XL.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see

(For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery,

Their various arms that glitter in the air!

What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair,

And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! All join the chase, but few the triumph share; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.

XLI.

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;

Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies; The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! The foe, the victim, and the fond ally

That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,

Are met

as if at home they could not die

To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,

And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain.

Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay!
Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away

By myriads, when they dare to pave their way'
With human hearts-to what? -a dream alone.
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway?
Or call with truth one span of earth their own,
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by
bone?

XLIII.

Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief!

As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim pricked his steed,
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief,

A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!

Peace to the perished! may the warrior's meed And tears of triumph their reward prolong!

Till others fall where other chieftains lead

Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient

song!

XLIV.

Enough of Battle's minions! let them play
Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame:
Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay,
Though thousands fall to deck some single name.
In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim
Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's

good,

And die, that living might have proved her shame; Perished, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.

XLV.

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way
Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued:
Yet is she free-the spoiler's wished-for prey!
Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude,
Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude.
Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive

Where Desolation plants her famished brood
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive,
And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to
thrive.

XLVI.

But all unconscious of the coming doom,
The feast, the song, the revel here abounds;
Strange modes of merriment the hours consume,
Nor bleed these patriots with their country's
wounds:

Not here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds;
Here Folly still his votaries enthralls;

And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight

rounds:

Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls.

Not so the rustic

XLVII.

with his trembling mate
He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar,
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate,
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war.
No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star
Fandango twirls his jocund castanet :

Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth ye mar,
Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret;

The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy yet!

VOL. I.

C

XLVIII.

How carols now the lusty muleteer?

Of love, romance, devotion is his lay,
As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer,
His quick bells wildly jingling on the way?
No! as he speeds, he chaunts; "Viva el Rey!"8
And checks his song to execrate Godoy,

The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day
When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed

boy,

And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulte

rate joy.

XLIX.

On yon long, level plain, at distance crowned With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Wide scattered hoof-marks dint the wounded

ground;

And, scathed by fire, the green sward's darkened

Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest:

Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Here the bold peasant stormed the dragon's nest; Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.