Classic Poem

A LAS , alas! for the fair land of Spain,
That noble and haughty nation, whose domain,
Stretched from the rising to the setting sun,
Are not her judgments even now begun?
Is she not marked and sealed, stamped with the stain
Of unrelenting fiery persecution?
And this the final hour of retribution
Fallen upon her? her that we beheld
Roused into wrath unquenchable, unquelled,
Disarmed and circumvented and betrayed
With an unanimous outbreak undismayed,
Daring him single-handed to the fight,
The fiend whose recreation and delight
Was massacre in masses; at whose word
The multitudinous European herd,
A meaner Race,
Politic and refined, sordid and base,
Enlightened, scientific, and polite,
Courts, cabinets, and camps crouched in affright,
Nor was their cumbrous and unwieldy strength
Roused by the fierce example, till at length
They saw the new Sennacherib down cast,
Smitten and withered in the wintry blast
With all his legions: then the cry went forth
Summoning to the field the people north,
Swarming in arms, and the quick life and soul
That had excited Spain inspired the whole.
Then warfare in another form was seen,
The strenuous effort — the people's strife,
And the tremendous tactical machine,
Moved on its mighty wheels instinct with life.