Calpe, or Gibraltar | ||
CALPE,
OR GIBRALTAR.
Whose rising Banks defy the adverse Moor;
Where the loud Surge the Continent divides,
And streighten'd Billows roll in fiercer Tides;
A Rock, which Travellers ascend with Pain,
Hangs dreadful o'er the Beach, and ambient Main;
When Tempests rage, or Foggs obscure the Air.
And Spain's and Lybia's two great Empires met,
Till some convulsive Shock asunder tore
The parting Plains, and Mountains, joyn'd before.
Yields in Renown to Teneriff alone;
Here Cliffs o'er Cliffs, in pointed Spires arise,
And the huge Column seems to prop the Skies,
Its aged Brow conceal'd in Clouds; so high
Scarce Goats dare climb, or tow'ring Eagles fly.
Neptune's vast Realm, and boundless watry Sway;
Of Lybian Mountains, see the distant Row,
And fruitful Vales, or burning Wastes below.
This Heighth of Rock for Wonder most, or Use;
Strain'd through its Pores, delicious Springs abound,
And healing Simples clothe the balmy Ground;
While stranger Scenes are in its Womb contain'd,
Than e'er Magician rais'd, or Poet feign'd.
Steep winding Paths lead up to dreary Cells,
Where no kind Ray the horrid Gloom dispells;
So large, so lofty, and so void of Light,
They seem the Palace of eternal Night.
No Eye can trace the various mystic Ways,
And Nature rivals here the Cretan Maze;
Here Newts, and bloated Toads, detested crawl,
And flutt'ring Batts fly round the dusky Hall;
The Caves with dreadful Notes, harsh Screech-Owls rend,
And lazy Damps from noisom Pools ascend.
A Thousand antick Forms these Grotts conceal;
Th' amazing Work of some Enchanter's Hand;
Surpriz'd we view the Lyon, Wolf, and Bear,
And think the Gorgon Shield has fix'd 'em there.
And vaulted Isles stretch spacious out between;
There Drops of Water harden into Stone,
Wond'rous Effect! and form a growing Cone;
Around we gaze, admiring ev'ry Part,
And Nature's Prodigies ascribe to Art.
The Spaniards hereabouts have an Hundred such Traditions concerning this wonderful Place; from whence they say, there is a Passage under the Sea to Ceuta in Africk. Several Gentlemen of the Garrison, and others, who have been let down by Ropes into these Caves, which lie one below another to a prodigious Depth, could never find any Bottom.
And dreaming Monks, grown old in Sleep and Pray'r,
Who kept long Lents, with Rubrick-Saints enroll'd,
As superstitious Fools by Priests are told:
Down from their Girdles hung a length of Beads,
And Legends yet record their wond'rous Deeds,
In sumptuous Urns their mouldring Relicks sleep,
And cure the Cramp, or calm the raging Deep.
Of ancient Vandals, and of later Moors;
Which Walls of Adamant, and Gates of Steel,
(Enchanted Work!) from Human Eyes conceal;
Goblins and Fiends the magic Treasures guard,
And Peals of Groans, and ratt'ling Chains, are heard.
Advent'rous Misers down th' Abyss have roll'd,
Whose mangled Coarses on the fatal Ground,
Harden'd to Stone, in distant Times are found:
Wonders more strange than Kings in pickle shown,
Or Dynasties transmitted down to Sloan.
Is cover'd o'er with undissolving Dead!
Where Nature keeps the Carcass from Decay,
Eludes the Worm, and petrifies the Clay.
By Time defac'd, the Work of barb'rous Hands;
Against whose Ribs, so strong the Walls are made,
In vain the mighty batt'ring Engines play'd.
Here, whilst the Lybian Race their Ground maintain'd,
Of Turban'd Kings a long Succession reign'd,
Who bore the Crescent on their ample Shields,
And dy'd with Gothick Blood Iberian Fields.
Where cloth'd in Green, the Rev'rend Musties pray'd
Where Mahomet's dread Name was wont to sound,
While scepter'd Bigots kiss'd the hallow'd Ground.
And chequer'd Floors in rich Mosaic wrought;
There undestroy'd are seen the spacious Halls,
Where Scymitars and Bows adorn'd the Walls,
Where the fair Pris'ner oft bemoan'd her Fate,
And Jaylor-Eunuchs watch'd the bolted Gate.
The fairest Port of all th' Hesperian Land,
E'er War's dire Engines had in Ashes laid
The Domes, that stood for Ages undecay'd.
Here stately Palaces, and Fanes, were seen;
There Cypress Groves, and Orange ever green;
Convents, where lazy Lubbers batt'ning lay,
Or where sad Virgins sigh'd their Lives away.
Where low in Dust the sumptuous Rubbish lies,
The splendid Ruins we survey with Pain,
And o'er the Carcass of a Town complain.
A spacious Room was dug in Days of Yore;
Where Calpe's ancient Lords were us'd to shun
The fierce Approaches of too warm a Sun;
In the cool Grott, refresht the swarthy King,
Whilst round him Crowds of naked Beauties play'd,
Whom, as he bath'd, the happy Moor survey'd.
(Secure from Tempests, and the Rage of War,)
The stately Vaults and Pilasters we trace,
And one Eternal Winter chills the Place.
The Surface of a smooth adjoining Bay,
Where anchor'd Barks, in all their Naval Pride,
Shelter'd from boist'rous Winds, securely ride:
For tow'ring Hills extend their spacious Chain,
And almost form a Circle round the Main.
Yet have I even there heard Billows roar,
Swell'd by rough Blasts, from Africk's burning Shore;
On floating Wrecks have cast my distant Eye,
And seen the bending Masts in Shivers fly.
(Where the rich Soil a fruitful Harvest yields)
Rais'd by Phœnician Hands, Carteia stood,
(Now levell'd quite) and overlookt the Flood.
Jove's God-like Son the Monster-King o'erthrew,
Rais'd his proud Pillars on the conquer'd Shore,
And rul'd the Nations which he free'd before.
While plowing Hinds tear up the stubborn Ground;
On the rude Coin, o'ergrown with Rust, we trace
His Club, Nemæan Spoil, and grisly Face;
With Pain th' imperfect Hero we survey,
And want those Lines which Time has worn away.
And Argantonius was of old renown'd;
And o'er the conquer'd West her Eagles flew;
Here Kings to Savages gave wholesom Laws,
And Chiefs unsheath'd their Swords in Freedom's Cause.
Where Algezira's Walls in Ruins lie;
Curst Algezira! to the Moor betray'd
By the false Father of the ravish'd Maid.
Whose dusky Millions darken'd all the Coast:
The soft licentious
Roderick, whom I have mention'd in the Preface. Some are of Opinion he did not fall in this Battle, but fled to Vizeu, a City of Beira in Portugal, and there ended his Days, where Mariana says, a Tomb-stone was found with this Spanish Inscription,
A qui jaze Rodrigo ultimo Rey de los Godos.Here lies Roderick, the last King of the Goths.
But some Years ago when I was in that City, upon the strictest Enquiry, I could not hear there ever had been such a Monument there.
Their hostile Numbers on the fatal Plain;
A Victim to the wrong'd Iberian Dame
He fell; and with him fell the Gothick Name.
On the wide Champian fac'd their Moony Swarms;
The Field had all been pil'd with Pagan Dead,
His Cross had conquer'd, and their Crescent fled.
Drives o'er Arabian Sands, or Indian Seas,)
Prevent the Promise of the bounteous Nile,
And immature Egyptian Harvests spoil,
So rang'd the miscreant Race, with hostile Bands,
Hesperia's Fields, and ravag'd all her Lands.
Within Pyrene's Limits scarce contain'd;
When Christian Chiefs led on the lusty Swains,
From cold Asturia's yet unconquer'd Plains;
Shook the proud Infidel, unbent with Ease,
And stretch'd their Infant-Empire by degrees.
Now sent their Heroes to support the War;
Romantick Tales of Chivalry begun,
And Leaders cas'd in Mail immortal Laurels won.
And with red Streams Granada's Vales were dy'd!
While Clouds of Arrows darken'd all the Sky,
And Conquest hung her doubtful Scales on high.
The Sieges infinite, unnumber'd Fights,
And the fair Acts of each important Day,
While Ten times sixty Winters roll'd away;
For shou'd'st thou all the great Exploits reherse,
Thou might'st as well turn Annals into Verse.
Trembling forsake the Kingdoms, once their own;
And o'er the Channel, with Despair and Shame,
Fly to those Desarts whence their Fathers came;
Disperst they fly! but yet one Pagan Band,
Secur'd by Calpe, made a bolder Stand;
Between the Walls of Rock, and the defending Main.
Nor Rocks, nor Seas, could save the sinking Moor:
Involv'd in rolling Smoke, and nitrous Flame,
They fell, and falling curst their Prophet's Name.
His kinder Stars the conqu'ring Monarch blest;
Henceforth, said
Ferdinand the Catholick (Grandfather to the Emperor Charles the Vth) drove the Moors from Gibraltar, and quite out of Spain.
(Europe's last Limit tow'rds the Burning Line)
Be mine, ye Walls, with stately Turrets crown'd,
Ye dreadful Banks, and boist'rous Waves around;
While yon bright Planet shoots his dazling Ray,
And rolling Spheres shall round their Axis play,
My pow'rful Sons shall rule the West, alone;
And keep this Bulwark of th' Iberian Throne.
Or Spain had Eight succeeding Monarchs told,
Lo! her dread Fleet Imperial ANNA sends,
Which o'er the Main in dreadful Pomp extends;
From distant Bœtic Plains, and fruitful Vines,
Astonisht Peasants saw the tow'ring Pines;
Of British Thunder heard the ratling Peals,
And call'd on Saints to sink the Hostile Keels.
And helmed Warriors guard the crowded Shore;
The Hessian Hero slights their adverse Band,
And waves his Eagles on the conquer'd Strand;
Like Mars he lifts his brandisht Sabre high,
And where he leads, the routed Legions fly.
Descending foremost, blaz'd in burnisht Steel,
And fled, tho' Priam's Godlike Son was near.
Unnumbred Troops extend along the Plain;
For Nine revolving Moons, the Walls they ply,
Whilst Britain's hardy Sons their Rage defy;
In vain they try the steep Ascent to scale,
And plant with Cannon all the sandy Vale;
The fruitless Toil at length their King declines,
And Walls he could not take, with Grief resigns.
Auspicious Fates decreed the British Sway;
Whose Royal Veins a Purple Current hold,
Transmitted down from Saxon Gods of old;
Let proud Hesperia's Lords with Envy see,
Their Kingdom's Bulwark still possess'd by Thee;
May Thy great Off-spring conquer Worlds unknown,
And rule, till that uncertain dreadful Day,
When this huge Frame shall burn, and Calpe melt away.
Calpe, or Gibraltar | ||