XLII.

There shall they rot-Ambition's honour'd fools!
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 prick'd his steed,
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief,

A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!

Peace to the perish'd! 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;
Perish'd, 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 wish'd-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 famish'd 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 inthralls;

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.

XLVII.

Not so the rustic-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!

XLVIII.

How carols now the lusty muleteer?

Of love, romance, devotion is his lay,

As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer,

on the way?

His quick bells wildly jingling on the

No! as he speeds, he chants, " 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 adulterate joy.

XLIX.

On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd

With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest,
Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground;
And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd vest
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest:

Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host,
Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest;
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast,

And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.

L.

And whomsoe'er along the path you meet

Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue,

Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet:

(9)

Woe to the man that walks in public view

Without of loyalty this token true:

Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke;

And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue,

If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke,

Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke.

LI.

At every turn Morena's dusky height
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'er-flow'd,
The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch,
The magazine in rocky durance stow'd,

The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch,

The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match, (10)