The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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APPEAL OF THE SPANISH REFUGEES. |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
273
APPEAL OF THE SPANISH REFUGEES.
The brave band of Mina's no more!
Riego is laid in the grave!
Iberia's freedom is o'er,—
'Tis now but the land of the slave!
Riego is laid in the grave!
Iberia's freedom is o'er,—
'Tis now but the land of the slave!
The grapes need not hang on the vine,
The orange nor lemon appear;
Let riches remain in the mine,
For many a traitor is there!
The orange nor lemon appear;
Let riches remain in the mine,
For many a traitor is there!
Ye warriors of Albion! could we
But march in your columns to Spain,
The coward—the traitor would flee,
And liberty triumph again!
But march in your columns to Spain,
The coward—the traitor would flee,
And liberty triumph again!
But now from our country afar,
For the loss of our freedom we mourn;
Who once were the first in the war,
And scorned like the traitor to turn!
For the loss of our freedom we mourn;
Who once were the first in the war,
And scorned like the traitor to turn!
Freedom's banners we once bore on high,
And then were of warriors the pride;
But now are we forced to fly
From the home—from the arms of the bride.
And then were of warriors the pride;
But now are we forced to fly
From the home—from the arms of the bride.
274
Now humbly we make the appeal
To the sons of blest liberty's isle;
Our wants they in sympathy feel,
And anguish is changed to a smile!
To the sons of blest liberty's isle;
Our wants they in sympathy feel,
And anguish is changed to a smile!
Oh what are Iberia's fields,
Or what are the grapes on the vine,
To the joy which true liberty yields?
And, Britain, such blessings are thine!
Or what are the grapes on the vine,
To the joy which true liberty yields?
And, Britain, such blessings are thine!
Our struggle for freedom is o'er;
The learned—the wealthy—the brave,
Have fled from Iberia's shore,—
'Tis now but the land of the slave!
The learned—the wealthy—the brave,
Have fled from Iberia's shore,—
'Tis now but the land of the slave!
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |