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From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung,
And it was echoed from Corunna's wall;
Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung,
Granada caught it in her Moorish hall;
Galicia bade her children fight or fall,

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet,
Valencia roused her at the battle-call,

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,
The Invaders march, of victory secure;
Skilful their force to sever or unite,

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure.
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure,
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow,
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure;
While nought against them bring the unprac
tised foe,

Save hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for freedom's blow.


Proudly they march-but O! they march not forth
By one hot field to crown a brief campaign,
As when their eagles, sweeping through the North,
Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign!
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain;
In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied,
New Patriot armies started from the slain,

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,
But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land,
And claim'd for blood the retribution due,

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,
Amid the vision'd strife from sea to sea,
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell,
Still honour'd in defeat as victory!
For that sad pageant of events to be,

Show'd every form of tight by field and flood;
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee,
Beheld, while riding on the tempest-scud,
The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd
with blood!

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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!
Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew
Each art of war's extremity had room,

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—
A varied scene the changeful vision show'd,
For where the ocean mingled with the cloud,
A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad.
From mast and stern St George's symbol flow'd,
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear;
Mottling the sea their landward barges row'd,

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 moves to death with military glee:
Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free,
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known,
Rough Nature's children, humorous as she:

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,
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze,
And hear Corunna wail her battle won,

And see Busaco's crest with light'ning blaze:-
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise?
Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs


And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays,
That claim a long eternity to bloom

Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's


Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope.
And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil
That hides futurity from anxious hope,
Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail,
And painting Europe rousing at the tale

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd,
While kindling Nations buckle on their mail,
And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings un-

To freedom and revenge awakes an injured World.


O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast,
Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own:-
Yet Fate resigns to Worth the glorious past,

The deeds recorded and the laurels won.
Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone,

King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain,
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun,

Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain,
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain.

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