ignominious death.
AH! where is Palafox? Nor tongue nor pen
Reports of him, his dwelling or his grave!
Does yet th' unheard-of vessel ride the wave?
Or is she swallow'd up, remote from ken
Of pitying human-nature? Once again
Methinks that we shall hail thee, Champion brave,
Redeem'd to baffle that imperial Slave,
And through all Europe cheer desponding men
With new-born hope. Unbounded is the might
Of martyrdom, and fortitude, and right.
Hark, how thy Country triumphs! - Smilingly
Th' Eternal looks upon her sword that gleams,
Like His own lightning, over mountains high,
On rampart, and the banks of all her streams.
INDIGNATION OF A HIGH-MINDED SPANIARD.
WE can endure that He should waste our lands,
Despoil our temples, and by sword and flame
Return us to the dust from which we came;
Such food a Tyrant's appetite demands:
And we can brook the thought that by his hands
Spain may be overpower'd, and he possess,
For his delight, a solemn wilderness
Where all the brave lie dead. But, when of bands
Which he will break for us he dares to speak,
Of benefits, and of a future day
When our enlighten'd minds shall bless his sway;
Then, the strain'd heart of fortitude proves weak;
Our groans, our blushes, our pale cheeks declare
That he has power to inflict what we lack strength to bear.
7 Don Joseph Palafox was a Spanish nobleman, and one of the few men in his class who were then a credit to it. He held the chief command in Saragossa during the siege of that place; at the time of the surrender he was sick almost unto death; and as soon as he was able to travel he was conducted a close prisoner into France, and there lost sight of. Jones, in his Sieges of the Peninsula, says that, "while heroic self-devotion, unshaken loyalty, and exalted patriotism are held in estimation among mankind, the name of Palafox, blended with that of Saragossa, will be immortal" 8 While Napoleon was holding Spain by the throat, and harrowing her people with all the calamities of a war treacherously begun and madly prosecuted, he still tried to conciliate them with promises of freedom and enlightenment, and a good time generally.
AVAUNT all specious pliancy of mind
In men of low degree, all smooth pretence!
I better like a blunt indifference,
And self-respecting slowness, disinclined
To win me at first sight: and be there join'd
Patience and temperance with this high reserve,
Honour that knows the path and will not swerve;
Affections, which, if put to proof, are kind;
And piety towards God. Such men of old
Were England's native growth; and, throughout Spain,
(Thanks to high God!) forests of such remain:
Then for that Country let our hopes be bold;
For match'd with these shall policy prove vain,
Her arts, her strength, her iron, and her gold.
O'ERWEENING Statesmen have full long relied
On fleets and armies, and external wealth:
But from within proceeds a Nation's health;
Which shall not fail, though poor men cleave with pride
To the paternal floor; or turn aside,
In the throng'd city, from the walks of gain,
As being all unworthy to detain
A Soul by contemplation sanctified.
There are who cannot languish in this strife,-
Spaniards of every rank, by whom the good
Of such high course was felt and understood;
Who to their Country's cause have bound a life
Erewhile, by solemn consecration, given
To labour and to prayer, to Nature and to Heaven.
THE power of Armies is a visible thing,
Formal, and circumscribed in time and space;
But who the limits of that power shall trace
Which a brave People into light can bring
Or hide, at will, for freedom combating
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,
No eye can follow, to a fatal place
That power, that spirit, whether on the wing
Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind
Within its awful caves.- From year to year
Springs this indigenous produce far and near;
No craft this subtle element can bind,
Rising like water from the soil, to find
In every nook a lip that it may cheer.
HERE pause: the poet claims at least this praise,
That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope
Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope
In the worst moment of these evil days;
From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays,
For its own honour, on man's suffering heart.
Never may from our souls one truth depart,
That an accursed thing it is to gaze
On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye;
Nor-touch'd with due abhorrence of their guilt
For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt,
And justice labours in extremity-
Forget thy weakness, upon which is built,
O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!
THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA. 1812-13.
HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
Propp'd on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,
As though his weakness were disturb'd by pain:
Or, if a juster fancy should allow
An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre is a wither'd bough,
Infirmly grasp'd within a palsied hand.
These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn;
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.
For he it was - dread Winter!-who beset,
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
That host, when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal,—
That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human pride!
As fathers persecute rebellious sons,
He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;
He call'd on Frost's inexorable tooth
Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;
Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs;
For why, -unless for liberty enroll'd
And sacred home, -ah! why should hoary Age be bold?
Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,
But feeter far the pinions of the Wind,
Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed,
And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,
And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,
And to the battle ride.
No pitying voice commands a halt,
No courage can repel the dire assault:
Distracted, spiritless, benumb'd, and blind,
Whole legions sink, and in one instant find
Burial and death: look for them, and descry,
When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!
YE Storms, resound the praises of your King!
And ye mild Seasons, in a sunny clime,
Midway on some high hill, while father Time
Looks on delighted, — meet in festal ring,
And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!
Sing ye, with blossoms crown'd, and fruits, and flowers,
Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,
And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!
Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass;
With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain;
Whisper it to the billows of the main,
And to th' aërial zephyrs as they pass,
That old decrepit Winter-He hath slain
That Host which render'd all your bounties vain!
By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze
Of dreadful sacrifice; by Russian blood
Lavish'd in fight with desperate hardihood;
Th' unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise
To rob our Human-nature of just praise
For what she did and suffer'd. Pledges sure
Of a deliverance absolute and pure
She gave, if Faith might tread the beaten ways
Of Providence. But now did the Most High
Exalt His still small voice; to quell that Host,
Gather'd His power, a manifest ally;
He, whose heap'd waves confounded the proud boast
Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost,
Finish the strife by deadliest victory!
OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. FEBRUARY, 1816
THE Bard whose soul is meek as dawning day,
Yet train'd to judgments righteously severe,
Fervid, yet conversant with holy fear,
As recognising one Almighty sway;-
He whose experienced eye can pierce th' array
Of past events; to whom, in vision clear,
Th' aspiring heads of future things appear,
Like mountain-tops whose mists have roll'd away;-
Assoil'd from all encumbrance of our time,
He only, if such breathe, in strains devout
Shall comprehend this victory sublime;
Shall worthily rehearse the hideous rout,
The triumph hail, which from their peaceful clime
Angels might welcome with a choral shout!
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT.
FISH-WOMEN. -ON LANDING AT CALAIS. 1820.
'TIS said, fantastic ocean doth enfold
The likeness of whate'er on land is seen;
But, if the Nereid Sisters and their Queen,
Above whose heads the tide so long hath roll'd,
The Dames resemble whom we here behold,
How fearful were it down through opening waves
To sink and meet them in their fretted caves,
Wither'd, grotesque, immeasurably old,
And shrill and fierce in accent!-Fear it not:
For they Earth's fairest daughters do excel;
Pure undecaying beauty is their lot;
Their voices into liquid music swell,
Thrilling each pearly cleft and sparry grot,
The undisturb'd abodes where Sea-nymphs dwell!
BRUGÈS.
THE Spirit of Antiquity-enshrined
In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song,
In picture speaking with heroic tongue,
And with devout solemnities entwined-
Mounts to the seat of grace within the mind:
Hence Forms that glide with swan-like ease. along,
Hence motions, even amid the vulgar thror g,
To a harmonious decency confined:
As if the streets were consecrated ground,
The city one vast temple, dedicate
To mutual respect in thought and deed;
To leisure, to forbearances sedate;
To social cares from jarring passions freed;
A deeper peace than that in deserts found!
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