Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/Spain
SPAIN.
Land of the forest, land of the mountain!
Land of the river, the hill, and the fountain!
Where the cork, and the citron, and olive trees bloom—
Land where the vine wreathes its leaves into bowers,
Where orange and lemon shed gold with their flowers,
As the summer gale woos them to yield their perfume.
Land, where of old, the cross and the crescent,
With hatred unquenched, and with fury incessant,
Their bright banners advanced o'er the red battle plain;
Where Araby poured forth its hordes like a flood,
Where the bright mountain-torrents ran crimson with blood,
And the proud Moslem reigned o'er the Christian domain.
Land, where the conquering Saracen made
Tower and palace arise from the glade,
Giving records sublime of the day of his power—
Land, where the temple and minaret smiled
Mid gardens with purple and ruby buds piled,
The haunt of dark beauties in youth's freshest hour.
Land, where the Moor proudly rode o'er the plain
With pomp and with cymbal and drum in his train,
To the tilt, where the knighthood of Christendom flung
Their pennons on high, and each chieftain's advance
Was marked by the shock of the broad-sword and lance,
While the lists, far and wide, with their martial deeds rung.
Land, where love's influence strongly displayed,
The youth of Castile and the dark Arab maid
Were oft linked in soft bands only broken by death—
Land, where the Moor in captivity sweet
Sighed his fond vows at some fair Spaniard's feet,
As she bent o'er his forehead her rose-scented breath.
Land, where the shallop spread forth its broad sail,
And recklessly gave its career to the gale,
Secure of success—at the leader's command,
Who, o'er the deep waters, beyond the wide skies,
Saw clustering islands and continents rise,
And the bold vessel steered with an unerring hand.
Land, where the earth's richest mines have unrolled
Their coveted treasures of silver and gold,
And half the new world as its vassals bowed down;
Land, where the pure priceless jewels that shone
On Peru's dazzling sceptre and Mexico's throne,
Were wrested to gleam on thy proud monarch's crown.
Land of the bull-fight, where hundreds engage
The brute, in his fiercest and deadliest rage,
Till pierced by their weapons he sinks to the ground;
Where beauty's eye dwells on the perilous deed,
And woman can gaze as the combatants bleed,
And her sweet voice be heard as the plaudits resound.
Land of the convert, the shrine, and the cell,
Where the deep choral hymn, and the soft vesper bell
On the light breezes borne gently steal o'er the ear—
Where the soul's pensive dream of some votary pale,
Some fond heart that pines 'neath the nun's flowing veil,
Is chased by the song of the gay Muleteer.
Land, where the church and the altar profaned
By dark superstitions and priestcraft are stained
By heretic blood to the ruthless flames given;
Land of the dungeon, the rack, and the chain,
Where man has appealed to his fellow in vain,
And the shriek of the martyrs ascended to heaven.
Land of the waltz and the gay masquerade,
The cloaked cavalier and the wild serenade,
Where fond lovers sigh o'er their tender guitars—
Land, where the fingers that held in their clasp
The maiden's white hand the red dagger would grasp,
And assassins steal forth 'neath the light of the stars.
Land, where the bandit infests each wild scene,
And the wolf bays the moon from the mountain ravine;
Where the goatherds have loftier souls than their lords;
Where peasants by glory's bright chronicles fired,
By their country's renown and its thraldrom inspired,
Its freedom have won at the point of their swords!