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To those whɔse recent trophies grace her shield,
The gallant victors of Vimiera's field;
Still have her warriors borne th' unfading crown,
And made the British flag the ensign of renown.
Spirit of ALFRED! patriot soul sublime !
Thou morning-star of error's darkest time!
Prince of the lion-heart! whose arm in fight,
On Syria's plains repellid Saladin's might!
EDWARD! for bright heroic deeds revered,
By Cressy's same to Britain sțill endeard!
Triumphant HENRY! thou, whose
The losty plume of crested Gallia bow'd !
Look down, look down, exalted shades! and view
Your Albion still to freedom's banner true!
Behold the land, ennobled by your fame,
Supreme in glory, and of spotless name;
And, as the pyramid indignant rears
Its awful head, and mocks the waste of years;
See her secure in pride of virtue tower,
While prostrate nations kiss the rod of power!
Lo! where her pennons, waving high, aspire,
Bold Victory hovers near,“ with eyes of fire!”
While Lusitania hails, with just applause,
The brave defenders of her injured cause ;
Bids the full song, the note of triumph rise,
And swells th' exulting pæan to the skies!
And they, who late with anguish, hard to tell,
Breathed to their cherish'd realms a sad farewell!
Who, as the vessel bore them o'er the tide,
Still fondly linger'd on its deck, and sigh’d;
Gazed on the shore, till tears obscured their sight,
And the blue distance melted into light;
The Royal exiles, forced by Gallia's hate
To fly for refuge in a foreign state:
They, soon returning o'er the western main,
Ere long may view their clime beloved again;
And, as the blazing pillar led the host
Of faithful Israel, o'er the desert coast;
So may Britannia guide the noble band,
O’er the the wild ocean, to their native land.
Oh, glorious isle !-oh sov'reign of the waves!
Thine are the sons who “never will be slaves!
See them once more, with ardent hearts advance,
And rend the laurels of insulting France ;
To brave Castile their potent aid supply,
And wave, O Freedom! wave thy sword on high!
Is there no bard of heavenly power possessid, To thrill, to rouse, to aniinate the breast ?
Like Shakspeare o'er the secret mind to sway,
And call each wayward passion to obey?
Is there no bard, imbued with hallow'd fire,
To wake the chords of Ossian's magic lyre ;
Whose numbers breathing all his flame divine,
The patriot's name to ages might consign?
Rise! Inspiration! rise, be this thy theme,
And mount, like Uriel, on the golden beam!
Oh, could my muse on seraph pinion spring,
And sweep with rapture's hand the trembling string!
Could she the bosom energies control,
And pour impassion'd fervor o'er the soul !
Oh, could she strike the harp to Milton given,
Brought by a cherub from th' empyrean heaven!
Ah, fruitless wish! ah, prayer preferr'd in vain,
For her—the humblest of the woodland train;
Yet shall her feeble voice essay to raise
The hymn of liberty, the song of praise !
Iberian bands! whose noble ardor glows,
To pour confusion on oppressive foes;
Intrepid spirits, hail ! 'tis yours to feel
The hero's fire, the freeman's godlike zeal !
Not to secure dominion's boundless reign,
Ye wave the flag of conquest o'er the slain ;
No cruel rapine leads you to the war,
Nor mad ambition, whirld in crimson car;
No, brave Castilians ! yours a nobler end,
Your land, your laws, your monarch to defend !
For these, for these, your valiant legions rear
The floating standard, and the lofty spear!
The fearless lover wields the conquering sword,
Fired by the image of the maid adored?
His best beloved, his fondest ties, to aid,
The father's hand unsheaths the glittring blade!
For each, for all, for ev'ry sacred right,
The daring patriot mingles in the fight!
And e'en if love or friendship fail to warm,
His country's name alone can nerve his dauntless arm!
He bleeds! he falls! his death-bed is the field!
His dirge the trumpet, and his bier the shield !
His closing eyes the beam of valor speak,
The flush of ardor lingers on his cheek ;
Serene he lifts to heaven those closing eyes,
Then for his country breaths a prayer-and dies
Oh! ever hallow'd be his verdant grave,
There let the laurel spread, the cypress wave!
Thou, lovely Spring! bestow, to grace his tomb,
Thy sweetest fragrance, and thy earliest bloonı:
There let the tears of heaven descend in balm,
There let the poet consecrate his palm!
Let honor, pity, bless the holy ground,
And shades of sainted heroes watch around!
'Twas thus, while Glory rung his thrilling knell,
Thy chief, oh Thebes! at Mantinea fell;
Smiled undismay'd within the arms of death,
While Victory, weeping nigh, received his breath!
Oh! thou, the sovereign of the noble soul !
Thou source of energies beyond control!
Queen of the lofty thought, the gen'rous deed,
Whose sons unconquer'd fight, undaunted bleed,-
Inspiring Liberty! thy worship'd name
The warm enthusiast kindles to a flame;
Thy charms inspire him to achievements high,
Thy look of heaven, thy voice of harmony;
More blest, with thee to tread perennial snows,
Where ne'er a flower expands, a zephys blows;
Where Winter, binding nature in his chain,
In frost-work palace holds perpetual reign;
Than, far from thee, with frolic step to rove
The green savannas and the spicy grove ;
Scent the rich balm of India's perfumed gales,
In citron-woods and aromatic vales :
For, oh! fair Liberty, when thou art near,
Elysium blossoms in the desert drear!
Where'er thy smile its magic power bestows, There arts and taste expand, there fancy glows; The sacred lyre its wild enchantment gives, And every chord to swelling transport lives; There ardent Genius bids the pencil trace The soul of beauty, and the lines of grace; With bold Promethean hand, the canvas warms, And calls from stone expression's breathing forma Thus, where the fruitful Nile o'erflows its bound, Its genial waves diffuse abundance round, Bid Ceres laugh o'er waste and sterile sands, And rich profüsion clothe deserted lands.
Immortal Freedom! daughter of the skies! To thee shall Britain's grateful incense rise. Ne'er, goddess ! ne'er forsake thy fav’rite isle, Still be thy Albion brighten'd with thy smile! Long had thy spirit slept in dead repose, While proudly triumph'd thine insulting foes ; Yet, though a cloud may veil Apollo's light, Soon, with celestial beam, he breaks to sight: Once more we see thy kindling soul return, Thy vestal-flame with added radiance burn;
Lo! in Iberian hearts thine ardor lives,
Lo! in Iberian bearts thy spark revives !
Proceed, proceed, ye firm undaunted band !
Still sure to conquer, if combined ye stand:
Though myriads flashing in the eye of day,
Stream'd o'er the smiling land in long array ;
Though tyrant Asia pourd unnumber'd foes,
Triumphant still the arm of Greece arose :
For evry state in sacred union stood,
Strong to repel invasion's whelming flood;
Each heart was glowing in the gen'ral cause,
Each hand prepared to guard their hallow'd laws;
Athenian valor join'd Laconia's might,
And but contended to be first in fight;
From rank to rank the warm contagion ran,
And Hope and Freedom led the flaming van:
Then Persia's monarch mourn'd his glories lost,
As wild confusion wing'd his flying host;
Then Attic bards the hymn of victory sung,
The Grecian harp to notes exulting rung!
Then Sculpture bade the Parian stone record
The high achievements of the conquering sword.
Thus, brave Castilians! thus may bright renown
And fair success your valiant efforts crown!
Genius of chivalry! whose early days Tradition still recounts in artless lays; Whose faded splendors fancy oft recalls, The floating banners, and the lofty halls; The gallant feats thy festivals display'd, The tilt, the tournament, the long crusade; Whose ancient pride Romance delights to hail, În fabling nurnbers, or heroic tale: Those times are fled, when stern thy castles frown'd, Their stately towers with feudal grandeur crown'd; Those times are fled, when fair Iberia's climo Beheld thy Gothic reign, pomp sublime; And all thy glories, all thy deeds of
yore, Live but in legends wild, and poet's lore. Lo! where thy silent harp neglected lies, Light o'er its chords the murm’ring zephyr sighs ; Thy solemn courts, where once the minstrel sung, The choral voice of mirth and music rung ; Now, with the ivy clad, forsaken, lone, Hear but the breeze and echo to its moan: Thy lonely tow'rs deserted fall away, Thy broken shield is mould'ring in decay. Yet though thy trancient pageantries are gone, Like fairy visions, bright, yet swiftly flown; Genius of chivalry! thy noble train, Thy firm, exalted virtues yet remain !
Fair truth, array'd in robes of spotless white,
Her eye a sunbeam, and her zone of light;
Warm emulation, with aspiring aim,
Still darting forward to the wreath of famc;
And purest love, that waves his torch diviné,
At awful honor's consecrated shrine;
Ardor, with eagle-wing and fiery glance ;
And gen'rous courage, resting on his lance;
And loyalty, by perils unsubdued;
Untainted faith, unshaken fortitude;
And patriot energy, with heart of flame-
These, in Iberia's sons are yet the same!
These from remotest days their souls have fired.
“Nerved ev'ry arm," and ev'ry breast inspired !
When Moorish bands their suffering land possess'd,
And fierce oppression reard her giant crest;
The wealthy caliphs on Cordova's throne,
In eastern gems and purple splendor shone,
the proud magnificence that vied
With stately Bagdat's oriental pride ;
Theirs were the courts in regal pomp array'd,
Where arts and luxury their charms display'd;
'Twas theirs to rear the Zehrar's costly towers,
Its fairy-palace and enchanted bowers;
There all Arabian fiction e'er could tell,
Of potent genü or of wizard spell;
All that a poet's dream could picture bright,
One sweet Elysium, charm’d the wond'ring sight!
Too fair, too rich, for work of mortal hand,
It seem'd an Eden from Armida’s wand !
Yet vain their pride, their wealth, and radiant state,
When freedom waved on high the sword of fate!
When brave Ramiro bade the despots fear,
Stern retribution frowning on his spear;
And fierce Almanzor, after many a fight,
O'erwhelmed with ne, confess’d the Christian's might.
in later times the gallant Cid arose,
Burning with zeal against his country's foes;
His victor-arm Alphonso's throne maintain'd,
His laureate brows the wreath of conquest gain'd;
And still his deeds Castilian bards rehearse,
Inspiring theme of patriotic verse!
high in the temple of recording fame,
Iberia points to great Gonsalvo's name ;,
Victorious chief? whose valor still defied
The arms of Gaul, and bowd her crested pride;
With splendid trophies graced his sov'reign's throne,
And bade Granada's realms his prowess own.
Nor were his deeds thy only boast, О Spain !
In mighty FERDINAND's illustrious reign;