“Who can feel, and dare to say: ‘I believe in Him not?’ the All-encompasser, the All-sustainer!” IBERIA WON. Canto II. I. How terrible the march of blood-stained War! Though rank on rank his fiery breath lay low, Still patriots crowd, and many a needless scar And daring profitless derides the foe. Oh, human passion! Is’t but human wo Thou deign’st for food, for drink the crimson tide? Incarnadined Ambition! Here bestow A glance upon thy fruits, and learn to chide Thy self-idolatry, thy more than fiendish pride! II. Dauntless defenders! On Numantia’s wall, Or ’mid self-fired Sagunthus’ leaguered towers, Defying Hannibal whose eyes appal The flames of sacrifice; or ’gainst the powers Of Tarik fierce arrayed in darker hours-- From rough Asturian mountains hurling down Huge rocks whose maw the Moorish host devours, While great Pelayo’s form with deadly frown Up Covadonga’s vale comes trampling fell Mahoun! III. Or ’mid the echoing heights that girdle round Fair Roncesvalles taming haughty France, When Roland’s horn with its tremendous sound No response woke from aidful troop’s advance, And Paladin and Peer Bernardo’s lance Beneath Pyrene slaughtered; or more late At mightiest Zaragoza, where askance Flew Gaul’s derided death-bolts winged by hate,-- Unyielding still as here by San Sebastian’s gate. IV. Not many moons before, Gaul’s soldiery Through fair Cantabria’s coast licentious strayed, Brought rapine to the homesteads of the free, And deathless grief to many a beauteous maid; And wo unutterable cast its shade Along Biscaya’s lovely sunlit shore. Weak natures drooped their foreheads, sore afraid, But Blanca proudly lifted hers the more, And death to him whose hand might ruffian-dare she swore! V. Not long the chance removed, not long the arm Of withering conquest left the test untried; To sabred villains an unrifled charm Were like a stigma to inhuman pride. A gentle sister clung to Blanca’s side One sweet May eve when fills the clustering vine; And ’neath the trellised porch embowering wide, As forth their footsteps strayed from Home’s sweet shrine, Two bearded French hussars forbade them pass its line. VI.