The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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GIBRALTAR. |
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
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GIBRALTAR.
The heav'n-rais'd bulwarks of imperial TroyStill rise in song Meonian; and the muse
Of deathless Maro consecrates to fame
Illustrious Latium!—Shall no lyre resound
A brighter subject, a sublimer lay,
And claim a fresher wreath?—Spirit of War,
First-born of Freedom, who from Calpe's height
Hurl'd thy indignant thunders, string the chord
To British fortitude, to British fire!
For thou canst tell how dauntless Elliot fought,
Immortal hero! when the labouring main
Groan'd with the huge armada, vengeance-fraught:
How from thy rocky seat the warrior pour'd
An arch of mortal lightnings on the foe.
Discreetly valiant, confidently firm,
Each treach'rous wile he saw, each Spanish mine,
And marked the tempest low'ring in repose,
Anon to burst with a redoubled force.
Though palsy'd Famine stretch'd her meagre hand
O'er all, and Death his withering glances cast,
Still rear'd Britannia's standard o'er the fort,
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Wave soon to be embued with hostile gore,
Drawn from the heart of myriads! methinks, ev'n now,
The whizzing bullets stun my startled ear,
And sulphurous smoke envelopes the grim sky
With tenfold horrors! Vain attempt, to scale
Gibraltar's giant brow, when marble mounds,
And British breasts more stern, defend the place.
So strove the haughty pow'r of hell, when fall'n
From site celestial to the burning deep,
With turms diminish'd by Messiah's hand,
To climb the crystal battlements of heav'n;
So fell he, vaunting!—The Hispanian crew
Wond'ring retire, and eye with envious look
The walls impregnable, where Glory sits,
Thron'd with her Britons! Like a dreadful row
Of gods embattled on Olympus' top,
The warriors scowl derision. Heathfield chief,
The Mars of Albion, stirs the latent spark
Of honour to a blaze, invigorates
Each manly bosom; and the fainting cheers!
So Britons fight, when Liberty calls out
The martial youths, and Justice sounds the trump
Of dreadful onset. Spain's dismounted fleet,
Spain's gasping soldiery, and the chiefs of Spain,
Can testify with tears the Muse's truth.
| The Harp of Erin | |