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With splendid trophies graced his sovereign's Still prouder glories beam on history's page, throne,
Imperial CHARLES ! to mark thy prosperous age And bade Granada's realms his prowess own. Those golden days of arts and fancy bright, Nor were his deeds thy only boast, 0 Spain ! When Science pour'd her mild, refulgent light; In mighty FERDINAND's illustrious reign;
When Painting bade the glowing canvass breathe 'Twas then thy glorious Pilot spread the sail, Creative Sculpture claim'd the living wreath ; Unfurl'd his flag before the eastern gale;
When roved the Muses in Ausonian bowers, Bold, sanguine, fearless, ventured to explore Weaving immortal crowns of fairest flowers; Seas unexplored, and worlds unknown before. When angel-truth dispersed, with beam divine, Fair science guided o'er the liquid realm,
The clouds that veil'd religion's hallow'd shrine Sweet hope, exulting, steer'd the daring helm; Those golden days beheld Iberia tower While on the mast, with ardour-flashing eye, High on the pyramid of fame and power; Courageous enterprise still hover'd nigh:
Vain all the efforts of her numerous foes, The hoary genius of th' Atlantic main
Her might, superior still, triumphant rose. Saw man invade his wide majestic reign
Thus on proud Lebanon's exalted brow, His empire, yet by mortal unsubdued,
The cedar, frowning o'er the plains below, The throne, the world of awful solitude.
Though storms assail, its regal pomp to rend, And e'en when shipwreck seem'd to rear his Majestic, still aspires, disdaining e'er to bend !
form, And dark destruction menaced in the storm; When Gallia pour'd to Pavia's trophied plain, In every shape when giant-peril rose,
Her youthful knights, a bold, impetuous train ; To daunt his spirit and his course oppose; When, after many a toil and danger past, O'er ev'ry heart when terror sway'd alone, The fatal morn of conflict rose at last; And hope forsook each bosom but his own: That morning saw her glittering host combine, Moved by no dangers, by no fears repellid, And form in close array the threat'ning line ; His glorious track the gallant sailor held;
Fire in each eye, and force in ev'ry arm, Attentive still to mark the sea-birds lave,
With hope exulting, and with ardour warm; Or high in air their snowy pinions wave.
Saw to the gale their streaming ensigns play, Thus princely Jason, launching from the steep, Their armour flashing to the beam of day; With dauntless prow explored th' untravell’d Their gen’rous chargers panting, spurn the ground, deep;
Roused by the trumpet's animating sound; Thus, at the helm, Ulysses' watchful sight And heard in air their warlike music float, View'd ev'ry star and planetary light.
The martial pipe, the drum's inspiring note! Sublime COLUMBUS! when, at length descried, The long-sought land arose above the tide,
Pale set the sun—the shades of evening fell, How every heart with exultation glow'd,
The mournful night-wind rung their funera How from each eye the tear of transport flow'd ! knell; Not wilder joy the sons of Israel knew
And the same day beheld their warriors dead, When Canaan’s fertile plains appear'd in view. Their sovereign captive, and their glories fled ! Then rose the choral anthem on the breeze, Fled, like the lightning's evanescent fire, Then martial music floated o'er the seas;
Bright, blazing, dreadful-only to expire ! Their waving streamers to the sun display'd, Then, then, while prostrate Gaul confess'd her In all the pride of warlike pomp array'd.
might, Advancing nearer still, the ardent band
Iberia's planet shed meridian light ! Hail'd the glad shore, and bless'd the stranger Nor less, on famed St Quintin's deathful day, land;
Castilian spirit bore the prize awayAdmired its palmy groves and prospects fair, Laurels that still their verdure shall retain, With rapture breathed its pure ambrosial air : And trophies beaming high in glory's fane ! Then crowded round its free and simple race, And lo! her heroes, warm with kindred flame, Amazement pictured wild on every face;
Still proudly emulate their fathers' fame; Who deem'd that beings of celestial birth, Still with the soul of patriot-valour glow, Sprung from the sun, descended to the earth. Still rush impetuous to repel the foe; Then first another world, another sky,
Wave the bright falchion, lift the beamy spcar, Beheld Iberia's banner blaze on high!
And bid oppressive Gallia learn to fear !
Be theirs, be theirs unfading honour's crown, Go, bid the rolling orbs thy mandate hearThe living amaranths of bright renown !
Go, stay the lightning in its wing'd career! Be theirs th' inspiring tribute of applause, No, tyrant! no ! thy utmost force is vain Due to the champions of their country's cause ! The patriot-arm of freedom to restrain. Be theirs the purest bliss that virtue loves, Then bid thy subject-bands in armour shine, The joy when conscience whispers and approves ! Then bid thy legions all their power combine ! When every heart is fired, each pulse beats high, Yet couldst thou summon myriads at command, To fight, to bleed, to fall, for liberty;
Did boundless realms obey thy sceptred hand, When every hand is dauntless and prepared E'en then her soul thy lawless might would spurn, The sacred charter of mankind to guard; E'en then, with kindling fire, with indignation When Britain's valiant sons their aid unite,
burn! Fervent and glowing still for freedom's right, Bid ancient enmities for ever cease,
Ye sons of Albion ! first in danger's field, And ancient wrongs forgotten sleep in peace. The sword of Britain and of truth to wield ! When, firmly leagued, they join the patriot band, Still prompt the injured to defend and save, Can venal slaves their conquering arms withstand? Appal the despot, and assist the brave; Can fame refuse their gallant deeds to bless ? Who now intrepid lift the generous blade, Can victory fail to crown them with success? The cause of Justice and Castile to aid ! Look down, O Heaven ! the righteous cause Ye sons of Albion ! by your country's name, maintain,
Her crown of glory, her unsullied fame; Defend the injured, and avenge the slain ! Oh! by the shades of Cressy's martial dead, Despot of France ! destroyer of mankind ! By warrior-bands at Agincourt who bled ; What spectre-cares must haunt thy sleepless By honours gain'd on Blenheim's fatal plain, mind !
By those in Victory's arms at Minden slain; Oh ! if at midnight round thy regal bed,
By the bright laurels WOLFE immortal won, When soothing visions fly thine aching head; Undaunted spirit ! valour's favourite son! When sleep denies thy anxious cares to calm, By Albion's thousand, thousand deeds sublime, And lull thy senses in his opiate balm;
Renown'd from zone to zone, from clime to clime; Invoked by guilt, if airy phantoms rise,
Ye British heroes ! may your trophies raise And murder'd victims bleed before thine eyes; deathless monument to future days ! Loud let them thunder in thy troubled ear, Oh! may your courage still triumphant rise, “Tyrant! the hour, th’avenging hour is near!” Exalt the “lion banner" to the skies ! It is, it is ! thy star withdraws its ray
Transcend the fairest names in history's page, Soon will its parting lustre fade away;
The brightest actions of a former age; Soon will Cimmerian shades obscure its light, The reign of Freedom let your arms restore, And veil thy splendours in eternal night ! And bid oppression fall—to rise no more ! Oh! when accusing conscience wakes thy soul Then soon returning to your native isle, With awful terrors and with dread control, May love and beauty hail you with their smile; Bids threat'ning forms, appalling, round theestand, For you may conquest weave th' undying wreath, And summons all her visionary band;.
And fame and glory's voice the song of rapturo Calls up the parted shadows of the dead,
breathe! And whispers, peace and happiness are fled; Ah! when shall mad ambition cease to rage? E'en at the time of silence and of rest,
Ah! when shall war his demon-wrath assuage? Paints the dire poniard menacing thy breast; When, when, supplanting discord's iron reign, Is then thy cheek with guilt and horror pale? Shall mercy wave her olive-wand again? Then dost thou tremble, does thy spirit fail? Not till the despot's dread career is closed, And wouldst thou yet by added crimes provoke And might restrain'd and tyranny deposed ! The bolt of heaven to launch the fatal stroke? Bereave a nation of its rights revered,
Return, sweet Peace, ethereal form benign ! Of all to morals sacred and endear'd?
Fair blue-eyed seraph ! balmy power divine ! And shall they tamely liberty resign,
Descend once more! thy hallow'd blessings bring. The soul of life, the source of bliss divine ? Wave thy bright locks, and spread thy downy wing! Canst thou, supreme destroyer! hope to bind, Luxuriant plenty, laughing in thy train, In chains of adamant, the noble mind?
Shall crown with glowing stores the desert-plain:
THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS,
AND OTHER POEMS.
[In 1812, another and much smaller volume, entitled The DomnesticAffections, and other Poems, was given to the worldthe last that was to appear with the name of Felicia Browne ; for, in the summer of the same year, its author exchanged that appellation for the one under which she has become so much more generally known. Captain Hemans had returned to Wales in the preceding year, when the acquaintance was renewed which had begun so long before at Gwrych; and as the sentiments then mutually awakened continued unaltered, no further opposition was made to a union, on which (however little in accordance with the dictates of worldly prudence) the happiness of both parties seemed so entirely to depend.-Memoir, p. 24.]
Young smiling Hope, attendant on thy way,
THE SILVER LOCKS.
ADDRESSED TO AN AGED FRIEND.
Though youth may boast the curls that flow
A8 graceful on thy hoary head
His wreath of snow !
As frost-work on the trees display'd
E'en more than Flora, charms the sight;
Youth’s vernal rose decay'd !
To grace the nymph whose tresses play Light on the sportive breeze of May,
Let other bards the garland twine, Where sweets of every hue combine ; Those locks revered, that silvery shine,
Invite my lay!
O Thou ! whose fiat lulls the storm asleep! Thou, at whose nod subsides the rolling deep! Whose awful word restrains the whirlwind's force, And stays the thunder in its vengeful course; Fountain of life! Omnipotent Supreme ! Robed in perfection! crown’d with glory's beam! Oh! send on earth thy consecrated dove, To bear the sacred olive from above; Restore again the blest, the halcyon time, The festal harmony of nature's prime! Bid truth and justice once again appear, And spread their sunshine o'er this mundane
sphere; Bright in their path, let wreaths unfading bloom, Transcendant light their hallow'd fane illume; Bid war and anarchy for ever cease, And kindred seraphs rear the shrine of Peace; Brothers once more, let men her empire own, And realms and monarchs bend before the throne, While circling rays of angel-mercy shed Eternal haloes round her sainted head !
Less white the summer-cloud sublime,
Nor do Belinda's lovelier seem
Of reverend Time!
Long may the graceful honours smile,
O much revered ! may filial care
Thy pains beguile !
And joys of heaven would thrill thy heart To bid one bosom-grief depart,
One tear, one sorrow cease!
Long, long, ye snowy ringlets, wave!
May bliss your latest evening crown,
In gladness to the grave !
And as the parting beams of day
And tints of roseate lustre shed ;
His mildest ray!
TO MY MOTHER.
The generous wish or prayer;
My mother's fostering care. And if one flower of charms refined May grace the garden of my mind,
'Twas she who nursed it there : She loved to cherish and adorn
Each blossom of the soil ; To banish every weed and thorn
That oft opposed her toil !
Then, oh! may Heaven, that loves to bless,
Complains with soft entrancing number, When the lone storm awakes the wire,
And bids enchantment cease to slumber; So filial love, with soothing voice, E'en then shall teach thee to rejoice; E'en then shall sweeter, milder sound, When sorrow's tempest raves around;
While dark misfortune's gales destroy, The frail mimosa-buds of hope and joy !
TO MY YOUNGER BROTHER,
ON HIS RETURN FROM SPAIN, AFTER THE FATAL RETREAT UNDER SIR JOHN MOORE, AND THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA.
And oh ! if e'er I sigh’d to claim
The glowing wreath of praise ;
And gild thy sun-bright days !
Though dark are the prospects and heavy the hours,
Though life is a desert, and cheerless the way; Yet still shall affection adorn it with flowers,
Whose fragrance shall never decay !
And lo! to embrace thee, my Brother ! she flies,
With artless delight, that no words can bespeak; With a sunbeam of transport illuming her eyes,
With a smile and a glow on her cheek !
Yet not that splendour, pomp, and power
Diffusing joy and peace;
From the trophies of war, from the spear and the
shield, From scenes of destruction, from perils unblest; Oh! welcome again, to the grove and the field,
To the vale of retirement and rest.
Then warble, sweet muse! with the lyre and the
voice, Oh! gay be the measure and sportive the strain; For light is my heart, and my spirits rejoice
To meet thee, my Brother! again. When the heroes of Albion, still valiant and true,
Were bleeding, were falling, with victory crown'd, How often would fancy present to my view
The horrors that waited thee round !
How constant, how fervent, how pure was my
prayer, That Heaven would protect thee from danger
and harm; That angels of mercy would shield thee with care,
In the heat of the combat’s alarm !
When shall we meet again ?-with glowing ray, Heart-soothing hope illumes some future day; Checks the sad thought, beguiles the starting
tear, And sings benignly still—that day is near ! She, with bright eye, and soul-bewitching voice, Wins us to smile, inspires us to rejoice; Tells that the hour approaches, to restore Our cherish'd wanderer to his home once more; Where sacred ties his manly worth endear, To faith still true, affection still sincere ! Then the past woes, the future's dubious lot, In that blest meeting shall be all forgot ! And joy's full radiance gild that sun-bright hour, Though all around th' impending storm should
Now distant far, amidst the intrepid host, Albion's firm sons, on Lusitania's coast, (That gallant band, in countless dangers tried, Where glory's pole-star beams their constant
guide) Say, do thy thoughts, my Brother, fondly stray To Cambria's vales and mountains far away? Does fancy oft in busy day-dreams roam, And paint the greeting that awaits at home? Does memory's pencil oft, in mellowing hue, Dear social scenes, departed joys renew; In softer tints delighting to retrace Each tender image and each well-known face? Yes, wanderer ! yes ! thy spirit flies to those Whose love, unalter'd, warm and faithful glows.
Oh ! could that love, through life's eventful
hours, Illume thy scenes and strew thy path with
flowers ! Perennial joy should harmonise thy breast, No struggle rend thee, and no cares molest! But though our tenderness can but bestow The wish, the hope, the prayer, averting woe, Still shall it live, with pure, unclouded flame, In storms, in sunshine, far and near - the
same! Still dwell enthroned within th' unvarying heart, And, firm and vital, but with life depart !
Bronwylfa, Feb. 8, 1811.
TO MY ELDEST BROTHER.
(WITH THE BRITISH ARMY IN PORTUGAL.)
How many a day,
various hues array'd, Bright with gay sunshine, or eclipsed with shade, How many an hour, on silent wing is past, O my loved Brother'! since we saw thee last ! Since then has childhood ripen'd into youth, And fancy's dreams have fled from sober truth; Her splendid fabrics melting into air, As sage experience waved the wand of care ! Yet still thine absence wakes the tender sigh, And the tear trembles in affection's eye!
WRITTEN IN THE MEMOIRS OF ELIZABETH SMITH,
O thou ! whose pure, exalted mind,
Lives in this record, fair and bright;