Dead in the sinless time of infancy, Attire the peaceful corse in vestments white; And, in like sign of cloudless triumph bright, They bind the unoffending creature's brows With happy garlands of the pure white rose: Then do a festal company unite
In choral song; and, while the uplifted cross Of Jesus goes before, the child is borne Uncovered to his grave: 't is closed, her loss The Mother then mourns, as she needs must mourn; But soon, through Christian faith, is grief subdued; And joy returns, to brighten fortitude.
FEELINGS OF A NOBLE BISCAYAN AT ONE OF THOSE FUNERALS.
YET, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes With firmer soul, yet labor to regain
Our ancient freedom; else 't were worse than vain To gather round the bier these festal shows. A garland fashioned of the pure white rose Becomes not one whose father is a slave: O, bear the infant covered to his grave! These venerable mountains now inclose A people sunk in apathy and fear. If this endure, farewell, for us, all good! The awful light of heavenly innocence
Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier;
And guilt and shame, from which is no defence, Descend on all that issues from our blood.
The ancient oak of Guernica, says Laborde in his account of Biscay, is a most venerable natural monument. Ferdinand and Isabella, in the year 1476, after hearing mass in the church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, repaired to this tree, under which they swore to the Biscayans to maintain their fueros (privileges). What other interest belongs to it in the minds of this people will appear from the following
SUPPOSED ADDRESS TO THE SAME. 1810.
OAK of Guernica! Tree of holier power Than that which in Dodona did enshrine (So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine, Heard from the depths of its aërial bower, How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour? What hope, what joy, can sunshine bring to thee, Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea, The dews of morn, or April's tender shower? Stroke merciful and welcome would that be Which should extend thy branches on, the ground, If never more within their shady round Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet, Peasant and lord, in their appointed seat, Guardians of Biscay's ancient liberty.
INDIGNATION OF A HIGH-MINDED SPANIARD.
WE can endure that he should waste our lands, Despoil our temples, and by sword and flame. Return us to the dust from which we came ; Such food a Tyrant's appetite demands: And we can brook the thought that by his hands Spain may be overpowered, and he possess, For his delight, a solemn wilderness
Where all the brave lie dead. But when of bands Which he will break for us he dares to speak,
Of benefits, and of a future day
When our enlightened minds shall bless his sway; Then, the strained heart of fortitude proves weak; Our groans, our blushes, our pale cheeks, declare That he has power to inflict what we lack strength to bear.
AVAUNT all specious pliancy of mind In men of low degree, all smooth pretence! I better like a blunt indifference,
And self-respecting slowness, disinclined
To win me at first sight: and be there joined Patience and temperance with this high reserve,
Honor that knows the path and will not swerve, Affections, which, if put to proof, are kind, And piety towards God. Such men of old
Were England's native growth; and, throughout
(Thanks to high God!) forests of such remain: Then for that Country let our hopes be bold; For matched with these shall Policy prove vain, Her arts, her strength, her iron, and her gold.
O'ERWEENING Statesmen have full long relied On fleets and armies, and external wealth: But from within proceeds a Nation's health; Which shall not fail, though poor men cleave with pride
To the paternal floor; or turn aside,
In the thronged city, from the walks of gain, ▾ As being all unworthy to detain
A Soul by contemplation sanctified.
There are who cannot languish in this strife Spaniards of every rank, by whom the good Of such high course was felt and understood; Who to their Country's cause have bound a life Erewhile, by solemn consecration, given To labor and to prayer, to nature and to heaven.*
*See Laborde's character of the Spanish people; from him 'he sentiment of these last two lines is taken.
THE FRENCH AND THE SPANISH GUERILLAS
HUNGER, and sultry heat, and nipping blast From bleak hill-top, and length of march by night Through heavy swamp, or over snow-clad height,— These hardships ill-sustained, these dangers past, The roving Spanish Bands are reached at last, Charged, and dispersed like foam: but as a flight Of scattered quails by signs do reunite,
So these, and, heard of once again, are chased With combinations of long-practised art And newly-kindled hope; but they are fled, Gone are they, viewless as the buried dead: Where now?— Their sword is at the Foeman's
And thus from year to year his walk they thwart, And hang like dreams around his guilty bed.
THEY seek, are sought; to daily battle led, Shrink not, though far outnumbered by their Foes, For they have learnt to open and to close The ridges of grim war; and at their head Are captairs such as erst their country bred
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