LXII. Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurl'd, LXIII. O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, CONCLUSION. I. WHO shall command Estrella's mountain-tide And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby, Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay. II. "Else, ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. And smiled like Eden in her summer dress;- III. And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word, Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the land, Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, Though Britons arm, and WELLINGTON command! No! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand An adamantine barrier to his force! And from its base shall wheel his shattered band, Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course. IV. Yet not because Alcoba's mountain hawk And hear the distant thunders of the drum, V. Four moons have heard these thunders idly roll'd, At length they move-but not to battle-fray, Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight; Beacons of infamy they light the way, Where cowardice and cruelty unite, To damn with double shame their ignominious flight! VI. O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath! The hoary priest even at the altar shot, Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame, Woman to infamy;-no crime forgot, By which inventive dæmons might proclaim Immortal hate to Man, and scorn of God's great name! VII. The rudest centinel, in Britain born, With horror paused to view the havoc done, Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless lay. VIII. But thou-unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, Minion of Fortune, now miscall'd in vain! Can vantage-ground no confidence create, Vain-glorious Fugitive! yet turn again! Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, Flows Honour's Fountain, as fore-doomed the stain From thy dishonour'd name and arms to clear— Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here! IX. Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid; Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more; And weary out his arm-thou canst not quell his soul. X. O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore, With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain! Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was givenVengeance and grief gave mountain rage the rein, And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven! XI. Go, baffled Boaster! teach thy haughty mood And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried- XII. But ye, the heroes of that well-fought day, Or bind on every brow the laurels won? • The literal translation of Fuentes d'Honore XIII. Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, And red Barosa shouts for dauntless GRÆME! O for a verse of tumult and of flame, Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, To bid the world re-echo to their fame! For never, upon gory battle-ground, With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors crown'd! XIV. O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays, Who brought a race regenerate to the field, Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steel'd, And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield— Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord, If it forget thy worth, victorious BERESFORD! XV. Not on that bloody field of battle won, Though Gaul's proud legions rolled like mist away, He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, XVI. Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide XVII. O hero of a race renowned of old, Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell, Since first distinguished in the onset bold, Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! |