  1809. Despair of Spain!—and dost thou dare To talk, cold plodder, of despair? Dost thou presume to scan The proud revenge, the deathless zeal, The throes that injured nations feel, Beneath the oppressor’s ban; The pride, the spirit, and the power, That, growing with the arduous hour, Ennoble patriot man? O thou of little heart and hope, Purblind diviner, can thy scope Nothing but danger see?— Unfrighted tho’ with carnage strew’d, Ev’n in her ruins unsubdued, Great in adversity, Do Saragossa and her train— Heroes and Saints—survive in vain, Shall they be told ‘Despair of Spain,’ And told, alas! by thee? Oh, no; tho’ France’s murderous hand Should sweep the desolated land, Revenge will still remain:— Smother’d, but not extinguish’d quite, And fire the lengthening train.— Stung by that pang which never dies, Enthusiast millions shall arise, And Europe echo to their cries, Never Despair of Spain! |
|
