368 WAR. 



" They fly !- they fly the Carlists fly !" 



Let the dreadful havock cease ! 

 Bid the beamless sun descend 

 Bid eve's lengthening shadows bend 



In darkness o'er the vale of peace. 

 But ah ! that peace ! So sad its reign 

 So drear its silence on the plain 

 That not the war-cry's madd'ning bray 

 Inspires such horror and dismay ! 



Bid Zumalcarraghy's spirit rest 



Pour the " death song " o'er his grave ! 



If he fought for freedom blest ; 



If ambition fir'd his breast 



He fought he fell, ignobly brave ! 



O'er his grass -bound covert low, 



Time's o'er whelming stream shall flow ; 



Thy warriors' sons will trembling gaze, 



When his blood-smear'd arms they raise.* 



Bard of Spania ! change the strain ! 



The widow's orphans* sorrows tell : 

 Mark the matron's bursting sigh 

 And the virgin's wilder eye 



Brooding o'er the last farewell ! 

 Hush'd be now their weary woes 

 Tranquil be their dark repose 

 Let the daisy's artless bloom 

 Deck each mourner's lowly tor 



Ye who fire the train of war, 



Explosive of a nation's joy 

 Can ye for some idle name 

 For int'rest or inglorious fame 



Bid the " stateless " sword destroy ? 

 The hapless orphan's " curse " shall swell 

 The clangour of your funeral knell ! 

 Posterity shall join the stave 

 Of execration o'er your grave \ 



Bard of Albion, hush thy lyre ! 



Hush the sad un soothing strain! 

 And never may such notes of woe, 

 Dread, and indignation flow 



From its trembling chords again. 

 Oblivion ! draw thy mystic gloom 

 O'er the soldier's silent tomb ; 

 Hope ! limner sweet of future bliss, 

 Portray the fairy scenes of peace ! 



C. C. C. 



