Calpe, or Gibraltar :: :: University of Virginia Library

Calpe, or Gibraltar

A Poem. By the Author of The Art of Dress [i.e. J. D. Breval]

Breval, John (1680?-1738)

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CALPE,

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CALPE,

OR GIBRALTAR.

On fair Hesperia's utmost Southern Shore,
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;

Sure Death to Sailors, if not shun'd with Care,
When Tempests rage, or Foggs obscure the Air.

Here in past Ages Suns were thought to set,

There is an old Tradition, that Spain and Africk were disjoin'd either by the Deluge, or some great Earthquake.

And Spain's and Lybia's two great Empires met,
Till some convulsive Shock asunder tore
The parting Plains, and Mountains, joyn'd before.

Descry'd from far, this hoary Pile of Stone
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.

Astonish'd Mortals hence with Pain survey
Neptune's vast Realm, and boundless watry Sway;
Of Lybian Mountains, see the distant Row,
And fruitful Vales, or burning Wastes below.

Doubtful it seems, if Nature did produce
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.

The Mouth of the Cave is half way up the Rock; there is an old Moorish Wall just before it.

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.

By the dim Torch, our Eyes with Pain reveal
A Thousand antick Forms these Grotts conceal;

Promiscuous Images, which seem to stand
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.

Here Columns rang'd in beauteous Rows are seen,
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.

In ancient Times, bald Hermits sojourn'd there,
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.

See note 3.

Here, if we credit Fame, are hid the Stores
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.

Oft Times in search of this uncertain Gold,
Advent'rous Misers down th' Abyss have roll'd,

Curious Persons who have brought up from hence petrify'd. Sculls, and other Parts of Humane Bodies, believe them to belong rather to some of the Moors, who are said to have sculk'd here, when the Spaniards recover'd the Place.

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.

Amazing Womb of Earth! whose frozen Bed
Is cover'd o'er with undissolving Dead!
Where Nature keeps the Carcass from Decay,
Eludes the Worm, and petrifies the Clay.

Not far from hence an aged Castle stands,
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.

Nor yet the splendid Mosques are all decay'd,
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.

Here Pillars shine from Parian Quarries brought,
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.

Below this Pile lay stretch'd along the Strand
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.

Now if from Calpe, down we cast our Eyes,
Where low in Dust the sumptuous Rubbish lies,
The splendid Ruins we survey with Pain,
And o'er the Carcass of a Town complain.

This subterraneous Bath is near Europa-Point; the Roof, which is all arch'd, is supported by four Rows of square Pilasters, and where the Plaister is not rubb'd off, it is very beautiful, and of several Colours.

Far to the Southward near the sounding Shore,
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;

Here, from the Rock convey'd, a Crystal Spring,
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.

In the deep Womb of Earth extending far,
(Secure from Tempests, and the Rage of War,)
The stately Vaults and Pilasters we trace,
And one Eternal Winter chills the Place.

Descend, advent'rous Muse, and now survey
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.

Oppos'd to Calpe's Rock, on distant Fields,
(Where the rich Soil a fruitful Harvest yields)
Rais'd by Phœnician Hands, Carteia stood,
(Now levell'd quite) and overlookt the Flood.

Not far from thence, if ancient Fame say true,
Jove's God-like Son the

Geryon was said to have three Heads.

Monster-King o'erthrew,
Rais'd his

That Hercules did erect two Pillars somewhere upon this Coast, as his Ne plus ultra, is the Opinion of Pliny, and other old Writers; tho' Calpe and Abila were figuratively call'd so. The Spanish Arms to this Day have for Supporters, two Tuscan Columns, with this Motto, Plus Ultra.

proud Pillars on the conquer'd Shore,
And rul'd the Nations which he free'd before.

Oft times his Warlike Image there is found,
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.

Here, the great Demi-god's long Race were crown'd,
And

The most famous among all the Successors of Hercules was Argantonius, from whom the People of Carteia were call'd Argantoniaci. Vid. Sil. Ital. L. 3.

Argantoniacos armat Carteia Nepotes.

Argantonius was of old renown'd;

This City might probably be the Metropolis of these Parts, and Residence of some of the old Spanish Kings, before the Romans conquer'd them; by the Greatness and Compass of its ancient Foundations, and Convenience of its Situation and Harbour.

E'er yet Rome's Infant-State unwieldy grew,
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.

But fix awhile, my Muse, thy wand'ring Eye,
Where Algezira's Walls in Ruins lie;
Curst Algezira! to the Moor betray'd
By the false Father of the ravish'd Maid.

Count Julian was Governour of this Coast, v. Mariana.

Here first the Traytor Goth receiv'd that Host
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.

King oppos'd in vain
Their hostile Numbers on the fatal Plain;
A Victim to the wrong'd Iberian Dame
He fell; and with him fell the Gothick Name.

Oh! had some Prince like Eugene, great in Arms,
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.

As clust'ring Locusts, (which some Eastern Breeze
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.

The Kings of Oviedo, (which small Kingdom was rais'd out of the Ruins of the Spanish Monarchy by Pelagius, Brother to Roderick) were the first who made War upon the Moors.

Long undisturb'd for Ages had they reign'd,
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.

Castile, and Arragon, and fam'd Navarr,
Now sent their Heroes to support the War;
Romantick Tales of Chivalry begun,
And Leaders cas'd in Mail immortal Laurels won.

How oft the mingling Hosts their Prowess try'd,
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.

Muse, pass in Silence by the Plumed Knights,
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.

But lo! the Saracens at length o'erthrown,
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;

And brav'd a while the conqu'ring Arms of Spain,
Between the Walls of Rock, and the defending Main.

'Twas fruitless all! nor Castles vaulted o'er,
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.

And now of Calpe's long lost Fort possest,
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.

Ferdinand, thou Rock be mine,
(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.

Fate heard, and laught; for e'er two Ages roll'd,
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.

In vain from Ramparts brazen Engines roar,
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.

So, when Achilles, from his Grecian Keel
Descending foremost, blaz'd in burnisht Steel,

The trembling Trojans shun'd his Pelian Spear,
And fled, tho' Priam's Godlike Son was near.

But lo! the yielded Fortress to regain,
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,

At the Treaty of Utrecht, till which the Blockade continu'd.

And Walls he could not take, with Grief resigns.

O Thou, for whom (whilst Worlds in Chaos lay)
Auspicious Fates decreed the British Sway;
Whose Royal Veins a Purple Current hold,
Transmitted down from

Woden, from whom the House of Brunswick, and other Princes of Saxony are said to be descended, was reputed one of the Heathen Gods of those Northern Nations.

Saxon Gods of old;
Let proud Hesperia's Lords with Envy see,
Their Kingdom's Bulwark still possess'd by Thee;

And farther yet, beyond the burning Zone,
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.

FINIS