 |
 |
|||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
|||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
1808.7
The Choice
Anon
The Morning Chronicle (July 14, 1808)
Strum
Accipe Horum Mavis.[1]
High, from his Imperial Throne,
Done at Bayonne,
The wonder-working NAPPY,
Anxious, forsooth, to make his Spaniards happy,
Even as his slaves at home, and just as free,
Let loose a king-demolishing Decree.
Spaniards! 'tis ruled by me and fate,
That I alone can save your state;
CHARLES and your Monarch late
Confess sincerely, without feigning,
They've ta'en a great dislike to reigning.[2]
Then let one united voice
Now proclaim the nation's
choice;
Then make your choice,—the terms we give
Hear, my beloved, hear—
These fetters on your hands receive,
Or—in your hearts
the spear.
"Is then the contest o'er," they cried,
And lie we at your feet;
And dare you vauntingly decide
The fortunes such a cause
shall meet.
Can we forget our old renown,
The good old times of
victory,
And yield an independent Crown,
Our ancient Laws and Liberty!
Shall thus thy fell destroying hand
Pass unresisted o'er our native land,
High-blooded Spain and all her Thrones, thy prey
Fall prostrate and adore thy mushroom sway!
No! we'll revive our old renown,
The good old times of
victory,
Preserve an independent Crown,
Our ancient Laws and Liberty.
And when thy slaves of France
On freedom's fiery sons advance,
Then will we shew
This vapouring foe,
That in the cause of Spain
Spaniards are more than men;
Nerves of steel and souls of flame,
Burning to vindicate her ancient fame,
Or sleep in honourable
graves,
And leave her sons the riches of a name
Dearer than all her Indies boast;
More glorious than a countless host
Of titled Tyrants and
of ribbon'd Slaves.
Then, Despot! hear our nation's voice,
And let high-blooded Spain rejoice—
Her Sons will make a SPANIARD'S CHOICE,
Live
free or perish gloriously.
And when, proud day for Spain, that day
Shall come, when thro' thy proud array
Our swords shall mow a freeman's way,
Vanquishing
victoriously,
Then, as they lie in death's cold grasp,
We'll cry—"OUR CHOICE
IS MADE;"
Our hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp—
Their hearts shall
feel the blade.