----“His sword the brave man draws, And asks no omen but his country’s cause.”--Pope. [New sources of inspiration were now opening to her view. Birthday addresses, songs by the seashore, and invocations to fairies, were henceforth to be diversified with warlike themes; and trumpets and banners now floated through the dreams in which birds and flowers had once reigned paramount. Her two elder brothers had entered the army at an early age, and were both serving in the 23d Royal Welsh Fusiliers. One of them was now engaged in the Spanish campaign under Sir John Moore; and a vivid imagination and enthusiastic affections being alike enlisted in the cause, her young mind was filled with glorious visions of British valour and Spanish patriotism. In her ardent view, the days of chivalry seemed to be restored, and the very names which were of daily occurrence in the despatches, were involuntarily associated with the deeds of Roland and his Paladins, or of her own especial hero, “The Cid Ruy Diaz,” the Campeador. Under the inspiration of these feelings, she composed a poem entitled “England and Spain,” which was published and afterwards translated into Spanish. This cannot but be considered as a very remarkable production for a girl of fourteen; lofty sentiments, correctness of language, and historical knowledge, being all strikingly displayed in it.--_Memoir_, p. 10, 11.] Too long have Tyranny and Power combined To sway, with iron sceptre, o’er mankind; Long has Oppression worn th’ imperial robe, And Rapine’s sword has wasted half the globe! O’er Europe’s cultured realms, and climes afar, Triumphant Gaul has pour’d the tide of war: To her fair Austria veil’d the standard bright; Ausonia’s lovely plains have own’d her might; While Prussia’s eagle, never taught to yield, Forsook her towering height on Jena’s field! O gallant Frederic! could thy parted shade Have seen thy country vanquish’d and betray’d, How had thy soul indignant mourn’d her shame, Her sullied trophies, and her tarnish’d fame! When Valour wept lamented Brunswick’s doom, And nursed with tears the laurels on his tomb; When Prussia, drooping o’er her hero’s grave, Invoked his spirit to descend and save; Then set her glories--then expired her sun, And fraud achieved e’en more than conquest won!