And still he thought at every step
His jaded steed was forced to leap,
Something he could not move, nor kill,
Some fell obstruction met him still.
At length full in the monarch's way
A Gallic soldier dying lay;
Napoleon stopp'd and strove to cheer;
The warrior's death-groan met his ear,
The warrior's death-glance met his eye,
That groan that glance he could not fly!
A bitter curse they seem'd to shroud.
He gallopp'd on, he shouted loud,—
But still the groan he cannot fly,
But still the glance is in his eye.
"Awake! awake!" and at her touch
The hero started from his couch,
Awhile he stood and shook with dread,
""Tis but a dream!" at length he said;
""Tis but a bubble of the brain!"
He said yet fear'd to sleep again.
FROM THE FRENCH OF FIEUBET.
SAINT Pavin lies beneath this tomb:
Reader! mourn with tears his doom.
Wast thou his friend? Thy soul resign
To grief, and weep his fate and thine.
Or wast thou not? Then weep thine own,
That as his friend thou wast not known.
ADDRESS TO LORD WELLINGTON.
FAVOURITE of glory! whose presiding might
Still rules, unmatch'd, the fortune of the fight,
And spreads the terrors of thy native shore
Through legions deem'd invincible before;
Lord of bold genius! whose ascendant pow'r,
Still brightest beams in peril's darkest hour,
Be thou the patriot's theme! to thee belong
The noblest honours of eternal song!
Thine be the deathless palm, the votive lays,
And all the inspiring energies of praise.
Oh! hero born to triumph and to save,
To rouse the languid, and to guide the brave;
Wrest the dread sabre from oppression's hand,
And bid young hope to light and life expand;
To swell thy fame, let thousand strains accord,
And rescu'd freedom consecrate thy sword;
That sword, whose track reviving nations hail,
Inur'd to conquer, destin'd to prevail !
Through Lusian vales, where long the storm has rav'dThe death-note thunder'd, and the banner wav'd;
Through the wild scenes, renown'd in many a strain,
The dark Sierras of romantic Spain ;
Thy name resounds-the watch-word that imparts
New strength to daring hands and lion-hearts;
That wakes the patriot's hope, the warrior's zeal,
And all the fiery spirit of Castile!
Nations! whose glory sheds its light sublime
Through the deep shadows of departed time,
Who first the sail of enterprise unfurl'd,
And rush'd o'er oceans to the western world;
Burst the dark barrier nature had assign'd
Of rocks and billows to divide mankind;
Brav'd on new seas, the Typhon and the storm,
And countless dangers of mysterious form;
Realms! in bright ages past, renown'd and fear'd,
Your arms triumphant, and your name rever'd;
Ah! when your sun its noon of radiance clos'd,
How long forgot, inglorious ye repos'd!
Sunk in oblivion's gathering shade ye lay-
The death-like gloom-the twilight of decay!
Pale Superstition, chill'd with stern control,
The fire of thought, the ethereal spring of soul!
Mind, valour, genius, lost in languor slept,
While o'er their withering wreath, despondence wept!
Yet then, when Freedom, darting through the gloom,
Call'd patriot Honour from the trophied tomb,
Rous'd by her war-song, as in days of yore,
Ye woke to energies unknown before!
Th' electric flame, repress'd, obscur'd, so long,
Bursting the darkness, flash'd intensely strong!
Shot through opposing clouds its lightning way,
And gathering brilliance, kindled into day!
And then, brave Wellington! whose arm extends Britain's firm succour to her struggling friends; While round her oak, in graceful union, twine The Spanish olive and the Lusian vine; Oh! in that cause, whose name alone inspires Hope's brightest ardour, valour's noblest fires; May the keen sword, to thee by justice given, Still flash resistless-as the bolt of heaven! Still guide the brave, where glory shines reveal'd, Still blaze in war-the comet of the field!
Oh! rouse to life, to grandeur, once again The glow of chivalry, the soul of Spain! Th' unblemish'd faith, to generous minds allied, And the bright dignity of martial pride! Teach the last hope of Nassau's conquering race, Thy fame to emulate, thy steps to trace; August in danger, to preside, like thee, Leader of dauntless hearts-the gallant and the free!
Ye scenes, where Liberty, in ages fled, To mountain-wilds her bold associates led; And firmly there maintain'd th' unequal strife, Fearless of suffering, and profuse of life; Ye vales renown'd! where inany a silvery flood Has roll'd its current, stain'd with Moorish blood; When red-cross banners floated on the gale, And the pale crescent saw their knights prevail; Rocks! that have seen the Moslem, wing'd by fear, Fly the stern vengeance of the Iberian spear; Once more ye see the streaming flag display'd, The watch-fire kindled, and the line array'd! Behold once more undaunted bands engage, Brave ruder perils, fiercer combats wage!
Where the keen bayonet exerts its power,
Where the swift death shot pours th' unerring shower;
While mouldering lie the spear, the shield, the lance,
Themes of heroic song, and wild romance!
Oh! if Castile, as rising from the dead,
May lift once more, sublime, her crested head;
And like the phoenix, bursting from its clay,
Start into glory's full meridian day;
If, on her mountains, when the storm is past,
Victorious Freedom rear her shrine at last;
Then, generous Albion, bid the song arise,
Peal o'er the ocean, echo to the skies!
Twine the bright wreath, and wave th' exulting hand,
To hail thy chieftain, and his conquering band!
And own, though tears bedew the gallant slain,
That martyr'd thousands have not bled in vain!
|