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201

SPANIARDS, YIELD NOT TO DESPAIR.

[_]

(WRITTEN FOR MUSIC.)

Spaniards, yield not to despair!
Sink not, Portuguese, forlorn!
Wintry nights are worst to bear
Just before the break of morn.
Though down-trampled in the dust
By the traitor's cruel heel,
Freedom's cause ye hold in trust—
Falter not for rack or wheel.
Spaniards, yield not to despair!
Hunted from your native strand
By the Blood-hounds Hate and Fear,
Sink not yet, high-hearted band,
Retribution's hour is near.
Spaniards, yield not to despair!
Lo! yon perjured caitiff slaves,
While they clinch their country's chain,
Tremble even amidst the graves
Of the victims they have slain.
Spaniards, yield not to despair!
Let them tremble!—they have cause
Loudest when they rant and boast;
Freedom on her march may pause,
But her battle ne'er is lost.
Spaniards, yield not to despair!
202

Though the tyrant's bitter taunt
Sting you like a viper foul,
Though Despite and Famine gaunt
Like hyænas round you howl—
Spaniards, yield not to despair!
Though your dearest blood may flow,
On the scaffold or the plain,
Though your bravest be laid low
Ere their country rise again—
Spaniards, yield not to despair!
Ne'er in vain the patriot dies:
Pours he not life's fountain free
Servile millions to baptize
Proselytes of Liberty!
Spaniards, yield not to despair!
1829.
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