But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise?

Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs

room?

And dare her flowers mingle with the bays,

That claim a long eternity to bloom

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

tomb?

LXII.

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 unfurl'd, To freedom and revenge awakes an injured World ?

LXIII.

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!

CONCLUSION.

66

I.

WHO shall command Estrella's mountain-tide

Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie? Who, when Gascogne's vex'd gulph is raging wide, Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry? His magic power let such vain boaster try, And when the torrent shall his voice obey,

And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby,

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way,

And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay.

II.

"Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers

They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, And their own sea hath whelm'd yon red-cross Powers!"

Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock,

To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. While downward on the land his legions press, Before them it was rich with vine and flock,

And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ;Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness.

III.

And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word,

Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the

land,

Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword,

Though Britons arm, and WELLINGTON com

mand!

No! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand

An adamantine barrier to his force!

And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd band,

As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious

course.

IV.

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk

Hath on his best and bravest made her food, In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood: For full in view the promised conquest stood,

And Lisbon's matrons, from their walls, might

sum

The myriads that had half the world subdued,