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POEMS

FOUNDED ON THE

EVENTS OF THE WAR

IN THE

PENINSULA.

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A SKETCH,

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCCXIV.

THE sullen echo of the cannon's roar
Had died in silence on Corunna's shore;
The lessening fleet had mingled with the sky,
That bore the freight of grief-clad victory.
A generous foe had raised the hero's tomb,
Admired his prowess, and deplored his doom:
Heaven's gentle dews dispersed the sanguine
stain,

Spring cast her verdant mantle o'er the slain:
They rested in their glory;-and the scene
Was still and calm as war had never been;
Deserted all the long contested shore,
And silence dwelt around the tomb of Moore,
Spread o'er the subjugated hills of Spain,
And reigned o'er hapless Lusia's lost domain;
The gloomy silence of the dead was there,-
The deep and awful stillness of despair:
England had fought in vain, and left the land
Which bowed to usurpation's lawless hand.
Where was the hope that could their fears be-
guile?

The waves had borne it back to Britain's Isle.
While conscience told of envy and mistrust,-
Spain was ungrateful, and Britannia just.
Affrighted Lisbon dreads another flood,
A second deluge of her native blood.

What guardian angel hovers o'er the coast?
Vimeiro's hero leads a British host!
O is it he, the victor chief sublime,
The conquering warrior from Hindostan's clime?
Behold the martial air, the lofty crest,

Let prudence speak, or enterprise inspire,
This prompt the fight or that the cool retire,
The Leader hears, views, ponders and combines,
Then moves with silent speed his ready lines;
If retrograde, where breathes the hardy wight,
Who dares to call that calm retreat a flight?
If to advance, more bold were he to stay,
And brave the issue of so dire a fray;
Witness France, India, Portugal and Spain,
Our Wellesley never drew the sword in vain ;
Alike unknown to him to fly or yield,
Victor he stood on ev'ry battle field.
Nor end his labours with the conflict done,
Still vigilance and Wellington are one;
When sleep and silence reign throughout the

camp,

The wakeful Chieftain trims his midnight lamp;
While Heaven applauding gives its aid divine,
He plans with matchless skill the high design;
To rescue nations, bid oppression cease,
And bless the world with Liberty and peace

*

See Murray, the Ulysses of the war,
The mighty engine at his word prepare ;—
As the calm helmsman at the rudder placed,
Guides the rich freight along the watery waste;
The wise Commander bids the chart unroll,
That points th' obtrusive rock and treacherous
shoal;

Silent he watches with experienced eye,

The breakers rise, the hostile rock is nigh,He gives th' expected sign, with sudden tack, The well-trimmed vessel finds her destined track;

Again the Chief commands-the ropes they strain,

She floats triumphant o'er the subject main. The piercing eye, 'tis Wellesley stands con- So plans great Wellesley's mind, acute and

fess'd.

Eager they press the welcome band to view, And scarcely deem the glorious vision true, Impatient to believe, yet fearful doubt

clear,

The future progress of his high career;
So Murray stands with cool observant skill,
And moves the vast machine obedient to his will.

Dimmed the glad eye, and check'd the joyful Of judgment clear and comprehensive mind, shout;

Stewartt fulfils the task his Chief designed,

On trembling lips the half-breathed "Viva" To hear, arrange, embody and enroll

hung, The wide minutiae of the mighty whole. Throbbed in the heart, but faltered o'er the Well might'st thou deem that soul of serious

tongue,

Till victory on each beaming helm appears,
To soothe their minds, and dissipate their fears.
O then how loud was raised th' exulting cry;
What oft redoubled "Vivas" rent the sky!

"Tis not for my weak pencil to pourtray The Chief who led Britannia's proud array; "Tis not for me to paint that wond'rous mind, Which holds each lofty attribute combined, Which claims alike the laurel and the palm, Heroic valour poised by judgment calm.

bent

Were meeter for the cabinet than tent;
But mark him when the battle shouts arise;
How keen the ray that flashes from his eyes!
He checks his charger with a master hand,
And bends attentive for the wished command;
Then shakes his lofty plume, and gives the rein,
And like a whirlwind scours the distant plain :

* Sir George Murray, Quarter Master General of the Army.

† Lord Stewart, Adjutant General of the Army during the Campaigns of the years 1809, 10, 11, and 12

Bold Erin's fire o'er every feature beams,

And on his dazzling blade the foeman's deathlight gleams.

Rash foeman pause, and deem it not a flight;
The sword is flaming on Busaco's height:
Presumptuous! thou would'st check the lion's
way,

Once more the red-cross banner streams on And he has turned, and holds thee at a bay ;

high,

Back! and retrace thy mountain path again,
He scorns thy force,-the bold attempt is vain.

"England for Lusia" once again the cry;
The sword is drawn, the scabbard cast away,
And files on files their glittering front display;
Pour their bold numbers with resistless force,
And hold unchecked a long victorious course;
In vain the foe, on Douro's farthest strand,
Sought a last refuge for his flying band;
The stream is crossed,—and welcome came the "Where can this champion of Iberia flee,
night,

"Where is the mighty hero, where his pride?"
In weak derision soon the Frenchman cried,
Flames he beyond the lines of Portugal,
"Or does he couch beneath frail Lisbon's
wall?

With friendly veil to shroud their panting flight,
And stay the fury of that dreadful spear,
That pressed impetuous on their shrinking rear.

Mindful of Lisbon's unprotected towers,
The Chief returns with his triumphant powers;
Short space they pause, then flushed with con-
quest wheel

Their sounding march, to succour high Castile.
Now Talavera viewed the awful sight,
Two mighty bands preparing for the fight:
The battle raged beneath the noontide ray,
It raged unsated at the close of day:
Another rises, do they still remain?
Renew the conflict!

Spain !

"Our ranks before him, and behind the sea?
"Can one small tract of barren land sustain
"These British heroes, and these hopes of
Spain?"

-And was it so? Alas! on ev'ry side
The reign of terror now had spread so wide,
That nations paralysed had dropped the sword,
And owned in silent awe one despot lord.
The Russian eagle cowered his sable head,
And closed his drooping wing in angry dread;
While Austria, Prussia, Denmark, Sweden
joined,

In one disgraceful sullen league combined.
Then Liberty through Europe's ample bound,
England fights for But three small consecrated spots had found;
Her temple built on Albion's mighty rock,
Unshaken stood, and still defied the shock:
At Cadiz yet she found undaunted Græme
Preserved an altar sacred to her name;
Through Lisbon's crowded streets her step
might stray,

On, gallant Hill!* confirm thy brilliant fame,
And charge them boldly in thy Country's name!
"Tis done-and victory wavers now no more,
The last fierce struggle of despair is o'er;
Old England's well-known shout ascends on
high,

For Wellington had barred th' invader's way;

And her victorious flag floats to the evening His fiery sword was drawn, though still his sky.

Oh, for one gleam of the bright ray that shone
O'er the unconquered plains of Arragon!
Could not the sound of Saragossa's name
Tinge yon pale Spaniards with the hue of
shame?

Still shall the scowl of the malignant eye
Lour on the dawn of Hope and Liberty!
Shall Envy's hissing snake, and Discord's brand,
Still render vain the might of Wellesley's hand?
Ingrates, farewell! full many a sanguine stain
Shall dew the bosom of unworthy Spain,
Ere those indignant bands seek her dark hills
again.

Lusia, the patient and the brave, extends
Her faithful arms, in welcome to her friends:-

Lord Hill; who commanded the second Division of

hand,

And stillness reigned throughout each hostile band.

Momentous pause! ev'n England shuddered
then,

And rapt attention filled the minds of men:
Not half so dread that cloud's impending form,
That silent tells the fast approaching storm;
The scale is poised aloft; and all discern
The fate of Europe hangs upon the turn.

A sudden fear the vaunting foe o'ertakes:They move-'tis done! the gathered tempest breaks;

And Wellington at that blest signal starts, Swift as from Heaven's wide arch the lightning parts;

Grand as its bursting blaze of living light,

Infantry at the Battle of Talavera, and the Right Corps Is that which marks his path in streaming

of the Army in the subsequent Campaigns.

glory bright.

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