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From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung,
Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet,
And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met
Fast started to his gun each fiery Miquelet.
But unappall'd, and burning for the fight,
And train'd alike to vanquish or endure.
Save hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for freedom's blow.
Proudly they march-but O! they march not forth
High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, And oft the God of Battles bless'd the righteous side.
Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, Remain'd their savage waste. With blade and brand,
By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale,
Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murderous
And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw,
'Midst ruins they had made the spoilers' corpses knew.
What Minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell,
Show'd every form of tight by field and flood;
Then Zaragoza-blighted be the tongue
That names thy name without the honour due! For never hath the harp of minstrel rung,
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true!
Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe withdrew, And when at length stern Fate decreed thy doom, They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb.*
Yet raise thy head, sad City! Though in chains, Enthrall'd thou canst not be! Arise and claim Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, For what thou worshippest !-thy sainted Dame, She of the Column, honour'd be her name,
By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love! And like the sacred relics of the flame,
That gave some martyr to the blest above, To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove!
The interesting account of Mr Vaughan has made most readers acquainted with the first siege of Zaragoza. The last and fatal siege of that gallant and devoted city is detailed with great eloquence and precision in the "Edinburgh Aunual Register" for 1800.
Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair! Faithful to death thy heroes should be sung, Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung, Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare, Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, And reddening now with conflagration's glare, While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare.
While all around was danger, strife, and fear, While the earth shook, and darken'd was the sky. And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear, Appall'd the heart, and stupified the eye,— Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry,
In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, Whene'er her soul is up and pulse beats high, Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light.
Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew loud—
And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, And the wild beach return'd the seaman's jovial cheer.
It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight!
The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars, Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, Legions on legions brightening all the shores. Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars,
Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum,
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come!
A various host they came-whose ranks display Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, The deep battalion locks its firm array,
And meditates his aim the marksman light; Far glance the lines of sabres flashing bright, Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead,
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed.
A various host-from kindred realms they came, Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown
yon fair bands shall merry England claim, And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause, Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown,
And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier with the Laws.
And O! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land! Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! The rugged form may mark the mountain band, And harsher features, and a mien more grave; But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid, And when the pibroch bids the battle rave,
And level for the charge your arms are laid, Where lives the desperate foe, that for such onset staid!
Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy,
His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings,
And HE, yon Chieftain-strike the proudest
Of thy bold harp, green Isle !—the Hero is thine own.
Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown,
And see Busaco's crest with light'ning blaze:-
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays,
Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's
Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope.
Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd,
To freedom and revenge awakes an injured World.
O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast,
The deeds recorded and the laurels won.
King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain,
Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain,