FEELINGS OF A NOBLE BISCAYAN AT ONE OF THOSE FUNERALS, 1810

Yet, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes

With firmer soul, yet labour to regain

Our ancient freedom; else‘ twere worse than vain

To gather round the bier these festal shows.

A garland fashioned of the pure white rose

Becomes not one whose father is a slave:

Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave!

These venerable mountains now enclose

A people sunk in apathy and fear.

If this endure, farewell, for us, all good!

The awful light of heavenly innocence

Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier;

And guilt and shame, from which is no defence,

Descend on all that issues from our blood.