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Literary Gazette, 26th April, 1828, Page 267
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE DYING SPANIARD’S CHARGE
From the Mountains overlooking Granada.
My gasping breath, I feel thee fail:
My gallant boy, draw near—
Brush off the dew that dims thy mail;
For shame, it is a tear!
Here, take my sword; as yet the brand
Has never miss'd its blow:
God prosper it in thy young hand
Against the Moslem foe!
Lift up my head—my parting gaze
On yonder vale would be;
Facing the red sun's fading rays,
I speak my last to thee.
Look thou upon the plain below,
With field and vineyard spread;
And glory, like the morning's glow,
Around yon city's head.
A thousand shrubs in blossom wreathe
Round fountains bright and clear;—
I almost fancy I can breathe
Their gushing fragrance here.
Then mark the rock on which we lie,
The eagle's rough domain;
Its barren earth, its sullen sky,—
Then look below again.
That valley is thy heritage!
Could Eden be more fair?—
Although an exile in my age,
I spent my boyhood there.
Ours was the shame, and ours the loss;
Carnage and conquest spread:
The Crescent triumphed o'er the Cross,—
Well may thy cheek grow red.