Scene—the Church of St Jerome, Granada.

A Traveller—A Spaniard.
Whose grave is this ?— a stranger-eye, like mine,1
Can hardly trace the legend’s time-worn line ;2
The slab is simple—yet, I know not why,3
It seems as if no common dust should lie4
Beneath. This reverend building’s central nave5
Might suit a king’s, a saint’s, a hero’s grave :—6
Which of the three lies here ?7
The last :— who died8
As he had lived, his country’s boast and pride9
Statesman and warrior—who, with patient toil,10
Scant and exhausted legions taught to foil11
Skill, valour, numbers ; one who never sought12
A selfish glory on the fields he fought ;13
Who spoke, felt, breathed but for his country’s weal,14
Her power to stablish, and her wounds to heal15
The dread of France, when France was most the dread16
Of all.17
How’s this ?— Can Wellington be dead18
And buried here ?— and yet my note-book calls19
The church we see St Jerome’s, not St Paul’s.20
Sir, with your leave, all this may well be so,21
For Cordova’s Great Captain sleeps below :22
Here—in three words to make the matter plain23
Gonsalvo lies—the Wellington of Spain !24