TO JUAN RUFO,

ON HIS POEM ENTITLED THE AUSTRIAD.

Rufo, thy muse hath told in such high lays
The deeds of our new Cæsar, brave and young;
So gallantly he fought, and thou hast sung,
That Fame awhile in doubt suspends her praise;
Or rather, since for both to Time's last days

The chords of Memory's living lyre are strung,
On either brow she bids her wreath be hung,
Proof to Oblivion's power, immortal bays.
'Tis meet it should be thus: of equal worth,
Each in his several art, ye were and are,
Alike in arms or letters each alone;

With more than mortal succours issuing forth,
He with the falchion of the God of War,
Thou with Apollo's lute, by grace thine own.

See Note.

ON A PORTRAIT OF ALVAR BAZAN,

FIRST MARQUIS OF SANTA CRUZ.

No need of mortal hand to make or mar

Thy form in short-lived bronze, whose peerless worth, Illustrious Bazan, led our warriors forth Arm'd as with godlike power of fate and war: Bright as the sun in arms, or eastern star,

Thy praise is in those ensigns gather'd home, Won in stern conflict on the salt sea foam, Faith's triumph and Spain's praise exalting far O'er English, Turk, or Lusitanian foe.

The Atlantic white with sails, the Midland sea Swept with thy dashing oars, thy conquering skill Shall image more than painting: hues that glow With deathless rays are round thee: Time in thee Hath won a soul Oblivion cannot kill.

See Note.

VOL. I.

ON THE TOMB OF ALVAR BAZAN.

BY THE COUNT OF VILLAMEDIANA.

Here, where the bravest son of warlike Spain,
In honour's toil untired, to rest is laid,
And sheathed is now that well-empurpled blade,
Which wrought in victory's hour on either main;
Let all Hesperia weep, in woe and pain,

Heaven's wrathful sign in his sad loss display'd;
Whereby our island-foes, no more afraid,
Look up, and launch their pirate-craft again.
But Time or mute Oblivion here shall hold
No sway; for Immortality enshrines

His memory with the great that cannot die; And laurel, wreathed by Mars for warriors bold, Amidst the cypress, which his hearse entwines, Bourgeons in bud and bloom triumphantly.

THE COUNT OF FUENTES.

Gaze on that steel-clad form in harness bright,
That mocks the diamond's beam of keenest power:
This was Spain's mirror of a courteous knight,
War's lightning ray in battle's darkest hour.
Gaze on the laurel-wreath, proud Victory's dower,
Earn'd when beneath his stern yet gentle mood
Bold hearts were yoked, in Lombard town and tower,
Like youthful steers, to willing servitude.
What wonder, when no mail his lance withstood?—
When serried squadrons felt his thundering sword?-
His horse-hoof trampled standards dyed in blood?--
Bear witness, France and Cambray, to the word.
But let not France or Cambray deem or say,
Spain hath no muse to sing that glorious day.

See Note.

ODE ON THE ARMADA.

"No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, I hope." In the third stanza of this Ode the reader will perhaps be tempted to join in the exclamation of Sheridan's Critic. But it is sometimes useful to see ourselves as others see us. For the rest the reader is requested to refer to the Hist. and Crit. Essay, sec. 9.

The last line of the third stanza is taken from Petrarch, and stands mixed with the Spanish in its native Italian: "Fiamma dal ciel su le tue trecce piova." Son. xiv. sopra Var. Argomenti. Garcilaso had sometimes adopted an Italian verse in the same way.

I.

Uplift thy glorious hand, majestic Spain,

From bordering Frank to misbelieving Moor,
From Pyrenee to Atlas far away:

Let the war-trumpet peal from shore to shore,
And call thy valiant sons from hill and plain :
Then, visor'd close in hardest steel, display
Thy conquering ensigns in the blaze of day:
That so the lands in our weak mercy strong,
Nations combined our holy Faith to wrong,