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Hail, Zaragoza! If with unwet eye
We can approach, thy sorrow to behold,
Yet is the heart not pitiless nor cold;
Such spectacle demands not tear or sigh.
These desolate Remains are trophies high
Of more than martial courage in the breast
Of peaceful civic virtue: they attest
Thy matchless worth to all posterity.
Blood flowed before thy sight without remorse;
Disease consumed thy vitals; War upheaved
The ground beneath thee with volcanic force;
Dread trials! yet encountered and sustained
Till not a wreck of help or hope remained,
And Law was from necessity received.


Say, what is Honour?—'Tis the finest sense
Of justice which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence
Suffered or done. When lawless violence
A Kingdom doth assault, and in the scale
Of perilous war her weightiest Armies fail,
Honour is hopeful elevation—whence
Glory—and Triumph. Yet with politic skill
Endangered States may yield to terms unjust,
Stoop their proud heads ;—but not unto the dust,—
A Foe's most favourite purpose to fulfil!Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust
Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.

VOL. iI. R


The martial courage of a day is vain—

An empty noise of death the battle's roar—

If vital hope be wanting to restore,

Or fortitude be wanting to sustain,

Armies or Kingdoms. We have heard a strain

Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore

A weight of hostile corses: drenched with gore

Were the wide fields, the hamlets heaped with slain.

Yet see, the mighty tumult overpast,

Austria a Daughter of her Throne hath sold!

And her Tyrolean Champion we behold

Murdered like one ashore by shipwreck cast,

Murdered without relief. Oh! blind as bold,

To think that such assurance can stand fast!


Brave Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight

From Prussia's timid region. Go, and rest

With Heroes 'mid the Islands of the Blest,

Or in the Fields of empyrean light.

A Meteor wert thou in a darksome night;

Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime,

Stand in the spacious firmament of time,

Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right.

Alas! it may not be: for earthly fame

Is Fortune's frail dependant; yet there lives

A Judge, who, as man claims by merit, gives;

To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim,

Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed;

In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed.

R 2


Call not the royal Swede unfortunate

Who never did to Fortune bend the knee;

Who slighted fear,—rejected steadfastly

Temptation; and whose kingly name and state

Have "perished by his choice, and not his fate!"

Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared;

And hence, wherever virtue is revered,

He sits a more exalted Potentate,

Throned in the hearts of men. Should Heaven ordain

That this great Servant of a righteous cause

Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure,

Yet may a sympathizing spirit pause,

Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain

In thankful joy and gratulation pure.

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