VI.

MANUEL JOSÈ QUINTANA.

Connecting the present age of modern Spanish poetry with that of the past generation, by a happily protracted existence, as well as by the style and tone of his writings, the venerable subject of this memoir still survives, to close a life of active usefulness in a healthy and honoured old age.

Quintana was born at Madrid, the 11th April, 1772, of a respectable family of Estremadura. He received his primary education in classical learning at Cordova, whence he proceeded to Salamanca, and graduated there in canon and civil law. In this university he had the advantage of studying under Melendez Valdes, by whom he was soon favourably noticed, and was made known to the illustrious Jovellanos, by whose counsels also he had the good fortune to be assisted. Thus his natural disposition for the study of elegant literature was encouraged, both by precept and example, under two such able directors, to take a higher course than the mere study of law, for which profession he was destined.

Having been admitted an Advocate of the Supreme Court, he has held various appointments, as fiscal of the tribunal of commerce, and censor of theatres; afterwards chief clerk of the Secretary-General to the Central Junta of Government, secretary of decrees and interpretation of languages, member of the censorship to the Cortes, and of the commission for the formation of a new plan of education. In the last, he was charged with the duty of drawing up a report of all the works on the subject presented to the government, which was, in 1835, approved of by the Cortes.

In the two former of these employments he was interrupted by the French invasion, when he took an active part against the invaders. Receiving afterwards the other offices mentioned, he wrote many of the proclamations and other addresses which were put forth on the part of the national government, during the struggle for independence. Throughout those eventful times, he was in the most advanced rank of the party that advocated constitutional rights, so that when Ferdinand VII. returned to the possession of absolute power, in 1814, he was, amongst the proscribed, made a prisoner, and confined in the castle of Pamplona.

There he was kept six years, without being allowed to communicate with his friends, or make use of his pen. On the constitutional government becoming re-established, he was released, and restored to his offices as secretary for the interpretation of languages, and member of the board of censors. In 1821, the directorship-general of public education having been formed, he was made president, until 1823, when the constitution was again set aside, and he was again deprived of his employments.

Hereupon Quintana retired to Estremadura to his family, and lived there till the end of 1828, when he was permitted to return to Madrid, to continue his labours and literary studies. The following year he was named member of the board for the museum of natural sciences, and in 1833 was re-established in his former employment, as secretary for interpretations for which his knowledge of the French, English and other languages rendered him qualified, and also reappointed president of the council of public instruction. He was shortly after appointed preceptor to her present Majesty, Queen Isabel II., and although ever maintaining strong liberal principles, has been since, under the administration of Narvaez, named a senator of the kingdom.

Quintana first appeared as an author in 1795, when he published a small volume of poems, among which was an Ode to the Sea, considered one of his best compositions. The greater part, however, of them were of unequal merit, and those have been omitted in subsequent editions: the next one was published in 1802, and it has been reprinted with additions several times. The best and most complete edition of his poetical works was published at Madrid, in 1820, in two volumes, entitled, ‘Poems, including the patriotic odes and tragedies, the Duke of Viseo, and Pelayo.’ Of this edition five or six surreptitious reprints have been made at Bordeaux and elsewhere, the laws regarding copyright having only lately been made accordant with justice in Spain as regards authors, though they do not yet extend them protection against piratical republications from abroad.

The tragedy of the ‘Duke of Viseo,’ imitated from the English, the ‘Castle Spectre’ of Lewis, was brought forward in 1801, and that of ‘Pelayo’ in 1805. The latter, on a favourite subject of their ancient history, was received with much favour by his countrymen, as were also many of his patriotic odes and poems, written in a spirit accordant with the national feeling. Most of these were at the time inserted in two periodical works he had under his direction; the first, ‘Variedades de Ciencias, Literatura y Artes,’ and the second, the ‘Seminario Patriotico,’ which was of a political character, and established to promote, and sustain the spirit of independence, against the French invasion.

Beyond his original poems, Quintana has done an important service to Spanish literature by publishing ‘A Collection of select Spanish Poetry,’ altogether in six volumes, Madrid, 1830-33, with critical and biographical notices, reprinted in Paris by Baudry, 1838. These notices are written in a tone of great impartiality and fairness, and are preceded by a Dissertation, as an Introduction, on the History of Spanish Poetry, which, written as it is with eminent ability, Mr. Wiffen has shown great judgement in translating, prefixed to his very correct and elegant version of the works of Garcilasso de la Vega, London, 1823. Besides this valuable collection of Spanish poetry, Quintana has favoured the public with a work in three volumes,--‘Lives of celebrated Spaniards,’ of which the first volume was published in 1807, the other two in 1830 and 1833 respectively.

The first volume, which has been translated into English by Mr. Preston, London, 1823, contains the lives of the earlier heroes of Spanish history,--the Cid Campeador, Guzman the Good, Roger de Lauria, the Prince of Viana, and Gonzalo de Cordova; all bearing impressions of the enthusiastic and poetic feelings, characteristic of the comparatively youthful period of life at which they were written. It was Quintana’s intention to have proceeded with a series of like biographies; but the subsequent public events, in which he had to take so active a part, interrupted the task, and when he resumed it, after the lapse of twenty years, it was under the influence of other feelings. He then proceeded principally with the lives of persons distinguished in American history; the second volume containing those of Vasco Nunez de Balboa and Francisco Pizarro; and the third volume those of Alvaro de Luna, and Bartolome de las Casas. Of these two volumes, the former has been translated into English by Mrs. Hobson, Edinburgh, 1832; and of the third a translation has been announced, London, 1851; both, and the latter especially, well deserving of study.

In the first volume, treating of heroes, whose history, almost lost in the obscurity of remote times, might be considered among the fabulous legends prevailing everywhere in the first formations of society, it seemed only appropriate to give a colouring of poetry, to characters of whose actions nothing could be judged, except by their outward bearing. But in the others he could write as a philosophic historian, inquiring into the motives of actions, and teaching lessons of public morality by individual examples. The life of Alvaro is thus particularly interesting, depicting the caprices of fortune, as they affect

The wish indulged in courts to shine, And power too great to keep or to resign.

In the other lives he maintains the high tone of feeling shown in his beautiful Ode to Balmis, the philanthropic introducer of vaccination into America, where the ravages of the disease, so graphically described by Humboldt, had made this benefit more peculiarly desirable.

The generous sentiments expressed in this ode are such as to do honour not only to Quintana, but also to the nation, where they are in the present generation adopted, as we find them repeated emphatically by so popular a writer as Larra. More than thirty years had elapsed after writing that ode, when Quintana, in the Life of the enthusiastic Las Casas, proved his consistency of character and principles, by maintaining them in a work of historical character, as he had done in poetry in his youth.

In the prologue to the third volume he says, “The author will be accused of little regard for the honour of his country, when he so frankly adopts the sentiments and principles of the Protector of the Indians, whose imprudent writings have been the occasion of so much opprobrium, and of subministering such arms to the detractors of Spanish glories. But neither the extravagance or fanatical exaggerations of Las Casas, nor the abuse which the malignity of strangers have made of them, can erase from deeds their nature and character. The author has not gone to imbibe them from suspicious fountains; nor to judge them as he has done, has he regarded other principles than those of natural equity, or other feelings than those of his own heart. Documents carefully appended for this purpose, and the attentive perusal of Herrera, Oviedo, and others our own writers as impartial and judicious as those, give the same result in events and opinions. What then was to be done? To deny the impressions received, and repel the decision which humanity and justice dictate, on account of not compromising what is called the honour of the country? But the honour of a country consists in actions truly great, noble and virtuous of its inhabitants; not in gilding with justifications, or insufficient exculpations, those that unfortunately bear on themselves the seal of being iniquitous and cruel. To strangers who to depress us, accuse us of cruelty and barbarity in our discoveries and conquests of the New World, we might reply with other examples on their own part, as or more atrocious than ours, and in times and under circumstances sufficiently less excusable.…

“The great glories and usefulnesses, which result from extended conquests and dominations, are always bought at a great price, whether of blood, or violence, or reputation and fame: unhappy tribute to be paid even by nations the most civilized, when the impulse of destiny bears them to the same situation. Glorious, without doubt, was for us the discovery of the New World! But at what cost was it bought! For myself what affects me, leaving apart as not required here the question of the advantages which Europe has derived from that singular event, I will say, that wherever I find, whether in the past or the present, aggressors and aggrieved, oppressors and oppressed, on no account of ulterior utility, nor even of national consideration, am I able to incline myself to the former, or to fail in sympathizing with the latter. I may have put therefore into this historical question more entireness and candour than is commonly expected, when referring to our own conduct, but no odious prejudices, nor an inclination to injure or detract. Let us everywhere give some place in books to justice, now that unfortunately it is wont to have so little left it in the affairs of the world.”

Holding such high opinions in all his writings, it may be seen that the youth of Spain cannot have a better guide to take for private study than those writings, the best preparatives for honourable exertion in life; and Quintana’s own history shows, that whatever misfortunes may befall any one individually, he does not labour or suffer in vain, who labours or suffers honestly in a just cause. In another part of the same prologue, Quintana says of his own lot, “Of this variety of circumstances and continued alternations, from good to ill, and from ill to good, not small has been the part fallen to the author of this work. Drawn by the force of events from his study and domestic lares, flattered and excessively exalted now, afterwards borne down and contemned, falling into imprisonment and proceeded against capitally, destined to a long and perhaps indefinite detention, deprived during it of communications and even of his pen, released from it, when he least hoped, to rise and prosper, and descending again soon to be endangered, he has experienced all, and nothing now can be to him new. Let it not be supposed from this that he puts it forth here as a merit, and less, that he presents it in complaint. For of whom should I complain? Of men? These in the midst of my greatest calamities, with very few exceptions, have shown themselves constantly regardful, benevolent, and even respectful towards me. Of fortune? And what pledges had she given me to moderate for me the rigour with which she treated the rest? Were they not of as much or more value than I? Political and moral turbulences are the same as the great physical disorders, in which the elements becoming excited, no one is sheltered from their fury.”

Resigning himself thus to his fate, Quintana seems to have learned the philosophical secret of preserving his equanimity in all the vicissitudes of life, to the enjoyment of a tranquil old age. The privilege of attaining this is a favour to every one, to whom it is granted; but its highest enjoyments must be consequent only on a life of active usefulness, with a conscience void of offence. The man of cultivated mind, who has been called upon to do or to suffer more than others his fellows in the turmoils of the world, may then be supposed to receive his greater reward in the remembrances of scenes, happier perhaps in the retrospect than in the reality, which may have given them even the semblance of a longer existence. As perspectives appear lengthened, according to the number and variety of objects that intervene to the view, so life itself may appear to have been longer or shorter, according to the memory and character of events witnessed in its course. Described as a person of athletic form, yet unbowed by the burden of fourscore years, Quintana, as before observed, still survives, to receive the honour justly due to him for his honourable exertions through life, the remembrances of which may thus give him more pleasurable enjoyments, than can be supposed to fall to the lot of ordinary mortals.

As a poet, if a foreigner may be allowed to express an opinion, for which he has no native authority to adduce, Quintana may be said to be more eloquent than poetical. As Quintilian said of Lucan, both also natives of Spain, “ut dicam quod sentio, magis oratoribus quam poetis annumerandus.” Quintana’s eloquence consists in earnestness more than in flights of fancy. His favourite subjects were the glories of his country; and his patriotic odes, in which he endeavoured to incite his countrymen to imitate the examples of their forefathers, have been pronounced his best compositions. He has as a poet paid his tribute of admiration to beauty and the arts; but his whole soul seems to be poured forth when pathetically mourning over the dimmed glories of his country, as when at the thought “of our miserable squadrons flying before the British,” he turns to the Padillias and Guzmans of former days, “when the Spaniard was master of half of Europe, and threw himself upon unknown and immense seas to give a new world to men.”

As a patriotic poet Quintana has been compared to Beranger, and is said to have had the same power over the minds of his countrymen. If the parallel be correct, it may be curious to consider how characteristically these two poets appeal to the feelings of their admirers; one by songs and incidents, which though often trivial, yet speak to the heart in its most sensitive points, while the other proceeds to the same object by martial odes of commanding austerity. Besides the Ode to Balmis, the other one in this work, on the Battle of Trafalgar, has been chosen for translation, as most likely to interest the English reader, though it may not be in itself so much to be admired as some others of his poems. The reader will perhaps observe a constrained style in it, even beyond that of translation,--sentiments forced, as if the subject had not been taken voluntarily. It must not therefore be looked upon as a favourable specimen of Quintana’s genius, like the Ode to Balmis, which more fully shows the character of his mind.

Quintana, more than other poets of his time, has written in one style of verse, as in imitation of the Pindaric ode, or of our Gray and Dryden. Thus with free metres and often unfettered by rhyme, he has a staid measured tone, well suited to the subjects he has generally adopted. They are considered in Spain as of an elegiac character; and as accordant with them, they have fallen in the translation into the form of our elegies, or the heroic lines with alternate rhymes, the style of verse which Dryden, a high authority on such a question, pronounced “the most magnificent of all the measures which our language affords.”

Much as Quintana has published, both of his own works and of the works of others, for the advancement of sound learning and moral instruction, we have still great cause to regret that the circumstances of the times in which he has lived have prevented him from publishing more. Not only has he been interrupted in the course of those instructive biographies, of which we have such valuable beginnings, but we might have hoped, if he had lived in more peaceful times, that he would have given the world some work, of a character more distinctively his own, to place his name still higher in the history of elegant literature. It was one of the maxims of the wise Jovellanos, “that it was not sufficient for the purposes of good government to keep the people quiet, but that they ought to be kept contented.” Without this condition the other cannot be expected; and for all public commotions, therefore, the rulers are always most responsible, as unmindful of this truth. The greatest evil is, when the whole literary world has thus also further cause to complain of their misdeeds, as affecting those who were endowed with talents of a higher order, such as to make all men interested in their well-being. It is to be hoped that we are now, under the benignant reign of Isabel the Second, entitled to expect a more liberal government, and the advent of a still brighter æra for the literature of Spain.

Taking the space of eighty years, as comprehending the period during which modern Spanish poetry has been peculiarly distinguished for superior excellence, we may now make a further division of this period, into the former and latter parts of it. All the poets, whose lives we have hitherto traced, wrote their principal works previously to the year 1810; after which time we have a succession of writers, whose genius may perhaps be found to take a yet wider range of thought and feeling, consequent on the extended field of knowledge, which later events presented to their observation.

MANUEL JOSÈ QUINTANA.

TO THE SPANISH EXPEDITION FOR THE PROMOTION OF VACCINATION IN AMERICA, UNDER DON FRANCISCO BALMIS.

Fair Virgin of the world, America! Thou who so innocent to heaven display’st Thy bosom stored with plenty’s rich array, And brow of gentle youth! Thou, who so graced The tenderest and most lovely of the zones Of mother Earth to shine, shouldst be of fate The sweet delight and favour’d love it owns, That but pursues thee with relentless hate, Hear me! If ever was a time mine eyes, When scanning thy eventful history, Did not burst forth in tears; if could thy cries My heart e’er hear unmoved, from pity free And indignation; then let me disclaim’d Of virtue be eternally as held, And barbarous and wicked be one named As those who with such ruin thee assail’d.

In the eternal book of life are borne, Written in blood, those cries, which then sent forth Thy lips to Heaven, such fury doom’d to mourn, And yet against my country call in wrath. Forbidding glory and success attend The fatal field of crimes. Will they ne’er cease? Will not the bitter expiation end Sufficed of three eventful centuries? We are not now those who on daring’s wing, Before the world, the Atlantic’s depths disdain’d, And from the silence found thee covering, That fiercely tore thee, bleeding and enchain’d!

“No, ye are not the same. But my lament Is not for this to cease: I could forget The rigours which my conquerors relent, Their avarice with cruelties beset: The crime was of the age, and not of Spain. But when can I forget the evils sore Which I must miserably yet sustain? Among them one, come, see what I deplore, If horror will not you deter. From you, Your fatal ships first launch’d, the mortal pest, The poison that now desolates me flew. As in doom’d plains by ruthless foes oppress’d, As serpent that incessantly devours, So ever from your coming, to consume Has it raged o’er me. See here, how it lowers! And in the hidden place of death and gloom, Buries my children and my loves. Affords Your skill no remedy? O! ye, who call Yourselves as of America the lords, Have pity on my agony. See, fall Beneath your insane fury, not sufficed One generation, but a hundred slain! And I expiring, desolate, unprized, Beseech assistance, and beseech in vain.”

Such were the cries that to Olympus rose, When in the fields of Albion found remote, Variola’s fell havocs to oppose, Kind Nature show’d the happy antidote. The docile mother of the herd was found Enrich’d with this great gift; there stored attent Where from her copious milky founts around She gives so many life and aliment. Jenner to mortals first the gift reveal’d: Thenceforward mothers to their hearts could press

Their children without fear to lose them heal’d; Nor fear’d thenceforward in her loveliness The maiden, lest the fatal venom spoil Her cheek of roses, or her brow of snow. All Europe then is join’d in grateful toil, For gift so precious and immense to know, In praises loud to echo Jenner’s name; And altars to his skill to raise decrees, There to long ages hallowing his fame, Beside their tutelar divinities.

Of such a glory at the radiant light, With noble emulation fill’d his breast, A Spaniard rose,--“Let not my country slight,” He cried, “on such a great occasion’s test, Her ancient magnanimity to employ. ’Tis fortune’s gift discovering it alone; That let an Englishman his right enjoy. Let Spain’s sublime and generous heart be shown, Giving her majesty more honour true, By carrying this treasure to the lands Which most the evil’s dire oppressions knew. There, for I feel a deity commands, There will I fly, and of the raging wave Will brave in bearing it the furious strife; America’s infested plains to save From death, as planting there the tree of life.” He spoke, and scarcely from his burning lip These echoes had beneficently flowed, When floating in the port, prepared the ship, To give commencement to so blest a road, Moved spreading her white canvas to the air. On his fate launch’d himself the aëronaut. Waves of the sea, in favouring calmness bear, As sacred, this deposit to be brought Through your serene and liquid fields. There goes Of thousand generations long the hope; Nor whelm it, nor let thunder it oppose; Arrest the lightning, with no storms to cope, Stay them until that from those fertile shores Come forth the prows, triumphant in their pride, That fraught remote with all their golden stores, With vice and curses also come allied.

Honour to Balmis! O, heroic soul! That in such noble toil devotest thy breath, Go fearless to thy end. The dreadful roll Of ocean always hoarse, and threatening death; The fearful whirlpool’s all-devouring throat, The cavern’d rock’s black face, where dash’d by fate, Break the wreck’d barks, the dangers they denote Greatest are not most cruel thee that wait. From man expect them! Impious, envious man, In error wrapped and blind, will prove him bent, When hush’d against thee is the hurricane, To combat rough the generous intent. But firmly and secure press forward on; And hold in mind, when comes for strife the day, That without constant, anxious toil, can none Hope glory’s palms to seize, and bear away.

At length thou comest; America salutes Her benefactor, and at once her veins The destined balm to purify deputes. A further generous ardour then regains Thy breast; and thou, obedient to the hand Divine that leads thee, turn’st the sounding prow Where Ganges rolls, and every Eastern land The gift may take. The Southern Ocean now Astonished sees thee, o’er her mighty breast Untiring passing. Luzon thee admires, Good always sowing on thy road impress’d: And as it China’s toilsome shore acquires, Confucius from his tomb of honour’d fame, If could his venerable form arise, To see it in glad wonder might exclaim, “’Twas worthy of my virtue, this emprise!”

Right worthy was it of thee, mighty sage! Worthy of that divine and highest light, Which reason and which virtue erst array’d To shine in happier days, now quench’d in night. Thou, Balmis! never mayst return; nor grows In Europe now the sacred laurel meet With which to crown thee. There in calm repose, Where peace and independence a retreat May find, there rest thee! where thou mayst receive At length the august reward of deeds so blest. Nations immense shall come for thee to grieve, Raising in grateful hymns to Heaven address’d Thy name with fervorous zeal. And though now laid In the cold tomb’s dark precincts thou refuse To hear them, listen to them thus convey’d At least, as in the accents of my Muse.

ON THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR.

Not with an easy hand wills Fate to give Nations, or heroes, power and renown: Triumphant Rome, whose empire to receive A hemisphere submissively bow’d down, Yielding itself in silent servitude, How often did she vanquish’d groan? repell’d As she her course of loftiness pursued! Her ground to Hannibal she scarcely held; Italian blood of Trevia the sands, And wavy Thrasymenus deeply dyed, And Roman matrons the victorious bands Of Cannæ nigh approaching them descried, As some portentous comet fearful lower. Who drove them thence? Who from the Capitol Turn’d on the throne, that founded Dido’s power, The clouds that threaten’d then o’er them to roll? Who in the fields of Zama, from the yoke They fear’d, with direful slaughter to set free, At length the sceptre of great Carthage broke, With which she held her sovereignty, the sea?

Unswerving courage! that alone the shield That turns adversity’s sharp knife aside: To joy turns sorrow; bids despair to yield To glory, and of fortune learns to guide The dubious whirlwind, victory in its train; For a high-minded race commands its fate. O, Spain! my country! covering thy domain, The mourning shows how great thy suffering state; But still hope on, and with undaunted brow, From base dejection free, behold the walls Of thy own lofty Gades, which avow Thy strength, though fate them now awhile appals; Which though affrighted, blushing in their shame, As bathing them around the waves extend, Yet loud thy sons’ heroic deeds proclaim, Far on the sounding billows they defend.

From the proud castled poop that crowns his high Indomitable ship, the Briton round Look’d, on his power and glory to rely, And boastful cried, “Companions renown’d! See, there they come: new trophies to attain Wait your unconquer’d arms; the feeble pines That Spain prepares for her defence in vain: Fate from our yoke exemption none assigns. We are the sons of Neptune. Do they dare To plough the waves before us? Call to mind Aboukir’s memorable day! to share Another such a triumph: let us find One moment as sufficing us to come, To conquer, and destroy them. Grant it me, Kind fate! and let us crown’d with laurels home Our wealthy Thames again returning see.”

He spoke, and spread his sails. With swimming prows Opening the waves, they follow him elate, Conquerors of winds and waves. With dauntless brow The Spaniards view them, and in calmness wait, Contemning their fierce arrogance, and high Their bosoms beating with indignant rage. Just anger! sacred ardour! “There come nigh Those cruel foes, who hasten war to wage, And spill our blood, when we reposed secure Beneath the wings of peace. They who are led By avarice vile; who friendship’s laws abjure; Who in their endless tyranny o’erspread Would hold condemn’d the seas; who to unite, As brothers, pride and insolence of power With treachery and rapacity delight; Who”--but with mantle dark night brings the hour To enwrap the world. Wandering round the shrouds Are frightful shades, dire slaughter that portend And fearful expectations raise. Through opening clouds The day displays the field, where wildly blend Fury and death; and horrid Mars the scene Swells loud with shouts of war, upraised in air His standard high. To answer intervene From hollow brass the mortal roarings glare. The echo thunders, and the waves resound, Dashing themselves in rage to Afric’s shore: In conflict fly the ships to ships around, By rancour moved. Less violent its store Of heap’d-up ice in mountains, the South Pole Emits immense, loud thundering through the waves To glide, and on the adventurous seaman roll. Nor with less clamour loosen’d from their caves Rush the black tempests, when the East and North, Troubling the heavens enraged in furious war, And dire encounter, all their strength put forth, And shake the centre of the globe afar.

Thrice the fierce islander advanced to break Our squadron’s wall, confiding in his might: Thrice by the Spanish force repulsed, to shake His hopes of victory he sees the fight. Who shall depict his fury and his rage, When with that flag before so proud he saw The flag of Spain invincible engage? ’Tis not to skill or valour to o’erawe, Solely he trusts to fortune for success. Doubling his ships, redoubling them again, From poop to prow, from side to side to press, In an unequal fight is made sustain Each Spanish ship a thousand, thousand fires; And they with equal breath that death receive So send it back. No, not to my desires, If heaven would grant it me, could I achieve The task that day’s heroic deeds to tell, Not with a hundred tongues; hid from the sun By smoke, Fame’s trumpet shall their praises swell, And bronze and marble for their names be won.

At length the moment comes, when Death extends His pale and horrid hand, to signalize Great victims. Brave Alcedo to him bends, And nobly Moyua, with Castanios, dies. And Alcalà, Churruca, also ye! Of Betis and Guipuzcoa the pride. O! if Fate knew to spare, would it not be Enough to soothe, upon your brows allied Minerva’s olive with Mars’ laurels seen? From your illustrious and inquiring mind What could the world, or stars, their mysteries screen? Of your great course the traces left behind The Cyclades are full, nor less the seas Of far America. How seeks to mourn, New tears from her sad heart her grief to appease, The widow’d land such heroes from her torn; And still she sheds them o’er your cruel fate. O! that ye two could live, and I in place Of grief, of sorrowing song, to consecrate To you the funeral accents that I raise, Might have opposed my bosom to the stroke, And thus my useless life my country give! That I might thus your cruel lot revoke, To bear the wounds, so that ye two might live! And she might proudly raise her front anew, Victorious crown’d with rays of glory bright, Her course ’gainst arduous fortune to pursue, Triumphant in your wisdom and your might.

Yet fell ye not, ye generous squadrons! there, Without revenge and slaughter. Spreading wide, Rivers of English blood your powers declare. And Albion also horror-struck descried Mountains of bodies weigh, a heavy pile, On her so proud Armada. Nelson, too! Terrible shade! O, think not, no, that vile My voice to name thee, e’er an insult threw On thy last sigh. As English I abhor, But hero I admire thee. O, thy fate! Of captive ships a crowd, the spoils of war, The Thames awaits, and now exults elate To hail with shouts the conqueror’s return! But only pale and cold beholds her Chief! Great lesson left for human pride to learn, And worthy holocaust for Spanish grief.

Yet still the rage of Mars impels the arm Of destiny; mow’d down unnumber’d lives. By fury launch’d, voracious flames alarm; On every side planks burning. Loosely drives Each ship a fierce volcano; blazing high Through the wide air ’tis raised, and thrown again With horrid bursting in the seas to lie, Engulf’d. Do other havocs yet remain? Yes, for that Heaven, displeased to see such foes, Bids the inclement north winds rise to part The furious combatants, and day to close In stormy night. ’Tis order’d, and athwart They throw themselves the miserable barks, Lashing the waves on high with cruel wings. As each this new unequal combat marks For ruin, falls the mast, and over swings Trembling beneath the assault. The hulls divide, And where the gaping seams the waves invite, They enter, while the dying Spaniards cried, “O! that we were to perish, but in fight!”

In that remorseless conflict, high in air, Then shining forth their glorious forms display’d The mighty champions, who of old to bear The trident and the spear, supreme had made Before the Iberian flag the nations bow. There Lauria, Trovar, and Bazan were seen, And Aviles, their brother heroes now Of Spain to welcome, and in death convene. “Come among us,” they cried, “among the brave You emulate. Already you have gain’d Your fair reward. The example that you gave Of valour, Spain in constancy sustain’d Her warriors shows, inciting to prepare For other conflicts they undaunted greet. Look to the city of Alcides! there Gravina, Alavà, and Escanio meet! Cisneros and a hundred more combine There in firm column, with proud hopes to bless Our native land. Come, fly ye here, and shine In heaven their stars of glory, and success.”

## PART II.