OF THE SPANISH PATRIOTS *.
BY THE REV. J. WHITEHOUSE.
SAY, shall proud Gallia's tyrant dare
Insult the land renown'd of old
For heroes, in Fame's proudest lists enroll'd?
Sunk, and degraded, even beneath
Those who his chains opprobrious wear,
Shall Spaniards, crouching to his throne,
The rights of the Usurper own ?
O no! by heaven and earth we swear,
From Honour's path we ne'er will swerve,
Our Country's cause ne'er cease to serve,
Our vows, our choice but one-Or liberty or death.
Not our's the unhallow'd rage,
With bids Ambition's sons engage
In ruthless war: no frantic scheme
Of boundless sway; no feverish dream
Of fancied glory false and vain,
Tempts us to the embattl'd plain :
Our Country's weal, our Monarch's fate,
Our swords are drawn to vindicate;
And teach the insidious chief of Gaul
Whose treacherous acts project our fall,
That when resolv'd to' assert their rights,
A gallant people, like one man, unites,
No power on earth can bar them of their aim,
Or in their bosoms quench the heaven-enkindl'd flame.
From the proud heights of Arragon,
Lead we our conquering legions on;
O'er Andalusia's verdant vales,
Where fragrance scents the vernal gales,
Where richest pastures stretch around;
O'er hills with ruddy vineyards crown'd,
By Tejo's stream, and Ebro's banks,
We march in firm compacted ranks,
Eager to face the foe, and dare
His utmost fury in the war!
Prepar'd to meet the battle shock,
We his vain threats and curses mock;
Driven back in terror and dismay,
His routed hosts shall rue the day,
When by madness urged and guilt,
Our brethren's blood they foully spilt,
And aimed to crush us at a stroke,
And bend our necks beneath the victor-yoke.
O, never shall IBERIA's name
High in honour, high in fame,
Be mark'd with ignominy and shame;
Nor shall the blood of Spaniards slain
To heaven's tribunal cry in vain ;
Even now the storm of vengeance lowers,
And soon its fiercest bolts shall fall,
Crushing Ambitions haughty towers,
And Gallia's guilty race appal:
Vain all their boasts!-They proudly thought To rule the wide-extended realms of earth; But soon, by dire experience taught, They shall their arrogance disclaim, And curse the insanity that gave it birth.
Unmix'd our blood with spurious stain,
The brave descendants of a generous race,
With indignation and disdain,
Spurn we every traitorous aim
In friendship mask'd, to work us shame,
And on our cause to stamp disgrace;
What though, awhile, to sloth a prey,
Our Country's genius dormant lay;
The spirit that, in elder times,
Cherish'd virtues, punish'd crimes,
Again that spirit shall revive!
And like our warlike chiefs of yore,
To lofty Independence soar !
The feats of arms our sires perform'd,
When by heroic ardour warm'd;
Their well-tried valour, manly worth,
That gave to deeds of glory birth,
Again in history's page shall live-
The patriot-passion, while its fires expand,
Shall
purge our kingdom's dross and purify the land.
Spaniards! such loyal zeal
Our cause befits; we hasten to fulfil
The holy duties which our parents, wives,
And children claim; their bulwark and defence!
The faithful guardians of their honour, lives,
Against the sons of fraud and violence!
First in the field, and prompt to share
The toils and dangers of the war;
Heart and hand, come on, we cry,
Our's be death or victory!
Thrice arm'd is he whose cause is just,
In God's protecting power we trust,
Nor shall our hopes and vows be vain
To stem Oppression's swelling flood,
The ruthless Tyrant to restrain,
And check his mad career of blood!
Far, far from us be guilt-polluted hands,
The thirst of interest, honours, or commands,
With ev'ry selfish aim.-We burn to prove
One motive sways us all-Our Country's love;
Anxious her laws to guard, her wrongs redress,
And build, on Freedom's base, the public happiness!
So help us Heaven!—and for the fight
Arm us with thy own power and might
Such as the foe shall not withstand;
Avail him not his impious blasphemy!
O God of hosts! to whom belongs
To poise the scales of victory and defeat,
Give us, when in the hostile ranks we meet,
Undaunted courage, the contempt of death,
And constancy unshaken: Valiantly,
Give us to chase the base invaders hence,
And perseverance, to our latest breath,
To fight, to conquer, in our just defence,
And deeply to revenge our Country's wrongs,
WRITTEN AT KIRKSTALL ABBEY, Dec. 1809.
FROM Life's vain pageant, its tumultuous fray,
From cares that harass, pleasures that beguile,
From the gay beams of thought-dispersing day,
Receive me, mould'ring, venerable pile.
O! let thy columns hoar, thy scatter'd graves,
Where sorrow sleeps, where toil has reach'd his goal,
Let these dim cloisters, where the rank grass waves,
Diffuse a kindred sadness o'er my soul.
Soft on thy tower the magic moonshine falls,
Through rich-wrought windows pours its silvery light, Flings their long shadows o'er the moss-grey walls, To grace the grandeur of advancing night.
Yes! thus that band, (record, my soul, the truth,
Nor weave a vain, unprofitable lay ;)
To Heaven, to peace, who consecrate their youth,
Live mild in age; live reverenced in decay.
Nought stirs the silence, save the low-heard stream,
That ceaseless rushes down the willowy vale;
Or pendant ivy, tipp'd with pale, soft gleam,
That shakes its tendrils in the whisp'ring gale.
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