1809.
Despair of Spain!--and dost _thou_ dare
To talk, cold plodder, of despair?
Dost _thou_ presume to scan
The proud revenge, the deathless zeal,
The throes that injured nations feel,
Beneath the oppressor’s ban;
The pride, the spirit, and the power,
That, growing with the arduous hour,
Ennoble patriot man?
O thou of little heart and hope,
Purblind diviner, can thy scope
Nothing but danger see?--
Unfrighted tho’ with carnage strew’d,
Ev’n in her ruins unsubdued,
Great in adversity,
Do Saragossa and her train--
Heroes and Saints--survive in vain,
Shall they be told ‘Despair of Spain,’
And told, alas! by _thee_?
Oh, no; tho’ France’s murderous hand
Should sweep the desolated land,
_Revenge_ will still remain:--
Smother’d, but not extinguish’d quite,
A spark will live, in time will light,
And fire the lengthening train.--
Stung by that pang which never dies,
Enthusiast millions shall arise,
And Europe echo to their cries,
NEVER DESPAIR OF SPAIN!