« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Thick the darts, the arrows fly;
• Cease the strife! alas, 'tis vain!
• Mexico, 'tis thine to know
• Cortes, in his retreat, from Mexico, after the death of Motezoma, was followed and surrounded by the whole collective force of the empire, in the plains of Otumba. After repelling the attacks of his enemies on every side, with indefatigable valour, he found himself overpowered by numbers; wben, making one desperate effort, with a few select friends, be seized the imperial standard, killed the general, and routed
+ De Solis relates, that the Mexicans sacrificed to their idols a number of Spaniards whom they bad taken prisoners, and whose cries and groans were distinctly heard in the Spanish camp, exciting sentiments of borror and revenge in their sur. viving companions.
Wake the sacred trumpet's breath,
• Cease the strife! 'tis fruitless all,
What are those that round thy shore
• The above author observes, that the sacred trumpet of the Mexicans was so called because it was not permitted to any but the priests to sound it; and that only when they de. nounced war, and animated the people on the part of their gods.
+ When the Spaniards had forced their way to the centre of Mexico, Guatimozin, the reigoing emperor; endeavoured to escape in his canoes across the Lake; but was parsued and taken prisoner by Garcia de Holguin, captain of one of the Spanish brigantines.
Otomèca shares thy spoils,
• Cease your boast, О stranger band,
Ceased the voice with dreadful sounds,
Their helmets glittering o'er the vale, And wide their ensigns fluttering in the gale.
* The Otomies were a fierce, savage nation, never thoroughly subdued by the Mexicans. Tlascala was a powerful neighbour. ing repablic, the rival of Mexico.
+ Allading to the dissensions which ensued among the Spaniards after the conquest of America.
(STRAIN OF MUSIC.) THERE breathes the language known and felt
Far as the pure air spreads its living zone; Wherever Rage can rouse or Pity melt,
That language of the soul is felt and known. From those meridian plains
Where oft, of old, on some high tower, The soft Peruvian pour'd his midnight strains, And call'd his distant love with such sweet
power That when she heard the well known lay, Not worlds could keep her from his arms away;
To those bleak realms of polar night,
As blithe as if the blessed light
Oh Music! thy celestial claim
Is still resistless, still the same; And faithful as the mighty sea
To the pole star that o'er its realm presides,
The spell-bound tides
• Recited by the author, at the Kilkenny Theatre, in 1810. The performers were gentlemen of the neighbouring country; and the profits were given to the charitable institutions of Kilkenny.
She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn, While, by her side, in Music's charm dissolving, Some patriot youth the glorious past revolving,
Dreams of bright days that never can return; When Athens nursed her olive bough
With hands by tyrant power unchain'd, And braided for the Muse's brow
A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd; When heroes trod each classic field,
Where coward feet now faintly falter, And every arm was Freedom's shield, And every heart was Freedom's altar.
(GREEK AIR INTERRUPTED BY A TRUMPET.) Hark! 'tis the sound that charms
The war-steed's wakening ears— Oh! many a mother folds her arms [hears;
Round her boy-soldier when that sound she
And, though her fond heart sinks with fears,
See from his native hills afar
For slave or despot, wrongs or rights,
Yet lavish of his lifeblood still
As if 'twere like his mountain rill, And gush'd for ever!
(RANZ DES VACHES.) Oh Music! here, even here
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power. There is an air, which oft among the rocks