Canto I.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

The ‘Table of Contents’ has been created and inserted before the

Preface by the Transcriber.

Omitted text in quotations was indicated by ‘ * * ’ in the original

book, sometimes ‘ * * * ’, and this has been retained in the etext.

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been

corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within

the text and consultation of external sources.

More detail can be found at the end of the book.

IBERIA WON.

LONDON:

WILLIAM STEVENS, PRINTER, BELL YARD,

TEMPLE BAR.

IBERIA WON;

A Poem

DESCRIPTIVE OF

THE PENINSULAR WAR:

WITH IMPRESSIONS FROM RECENT VISITS TO

THE BATTLE-GROUNDS,

AND

Copious Historical and Illustrative Notes.

BY T. M. HUGHES,

Author of “An Overland Journey to Lisbon,” “Revelations of Spain,”

“The Ocean Flower,” &c.

LONDON:

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.

MDCCCXLVII.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface iii

Introduction 1

CANTO I 43

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto I 59

CANTO II 69

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto II 87

CANTO III 99

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto III 117

CANTO IV 127

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto IV 144

CANTO V 149

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto V 165

CANTO VI 173

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto VI 190

CANTO VII 199

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto VII 216

CANTO VIII 231

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto VIII 247

CANTO IX 259

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto IX 276

CANTO X 283

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto X 299

CANTO XI 305

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto XI 322

CANTO XII 327

Historical and Illustrative Notes to Canto XII 344

PREFACE.

The following work is the result of six years’ residence in the

Peninsula, devoted to literary pursuits. It contains the fruits

(be they mature or otherwise) of many excursions through Spain

and Portugal, of considerable opportunities of observation,

and much familiarity with localities and people, as well as of

meditative habits in an isolated life, which during the last three

years especially has been compelled by severe sickness. Love and

admiration of the British Islands, whose climate would be fatal to

me, except during two or three summer months, have been fostered by

constrained absence; and my attention having been strongly turned

to the great Peninsular struggle, I have consulted every accessible

work, and every surviving authority within my reach, that could

illustrate a theme with which my mind has been filled for years.

While I have endeavoured to sustain the glory of England, I

have striven to award a meed of truthful but generous justice to

her Allies, and have not thought it requisite to depreciate the

well-earned fame of France. Yet, even while celebrating the most

splendid military achievements, it has been my aim to inculcate a

horror of the bloody arbitrament of War.

Determined to perfect the work, so far as in me lay, I last year

traversed the whole Peninsula from East to West, at the constant

risk of a very precarious life (which might thus, perhaps, become

not utterly valueless), and acquired the advantages to be derived

to my labours from visiting the following battle-grounds:--Bayonne

and the Adour, the Nive, St. Pierre, the Nivelle, the Bidasoa,

San Marcial, Vera, Sauroren, San Sebastian, Vitoria, Talavera,

Almaraz, Albuera, and Badajoz, having previously visited most of

the battle-fields in Portugal and in Northern and Southern Spain.

The task which I have undertaken, and accomplished according to my

means, was an ambitious one, yet honourable. I scarcely dare to

hope for success. I feel the full force of the immortal Scott’s

address to the illustrious Wellington, in the Introduction to his

_Vision of Don Roderick_:--

But we weak minstrels of a laggard day,

Skilled but to imitate an elder page,

Timid and raptureless, can we repay

The debt thou claim’st in this exhausted age?

Thou giv’st our lyres a theme, that might engage

Those that could send thy name o’er sea and land,

While sea and land shall last; for Homer’s rage

A theme; a theme for Milton’s mighty hand--

How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band!

But, while I regard with befitting humility the result of this

labour of love, I trust that the spirit in which I have conceived

and written has at least been pure and irreproachable.

It is with feelings of the utmost satisfaction and pride that I

notice, contemporaneously with the appearance of this work, the

concession of a medal to our Peninsular veterans by the high-minded

Sovereign of England, whose propitious name and reign are

identified with victory:--

Ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἁ μεγαλώνυμος ἦλθε Νίκα.

Soph. _Antig._ 148.

VICTORIA came with mighty name and glory.

With equal pain have I witnessed, having traversed Spain at the

period, the recent success of French intrigue and the spectacle

of renewed subserviency. The wedding-ring may replace the sword,

but the instrument, because less bloody, is not less fatal to

Liberty; and the words of Byron, at the close of the first Canto

of _Childe Harold_, become invested with prophetic and appalling

truthfulness:--

Not all the blood at Talavera shed,

Not all the marvels of Barosa’s fight,

Not Albuera lavish of the dead,

Have won for Spain her well asserted right.

When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight?

When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil?

How many a doubtful day shall sink in night,

Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil,

And Freedom’s stranger-tree grow native of the soil!

_Lisbon, 1st March, 1847._

INTRODUCTION.

Of all the great achievements which make up the sum of British

glory, the Peninsular War and its results form one of the grandest,

brightest, and most unimpeachable. These gigantic efforts were made

in the holy cause of Freedom; they were disinterested in a high

and unparalleled degree; their success was uniform, brilliant, and

startling; and their guerdon was the liberation and advancement of

mankind.

For six years England had constantly employed in the Spanish

Peninsula from thirty to seventy thousand of her troops, who

besides sustaining combats innumerable, took four great fortresses,

attacked or defended in ten important sieges, and were decisively

victorious in nineteen pitched battles, killing, wounding, or

making prisoners, two hundred thousand of the enemy. She liberally

subsidized Spain and Portugal, and maintained the troops of both

countries, regular and irregular, with supplies of ammunition,

clothing, and arms, while upon her own military operations she

expended upwards of one hundred millions sterling. Twice she

expelled the French from Portugal, and finally drove them from

Spain besides, surmounting and winning step by step the terrific

bulwark of the Pyrenees. With her naval squadrons she repeatedly

harassed the Invader by well-combined descents upon the coasts, and

rescued or preserved Lisbon and Cadiz, Alicante and Carthagena.

Her land forces tracked the enemy from Vimieiro to Busaco, from

Busaco to Navarre, over some of the most frightfully broken ground

in Europe, signally defeating them wherever they came in collision,

and sweeping them at times like a wreck before the ocean-wave; and

forty thousand of her children fell in the Peninsula to attest her

devotion to the cause of Freedom.

In this most memorable liberation of Spain from the French invader,

it is the glory of England to have realized with singular exactness

the splendid encomium of Livy: “Esse aliquam in terris gentem quæ

suâ impensâ, suo labore ac periculo, bella gerat pro libertate

aliorum. Nec hoc finitimis, aut propinquæ vicinitatis hominibus,

aut terris continenti junctis præstet. Maria trajiciat: ne quod

toto orbe terrarum injustum imperium sit, et ubique jus, fas, lex,

potentissima sint.”--_Hist. lib._ xxxiii.

The pre-eminent importance of the War of Independence in Spain,

and of the part which England took in that struggle, has been

acknowledged by rival French writers, whose love of historic truth

was too strong for the countervailing influences of prejudice,

passion, and professional jealousy. M. Thiers, in his _Histoire du

Consulat et de l’Empire_, speaks of it as “that long and terrible

struggle, that great Peninsular war, which lasted more than six

years, which exhausted more treasure and drained off a greater

tide of human blood than the murderous campaign of Russia, and

in which all the most renowned generals and marshals of France

were severally defeated, to the surprise of Napoléon, and to the

astonishment of the world, by an English general, newly returned

from India, whose name was as yet almost a stranger to every mouth.”

“Elle était à juste titre désignée comme la cause première et

principale de la chute de Napoléon,” is the remark of General Foy,

_Histoire de la Guerre de la Péninsule. Avant-propos_. And in one

of his private letters he says, “Moscow brought Alexander, Spain

brought Wellington, into the walls of our sacred city!”

I am therefore sure of the intrinsic interest of my subject, and

am tremulous only about its treatment. Of this much I at least am

certain--that no one will exclaim, as Horace did 2,000 years ago:

----“Quis feræ

Bellum curet Iberiæ?”

or be indifferent to the exploits of Englishmen in a country,

with whose people the same Horace coupled a most flattering

epithet--“_peritus Iber_.” The splendour and the decadence, the

glory and misfortunes, the ancient grandeur and the existing

distresses of Spain, the great historic parts which we have played

either in unison or in rivalry,--above all, the terrible struggle

which we maintained together against a Power with which it was at

first despair to cope, and yet brought to a triumphant issue, make

it impossible that any record of that struggle can be received with

indifference; and the customary fate of rashness and incompetency

is the only one that I have to apprehend.

That these great and glorious exploits should not have hitherto

formed the subject of any extended poem may at first appear

surprising. But the reason is obvious--the time had not yet

arrived. The glare of contemporary fame is unfavourable to

poetic celebration, except in the form of Pindar’s Olympionics,

in dithyrambic odes imbued with the intoxication of victory,

or otherwise in such short reflective sonnets as embodied a

Wordsworth’s calm and philosophic spirit. The mists of time must

be interposed before the hero rises to the Demigod, an entirely new

generation must have succeeded, and the poet must himself belong

to that generation. The halo of Imagination must invest what was

before Reality, the subject must have attained the dignity of the

_myth_, or heroic legend, and Ideal Art must be unencumbered by the

pressure of the Actual. That time appears to have arrived. Forty

years have elapsed since the commencement of this mighty struggle;

those of our Peninsular heroes whom the shock of battle spared,

have nearly all been gathered to their fathers, and those who

remain are like late surviving Nestors whose heads are crowned with

the snowy tonsure of Time.

Into the construction of this poem it is unfit that I should enter

further than to state, that the action, which is in some degree

formed on the purest ancient model, comprises a period of about

two months, commencing a month before and ending a month after

the taking of San Sebastian by storm. The besieged city forms the

central point, and the events there, with superadded imaginative

incidents, are combined with the fighting round San Sebastian, of

which the object was on one side to relieve, and on the other to

prevent the relief of that fortress. These are what are usually

known by the name of the Battles of the Pyrenees, and commenced

with the first battle of Sauroren, which was fought on the 28th

July, 1813; the storming of San Sebastian occurred on the 31st of

August; and the action of the poem concludes with the passage of

the Bidassoa, and the advance of the Allied Army to the Greater

Rhune, by which the Spanish soil was freed from the presence of

the Invader--events which occurred on the 7th and 8th of October.

The second siege of San Sebastian commenced contemporaneously

with the first battle of Sauroren, on the 28th July.[A] The actual

time therefore employed in the action is precisely two months and

twelve days. The battles of the Pyrenees introduced are essentially

interwoven with the main subject, which is the capture of the

great fortress of San Sebastian, the principal event of the latter

part of the War while it was confined to the Spanish soil. All

the characters are grouped by the story round the central figure

of the besieged city, the incidents of the _peripeteia_ or plot

are interwoven with that event and with each other, and--if it be

not presumption to use such a word--the _Epos_ is complete. The

critics, I have no doubt, will find abundant faults; and the rest I

commit to their tender mercies.

Though the time, as essential to such compositions, is in

comparison with the duration of the War extremely limited, all

its leading incidents are introduced in the permitted shapes of

narrative, episode, allusion, and apostrophe. The historical

part of the work invites the closest examination, as well as

the local colouring, to which a six years’ constant residence

in the Peninsula has enabled me, I trust, to impart some truth

and vivacity. I have lived in the midst of revolts, revolutions,

and military movements; my experience almost equals that of an

actual campaigner; and I have witnessed even portions of three

sieges--those of Seville and Barcelona in 1843, and that of Almeida

in Portugal in 1844. Copious historical and explanatory notes are

annexed to each canto, and the description of the battle grounds is

made accurate by personal observation of many of them, which I have

embodied in the notes. The theatre of that portion of the War which

enters into the action of the poem itself presents very felicitous

subjects for description, the ground being the gigantic Pyrenees,

and the combats there sustained being more like those of Titans

than of men. In addition to much oral testimony, the authorities

I have consulted are very numerous, and as fidelity has been my

constant aim their language will be found frequently cited in the

notes. The principal of these are Napier’s _History of the War in

the Peninsula_, Southey’s _History of the Peninsular War_, Foy’s

_Histoire de la Guerre de la Péninsule_, Gurwood’s _Despatches of

the Duke of Wellington_, Jones’s _Journals of the Sieges in Spain_,

Belmas’s _Journals of Sieges_, compiled from official documents by

order of the French government, Captain Cooke’s _Memoirs_, Captain

Pringle’s _Ditto_, Captain Batty’s _Campaign of the left Wing of

the Allied Army in the Western Pyrenees_, Gleig’s _Subaltern,

Annals of the Peninsular War_, De la Pène’s _Campagnes de 1813 et

1814_, and Pellot’s _Mémoires des Campagnes des Pyrénées_.

A difficulty inseparable from this subject is its great historical

and political interest, which although in one respect an advantage

in another is a considerable drawback. With events so well known

and comparatively so recent it is impossible to take liberties;

invention is restrained, and the imagination is confined within

limits more strict than the poetical faculty might desire for its

operations. If this objection has been felt with regard to Tasso’s

_Gerusalemme_, the personages of which were French and Italian

counts and princes familiar to the reader of general history,

and whose acts and characters were well known though they lived

four centuries before he wrote, it is clearly far more applicable

in the present instance. The answer at once is that an entirely

different treatment must be resorted to, that celestial machinery,

witchcraft, and all analogous means must be excluded, and that

actual truth must be made the basis of the whole composition.

To truth I have accordingly adhered, and invite the strictest

historical criticism, consistent with poetical diction and imagery,

of my account of these campaigns. The events were fortunately of

that brilliant description, and their theatre, the Pyrenees, so

essentially romantic, that the true and the marvellous are here one

and the same. Historical accuracy is here an element of beauty;

and my minor plot is alone invented, yet is meant to be strictly

probable.

Nearly the entire of our modern military system dates from the

commencement of the Peninsular War. The cumbrous old system which

fought a whole campaign for a comfortable place for winter quarters

(a great aim with Turenne) was broken up rapidly by the vigour of

Napoléon, and our first débût under the Duke of York had taught

us that we must change our plan. In 1808, the very year of our

first victories in the Peninsula (Roriça and Vimieiro) the use of

hair-powder was for the first time discontinued in the British

army. Rifle corps were then first formed--in the first instance

as rather a hopeless experiment, our soldiers having been deemed

too slow and heavy for this practice; but, as the result proved,

with perfect success. From the Polish lancers whom we first saw

at Albuera we borrowed the idea of our corps of lancers, as we

afterwards took from the French cuirassiers the modern equipment

of our lifeguards. The brilliant appearance of our light dragoons

astonished the French on their first appearance in the Peninsula.

“Nos soldats, frappés de l’élégance de l’habit des dragons légers,

de leurs casques brillants, de la tournure svelte des hommes et

des chevaux, leur avaient donné le nom de _lindors_.”--Foy, _Hist.

Guerre Pénins._ liv. 2. For this rather theatrical display we

substituted with better taste in 1813 an uniform similar to that

worn by the German light cavalry. The Shrapnell shell, or spherical

case shot, (the invention of an English Colonel of that name) was

used for the first time during the Peninsular War with great effect.

Amongst the many great services performed by the Peninsular War

was raising the character of the British soldier from a very low

to a very high standard in the national estimation. The plays

of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Mrs. Centlivre, the tales

of Fielding, Smollett, and Defoe, and the graver essays of Dr.

Johnson, sufficiently demonstrate that in the time of those writers

military men were held in the lowest esteem. The conquerors of

Blenheim and of the Heights of Abraham were currently regarded as

debauchees, cutthroats, and dishonest adventurers, and where a

more gentlemanly exterior was exhibited, it was commonly united to

the silliest foppery. Such from the Restoration to the end of the

last century was the common character even of the officers of our

army, and the ruffianly brutality of _Ensign Northerton_ towards

_Tom Jones_ was perfectly characteristic in an age when undoubtedly

it was too true that pimping too often obtained commissions, and

it was an accurate general description to say of any chance-met

couple of officers that “one had been bred under an attorney, and

the other was son to the wife of a nobleman’s butler.” (_History

of a Foundling_, book vii. c. 12). Though there were undoubtedly

many officers then of a far superior class, still the high tone

of chivalrous honour in our army, and the general refinement

and accomplishment of character, belong to the present century.

It is the great praise of the British private soldier that his

stubborn will and indomitable energy, his cheerful discipline and

unflinching valour, carry him through the most brilliant exploits

to a success almost miraculously uniform, without any of those

tangible hopes of promotion which inspire the continental soldier.

Such noble and manful discharge of duty appears to merit some more

adequate reward than the possible working of a miracle which may

raise him from the ranks.

Wellington, in his admirable _Despatches_, says of the army

with which he won these Pyrenean victories: “I think I could do

any thing with them.” The resemblance of many portions of these

remarkable compositions to those of Cæsar has been more than once

pointed out; but the striking coincidence in the present instance

has never, I believe, before been noticed: “Non animadvertebatis,”

says Cæsar, likewise speaking of the exploits of his Peninsular

veterans, “decem habere legiones populum Romanum, quæ non solùm

vobis obsistere, sed etiam cœlum diruere possent.” _De Bello

Hispanico_, § ult. Even the number of veterans under the command of

the ancient and the modern General was nearly the same.

Indomitable energy and hearty courage are an old strain in the

English blood. They are thus attested by Cromwell:--“Indeed we

never find our men so cheerful as when there is work to do.”

Carlyle, _Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell_, Supplement.

That no specific decoration has yet been accorded to our Peninsular

veterans appears a most amazing oversight.

The courage displayed in our Peninsular sieges was of the highest

order. There can be no question that, since the commencement

of the world, no military daring, no dauntless valour, has

been witnessed, Greek or Roman, Saracenic or Chivalrous, to

exceed--perhaps none to equal, that of our storming parties

at Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, and San Sebastian. But it is very

doubtful whether human life was not unnecessarily squandered, and

whether the fire of the besieged should not have been silenced,

and their defences in the first instance destroyed. This opinion

seems now to be generally maintained both by engineer officers

and by experienced officers of the army. The dictum of the great

master of the art of fortification is in one respect vindicated,

though in another it has been broken down by British heroism:

“La précipitation dans les sièges ne hâte point la prise des

places, la retarde souvent, et ensanglante toujours la scène.”

Vauban, _Maximes_. General Foy, who sometimes emancipates himself

from his prejudices against England, and is often candid, while

he praises the courage of our men, says that it was needlessly

expended, and that the taking of fortified places by the rules of

art is reduced to a mathematical problem. But the bravery of our

troops is still unquestionable. “On eût dit que les ingénieurs

étaient là seulement pour construire les places d’armes desquelles

s’élanceraient les troupes destinées a l’assaut ou à l’escalade;

et encore eût-on pu à la rigueur, avec des soldats si déterminés,

se passer de leur ministère.” Foy, _Hist. Guerre Pénins._ liv. ii.

I must transcribe his testimony as to the conduct of our officers:

“L’officier anglais conduisait les troupes au feu sans effort, et

avec une bravoure admirable. * * La gloire de l’armée britannique

lui vient avant tout de son excellente discipline et de la bravoure

calme et franche de la nation.” But Foy adds a stigma which these

sieges affixed to our army, and these sieges alone in all our

Peninsular campaigns, and the impartiality which I am determined

to preserve, and from which in some years to come I am convinced

not the slightest departure will be tolerated, requires that it

be rigorously unveiled for the reprobation of a more enlightened

age:--“Une fois sortis de la discipline, les soldats anglais se

livrent à des excès qui étonneraient les Cosaques; ils s’enivrent

dès qu’ils le peuvent, et leur ivresse est froide, apathique,

anéantissante.” Humanity shudders at the brutalities perpetrated by

our soldiers at Badajoz and San Sebastian.

It was not without much reason that the general opinion throughout

Europe attributed the extraordinary successes of the revolutionary

armies of France to the admirable arrangement of the light infantry

service. Napoléon may be said to have created the corps of

_voltigeurs_ and _tirailleurs_, upon which model were subsequently

formed the Carabineers and Rifles of the British service, and the

Caçadores of Spain and Portugal. The Prussian General Bulow in

1795, stated his opinion that “l’emploi de l’infanterie légère

est le dernier perfectionnement de la guerre, et qu’à la rigueur

on pourrait désormais se passer d’infanterie de ligne dans les

armées!” _Esprit du Système de Guerre moderne, par un ancien

officier prussien._ We may laugh at the extravagant absurdity of

the latter part of this statement, but it shows the effect which

Napoléon’s new system had produced. An opinion nearly similar

prevailed about the same time in England. “The continent has been

subdued by the French _tirailleurs_, and battles are sought to

be won by killing one after another the officers of the enemy’s

army.” _Letter to a General-Officer on the Establishment of Rifle

Corps in the British Army._ By Col. Robinson. These rifle corps

were established, and became eminently successful, being detached

in companies to the different infantry brigades. The coolness,

however, of our ordinary infantry skirmishers in the Peninsula

rendered an extensive introduction of rifle corps unnecessary.

The rifle, as used in modern warfare, is the most terrible because

most treacherous of weapons. It would have fallen especially under

the ban of the Bayards and Montlucs of the sixteenth century,

who chivalrously deprecated the use even of the common firelock,

and formed vows worthy of _Don Quixote_, “pour qu’on abandonnât

l’usage de ces armes traîtresses au moyen desquelles un lâche, tapi

derrière un buisson, donne la mort au brave qu’il n’aurait pas

regardé en face!”

Colonel H. A. Dillon says that for what the French call _le moral

d’une armée_ he can find no equivalent in the English language, and

must explain his thought by paraphrase. He defines this _moral_

to be the liveliest courage produced by the purest patriotism.

_Commentary on the Military Establishments and Defences of the

British Empire_, vol. i. This _moral_ the French lost by their

repeated defeats in the Peninsula, and by the conviction forced

on them that even the Pyrenees were no longer a barrier. Napoléon

placed in _le moral_ three fourths of the power of an army.

Celerity of movement was the principal secret of the early French

successes, and of this the rapid marching of the French soldier and

his wonderful power of sustaining fatigue were the main elements.

The French soldier is small of stature, as General Foy himself

confesses, but he marches quick and long, and this the General in

great part attributes to the French eating much more bread than any

other European troops: “Les soldats qui mangent le plus de pain et

le moins de viande sont en général plus musculeux, et marchent plus

vite et plus long temps que les autres. * * Le Français a besoin

en campagne de deux livres de pain par jour.”--Foy, _Hist. Guerre

Pénins._ liv. i.

The astonishing developement which Napoléon gave to the infantry

service has been dwelt on by more than one writer. “L’infanterie

française, cette nation des camps,” says De Barante, _Des Communes

et de l’Aristocratie_. Napoléon gave to this arm a power and

vigour to which it was before a stranger. “Napoléon augmenta

le bataillon d’infanterie d’une autre compagnie d’élite, les

voltigeurs. Ce fut une idée heureuse que de rehausser dans l’estime

publique les hommes de petite taille, qui en général sont les plus

intelligens et les plus alertes.” (Foy, _Hist. Guerre Pénins._)

The consummation of the Emperor’s gigantic views was found in the

Imperial Guard. “La garde impériale représentait la gloire de

l’armée et la majesté de l’empire. On choisissait les officiers et

les soldats parmi ceux que les braves avaient signalés comme les

plus braves: tous étaient couverts de cicatrices.”--(Foy, _Hist.

Guerre Pénins._ liv. i.) Napoléon after the battle of Marengo

called them his “granite column.” At the height of his power his

Imperial Guard consisted of 68 battalions, 31 squadrons, and 80

pieces of artillery--in itself a powerful army. Never will the

exclamation of these devoted men on the field of Waterloo be

forgotten: “_La garde meurt et ne se rend pas!_”

The peculiar constitution of the French grenadier corps is likewise

to be remarked. These bodies were the combined excerpts of all

the best men from every regiment. “L’éclat et la prééminence des

grenadiers Français * * l’usage de réunir tous ceux d’une ou de

plusieurs brigades pour tenter des actions de vigueur.” (Foy,

_Hist. Guerre Pénins._, liv. ii.) To these we never opposed more

than our average regimental forces, and their picked men were for

the most part overcome by our rank and file. What this rank and

file was composed of let the following passage attest. “Les Anglais

n’escaladent pas la montagne et n’effleurent pas la plaine, lestes

et rapides comme les Français; mais ils sont plus silencieux, plus

calmes, plus obéissants; pour ce motif leurs feux sont plus assurés

et plus meurtriers.” (Foy, _Hist. Guerre Pénins._, liv. ii.) Such

is the brilliant testimony to the merits of the British soldier by

one of Napoléon’s own Generals. Our footmen are still the sturdy

yeomen who accomplished such marvels at Crecy. If in a state little

removed from brute ignorance they have done such wonders, what

may be expected from them in the not far distant day, when they

shall become elevated by education to a more fitting standard?

Splendid as our horses are, and our dragoons both heavy and light,

the strength of our army will be always in its powerful infantry,

in their steady fire, indomitable endurance, and incomparable use

of the bayonet. These are the _robur peditum_, like the _triarii_

of the Roman legions, who were chosen from the strongest men, and

ever fought on foot. It was remarked that in moments of peril they

set their limbs so strongly, that their knees were somewhat bowed

(precisely like our modern pugilists), as if they would rather die

than remove from their places; and it passed into a proverb, when a

thing came to extremity: “_ad triarios res venit_.”

The use of tents, like many another classic incumbrance, has

been swept away from campaigning by our modern tactics, which

originated at the commencement of the Peninsular War, and, arrived

at the bivouac, the “lodging is on the cold ground” and _sub Jove

frigido_. “L’usage des tentes préservait les troupes des maladies

pernicieuses. Tout cela est vrai, et cependant on ne reviendra ni

aux petites armées, ni aux sièges de convention ni aux maisons de

toile.” (Foy, _Hist. Guerre Pénins._ liv. i.) The commander who

makes a campaign with tents is fettered with embarrassments as

to means of transport, which must always place him in a state of

inferiority to an adversary not thus encumbered. This is one of

the great changes wrought by the wonderful genius of Napoléon,

which even amidst the new hardships which he imposed, secured

almost the adoration of his soldiers. “Ils frémissent encore

d’alégresse en exprimant le transport dont on fut saisi, quand

l’empereur, qu’on croyait bien loin, apparut tout-à-coup devant le

front des grenadiers, monté sur son cheval blanc et suivi de son

mamelouck.” (Foy, _Hist. Guerre Pénins._ liv. ii.) At the close of

the War, the person of Wellington commanded almost equal admiration.

I am a great admirer of General Napier, whom I regard as the

counterpart of Thucydides, the soldier-historian of Athens, and to

whom may be not infelicitously applied the character assigned to

Xenophon (another Athenian narrator of military exploits in which

he himself participated) by our earliest Latin lexicographer,

Thomas Thomas, the contemporary of Shakspeare: “Xenophon was a

noble and wyse captaine, and of a delectable style in wrytynge.”

Napier’s style is enchanting and stirs like the sound of a trumpet.

My obligations to him are unbounded. But Heaven forbid that his

enthusiasm for War should become general, for it is of a truly

rabid character:--“War is the condition of this world. From man

to the smallest insect all are at strife!” (_Hist. War in the

Penins._, book xxiv. chap. 6.) This is a mere reproduction of

Hobbes: “The state of nature is a state of war.” I trust that

peace will ere long be the enduring condition of this world; and

there are happily indications of that approaching consummation.

If I sing the glories of the Peninsular War, it is because it

was of a defensive character and we struck for Freedom. We may

surely now repose on our laurels (as it is phrased), and never

hereafter engage in a war which shall not be in the strictest sense

inevitable.

I am happy to record upon this subject the enlightened sentiments

of a French General: “L’esprit de liberté tuera l’esprit militaire.

Il ne sera plus permis aux princes de faire entr’égorger les

peuples pour des intérêts de dynastie, ou pour des lubies

d’ambition. Les gouvernants, quels que soient leur titre et

l’origine de leur pouvoir, ne pourront subsister qu’en s’effaçant

personnellement devant la volonté générale. Les nations, comparant

les désastres de la bataille au mince profit de la victoire, ne

pousseront plus le cri de guerre, hormis dans les circonstances

très rares où il s’agira de vivre libre ou mourir.” (Foy, _Hist.

Guerre Pénins._ liv. i.) Elsewhere he makes this acute criticism

on the audacious designs of Napoléon. “Le despotisme avait été

organisé pour faire la guerre; on continua la guerre pour conserver

le despotisme. Le sort en était jeté; la France devait conquérir

l’Europe, ou l’Europe subjuguer la France. * * La nature a marqué

un terme au-delà duquel les enterprises folles ne peuvent pas être

conduites avec sagesse. Ce terme l’empereur l’atteignit en Espagne,

et le dépassa en Russie. S’il eût échappé alors à sa ruine, son

inflexible outrecuidance (presumption) lui eût fait trouver

ailleurs Baylen et Moscou.” Such is the impartial testimony of one

of his own generals.

The French “playing at soldiers” is an old vice, older than the

days of Sir Thomas More, who thus pleasantly hits it off: “In

France there is yet a more pestiferous sort of people, for the

whole country is full of soldiers, that are still kept up in time

of peace, if such a state of a nation can be called a peace: and

these are kept in pay upon the same account, it being a maxim of

those pretended statesmen, that it is necessary for the public

safety, to have a good body of veteran soldiers ever in readiness.

But France has learned to its cost, how dangerous it is to feed

such beasts.” Louis XIV. kept up a standing army of 440,000 men,

and Napoléon had frequently more.

The Gauls in modern times seem to have very much changed their

nature, for so far from invading other countries, their reputation

amongst the ancients was for remaining to fight at home, according

to the obvious interpretation of a line in Pindar:

ἐνδομάχας ἅτ’ ἀλέκτωρ.--_Olymp._ xii.

“domi pugnans ceu Gallus.” To be sure, it is just possible that the

learned Theban may have meant that humble domestic fowl, a cock.

Erasmus reads “domi abditus.” There can be no doubt that a cock was

meant, and unquestionably it is a bellicose bird. The passage from

Pindar might be fairly rendered by the Latin adage: “Gallus in suo

sterquilinio,” which it is needless to turn into the vernacular.

There are symptoms of the French reforming this national vice, and

I therefore shall not dwell upon a somewhat disagreeable subject.

I am happy to be the first to record the true orthography of one

of our two first and not least important battles in the Peninsula,

Roriça and Vimieiro. They used to be invariably written Roleia

and “Vimeira.” Napier has considerably improved upon this,

making the latter “Vimiero.” But still he is wrong. The correct

word is “Vimieiro.” Even had I made no other discovery, my four

years’ residence in Portugal would not have been useless. True,

it may be said that the General has only “knocked an _i_ out of

it” in military fashion. But, though the error be confined to a

single letter, it would be only the change of a letter to call

Waterloo “Waterlog,” and who could excuse such a travesty of our

glorious victory? These mistakes in the orthography of the names

of Peninsular localities are common to all English writers, and

excellent a scholar as Southey was, they disfigure his History

as well as that of Napier. I find the names of these two battles

misdescribed as “Roleia” and “Vimieira” in the memoir by Sir B.

D’Urban lately reproduced at the elevation of Sir H. Hardinge to

the Peerage--should I not rather say the elevation of the Peerage

by the accession to it of that gallant and chivalrous Peninsular

veteran?

The French, too, write the names of these battles as erroneously.

They call them uniformly “Roliça” and “Vimeiro,” vide “_Histoire

de la Guerre de la Péninsule, par le Général Foy_,” “_Mémoires

par Pellot, Campagnes par De la Pène_,” _and_ “_Mémoires de M. la

Duchesse d’Abrantès_” passim. Napier in the twenty-fourth book of

his History takes leave of the comparative approach to accuracy

in his earlier books, and speaks of these battles every where as

“Roliça” and “Vimiera.” Specks in the sun!

In my choice of a metre I have been led by the following

considerations. The beauty and completeness of the stanza of

Spenser appear now to be generally acknowledged. But it certainly

presents great difficulties in a language so unvocal compared with

those of Southern Europe, and so little abounding in rhymes as

the English. It is more difficult in a narrative and consecutive

poem than in one of a descriptive and reflective character, like

_Childe Harold_, where the topics and the order in which they

shall be discussed are both at the discretion of the poet. Yet the

terrible exigencies of four recurring rhymes in each stanza have

led even such a master as Byron into not a few puzzling dilemmas,

as in his description of Cintra (_Childe Harold_, i. 19), where he

has completed a stanza, in which “steep,” “weep,” and “deep” had

already done service, with “torrents leap,” although the faintest

trickle of a torrent was never seen in that locality! As he

proceeded in his task, he attained to a more perfect mastery of his

materials; and, I think, the fourth canto unsurpassed in English

poetry. It may be asked why I hoped to succeed in what Byron found

so difficult? My answer is that I do not think the difficulty

insuperable, as Byron has proved it not to be in the latter and

infinitely finer part of his poem, that none but a Milton could

elevate blank verse to the sublimity as well as harmony of the

_Paradise Lost_, that rhyme, and especially such an elegant form

of rhymed verse as the stanza of _Childe Harold_, possesses a

popular and inalienable charm, that success (if achieved at all)

rises with the magnitude of the difficulties encountered, and

that Spenser himself, Thomson’s _Castle of Indolence_, his other

imitators, Shenstone’s _Schoolmistress_, Beattie’s _Minstrel_ and

West’s _Education_, Campbell’s _Gertrude of Wyoming_, occasional

short pieces by Wordsworth, Wiffin’s _Translation of Tasso_,

Scott’s introductions to very many cantos of his several poems (in

these two latter cases I speak merely of mechanical execution),

Shelley’s _Revolt of Islam_ and _Adonais_, Kirke White’s _Hermit of

the Pacific_ and _Christiad_, Mrs. Norton’s _Child of the Islands_,

and a few (too few) verses of Tennyson and Milnes abundantly

prove the capability of the stanza. The Italian _ottava rima_,

although sanctified by the use of Tasso and Ariosto, adopted

almost universally in the heroic poetry of one Peninsula, and most

successfully introduced by Camóens into the only epic poetry of

the other, appears unadapted for any but burlesque or satirical

poetry in the English language, the serious passages of _Don Juan_

deriving all their beauty from being interspersed with lighter, and

the excellence and power of Fairfax’s _Tasso_ being marred by the

effect of the metre. The English heroic couplet becomes clearly,

I think, monotonous in a long poem--a doom from which not all the

genius of Dryden and Pope could rescue it. And if in his _Corsair_,

_Lara_, and _The Island_, Byron proved, in the words of Jeffrey,

that “the oldest and most respectable measure that is known amongst

us is as flexible as any other,” and elicited from Sir E. Brydges

a just tribute to his “unbroken stream of native eloquence,” it

is precisely because “the narrative (as he says) is rapid,” and

because the hazardous experiment is not tried of continuing rhymed

distiches through a long poem. The Italian _ottava rima_ has been

observed to derive great strength from its majestic close, which

is invariably in a doubly rhymed couplet, and I have occasionally

introduced double rhymes in this and other parts of the stanza to

relieve the tendency to monotony. The most distinguished cultivator

of Southern literature that England has ever produced, Lord

Holland, in his translations from Lope de Vega, Luis de Gonzaga,

&c., and from Ariosto, was very successful in this imitation.

The hypercatalectic syllable occurs in every line of Tasso’s

_Gerusalemme_, and in every line of Camóens’ _Lusiadas_, and the

Italians and Portuguese therefore call the verse “hendecasyllabic.”

A poem of any length constructed on this principle in English would

degenerate into pure burlesque; but Byron and others have proved

that it may be advantageously introduced as a pleasing variety.

The Alexandrine at the close of each stanza of Spenser produces an

equivalent, and perhaps even a more majestic effect. It has been

objected to this Alexandrine that it gives a drawling tone to a

long narrative poem; but I do not think with justice, since very

much depends on the mode in which the line is constructed. Pope’s

celebrated “needless Alexandrine” has created a prejudice against

this metre, which I admit to be just where it is interspersed with

heroic verse, since, as Johnson correctly observes, it disappoints

the ear. But in the stanza of Spenser it is expected. How easily

the form and character of a verse may be changed by transposing a

word or two will appear from Pope’s famous imitative Alexandrine:

“Which like a wounded snake drags its slow length along.”

Alter two monosyllables, and it goes quite trippingly from the

tongue:

“And like a wounded snake it drags its length along.”

There is no essential alteration. The adjective “slow” omitted

is an incorrect epithet applied to “length,” since the quickest

objects in nature, a racehorse or a greyhound, appear very long

when upon full stretch, and in most rapid movement. The trick of

the line is in the simple use of spondees in the place of iambuses,

“which like,” “drags its,” “slow length.” How short and compact

an Alexandrine may be, may be seen in Horace’s Epodes _passim_.

Take the first line of the celebrated second ode, the “_longè

pulcherrima_” by the consent of all critics:

“Beatus ille qui procul negotiis.”

This is a perfect Alexandrine, and though consisting of twelve

syllables, does not appear longer than one of Scott’s shortest

octosyllabic lines in the _Lady of the Lake_:

“Thy threats, thy mercy I defy.”

The reason is because it is a pure Iambic line, and therefore very

vocal; since, if it contained many consonants, as nearly every

English line does, they must make most of the previous vowels long

by position; and, though accent generally determines the quantity

in English, literal quantity enters more into the construction of

English verse than is commonly supposed.

I may here observe that the stanza commonly called “Spenserian”

is by no means so purely an original invention of that most

imaginative poet as is usually represented. The Alexandrine at

the close is the only part that is original. I find the germ of

Spenser’s stanza very palpably in the old ballet-staves and in the

works of two poets who lived fully a century before him, Skelton

who styled himself Poet Laureate to Henry VII. and Stephen Hawes

who was Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the same monarch. The

following stanza is from Skelton’s “Elegy on the death of Henry

Percy, fourth Earl of Northumberland:”--it is the ballet-stave of

seven, in which was written an enormous quantity of early, but now

forgotten, English poetry, and in which Spenser has written his

“Ruins of Time,” and Shakspeare his “Rape of Lucrece.”

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous Teusday, dedicate to thy name,

When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!

O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,

Which wert endyed with rede blode of the same!

Most noble earl! O fowle mysuryd grounde

Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!

Down to the end of the fifth line this is precisely the stanza of

Spenser. With the addition of two lines, one rhyming with the last,

and the other with the fifth, and of two syllables to the closing

line, it is literally that stanza. But in fact the latter addition

was often made by both Skelton and Hawes, though irregularly,

metrical cadence being then imperfectly understood, and both poets

being of the “tumbling” school. This poem was probably composed in

the year 1490. Skelton died in 1529, and an edition of his poems

in black letter appeared in 1568. I take the stanza which follows

from a poem of Hawes’s called “The History of Graunde Amoure and la

Belle Pucel,” written in 1505 and published in quarto in 1555:

Till that I came unto a ryall gate,

Where I saw stondynge the goodly portresse,

Whyche asked me from whence I came a-late;

To whom I gan in every thynge expresse

All myne adventure, chaunce, and busynesse,

And eke my name; I told her every dell;

Whan she herde this she lyked me right well.

The construction of this stanza is the same as of the former, but

the versification is rather rougher. It, like the other, is very

near the Spenserian stanza. But it is not the Spenserian stanza.

Friar Bacon and Leonardo da Vinci were very near the discovery

of steam, but they did not discover steam, or at all events they

did not apply it. The stanzas cited, however, contain the great

distinguishing peculiarity of the stanza of Spenser, which is the

reduplication of the rhyme, that closes the second and fourth

lines, in the fifth--the doubling of the stanza within itself, and

turning upon this most musical pivot. And this beauty, like so many

other great discoveries, I believe to be probably the result of

accident. Add another line to each of the foregoing stanzas, make

it rhyme with the first and third, and interpose it between the

fourth and fifth lines, and you have the exact _ottava rima_ of the

Italians. This ballet-stave is the clear germ of the Spenserian

stanza, which with a few _perfectionnemens_ is precisely as it

stands. It may be traced more directly to the ballet-stave of

eight, but either will suit equally well for illustration.

To make this quite intelligible to every reader, Hawes’s stanza

becomes the exact _ottava rima_ of the Italians, which Surrey

brought into England, and in which Spenser wrote two of his poems,

the rhyme of Fairfax’s _Tasso_, of Frere’s _Whistlecraft_, and

Byron’s _Don Juan_, by the insertion of the single line which I

have added here in italics:

Till that I came unto a royal gate,

Where I saw standing the goodly portresse,

Who askéd me from whence I came of late;

To whom I ’gan in every thing express

_The various hazards of my chequered fate_,

All mine adventure, chaunce, and busynesse,

And eke my name; I told her every dell:[B]

When she heard this she likéd me right well.

The stanza becomes purely Spenserian by the addition of the two

lines and one word which I here insert in italics:

Till that I came unto a royal gate,

Where I saw standing the goodly portresse,

Who askéd me from whence I came of late;

To whom I ’gan in every thing express

All mine adventure, chaunce, and busynesse,

_With every accident that me befel_

_Throughout my chequered life--I could no less--_

And eke my name; I told her every dell:

When she this _story_ heard she likéd me right well.

The ballet-stave of seven is one of the many varieties of Chaucer,

who has written in this measure four of his “Canterbury Tales,” and

composed a very long poem in it, _Troylus_, of which the following

stanza is a specimen (lib. ii. 1030.)

For though that the best harper upon live

Would on the beste sounid jolly harpe

That evir was, with all his fingers five

Touch aie o string, or aie o warble harpe,

Were his nailes poincted nevir so sharpe,

It shoulde makin every wight to dull

To heare is glee, and of his strokes full.

This, like the other, becomes the perfect _ottava rima_ by the

addition of a single line, which I have likewise marked in

italics:--

For though that the best harper upon live

Would on the beste sounid jolly harpe

That evir was, with all his fingers five

Touch aie o string, or aie o warble harpe,

_And with Glaskyrion the Briton strive_,

Were his nailes poincted nevir so sharpe,

It shoulde makin every wight to dull

To heare his glee, and of his strokes full.

The addition refers to a celebrated ancient Welsh harper mentioned

with honour by Chaucer himself in his _Boke of Fame_. I shall

not further meddle by patchwork with the illustrious Father of

English Poetry. But, as in the former case, by the addition of

two lines and one word I could at once convert his stanza into

that of Spenser. The _ottava rima_ was not then invented, nor for

many years after Chaucer wrote, not having made its appearance

until the days of Boiardo and Berni, nor been brought to perfection

until the lyre was held by the master hands of Ariosto and Tasso.

The secret of the great resemblance of this stanza as employed by

Chaucer to that subsequently invented by his Italian successors

is, that both delved in the same mine and wrought upon the same

material--the Sicilian sonnet, first introduced and naturalized in

Europe by Chaucer’s great contemporary, Petrarch. So perfect was

this instrument, the sonnet, at its discovery, that the fine taste

of Petrarch adhered to it throughout life with marvellous tenacity,

and at this day Wordsworth has without change written nearly half

his poetry in it. I believe Chaucer, who either copied or adapted

many of his modes of versification from Petrarch, to have moulded

his ballet-staves both of seven and eight, by squaring them with

the first half of the Sicilian or Petrarcan sonnet, with which they

are nearly identical. The Italian successors of Petrarch in the

same way took the first half of the sonnet, transposing the first

and second lines, and inserting another line between the fourth and

fifth lines. Thus simply is derived the far-famed _ottava rima_.

In real fact and truth, Chaucer has had nearly as much share in

the formation of what is known as the stanza of Spenser as Spenser

himself. That stanza is purely the ballet-stave of eight with three

close rhymes--with the simple addition by Spenser of an Alexandrine

at the close, rhyming with the last verse of the ballet-stave.

There are some who trace these ballet-staves to the Latin rhymed

church iambics, and the germ of the ballet-stave of eight has been

sought in a Latin hymn written by the German monk, Ernfrid, in the

ninth century; but they are to be traced more probably (at least in

their more perfect shape) to the Romance poetry of the Provençals.

The first instance I meet with of the use of the ballet-stave of

eight in English verse is in the elegy on the death of our first

Edward, written from internal evidence shortly after that period.

The rhymes and their arrangement are precisely as in the stanza of

Spenser, but the verse is octosyllabic:

Alle that beoth of huerte trewe

A stounde herkneth to my song

Of duel that deth hath diht us newe

That maketh me syke and sorrow among. &c.

Chaucer was the first who wrote this stanza in the heroic

line of ten syllables, and his contribution to the stanza is

therefore quite as important as Spenser’s addition of the closing

Alexandrine. In this stanza Chaucer has written the whole of the

Monk’s Tale, and how entirely it is the stanza of _Childe Harold_,

with the exception of the Alexandrine at the end, may be seen from

the following example:--

His wif his lordes, and his concubines

Ay dronken, while her appetitis last,

Out of thise noble vessels sondry wines;

And on a wall this King his eyen cast,

And saw an hand armles that wrote ful fast,

For fere of whiche he quoke, and siked sore.

This hand that Balthasar so sore aghast,

Wrote _Mane techel phares_ and no more.

The _Faëry Queen_ stanza must be regarded as a felicitous discovery

rather than invention, and even the merit of the addition becomes

diminished by the consideration that Alexandrine verse had become

a great favourite amongst his contemporary poets before he used

it. It was the favourite metre of a Howard and a Sidney at the

commencement of the era of Elizabeth, and is frequently met in our

alliterative poems, both early English and Anglo-Saxon. Yet Dr.

Johnson has most erroneously represented Spenser as the inventor of

the Alexandrine! But so fortunate was Spenser’s completion of the

stanza, that all the attempts of Phineas Fletcher, Giles Fletcher,

Prior, and even Milton, to improve on it were unavailing, and it

may now be regarded as one of the special glories of England.

The stanza of Spenser, as used by that poet, was by no means the

perfect musical stave that it is at present, so exquisitely attuned

with the dominant quadruple rhyme for its key-note. Thomson appears

to me to have brought it very nearly to perfection--his sole

drawback being a too frequent indulgence in imperfect rhymes. In

Byron’s fourth canto of _Childe Harold_ I conceive it to be brought

to perfection. Spenser indulges constantly in imperfect rhymes, and

though sometimes musical as well as often charmingly fanciful and

suggestive, he was by no means such a master of language and rhythm

as Shakspeare, whose influence, followed up by the examples of

Milton, Dryden, and Pope, is felt in the excellence of the poetical

diction of the poets of this century. Though Spenser in some degree

discovered the stanza which bears his name, he did not complete the

discovery, for his Alexandrine is commonly deficient in the cæsural

pause, which is absolutely essential to the satisfaction of the ear

and to the majestic close of the stanza, and now almost as much _de

rigueur_ as it is in the French Alexandrine, which is the common

heroic measure of our neighbours. The Alexandrine in every second

stanza of Spenser is without it, and the effect is very bad, as may

be seen from the following examples:--

“So shall wrath, jealousy, grief, love, die and decay.”

“You shame-faced are but Shame-facedness itself is she.”

“Save an old nymph, hight Panope, to keep it clean.”

“Of turtle doves, she sitting in an ivory chaire.”

“And so had left them languishing ’twixt hope and feare.”

“Excludes from faire hope withouten further triall.”

“All mindless of the golden fleece which made them strive.”

“The other back retired, and contrary trode.”

“With which it blessed concord hath together tied.”

“Did waite about it, gaping griesly, all begor’d.”

“Yet spake she seldome, but thought more the less she said.”

“But of her love to lavish, little have she thank.”

“And unto better fortune doth herself prepare.”

“Fails of her souse, and passing by doth hurt no more.”

“Forgetful of his safety hath his right way lost.”

“But with entire affection, and appearance plaine.”

“Great liking unto many, but true love to few.”

“Into most deadly danger and distressed plight.”

“Whilst loving thou mayst loved be with equal crime.”

“They have him taken captive, tho’ it grieve him sore.”

“So kept she them in order, and herself in hand.”

“’Mongst which crept the little angels through the glittering

gleames.”

“And thereout sucking venom to her parts intire.”

“Ease after war, death after life, does greatly please.”

Admitting the richness and fertility of Spenser’s fancy, I cannot

find that he has depth, originality, or brilliancy of thought

to compensate for a roughness, which is amazing by the side of

Shakspeare’s exquisite versification, or to justify the high

opinion expressed by Wordsworth. Compare Spenser’s Description of

Lucifer’s Palace, commencing

“A stately palace built of squared brick,

“Which cunningly was without mortar laid”

with Milton’s Pandemonium!

Superadded to Spenser’s roughness, which the antique style

affected by him in some degree palliates, are very frequent

imperfect rhymes and slovenly repetitions of the same identical

metrical sounds, as _plain_, _plane_, and _complain_, _see_ and

_sea_, rhyming in the same stanza--liberties which now are utterly

inadmissible. It is very true that the recurrence of four lines

which rhyme together and of three lines which likewise rhyme with

each other in each stanza makes the Spenserian stanza in a long

poem extraordinarily difficult, without an occasional manifestation

of these defects; but the exigencies of modern criticism, I think

justly, require that the difficulty be overcome. And a portion,

doubtless, of the superiority of modern English to modern French

and Italian poetry arises from explosion of imperfect rhymes.

If the poets of these days are degenerate in grasp of thought,

they are at least superior to their predecessors and to their

continental contemporaries in the mechanism of their art.

Having said thus much of the stanza which I have chosen, I shall

add that, rejecting classical conformity in all those matters

wherein I conceive the advanced spirit of the age to demand modern

treatment, I have availed myself largely of classical allusion,

and to a certain extent of classical imagery, to impart interest

to a subject which might otherwise smell too much of “villanous

saltpetre,” and have in some cases adhered more closely to true

classical nomenclature than has hitherto been the custom. I regard

it as one of the advantages of the acuteness of modern scholarship

to have cleared away much rubbish and removed many an excrescence.

But the Grecian may unhappily descend into the Græculist, and by

adopting too much spoil every thing. Thus I conceive no good effect

to be produced by writing the name Pisistratus in a serious work

“Peisistratus,” and I would not imitate in modern poetry Homer’s

not at all ignobly meant comparison of Aias (Ajax) to an ass any

more than I would adopt the word _hog_ as applied to Achilles: ὅγ’

ὣς εἰπὼν “he thus speaking”--“_Hog_ thus speaking” would be rather

offensive to English ears. Neither would I write “Klutaimnestra”

for Clytemnestra, “Loukas” for Luke, “Dabid” for David, or “Eua”

for our first mother. In matters of taste, like these, above all

things we must observe the _modus in rebus_. Quintilian, a master

in all that relates to elegance of speech, explains very well that

such things must be regulated by feeling. Speaking of the beauty

of one of the smallest of particles in a passage of Cicero, he

says: “Cur _hosce_ potiùs quàm _hos_? Rationem fortassè non reddam;

sentiam esse melius,” _Instit._ ix. 4. “Aias” I would at once

reclaim from the vulgar tyranny of “Ajax,” which, as we pronounce

it, scarcely differs from _a jakes_. This pronunciation, be it

observed, is purely British and German, for it is nearly certain

that the Latins pronounced the word which they spelt _Ajax_ quite

like the Greek _Aias_, _Ajax_ being pronounced _Aias_ in nearly

all the languages of Southern Europe at this day. In this poem,

accordingly, I spell the name “Aias.” In the same way I restore the

ancient and true spelling of the name “Leonides.” (Herod. lib. vii.

_passim._ Thucyd. i, 132.) Achilles I would retain because more

musical than “Achilleus;” but I would expunge the word “Hectoring”

from our language, as originating in disgraceful ignorance, because

so far from being a bully, Hector was a hero of the noblest and

most amiable character, and is so described by Homer. Helen thus

apostrophizes his dead body:

Ἕκτωρ, ἐμῷ θυμῷ δαέρων πολὺ φίλτατε πάντων, * *

Ἀλλ’ οὔπω σεῦ ἄκουσα κακὸν ἔπος, οὐδ’ ἀσύφηλον·

Ἀλλ’ εἴτις με καὶ ἄλλος ἐνὶ μεγάροισιν ἐνίπτοι,

* * σὺ τόνγ’ ἐπέεσσι παραιφάμενος κατέρυκες,

Σῇ τ’ ἀγανοφροσύνῃ, καὶ σοῖς ἀγανοῖς ἐπέεσσι.

_Iliad._ xxiv. 762.

“Hector, to my soul far dearest of all my brothers-in-law! Never

from you have I heard a bad or contumelious word; but if any other

in all the household reproached me, you with admonishing voice

restrained him--with your bland humanity and gentle words.” Yet

with gross and disgusting ignorance this high-souled hero is thus

slaughtered in all our dictionaries:--

“HECTOR--a bully, a blustering, turbulent, noisy fellow!!”

I have adopted the Homeric names in preference to the common Latin

forms, as Aphrodité instead of Venus, Atrides for Menelaüs (where

so substituted in the original) for the same reasons which have

influenced Archdeacon Williams in the spirited prose translations

which accompany his learned Essay, “_Homerus_,” Mr. Guest of

Caius College, Cambridge, in the specimen of translation of the

first book of Homer into hexameters which is introduced into his

ingenious _History of English Rhythms_, the Translator of Homer in

the late numbers of _Blackwood’s Magazine_, and the learned Voss

in his hexametrical German version. I have chosen the name Paris,

however, in place of Alexander, for the sake of clearness and

appropriateness in the allusion, and to avoid confusion with the

better-known hero of that name. I do not know that it is necessary

to extend my poetical confessions on this subject further. But I

shall just add that in pronunciation I have adhered to classical

quantity, wherever it could be done without a sacrifice of beauty,

but have unhesitatingly departed from it in such cases as that of

the word “Hyperion,” in which Shakspeare has fixed the accent

on the antepenultimate, with so fine an effect in the way of

improvement on the (to merely English ears) intolerable “Hyperíon”

which is of classical _rigueur_, as to have induced the otherwise

uncompromising Cooke, translator of Hesiod, to follow his too

sweetly sinning example. I hope I shall not be exorcised for thus

erring with Shakspeare.

The best image that I can offer of the Græculist carver of

cherry-stones is such a realization of Buridan’s ass suspended

between two rival and opposite bundles of hay, as might be

presented by a bad concocter of College exercises, puzzled in an

address to Prometheus to choose between the heptasyllabic form

“Iapetionides” and the tetrasyllabic “Japetides,” to commence his

puling hexameter!

The earliest military expedition into Spain, of which there is

mention amongst ancient poets or doubt amongst historians, is that

of Hercules, amongst whose twelve labours is recorded his victory

over Geryon and obtaining possession of his crown. Geryon, the son

of Crysaör, was King of the Balearic Isles, and hence by poetical

fiction he was endowed with three bodies, and is commonly called

_tricorpor_, _triplex_, or _tergeminus_, and sometimes _Pastor

Iberus_. Virgil describes Hercules proceeding to the conquest of

Cacus from that of Geryon thus:

----Nam maximus ultor,

Tergemini nece Geryonis spoliisque superbus,

Alcides aderat, taurosque huc victor agebat

Ingentes: vallemque boves amnemque tenebant.

_Æn._ viii. 201.

Of these Cacus stole four of the finest, and though he ingeniously

dragged them by the tails, was the cause of his own destruction.

And that was not the first time that meddling with Spanish affairs

was fatal to a foreign robber! Horace likewise alludes to this

expedition of Hercules, in compliment to Augustus (_Carm._

iii. 14), where he compares the victorious return of the Roman

from Iberia to that of Hercules--“Herculis ritu.” The first

authenticated occupation of the country was by the Phœnicians, who

colonized it extensively, but according to their usual practice

endeavoured long to keep their discovery secret. The name of the

country “_Span_” in the Phœnician signifies “a mystery.” The

rivalry between Rome and Carthage brought the Romans subsequently

to the Peninsula, and Spain since that period has played a great

part in the history of the world.

The warlike character of the ancient Spaniards is attested by a

variety of circumstances; by the terrific struggle which they

maintained against the overwhelming power of Rome, by their

determined and unflinching resistance to Hannibal as well as

Scipio, by such desperately sustained sieges as those of Saguntum

and Numantia, by the complimentary allusions to their valour with

which the Latin poets abound, and not least by the reputation of

their ancient armour, which was in the highest esteem at Rome in

the days of Julius and Augustus Cæsar. Thus, when Horace addresses

Iccius on his change of the study of Philosophy for a military

life, he twits him with having promised better things than to

exchange his splendid library for Iberian cuirasses:

Cùm tu coëmptos undique nobiles

Libros Panæti, Socraticam et domum

Mutare loricis Iberis,

Pollicitus meliora, tendis?

_Carm._ i. 29.

The metallurgic fame of Spain covers a period of nearly two score

centuries. It is attested by Hudibras and Horace, by Le Sage and

Pliny:--“Iron ores are almost everywhere found ... there is a

variety of different species ... and great difference in the

forges. But the greatest difference of all is the water, into

which it is plunged when red-hot. This glory of her iron has

ennobled certain places, as Bilbilis in Spain,” _lib._ xxxiv.

_cap._ 14. Pliny here alludes to the town now known as Bilbao,

which retained its reputation for sword-blades, like Toledo, down

to a recent period. He speaks of it as a city in Tarracon or

Cantabria, corresponding with the Basque Provinces of which Bilbao

is one of the chief towns. How strange that, after the lapse of

seventeen centuries, representatives from this very Bilbao should

have accompanied the Asturian Deputies to England to solicit a

subsidy of arms from the descendants of those who were such utter

barbarians, when the cuirasses of Cantabria were eagerly sought

after by the nobles of Imperial Rome!

The Greeks called Italy “Hesperia,” because it was situated to

the west of them, and the Romans called Spain “Hesperia” equally,

because it was to the west of Italy. But the Latin poets, imitating

the Greeks, very frequently call Italy “Hesperia” also. Thus Virgil:

Est locus, Hesperiam Graii cognomine dicunt.

_Æn._ i. 534.

Macrobius prefers deriving the origin of the name, as applied to

Italy, from its western situation, to the fact of its being chosen

by Hesperus for his residence, when he was expelled by his brother

Atlas: “Italy is called Hesperia, because it lies to the west.”

(Macrob. _Saturn._ lib. i. cap. 3.)

Horace, when he applies the name to Spain, distinguishes the latter

country by the addition of the word “ultima,” thus:

Qui nunc Hesperiâ sospes ab ultimâ

Caris multa sodalibus, &c.

_Carm._ i. 36.

Strabo, lib. i. seems to derive the name from situation, where

he describes the Spaniards as the most western nation, “μάλιστα

ἑσπέριοι.” And both he and Pliny state that Hispania was likewise

called Iberia, either from a king of that name or from the river

Iberus (Ebro).

Iberia, though the name by which, after Hispania, Spain was

most commonly known to the Latins was, by a confusion not very

complimentary to their geographical accuracy, likewise the name of

a region in Asia Minor. It was a tract in Pontus separated from

Colchis by the Moschic mountains, and corresponds with the modern

Georgia:

Herbasque, quas Iolcos atque Iberia

Mittit venenorum ferax.

Horat. _Epod._ 5.

The names “Hesperia” and “Iberia” are found together in the same

stanza of Camóens as applied to the Peninsula, yet with some

vague attempt to confine the latter name to the Spanish portion

exclusively:

“Nome em armas ditoso, em noss’ Hesperia,

* * * * *

Se não quizera ir ver a terra Iberia.”

_Lus._ iv. 54.

Both names are properly applicable to the entire Peninsula,

including Spain and Portugal, the second epithet, modified by the

prefix _Celto_ into “Celtiberia,” being the ancient name of Aragon

and Catalonia, and Iliberia that of Granada. The name Iberia as

applied to Spain is found in Virgil, _Æn._ ix. 582:

Pictus acu chlamydem, et ferrugine clarus Iberâ,

and under this name the country is described elaborately by Avienus

(P. C. 380).

Quamque suis opibus cumulavit Iberia dives, &c.

Ausonius (also P. C. 380) makes use of both the names “Hispania”

and “Iberia:”

His Hispanus ager tellus ubi dives Iberum.

Juvenal (P. C. 120) uses the name “Hispania” as the distinctive

appellation of the country, which became better and more perilously

known in his time than in the days of Horace and Virgil:

Horrida vitanda est Hispania.

_Sat._ viii. 116.

There is classical authority for a happy variety of names in

describing Spain--“Hesperia,” “Iberia,” “Hispania:”

Tum sibi Callaïco Brutus cognomen in hoste

Fecit, et Hispanam sanguine tinxit humum.

Ov. _Fast._ vi. 461.

Herculis ritu, modò dictus, ô plebs,

Morte venalem petiisse laurum

Cæsar, Hispanâ repetit Penates

Victor ab orâ

Horat. _Carm._ iii. 14.

Spain was anciently divided into Hispania _Ulterior_ and

_Citerior_. The former comprehended Bætica, the present Andalucía,

and Lusitania nearly corresponding to what is now called Portugal.

Hispania Citerior comprised all the rest of the Peninsula. The name

“Hesperia” was more commonly applied by the ancient poets to the

Italian Peninsula than to the Spanish. Thus Virgil (in addition to

the passage above cited):

Et sæpe Hesperiam, sæpe Itala regna vocare. * *

Sed quis ad Hesperiæ venturos littora Teucros

Crederet?

_Æn._ iii. 185.

The preponderance of authority is clearly in favour of designating

Spain as “Iberia” or “Hispania,” and generally confining “Hesperia”

to Italy. Ovid has a very charming nymph named Hesperie, no

connection, however, of the Hesperides, of whom the most famous

was that Arethusa whose fountain-streamlet is so celebrated, and

whose enchanting name has been tastefully introduced into the

nomenclature of the British Navy. Ovid’s Hesperie, the daughter of

Cebrenis, was loved and persecuted by the Trojan hero Æsacos, whose

discovery of her is thus exquisitely described:

Aspicit Hesperien patriâ Cebrenida ripâ,

Injectos humeris siccantem sole capillos.

Visa fugit Nymphe!

Ov. _Met._ xi. 769.

A very amusing and somewhat malicious mistake was recently

witnessed at one of our English Universities. A prize was offered

for a composition on “_Hesperiæ mala luctuosæ_.” Spain was

manifestly intended. But the wags spreading all manner of doubts

and difficulties, the “Dons” were obliged to come out with a

public notice, intimating that “the gentlemen had better confine

themselves to the Spanish Peninsula!”

Cantabria, which is the scene of this poem, was likewise the scene

of some of Augustus’s victories. His policy seems to have been here

as successful as his generalship. “Domuit autem, partim ductu,

partim auspiciis suis Cantabriam.” (Sueton. _cap._ 20.) But the

Cantabrians, then as now unformed for subjugation, rebelled again

the moment Augustus returned to Rome. Augustus, however, paid them

a second visit, and appears to have quieted them in Roman fashion,

this being the last of his warlike exploits: “Hic finis Augusto

bellicorum certaminum fuit: idem rebellandi finis Hispaniæ.” (Luc.

Flor. _lib._ iv. c. 12.)

It was the proud distinction of the Cantabrian in the ancient world

to be indomitable, a character very significantly assigned to him

in Horace’s well known line:

Cantabrum indoctum juga ferre nostra.

_Carm._ ii. 6.

In a later ode Horace commemorates the subjugation of the

Cantabrians, but it was only momentary, and the difficulty with

which it was effected is acknowledged by the poet himself:--

Servit Hispanæ vetus hostis oræ

Cantaber, serâ domitus catenâ.

These are splendid tributes to the valour which resisted the then

irresistible Roman power. The Cantabrian strength was broken, and

they were temporarily subjected by Agrippa (Sueton. _Octav._ c.

20), but it was only to rise again the moment they had recovered

their shattered forces.

Cantabria corresponded (as already observed) with the modern Basque

Provinces, and gave with the neighbouring Asturia more trouble to

the Romans than all the rest of Spain, the mountainous character

of the country aiding them in that resistance to which they were

prompted by the hardy mountaineer’s character, and by his inherent

love of

The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty!

“Two most powerful nations (says Florus, lib. iv. cap. 12), the

Cantabri and the Astures, were still free from the Imperial sway.

The determination of the Cantabrians was _pejor_ (so the proud

Roman calls it) and loftier, and more pertinacious in rebellion,

for not content with defending their own liberty, they sought even

to control their neighbours.... Beaten at last, they retired to

the lofty mountain Vinnius, to which they deemed that the Ocean

would ascend before the Roman arms.... But he in person drew them

from these mountains, and reduced them beneath the crown by right

of war.” Florus is here describing the last expedition against

the Cantabrians in the reign of Augustus, of which Agrippa was

commander. Suetonius gives the same narrative in substance in

_Octav. cap._ xx., and Strabo, _lib._ iii. Silius Italicus pays

even a still greater tribute to the indomitable spirit of the

Cantabrians:

Cantaber ante omnes hyemisque, æstusque, famisque

Invictus.

Horace in that variety of refined flattery, with whose incense

he knew how to intoxicate Augustus, returns frequently to his

Cantabrian wars, and while his object is to praise the Roman pays

unceasing tributes to Spanish valour. Thus:

Te Cantaber non antè domabilis

Miratur, ô tutela præsens

Italiæ dominæque Romæ!

_Carm._ iv. 14.

Again, commemorating the triumph of Agrippa under Augustus, in the

year U. C. 733:

Cantaber Agrippæ, Claudî virtute Neronis

Armenius cecidit.

_Epist._ i. 12.

Agrippa was not the only one of Augustus’s generals, who was

despatched to the conquest of Cantabria, and with dubious success.

Lucius Æmilius had before failed in the attempt.

It is curious enough that the Britons, the Gauls, and the Spaniards

are alluded to by name, and in the exact order of their greatness,

in three successive lines of an ode of Horace:

Te belluosus qui remotis

Obstrepit Oceanus Britannis,

Te non paventis funera Galliæ,

Duræque tellus audit Iberiæ.

_Carm._ iv. 14.

Singular approximation of nations whose struggles in the Peninsular

War were to make so famous near twenty centuries later!

In the Peninsula I do not expect much appreciation, where even

amongst those who palaver English, English poetry is not at all

understood, and where once a littérateur, expressing his sham

admiration of Shakspeare, spoke to me of “_Macabets_ as one progidy

of a tradegy!” I am not prepared to sacrifice to an ambition which

nothing but undue praise could conciliate, and I shall be satisfied

with the approval of my own countrymen, if I can only have the good

fortune to secure it.

_Corunna, September, 1846._

IBERIA WON.

A Poem.

IN TWELVE CANTOS.

IBERIA WON.

Canto I.

I.

On San Sebastian’s towering castle wall,

What fiery meteor crowns the brow of night?

Its gathering splendour glows majestical

’Gainst darkling skies--a diadem of light!

It grows amain upon the dazzled sight,

While to their posts the amazed besiegers run;

The eternal stars an instant beam less bright,

As startled by another burning sun,

Which now distincter bears the name “Napoléon!”

II.

For Gaul’s imperial master shines that flame,

And quivering flouts the Angliberian host;

Effulgent skies enthrone his mighty name--

His fortress stands impregnable, the boast!

This, this his birthday, this the fearless post

Where England’s strength shall fail again, again,

For warriors fresh have poured along the coast;

And though the siege hath cost a thousand men,

No hostile foot shall dare profane that lion’s den!

III.

Great Arthur smiled, and calm the work went on;

Bartolomeo’s heights were strengthened well,

The trenches deepened ere the night was gone;

Antigua’s rocks with thunder bristling tell

The bold besieged how other bosoms swell

With warlike pride that pants for battle’s hour;

And comes the ponderous train of cannon fell

To try the strength of bastion, scarp, and tower,

And bid the boastful Gaul beware Britannia’s power!

IV.

Say, is, not death then terrible enough,

Ye Captains fierce, but ye must point his dart?

Is man not made of perishable stuff,

But ye must wing new shafts to pierce his heart?

Say, is not famine, pestilence, the smart

Of dire disease and suffering, toil and wo

Enough, but Nature’s pangs must be by Art

Deep multiplied till tears like Ocean flow,

And shattering death-bolts fly, lest Death arrive too slow?

V.

Genius of Liberty, inspire my song!

For thou alone canst consecrate the strife,

That bids surcease the despot sway of Wrong,

And Man prefer thy dignity to Life

Without thee,--War proclaiming “to the knife”

’Gainst Tyrants. May the strain I feebly raise,

Like the Caÿstrian bird’s with death-notes rife,

Tune every human organ to thy praise,

And curb War’s eagles, save to blast Oppression’s gaze!

VI.

On Mont’ Orgullo Mota’s fortress-crown

Seems like defiant Pride from high to smile,

Poised on her lofty cone, while far adown

Blue Ocean bathes her feet and guards the while;

And southward Santa Clara’s rocky isle

Stands like a Cyclop to defend the wall.

War’s stern munitions heaped in many a pile

The ramparts strew, prepared the foe to gall--

Yet deeply now ’tis sworn, shall San Sebastian fall!

VII.

The Chofre hills with giant carronades

Are horror-crested. Far on either side

Swift Uruméa, while the twilight fades,

Are armed the enormous batteries deep and wide.

And opens now like thunder to deride

Yon beacon light the loud artillery’s roar,

With fire and smoke that seem to Hell allied,

Makes wall and castle reel and tremble sore,

And shakes the affrighted wave that foams along the shore!

VIII.

Dire straits of War! The crystal stream of Life

Is now cut off from San Sebastian’s ground;

Where water flowed, an aliment of strife

The withering Genius of Destruction found.

Oh, fatal skill! Sulphureous heaps abound

Within the tube that from Ernani’s hills

Brought Life, yet soon will scatter Death around.

Though lymph, Pyrene, all thy crags distil,

For San Sebastian vain is every mountain rill.

IX.

But, hark the voice of cannon from within!

’Tis raised in joy, a Royal salvo peals.

What new discovery marks that potent din,

Which speaks in thunder that the assailant feels--

Bolts with each flash? For joy the Norman kneels.

Where Mota’s rock above the wave doth frown,

A living fount its bubbling stream reveals,

More prized than diámonds on Regal crown.

The stream is hoarded well--its flow supplies the town.

X.

A moment pause the batteries now, while flag

Of truce and summons of surrender due

Approach the wall, nor long before it lag,

For soon in Rey a noble foeman knew

The English arms as he in England too.

No paltering there! Redoubled every post;

More resolute his wing’d defiance flew,

In fiery tempest ’gainst the leaguering host;

And scorning even to read the summons was his boast.

XI.

Well answered! Where the river widest swells

’Neath rapid Ocean’s amorous embrace,

And on the Siérra swung the Convent bells

For matin-lauds and vesper-song of grace,

The howitzer ascends that holy place,

And from the belfry vomits forth its fire;

From cloisters dim whose cowls the shakos chase

The stabled charger bids the monk retire,

And tell his beads apart till pass War’s tempest dire.

XII.

Now Mont’ Orgullo vaunting Pride doth shew

Less proudly throned, for climb Olía’s side

The straining oxen, dragging upward slow,

With starting eye-ball and hoof opening wide,

Cannon and mortar o’er the foaming tide

Terrific hung. And Man the work completes,

Where fail the labouring beasts, till e’en Mount Pride

O’ercrested now from far defiance meets;

And from the Miradór who gazeth slaughter greets!

XIII.

The booming salvo hurls its ceaseless shower,

Saint John’s huge bastion slowly crumbling falls,

Destruction seizes many a stately tower,

And totter to their base Tirynthian walls

Beneath the fury of resistless balls,

From circling orchards heaved by Britain’s sons;

And snake-like trench advancing swift appals

The garrison, as o’er the isthmus runs

The deadly sapper’s stroke that like an earthquake stuns.

XIV.

And sally forth the warlike sons of France,

As prisoned lions vainly lash the bar,

To foil the miner in his bold advance,

And rages on the isthmus fiercest war;

Full many a shrapnell shell doth strew afar

Its withering shower of lead in thickest hail.

But what can like the British bayonet mar

Thy prowess, France? Before ’t the sallyers quail,

And fly like scattered hawks flung headlong on the gale.

XV.

With glancing steel upon the trenches’ edge

Confronted Cameron the advancing host;

And swift retired before that gleaming wedge

The light-limbed chasseur, battling Gallia’s boast.

And, rough fascine and earth-piled gabion most

The ground demanding, rose the isthmus o’er

Banquette and parapet, the foremost post

Of war for those who sap and mine explore,

And lithe artilleryman and lynx-eyed caçadore.

XVI.

And now the isthmus boasts its battery too;

At shortest range ’tis thundering ’gainst the wall.

Saint John protect thy bastion, or ’twill rue;

Sebastian, guard thy castle, or ’twill fall!

And lo, where shells ascending vertical,

Like iron disc by surest player cast,

Unerring light the townsmen to appal,

And, scattering hundred deaths, with ruin blast

The region doomed where’er that tempest dire hath past.

XVII.

See many a bark that swan-like floats the tide

Steal rapid round the fair Cantabrian shore.

Daughters of luxury, your frail heads hide!

’Tis women’s arms that ply the lusty oar

That hostile castle’s bristling wall before.

A patriot impulse bids them proudly dare

(Was never seen the like!) the batteries’ roar,

Their fruits and wine with the besiegers share,

And bless the arms upraised to guard Iberia fair!

XVIII.

Isaro’s sunlit isle her dark-eyed maids

Sends laden with the grape’s delicious bloom;

Guerníca from its close embowering shades

Sends clustered muscatel whose globes illume

Bright tints of amber. Ondarróa’s gloom

Of archéd boughs gives golden apples forth,

Fair as on Hesperus’ dragon drew the doom;

Ripe Ceres’ gifts of Deba prove the worth;

And bland Zumaya opes her garden of the north.

XIX.

Brown nuts and almonds from Cestona’s groves,

Soft melons come from Castro’s silvery streams;

The small black olive that the mountain loves

From Orrio’s hills ’mid peach and nectarine gleams.

Palencia sends her wine which most esteems

The midnight watcher on the tented field,

With blissful thoughts to stimulate his dreams

When, the watch ended, soon his eyes are sealed

By Heaven’s physician, sleep, and all his sorrows healed.

XX.

Berméo’s vines of green most tender send

Black clusters soft with purple bloom bespread;

And where her gnarled and twisted fig-trees bend

’Neath load of luscious fruit their dark green head,

The gathered treasure for a feast is shed.

The quince sweet-flavoured, and the juicy gourd,

The beautiful love-apple coral-red,

And curd-white cheese (an Arcady restored)

For Valour’s sons they bring to spread the ambrosial board.

XXI.

Bright-eyed Biscayan maids, as shapely tall

As Atlas’ daughter in her sun-lit isle

Led in the dance through flowery vale and knoll,

Mother of streams while Tethys fair the while

The chorus blest with an approving smile.

The lively movements of the Vascon race,

The Tartar glance, the ringing laugh where guile

Ne’er enters, brown yet blooming charms of face,

And teeth of dazzling lustre lend uncommon grace.

XXII.

Their hair dark shining shamed the raven’s wing,

In tresses long their shoulders floating down,

With ribands gay confined or silken string,

Or slight embroidered veil the head to crown.

Of gold and pearl some covet the renown,

Pendent from prettiest ears; with coral some

Their necks encircle. Camisoles each gown

Surmount, gallooned with silk or silver from

Shoulder to waist so fair that Envy’s self is dumb.

XXIII.

’Twas thus the Basque barqueras, happiest race,

Like their Cantabrian mothers rowed along;

A nymph-republic from whose dwelling-place

Both man and dame excludes the Nereid throng,

True to their Ocean-sire, as Dian strong.

Two row each bark, and one Dorina steers

’Neath fluttering banderoles, and oft with song

They tune their oars, or dance with merry cheers

Zorcícos, while Basque drum and timbrel greet the ears.

XXIV.

And oft, through summertide, some sheltered cove

On fair Biscaya’s coast these Nereids sought

To cool their lovely limbs, while far above

A sister-sentinel their safety wrought,

With eyes whose jealousy was still uncaught.

And through the crystal waters joyously

Spinning, like ivory, charms surpassing thought,

They plunged and sported, laughing wild with glee,

And swam with matchless skill--their element the sea.

XXV.

And, robed again, full oft the Nymphs advanced

’Neath dewy eve in beauteous double file,

And boundingly the gay Zorcíco danced,

With shouldered oars and frolic feet, the while

Basque drum and tamborine and Ocean’s smile

Make mirthful holiday. Now high they leap,

With mazy figure now the sense beguile,

Now cross their clattering blades as in the deep,

And laugh, dance, sing--methinks, ’tis better thus than weep.

XXVI.

Nor vigilance secures that lovely coast,

Nor danger’s tremulous excitements flee,

For Gaul her cruisers and her arméd host

From fair Santona pours along the sea;

And even Columbian rovers, far too free

To curb the lust of plunder, hovering there--

Indifferent whether Spain’s or England’s be

The rifled flag--like vultures foul prepare

On battle’s skirt to fall, and aidless stragglers tear.

XXVII.

For years had past since great Britannia’s hand

Made Earth and Ocean feel her trident stroke;

And Trafalgár and San Vicente, fanned

By Victory’s wing, no present terrors woke;

Nor o’er the Deep her voice in thunder spoke,

Since feeble councils numbed at home the arms,

Which even thus paralysed Gaul’s legions broke;

And but that patriot zeal the virgin warms,

Had Famine crushed our men more dire than War’s alarms.

XXVIII.

Yet nought could baffle England’s Chieftain-shield,

Who drove the Invader to Pyrene’s foot,

With thunder-shock on many a battle-field,

While Spain with aidful arm the foeman smote.

Oh, glorious rivalship! where late each throat

Was hostile grasped, now rank with rank contending,

Now side by side,--the Armada’s strife forgot,

Gibraltar’s griefs, Saint Vincent’s memory rending--

Against the general foe in War’s proud union blending.

XXIX.

Heroic brotherhood! Mark o’er all her soil

Where Spain’s Partidas like Cadmean seed

Spring armed and terrible to make War’s toil

Ubiquitous, the foe unceasing bleed;

Till, like bull gored and vanquished, he recede,

While Mina and the Empecinado hang

Upon his flanks, and give the Invader’s meed

In death from every crag--where Tell-like sprang

The Guerrillero forth, whose loud trabúco rang.

XXX.

The carcase of a rotten State may fall

Corrupt asunder, life-blood e’en diseased;

Head, body, members vile contagion’s thrall,

By gore-stained hands Religion’s emblems seized--

But Nations ne’er yet died when Tyrants pleased!

Yea, lives for aye the spirit and the soul

Invincible, howe’er by despots teased;

And let Injustice sting, Invasion roll,

The sudden counter-shock will shake the distant Pole!

XXXI.

And quakes the stern invading Tyrant now,

Whose legions to the frontier back are driven;

For even Pyrene’s rocky margins bow

Before the giant march, with fetters riven,

Of Freedom’s phalanx marshalled on by Heaven!

Rey, on thine arm an Empire’s fate depends.

To San Sebastian haply now is given

The fortress key their swelling strength that bends.

France jealous eyes thee! Rey his post full well defends.

XXXII.

From Guetaría see where vulture-eyed

That scowling band of Franks perforce retires,

And turns their chief in demon triumph joyed

To mark the scene where, Gaul, thy pride expires.

Sudden explode terrific blasting fires,

And swift the fortress-ruins blot the skies

With matrons, virgins, babes, and aged sires,

Rent by the train the ruffian, as he flies,

Hath left alight--to fierce Revenge a sacrifice.

XXXIII.

Shudder, thou worm that point’st thy petty sting;

A breath may quench both thee and all thy line!

Fly, passion, hate, ’neath Mercy’s sheltering wing--

Hath not the Lord declared: “Revenge is mine?”

Reptile, dost _Him_ defy? Not thus will shine

Thy courage when, at dissolution’s hour,

The more thou scornest now the more thou’lt whine,

And feel no weed that deems itself a flower

So mean as man who dares to brave the Almighty’s power!

XXXIV.

From Haya’s crest of rough and broken crag

A darkling thunder-storm came grandly down.

From peak to peak, while gathering rain-drops lag,

The fiery demon leaps, from chasm to crown--

Terrific dance!--then hides ’neath blackest frown,

Whose pall o’erspreads the sky; low growls at times,

Then volleying roars while floods the welkin drown.

Andaye took up the song of mountain-climes,

And Jaizquibél gave back the sound with thunder-chimes!

XXXV.

San Marcial echoes it with savage pride,

The Grand Monarque rebellows it with zeal.

Then, when the monsters huge had shook each side

With giant laughter, of which every peal

Is thunder that can make the despot feel,

And waked Pyrene o’er his widest span,

While peak to peak replied, and torrents reel

With that rejoicing music, as it ran,

That spake their savage strength in terror’s tones to man.

XXXVI.

Dark muffled thus they slept. Yet even in dreams,

Such dreams as mountain-spirits give to birth,

The thunderous memory lives. Low muttering seems

To sullen tell how baleful was that mirth,

Whose very faintest echo shook the earth,

Gigantic! Downward gathering comes the storm

O’er Haya’s flank and Oyarzuno’s girth

By crag and deep ravine, till lightning warm

With wind and rain it falls o’er Uruméa’s form.

XXXVII.

And ’mid the thickest of the storm behold

Where scud Cantabria’s daughters through the tide,

The death-rain from the rampart fronting bold,

And bear to Britain’s sons, Hesperia’s pride,

The tribute of support for arms allied.

Now brighter beams each eye, and heroes wear

Unwonted blushes warrior cheeks to hide,

And feel thrice-nerved their arms by Beauty rare,

Their spirits bounding high: on Valour smiles the fair!

XXXVIII.

Amongst these maids the beauteous Blanca stood,

Pride of the ocean-beat Biscayan coast;

A laughing damsel gay yet angel-good,

Light-haired, blue-eyed, in Spain no vulgar boast,

Where black-eyed maidens are a countless host.

With mirth so radiant was her spirit free,

That all she gladdened--melting roughest frost:

Like her none danced Bolera or Olé,

And none could featly touch the light guitar as she.

XXXIX.

Her auburn hair in clustering curls around

Her sunny face now shrouded, now revealed

Its beauties, waving with each fairy bound;

Her peachy cheek now glancing, now concealed.

Her eye the wound it gave next instant healed,

So bright yet soft, so keen yet melting tender.

A sweetness inexpressible made yield

All hearts: ripe lips, and teeth of pearly splendour,

Made Nature’s task in vain another charm to lend her.

XL.

No coif encircling bound her beauteous head,

No silken net her tresses rich confined,

To mar the lustre which her glances shed;

But ribands plain its wild luxuriance bind.

She wore no jewels: streamed upon the wind

A gauzy veil, with flowers of golden sheen

Embroidered, floating gracefully behind,

Her only ornament--yet form and mien

Proclaimed her thus attired ’mongst hundred maids the queen.

XLI.

Her xaquetilla, to the shape most lithe,

Was of cerulean velvet, room supplying

For her full bosom’s play, when free and blithe

She plied the oar, yet to her form close lying,

Which no compression needed, art defying.

Two billows heaved within, as on the tide

She mastered, with its foam in whiteness vying;

And from her ears to every turn of pride

Two tiniest silver bells with tinklings sweet replied.

XLII.

So fair the maid in infancy had been,

That San Sebastian chose her then to bear

A cherub’s wings amid the festal scene

Her warrior-patron’s day that honours there.

And with her foster-sister not less fair,

The noble Isidora, hand in hand,

Oft walked she thus in childhood--beauteous pair!

Though tender still their loves apart they stand,

For San Sebastian’s siege the approach of Blanca banned.

XLIII.

She was the leader of the virgin group,

The Delia of that race of shallops gay;

And vigorous-handed to the oar could stoop,

When gales tempestuous tost the stormy Bay.

For high the spirit of that lightsome fay,

And bold as Manuela’s self, the Maid

Of Zaragoza, she could guide the fray,

The French marauders menaced undismayed,

And oft her wild guitar thus prompted to the raid:--

The Spanish Song of Freedom.

1.

Let the brave, let the brave fill the battered

War-chalice, fair Freedom, to thee;

On the slave, on the slave be it shattered,

Unless the slave pant to be free!

In glory, in glory we’ll perish,

Ere tyrants shall wither our plains.

This nectar, this nectar shall cherish

No dastard who spurns not his chains!

Let the brave, let the brave fill the battered

War-chalice, fair Freedom, to thee;

On the slave, on the slave be it shattered,

Unless the slave pant to be free!

_Libertad, libertad sacrosanta!_

Were death in the depths of the flask,

_Libertad, libertad mi encanta_,

We’ll drain it to “Free be the Basque!”

2.

For our homes, for our homes and our altars,

For our wives and our children we fight;

We but scoff at their dungeons and halters,

As bursts Freedom’s sun into light!

While our rights, while our rights we are seeking,

Great Power! ’tis thy will we maintain;

Though our swords, though our swords may be reeking

With blood, ’tis in rending the chain!

Let the brave, let the brave fill the battered

War-chalice, fair Freedom, to thee;

On the slave, on the slave be it shattered,

Unless the slave pant to be free!

_Libertad, libertad sacrosanta!_

Were death in the goblet we drain,

_Libertad los tiranos espanta_,

We’ll pledge to the freedom of Spain!

HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO I.

In August, 1813, as the preparations for the renewed siege of

San Sebastian were advancing, the besieged demonstrated their

confidence by celebrating the Emperor’s birthday with a splendid

illumination. The castle, upon whose crest it was exhibited, is

seen from a great distance; and the besiegers could plainly read

the letters of fire in which the name of Napoléon was written high

in air.

The incidents of the siege I have derived chiefly from Napier’s

_History of the War in the Peninsula_, book xxii. chapters 1 and 2,

and from Jones’s _Journals of Peninsular Sieges_. The topography of

San Sebastian will be found sufficiently illustrated in either of

those works.

The small castle of La Mota is most picturesquely situated like

a crown on the conical hill of Monte Orgullo, which rising

immediately behind the town westward, is nearly four hundred feet

high, and washed by the sea. “The Hill has a broad base of 400

by 600 feet, and is crowned by fort La Mota.” Jones, _Journal of

Peninsular Sieges_, vol. ii.

General Jones’s description of cutting off the aqueduct, and

converting it into a globe of compression, is thus prosaic but

practical and deadly:--“The parallel crost a drain level with the

ground, 4 feet high, and 3 feet wide, through which ran a pipe to

convey water into the town. Lieut. Reid ventured to explore it,

and at the end of 230 yards, he found it closed by a door in the

counterscarp, opposite to the face of the right demi-bastion of the

hornwork: as the ditch was narrow, it was thought that by forming

a mine, the explosion would throw earth sufficient against the

escarpe, only 24 feet high, to form a road over it: eight feet at

the end of the aqueduct was therefore stopped with filled sand

bags, and 30 barrels of powder of 90 lb. each, lodged against it,

and a saucisson led to the mouth of the drain.” _Journals of the

Sieges undertaken by the Allies in Spain_, Supplementary Chapter.

The aqueduct had been cut off at the commencement of the siege by

the Spanish general, Mendizabal. “It was formed into a globe of

compression designed to blow, as through a tube, so much rubbish

over the counterscarp as might fill the narrow ditch.” Napier,

_Hist._ book xxi. c. 3. This plan was subsequently realized, and

with complete success, “creating” says Jones “much astonishment in

the enemy,” at the period of the first assault, which took place on

the 25th July, five weeks before the second and memorable storming.

I have transferred the incident to the latter part of the siege.

The incident of the discovery of the spring upon Monte Orgullo

after the cutting off of the aqueduct, but for which fortunate

accident the town would have been probably forced to surrender much

sooner, was communicated to me by an officer who was present at the

siege. It was found about half way up the cliff where it overhangs

the ocean, and surrounded by masonry is carefully preserved to the

present day. The water is excellent, and the flow abundant. There

were not wanting French partisans at the time, especially amongst

the elderly female residents in San Sebastian, who believed the

discovery of this spring to be miraculous!

When Marshal Berwick attacked San Sebastian in 1719, he threw up

batteries on the same Chofre hills where the Allies now planted

theirs. He then pushed his approaches along the isthmus, and

established himself on the covered-way of the land front. As soon

as the breach was practicable, the governor capitulated. But the

present governor, Ney, was made of different stuff. Capitulation

was the last thing that he thought of, and Napoléon’s instructions

to the defenders of besieged towns were never more terribly

fulfilled than by this very gallant man. “Napoléon’s ordinance,”

says Napier, “which forbade the surrender of a fortress without

having stood at least one assault, has been strongly censured by

English writers upon slender grounds. The obstinate defences made

by French governors in the Peninsula were the results. * * It may

be reasonably supposed that, as the achievements of Napoléon’s

soldiers far exceeded the exploits of Louis (XIV.)’s cringing

courtiers, they possessed greater military virtues.”--_Hist._ book

xxii. c. 1.

The attack was in a great degree carried on from the midst of

“circling orchards.” From the ground taken up by the besiegers to

Ernani, the whole country is covered with orchards.

For the costume and other particulars of the Basque _barqueras_, or

boat-girls of the Bidassoa and Urumea, the reader is referred to

the tours of Madame D’Aulnoy and M. de Bourgoing. The _xaquetilla_

is a “little jacket” or spencer.

As reference is made to the Guerrillas in this canto, the following

brief sketch of the leaders may be acceptable:--

Mina was a man of powerful frame and noble aspect--a fine specimen

of Nature’s nobility. He was rather tall, of portly size, with

fine chest and shoulders, and gigantic arms. His features were

more English than Spanish in their aspect, being by no means dark,

and their expression powerful, dignified, and heroic. There is a

fine portrait of him in Somerset House, London. Like almost all

the Guerrilleros, however, he was cruel. The French, whom they

cut off by their most harassing mode of warfare, were mercilessly

slaughtered. Mina, who was of the common class of peasant-farmers,

began with a band of about twenty men whom he formed from amongst

his neighbours, appointing a sergeant and corporal. Repeated

successes and the character of the chief swelled this band to 300

in number. Mina then appointed a lieutenant. The latter plotted

against his commander, and Mina shot him dead with a pistol, after

taxing him with his treason, in presence of his men. The rough

Spanish mountaineers liked his daring and resolute character, his

band swelled to a thousand, and his new lieutenant again conspired

to oust his leader. Mina had this man drowned in a well. He was

subsequently left unmolested in his command, until his powerful

genius organized and led an army. At his death, which occurred

about ten years since in Barcelona, he was a Field Marshal, a

Grandé of Spain, and Vice-Roy of Navarre. His widow became Aya or

Governess to the present Queen of Spain, Isabel, and held that

post till the expulsion of Espartero. Mina had a brother, Xavier

Mina, who entered the regular army at an early period of life, and

likewise rose to the rank of Field Marshal. He was treacherously

shot in Mexico by Morillo.

The Empecinado was in person a still finer man than Mina, but of

a much less pleasing aspect. His face was stamped with savage

resolution and ferocity. His appearance was strictly Spanish,

his complexion being much darker than that of Mina. Both were

black-haired, but the Empecinado’s was of a raven intensity of jet.

He was one of the strongest men in Europe, tall and square-built--a

Hercules to the eye as well as in reality. Some nearly incredible

feats are recorded of his prodigious strength. The last of all

was the most worthy of note, and recalls the main incident of

our fine old English ballad of “Adam Bell, Clym o’ the Clough,

and William of Cloudeslie.” During the fatal year of the Duke of

Angoulême’s invasion, 1823, when so many Constitutionalists fell

victims to Ferdinand’s gloomy ferocity, and Riego was villainously

butchered at Madrid, the Empecinado was seized by the myrmidons

of Absolutism at a village about twenty miles distant, caged and

tortured for three days, and at the end of that time led out for

execution. At the foot of the _furca_ or gallows-tree, with one

effort he burst the thick cord with which his arms were bound,

and seized a gun from one of the soldiers near him. Had he not

been instantly slain, there is little doubt that with the butt-end

he would have slaughtered a hecatomb of the satellites of power.

But the whole file poured their fire into him at once, and he was

hung notwithstanding, though the rope was adjusted on a corpse!

The Curate Merino was distinguished for bush-fighting, and a

rather treacherous and Parthian mode of assault, and his aspect

corresponded with his character. His influence over his comrades

was secured by promises of eternal happiness.

Blanca’s figuring in childhood in the character of an angel is

thus accounted for. The feast of San Sebastian is every year a

great event in that ancient town. The celebration is in many

respects interesting, including a procession in which female

children chosen for their beauty take a very prominent part,

bearing baskets of flowers, arrows typical of the martyr’s fate,

and other interesting emblems. Their dresses are of the richest

description--a little gaudy, to be sure, but beneath the brilliant

sky of Spain this is, perhaps, excusable. They represent angels,

and are provided with crowns set with mock diamonds, rubies, and

topazes of the largest size, and with gauze wings bound round with

gold or silver tissue. Short skirts of the ballet class, satin

shoes, and white silk stockings, complete an array of splendour

which excites, as may well be believed, terrific admiration in

their mammas and envy in all the rest of the town. A chorus from

time immemorial is sung to celebrate their progress, of which the

burthen is:

Vivan las niñas

De San Sebastian!

III. “Bartolomeo’s heights”--“Antigua’s rocks.”

Convents in the vicinity of San Sebastian, which were seized by the

besiegers and fortified.

“And comes the battering train of cannon fell.”

Ma il Capitan, ch’espugnar mai le mura

Non crede senza i bellici stromenti.

Tasso, _Ger. Lib._ iii. 71.

V. “--War proclaiming ‘to the knife’ ’Gainst Tyrants!”

“_Guerra al Cuchillo!_” the celebrated proclamation of Palafox at

the Siege of Zaragoza.

“Like the Caÿstrian bird.”

----Quæ Asia circum

Dulcibus in stagnis rimantur prata Caystri.

Virg. _Georg._ i. 382.

“With death-notes rife.”

----Ut olim

Carmina jam moriens canit exequialia cygnus.

Tabuit; inque leves paulatim evanuit auras!

Ovid. _Met._ xiv. 430.

These lines are dictated by the same feeling, which prompted

Cervantes’s last poetical address (in anticipation of death) to the

great Conde de Lemos:

Puesto ya el pié en el estribo,

Con las ansias de la muerte,

Gran Señor, esta te escribo.

X. “Soon in Rey a noble foeman knew:”

The French Governor of San Sebastian.

XI. “’Neath rapid Ocean’s amorous embrace.”

Labitur ripâ, Jove non probante,

Uxorius amnis.

Horat. _Carm._ i. 2.

“And on the Sierra swung the Convent bells.”

San Bartolomeo.

“The stabled charger bids the monk retire.”

Sir Thomas More commemorates the housing of cattle in churches.

“They stop the course of agriculture, reserving only the churches,

that they may lodge their sheep in them.” (_Utopia_, book i.)

Bayle has a similar story in his Dictionary of an abbot who

converted his church into a stable, an example which was speedily

followed by revolutionary France. During the French invasion of

Portugal the cavalry were frequently quartered in churches, and

during the Miguelite war in that country I have been assured that

the same thing was witnessed more than once, and I know of a

Constitutionalist, at present a dignified, clergyman, who upon its

being found that the priest was absent upon some Saint’s festival,

stept forward himself and said mass for the assembled soldiers,

booted and spurred as he was and in dragoon regimentals! I have

often seen this pious gentleman in Lisbon, whom the populace

declare to have taken from an image of the Virgin the ring which he

now sports upon his finger!

XII. “Olia’s side.”

The batteries of Monte Olia commanded the Castle at a distance of

1,600 yards, from the north side of the Urumea, Olia and Orgullo

buttressing the entrance of the river magnificently on either side,

and standing apart like giant ramparts.

“The Mirador.”

A battery on the eastern side of Monte Orgullo. The name signifies

“a look out,” the use to which it was formerly applied. It reminded

me very much of the Signal House at Gibraltar, only that I missed

those sapphire and chrysolite tints of the Mediterranean, which

struck me so much when I saw the moon rise from that elevated

ground under the auspices of the stalwart Sergeant MacDonald.

XIII. “And totter to their base Tirynthian walls.”

--Τίρυνθά τε τειχιόεσσαν.--Hom. _Il._ ii. 559.

Tiryns is the first walled city upon record. Its walls were

supposed to have been erected by the Cyclops, and the stones of

which they were composed were of such prodigious size, that the

least of them could not be moved by a pair of oxen. (Pausanias,

_lib._ ii.) The ruins subsist to the present day, and the traces

are still gigantic. Pindar mentions Tiryns in his Olympionics,

Nemeonics, and Isthmionics. These shattered remains present the

earliest specimen of the Cyclopean architecture.

“The deadly sappers’ stroke that like an earthquake stuns.”

This was the first time that sappers were employed by us in the

Peninsular sieges, or that a corps of sappers formed any regular

portion of the British army. It was likewise the first time that

Shrapnell shells were used.

XIV. “But what can like the British bayonet mar

Thy prowess, France?”

The bayonet, originally a French invention (deriving, as is well

known, its name from the town of Bayonne), became ultimately the

very instrument of French defeat--for by the universal testimony

of military men, when wielded by British hands, the French have

invariably fled before it:--

--Neque enim lex æquior ulla,

Quàm necis artifices arte perire suâ.

Ovid. _de Arte Amandi._

But it would be as grossly unjust as ungenerous to dispute the

ardour and frequent brilliancy of French courage. Upon this subject

the discriminating testimony of Napier is as follows: “Place an

attainable object of war before the French soldier and he will

make supernatural efforts to gain it, but failing he becomes

proportionally discouraged. Let some new chance be opened, some

fresh stimulus applied to his ardent, sensitive temper, and he will

rush forward again with unbounded energy: the fear of death never

checks him, he will attempt any thing. But the unrelenting vigour

of the British infantry in resistance wears his fury out.”--_Hist.

War in the Penins._ book xxiv. chap. 6.

XV. “With glancing steel upon the trenches’ edge.”

Wie glänzt im sonnenstrahl

So bräutlich hell der stahl--

Hurrah!

Körner, _Schwertlied_.

How glances bride-like bright

The steel which sunbeams strike,--

Hurrah!

XVII. “See many a bark that swan-like floats the tide.”

Eis mil nadantes aves pelo argento

Da furiosa Thetis inquieta.

Camóens, _Lus._ iv. 49.

“Was never seen the like!”

“It was probably the first time that an important siege was

maintained by women’s exertions; the stores of the besiegers were

landed from boats rowed by Spanish girls!”--Napier.

XIX. “The small black olive that the mountain loves.”

--Lecta de pinguissimis

Oliva ramis arborum.--Hor. _Epod._ ii.

XXI. “As Atlas’ daughter in her sunlit isle.”

Calypso.

Ἄτλαντος θυγάτηρ ὀλούφρονος, ὅστε θαλάσσης. κ. τ. λ.

Hom. _Od._ i. 52.

XXIII. “Both man and dame excludes the Nereid throng.”

----τὸν εὐγενῆ

... πεντήκοντα Νηρῄδων χορόν.

Eurip. _Iph. in Taur._ 273.

“The illustrious band of the fifty Nereids.”

XXIV. “And swam with matchless skill--their element the sea.”

Nadan en su cristal ninfas bizarras,

Compitiendo con el candidos pechos.

Lope de Vega, _Sonetos_.

XXVII. --“Britannia’s hand

Made Earth and Ocean feel her trident stroke.”

_Vide_ Virg. _Geor._ i. 13.

--“Feeble councils numbed at home the arms

Which even thus paralyzed Gaul’s legions broke.”

Under the administration of Lord Melville, the Navy of England for

the first time sustained disasters in battle, and ships containing

stores and money for the Peninsular army were suffered to be

taken on the passage by French and American cruisers; while the

despicable absurdity was witnessed of two successive investments

and assaults of San Sebastian without the co-operation of a fleet.

XXVIII. “Oh, glorious rivalship!” &c.

_Vide_ Wordsworth’s “Convention of Cintra.”

“Gibraltar’s griefs--St. Vincent’s memory rending.”

The memorable siege, in which the Spaniards were finally defeated

on the 13th September, 1782.--The battle of St. Vincent, in which

Jervis destroyed the Spanish fleet, 14th February, 1797.

XXIX. “Spain’s Partidas.”

_Partidas_ was the generic name of the partisan bands, who

maintained the indomitable Guerrilla warfare against the French,

and of whom there were not less than 50,000 at one period in

Spain. A favourite weapon of these legitimate successors of the

Almugavars, or ancient mountaineer troops of Spain, was the

_trabuco_, or blunderbuss. The two most famous Partida chiefs were

those whose names are recorded in the text. The Mina alluded to is

Espoz y Mina, the Scanderbeg of Spain, uncle to the Student of the

same name.

XXX. “But Nations ne’er yet died when Tyrants pleased!”

The strongest proof of the inherent vitality of a Nation is that

Spain survived the villanies of Godoy.

XXXIII. “Reptile, dost _Him_ defy?”

Wer empfinden

Und sich unterwinden

Zu sagen: ich glaub’ ihn nicht?

Der Allumfasser!

Der Allerhalter!

Goethe, _Faust_.

“Who can feel, and dare to say: ‘I believe in Him not?’ the

All-encompasser, the All-sustainer!”

IBERIA WON.