Page:The Pocket Magazine (Volume 1, 1827).djvu/18

The nations of Europe, ah! where are they gone?
They that shrunk from the lightning, and bow'd to the blast?
Still nearer and nearer the deluge rolls on,
High swoln by the ruins o’er which it has past.

But mark where at length a new promise of day
Breaks bright in the east, and bids anarchy cease;
As it rises in splendour the gloom shall give way
To freedom's calm breeze, and the sunshine of peace.

True sons of Iberia, boldly you arm,
Your homes and your altars from robbers to save;
While Beauty excites you, and mingles her charm,
E'en in Chivalry's land to inspirit the brave.

'Tis in proud usurpation and tyranny's spite,
'Gainst ambition most lawless, 'gainst treason most foul;
'Tis for Loyalty, Law, and Religion you fight,
For all that can rouse or ennoble the soul.

And shall you not conquer? O hear us, kind Heav'n!
(Thy aid we invoke, as in thee is our trust;)
To Spain be the harvest, to us be but given
The glory of aiding the cause of the just!

Then think not in idle profusion we feast,
While our hearts with our toasts in pure unison flow;
New hopes shall inspire each illustrious guest,
And the story they tell shall prove death to the foe.

Henceforward false int'rest shall sever no more
The Queen of the Indies, and Queen of the Waves;
They honour their king, their Creator adore,
And, of tyrants the scourges, will never be slaves.^[1]