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Beginning JSON 1st Edition Ben Smith Digital Instant
Download
Author(s): Ben Smith
ISBN(s): 9781484202036, 1484202031
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 7.13 MB
Year: 2015
Language: english
 Beginning JSON

Ben Smith
Beginning JSON
Copyright © 2015 by Ben Smith
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the
material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation,
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hereafter developed. Exempted from this legal reservation are brief excerpts in connection with reviews or
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system, for exclusive use by the purchaser of the work. Duplication of this publication or parts thereof is permitted
only under the provisions of the Copyright Law of the Publisher’s location, in its current version, and permission
for use must always be obtained from Springer. Permissions for use may be obtained through RightsLink at the
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ISBN-13 (pbk): 978-1-4842-0203-6
ISBN-13 (electronic): 978-1-4842-0202-9
Trademarked names, logos, and images may appear in this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every
occurrence of a trademarked name, logo, or image, we use the names, logos, and images only in an editorial
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neither the author nor the editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for any errors or omissions
that may be made. The publisher makes no warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained
herein.
Managing Director: Welmoed Spahr
Lead Editor: Ben Renow-Clarke
Technical Reviewer: Victor Sumner
Editorial Board: Steve Anglin, Mark Beckner, Ewan Buckingham, Gary Cornell, Louise Corrigan, Jim
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To my wife, for her patience with the late evenings and stay-at-home
weekends, as well as for her constant encouragement
Contents at a Glance
About the Author
About the Technical Reviewer
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Chapter 1: JavaScript Basics
Chapter 2: Special Objects
Chapter 3: String Manipulation
Chapter 4: Introducing JSON
Chapter 5: Creating JSON
Chapter 6: Parsing JSON
Chapter 7: Persisting JSON: I
Chapter 8: Data Interchange
Chapter 9: X-Origin Resources
Chapter 10: Serving JSON
Chapter 11: Posting JSON
Chapter 12: Persisting JSON: II
Chapter 13: Working with Templates
Chapter 14: Putting It All Together
Index
Contents
About the Author
About the Technical Reviewer
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Chapter 1: JavaScript Basics
JavaScript History
JavaScript Essentials
Values
Primitive Types

Expressions
Operators

Statements
Line Terminators
Control Statements
Block Statements
Truthy/Falsy
Loop Statements

Declarations
Variables

Functions
Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 2: Special Objects

Objects
Objects Are Collections
Built-in Objects
Object
Creating Objects
Access Notation
 Array
Object Literals
Designing Literals
The Object Literal
The Array Literal

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 3: String Manipulation

String Concatenation
The String object
Creating String objects
The Interface of the String object
length
toString
charAt
indexOf
lastIndexOf
match
replace
slice
substr
split
toUpperCase
toLowerCase

The Implicit String object

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 4: Introducing JSON

History
JSON Grammar
Composite Structures
JSON Values

JSON Tokens
 Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 5: Creating JSON

The Serialization Process—Demystified
The JSON Object
stringify

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 6: Parsing JSON

JSON.parse
eval
reviver

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 7: Persisting JSON: I

HTTP Cookie
Syntax

document.cookie
Web Storage
Web Storage Interface

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 8: Data Interchange

Hypertext Transfer Protocol
HTTP-Request
HTTP Response

Ajax
XMLHttpRequest Interface
Global Aspects
The Request Aspect
The Response Aspect
Obtaining the Response
 Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 9: X-Origin Resources

Same-Origin Policy
Circumventing Same-Origin Policy
CORS
The Proxy
JSONP

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 10: Serving JSON

Node.JS
Windows Installation
Mac Installation

Building an HTTP Server

Node HTTP Web Server
Node API
Modules

The HTTP Module

http.createServer
http.IncomingMessage
http.ServerResponse
http.Server

CORS-Enabled Server
JSONP Server
The Proxy Server
http.request
http.Stream
http.ClientRequest

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 11: Posting JSON

Request Entity Body
 HTML Form POST
Processing a JSON POST

Preflight Request
OPTIONS Request Method
What Determines Preflight

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 12: Persisting JSON: II

CouchDB
Windows Installation
Mac Installation

Working with CouchDB

Futon
Creating Views
Creating Our First Custom View

Connecting Node and CouchDB

Cradle for Node
Working with Databases
Cradle Database API
Creating Documents via Cradle
Creating Design Documents via Cradle

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 13: Working with Templates

Templating Engine
Handlebars
Installation

Working with Handlebars

A Basic Expression
The Role of <script>
Compiling a Template
Giving Context to Our Template
Multiple Placeholders
Complex JSON Structures
Block Expressions
 Block Expressions and Arrays

Applying Logic to Logic-less Templates

Helpers

Summary
Key Points from This Chapter

Chapter 14: Putting It All Together

Twitter
Twitter Apps
Keys and Access Tokens
Public Stream
Your User Access Token
#Trending

Node.js
Twitter Module
Incorporating the Twitter Module
Streaming API (Stable)
Statuses/Filter

CouchDB
Incorporating the Cradle Module
Creating a View
Enabling CORS

Ajax
Requesting Ranges

Handlebars
Summary
Index
About the Author

Ben Smith is an accomplished technical experience director with many years of

experience leading web development for well-known digital agencies. His list of
contributions to the community has earned him a place as an Adobe Community
Professional. It should be apparent from his background as an author, speaker, and a judge
for the Favourite Website Awards (FWA) that he is passionate about the Web. He
attributes his growth to experimentation and experience.
About the Technical Reviewer

Victor Sumner is a senior software engineer at D2L Corporation, where he helps to build
and maintain an integrated learning platform. As a self-taught developer, he is always
interested in emerging technologies and enjoys working on and solving problems that are
outside his comfort zone.
When not at the office, Victor has a number of hobbies, including photography,
horseback riding, and gaming. He lives in Ontario, Canada, with his wife, Alicia, and their
two children.
Acknowledgments
This book could not have been written without a loving and patient wife, an understanding
circle of friends, and a great team of editors and reviewers. My sincerest thanks to them
all.
Introduction
Programming is not at all a linear path. Often, you find yourself facing a fork in the road.
In choosing one path, you are likely to find, after a period of time, that you go back and
travel down the other. While it is assumed that you are familiar with HTML, CSS, and
JavaScript, this book makes no further assumptions regarding your experience. Therefore,
it attempts to provide a thorough explanation for everything you will read in it.
While JSON is the essence of this book, it is not the sole topic discussed. While that
may sound counterproductive, it is a much-needed requirement. JSON can be devised in
isolation, but it would serve little purpose. What makes JSON so impactful is that it
interacts with the many tools of the developer. For this reason, this book covers a wide
range of implementations—from libraries to software.
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 H I S TO R I C A L A N D I L L U S T R AT I V E N OT E S
TO C A N TO V I .
The incidents of the first part of this Canto are derived in common from Napier,
Jones, and Gleig. The tearing down of the Tricolor, which I have assigned to Nial,
must be historically attributed to the real performer of this bold exploit.

“The French colours on the cavalier were torn away by Lieutenant Gethin of the
eleventh regiment.”—Napier, Hist. book xxii. chap. 2.
The magnificent achievement of maintaining for a considerable period a fire
from our whole artillery, against the curtain wall, over the heads of the storming
party, is thus coldly, but (on the whole) accurately, described by General Jones:
—“From the superior height of the curtain, the artillery in the batteries on the right
of the Urumea, were able to keep up a fire on that part during the assault, without
injury to the troops at the foot of the breach, and being extremely well served, it
occasioned a severe loss to the enemy, and probably caused the explosion which
led to the final success of the assault.” The General’s coldness is owing to the
departure from the rules of art, and to the contempt of the maxims of “Marshal
Vauban, who had served and directed at fifty sieges,” as he triumphantly describes
him. Vauban’s maxim was certainly not British: “At a siege never attempt any thing
by open force, which can be obtained by labour and art.” Gen. Jones is incorrect in
stating that the fire on the curtain was “without injury to the troops.” Napier says:
“A sergeant of the ninth regiment was killed by the batteries close to his
commanding officer, and it is probable that other casualties also had place.” Hist.
book xxii. chap. 2.
The impassable chasm beyond the breach is thus described by Jones: “At the
back of the whole of the rest of the breach was a perpendicular wall, from fifteen
to twenty-five feet in depth.” (Journals of Sieges, Sup. Chap.) He thus describes
the advance of the Portuguese column: “Five hundred Portuguese, in two
detachments, forded the river Urumea near its mouth, in a very handsome style,
under a heavy fire of grape and musketry.” (Jones, Journals of Sieges, Sup. Chap.)
This does not quite do justice to the gallantry of the party. “When the soldiers
reached the middle of the stream,” says Napier, “a heavy gun struck on the head
of the column with a shower of grape; the havoc was fearful, but the survivors
closed and moved on. A second discharge from the same piece tore the ranks
from front to rear, still the regiment moved on.”—Hist. book xxii. c. 2.
The following account is from Gleig’s Subaltern:—

“Things had continued in this state for nearly a quarter of an hour, when Major
Snodgrass, at the head of the thirteenth Portuguese regiment, dashed across the
river by his own ford, and assaulted the lesser breach. This attack was made in
the most cool and determined manner, but here, too, the obstacles were almost
insurmountable; nor is it probable that the place would have been carried at all
but for a measure adopted by General Graham, such as has never perhaps been
adopted before. Perceiving that matters were almost desperate, he had recourse
to a desperate remedy, and ordered our own artillery to fire upon the breach.
Nothing could be more exact or beautiful than this practice. Though our men
stood only about two feet below the breach, scarcely a single ball from the guns of
our batteries struck amongst them, whilst all told with fearful exactness among
the enemy. The fire had been kept up only a few minutes, when all at once an
explosion took place such as drowned every other noise, and apparently
confounded, for an instant, the combatants on both sides. A shell from one of our
mortars had exploded near the train which communicated with a quantity of
gunpowder placed under the breach. This mine the French had intended to spring
as soon as our troops should have made good their footing or established
themselves on the summit, but the fortunate accident just mentioned anticipated
them. It exploded whilst 300 grenadiers, the élite of the garrison, stood over it;
and instead of sweeping the storming party into eternity, it only cleared a way for
their advance. It was a spectacle as appalling and grand as the imagination can
conceive, the sight of that explosion. The noise was more awful than any which I
have ever heard before or since, whilst a bright flash, instantly succeeded by a
smoke so dense as to obscure all vision, produced an effect upon those who
witnessed it such as no powers of language are adequate to describe. Such,
indeed, was the effect of the whole occurrence, that for perhaps half a minute
after not a shot was fired on either side. Both parties stood still to gaze upon the
havoc which had been produced! insomuch, that a whisper might have caught
your ear for a distance of several yards. The state of stupefaction into which they
were at first thrown did not, however, last long with the British troops. As the
smoke and dust of the ruins cleared away, they beheld before them a space empty
of defenders, and they instantly rushed forward to occupy it. Uttering an appalling
shout, the troops sprang over the dilapidated parapet, and the rampart was their
own. Now then began all those maddening scenes which are witnessed only in a
storm, of flight and slaughter, and parties rallying only to be broken and dispersed,
till finally, having cleared the works to the right and left, the soldiers poured down
into the town.”
It is nearly incredible, and certainly not very creditable, that General Jones in his
detailed account of the siege and storming of San Sebastian, says not one word of
the horrible excesses which our soldiers there committed. Some men’s notions of
history do not differ very widely from the concoction of a political pamphlet.
Napier’s history abounds with frank admission and reprobation of these horrors. I
find a distinct allusion to them almost at its very commencement: “No wild horde
of Tartars ever fell with more license upon their rich effeminate neighbours, than
did the English troops upon the Spanish towns taken by storm.”—Hist. War Penins.
i. 5.
The part which the Portuguese took in this assault was sufficiently creditable to
make quite unnecessary the boasting spirit which disfigures their national
literature. It abounds in the great work of their greatest poet. Thus, for instance:—

Que os muitos por ser poucos não temamos;

O que despois mil vezes amostramos.
Camóens, Lus. viii. 36.
“We don’t fear many because we are few, which we have shown a thousand
times!” And in the previous stanza he relates that “seventeen Lusitanians, being
attacked by 400 Castilians (desasete Lusitanos subidos de quatro centos
Castelhanos), not only defended themselves, but offended their adversaries!!”
Que não só se defendem, mas offendem!

This ridiculous boasting and inane swagger, which was a vice in the Portuguese
blood in the days of Camóens, exists unchanged to the present hour, and has been
disgustingly manifested in a piece called “Magriço” lately selected for the opening
of the National Theatre at Lisbon, in which Spaniards and Englishmen are alike
insulted. “We are not accustomed to count numbers!” was a sentiment vehemently
applauded in this piece. Let the Portuguese not deceive themselves by an
imagined resemblance to their forefathers; and if their historical recollections are
glorious, let them endeavour practically to revive them. They should remember
that it is little more than a century since their entire army ran away from the
Spaniards and French at Almanza, and left their English, Dutch, and German
auxiliaries in the lurch.

I. “Upon the Chofre stood the dauntless Graham,

And marked the slaughter with determined eye.”
Mas luego que los fija en el cercano
Altisimo torreon, bramando en ira
Jura rendir el enemigo muro
En general asalto y choque duro.
Campo-redondo, Las Armas de Aragon en Oriente.

“Full fifty cannon streaming death on high.”

——Le macchine ...
A cui non abbia la città riparo.
Tasso, Ger. Lib. iii. 74.

IV. “What were thy triumphs, Greece, on Elis’ plain?”

Sunt quibus Elææ concurrit palma quadrigæ.

Propert. l. iii. Eleg. 9.
ἐμὲ δ’ ἐπὶ ταχυτά-
των πόρευσον ἁρμάτων
ἐς Ἆλιν, κράτει δὲ πέλασον.
Pind. Olymp. i.
“Carry me on swiftest chariots to Elis, and bear me to Victory!”
 “Olympian dust Alpheus’ margin strewing.”
μηκέθ’ ἁλίου σκόπει
ἄλλο θαλπνότερον
ἐν ἁμέρᾳ φαεινὸν ἄστρον
μήδ’ Ὀλυμπίας ἀγῶνα
φέρτερον αὐδάσομεν:
Pind. Olymp. i.

“Deem no shining star greater than the Sun, nor contest more excellent than
the Olympian games.”

“Of statues for the Altis sculptors hewing.”

Διὸς ἄλκιμος
υἱὸς, σταθμᾶτο ζάθεον ἄλσος
πατρὶ μεγίστω· περὶ δὲ πάξας,
Ἄλτιν μὲν ὅγ’ ἐν καθαρῷ
διέκρινε.
Pind. Olymp. x.
“The stalwart son of Jove measured out a grove divine to the mightiest Father,
and hedged it round, and the Altis he set apart in that sacred place.” Pindar thus
attributes the foundation of the Olympic games to Hercules, who was more
popular than Jupiter himself amongst his Heraclidan audience; and a few lines
before he alludes to his conquest of Elis, on whose plain these games were
subsequently celebrated, “μυχοῖς ἅμμενον Ἄλιδος;” Hercules having led thither an
army from Tiryns, the first walled city upon record. The sacred grove to which
Pindar above refers contained the temple of Olympian Jove, and the statues
erected to the conquerors in the games. The τρισολυμπιονῖκαι, or those who had
been thrice victorious, had their εἰκόνες in marble thus set, and copied exactly
from their members, which were thus in some degree deified. (Plin. lib. 34, cap.
3.) And Aristotle, in his Ethics, lib. 7, c. 6, says that the Olympian conquerors were
called “ἀνθρώπους” κατ’ ἐξοχὴν, as if they alone were worthy of the name!
 X. “And sulphurous fires the bastioned bulwarks tear
Like rags asunder!”
—Καὶ στεφάνωμα πύργων
Πευκάενθ’ Ἥφαιστον ἑλεῖν.
Τοῖος ἀμφὶ νῶτ’ ἐτάθη
Πάταγος Ἄρεος.
Soph. Antig. 122.

“And pitchy Vulcan seized our loftiest towers; dire was the din of Mars that rose
from behind.”

“And rush the stormers in with lustiest British cheers.”

“In the Peninsula, the sudden deafening shout, rolling over a field of battle,
more full and terrible than that of any other nation, and followed by the strong
unwavering charge, often startled and appalled a French column, before whose
fierce and vehement assault any other troops would have given way.”—Napier,
Hist. War in the Penins. book xxiv. c. 6.

XIV. “Oh, Rank and Dignity! I saw two flies.”

“They wonder how any man should be so much taken with the glaring, doubtful
lustre of a jewel or stone, that can look up to a star, or to the sun itself; or how
any should value himself because his cloth is made of a finer thread; for, how fine
soever that thread may be, it was once no better than the fleece of a sheep, and
that sheep was a sheep still for all its wearing it. They wonder much to hear that
gold, which in itself is so useless a thing, should be every where so much
esteemed that even man, for whom it was made, and by whom it has its value,
should yet be thought of less value than it is; so that a man of lead, who has no
more sense than a log of wood, and is as bad as he is foolish, should have many
wise and good men serving him, only because he has a great heap of that metal;
and if it should so happen that by some accident, or trick of law, which does
sometimes produce as great changes as chance itself, all this wealth should pass
from the master to the meanest varlet of his whole family, he himself would very
soon become one of his servants, as if he were a thing that belonged to his
wealth, and so were bound to follow its fortune. But they do much more admire
and detest their folly who, when they see a rich man, though they neither owe
him anything, nor are in any sort obnoxious to him, yet merely because he is rich,
they give him little less than divine honours; even though they know him to be so
covetous and base-minded that, notwithstanding all his wealth, he will not part
with one farthing of it to them as long as he lives.”—Sir Thomas More, Utopia,
book ii. Bishop Burnet’s Translation.

XVII. “Thus to Achilles’ arms the maid restored.”

Untouched “quoad Agamemnona.” The epithet of Homer is ἀπροτίμαστος. Il.

xix.

XVIII. “Afonso, Avíz, Nun’ Alvares, &c.”

The exploits of all these worthies will be found recorded in my “Ocean Flower.”

XIX. “Not thy Fidalgos—withered boughs, I ween.”

Mina never would suffer an Hidalgo to join his band—himself a peasant by birth,
and thoroughly despising the “higher orders.” From this general censure of the
Fidalgo class, the Conde de Amarante, the Marquis de Saldanha, the present
Conde de Villareal and Duke of Terceira, who served with distinction in the
Peninsular War, are exceptions. The defence of the bridge of Amarante, from
which the first-named Conde received his title, was a most brilliant exploit.

XXI. “No, not more vain Antæus’ self to pierce.”

See Pindar’s first Nemeonic, and Lucan, lib. iv.

“Whose hissing heads struck off, still heads more grim, &c.”
Non Hydra secto corpore firmior
Vinci dolentem crevit in Herculem.
Horat. Carm. iv. 4.
 XXV. “Oh, sacred source of sympathetic tears!”

The “δακρυων πηγαι,” the “sacri fontes lachrymarum,” which even amongst
enlightened Heathens seem to have been more regarded than by many modern
Christians.

XXVI. “The Imperial Boar.”

Diocletian.

XXIX. “By that majestic Faith, &c.”

Such is the force of the Saint’s name, Σεβαστὸς.

XXXII. “Her heart transpierces, falls, and dies upon his corse.”

—Καλὸν μοὶ τοῦτο ποιούσῃ θανεῖν.

Φίλη μετ’ αὐτοῦ κείσομαι, φίλου μέτα.
Soph. Antig. 72.
“It will be my glory thus to die. Loving I will lie by the side of my beloved!”

XL. “Dissolved the bands of discipline, the mould

Of duty broke, restored barbarian life.”
Ναυτικὸν στράτευμ’, ἄναρχον, κᾴπὶ τοῖς κακοῖς θρασὺ,
Χρήσιμον δ’ ὅταν θέλωσιν.
Eurip. Iphig. in Aul. 914.
“An army come in ships, anarchical, and ferocious for evil deeds, but useful
when it pleases.” A very close description of our San Sebastian heroes—written
more than two thousand years since! I stood in September last upon the Chofre
hills, on the very spot whence Graham directed the fearful cannonade, and
subsequently beneath the branch where our gallant fellows entered, and in the
recollection of their bravery could readily forget the tales of horror which I heard
from Spaniards, who retain a more vivid memory of misdeeds, than of the most
magnificent services.
 I saw with little admiration the mediocre picture of San Sebastian over the high
altar in the cathedral, and when I subsequently beheld the glorious picture of the
same saint by Guido in the museum at Madrid, I sincerely regretted that the latter
is not substituted for the former—a measure which would be well worthy an
enlightened government.
IBERIA WON.
 Canto VII.
I.
Close by the wall the grave Salustian held
’Mongst noblest citizens his fair abode;
And while its dirge the cannon hourly knelled,
And red-limbed Slaughter through the city strode,
And Havoc on the thunder-tempest rode,
One only care Salustian’s bosom knew,
One sole solicitude his mind could load—
To shield his lovely daughters from the view
Of demons shaped like men who Ismail’s scenes renew!

II.
Fair as the Morn and blooming as the rose,
Graceful as lily waves its slender stem,
Sweet as the breeze that o’er the violet blows,
Pure as the light of Sheba’s diadem!
Soft was her eye, yet sparkled as a gem,
Large, black, and lustrous. Gentle, loved by all—
The poor devoted kist her garment’s hem;
The rich admired, nor Envy’s shafts could fall
On one so angel-good, of form majestical.

III.
 As shines the Moon so Isidora shone
’Mid circling maze of many a bright compeer;
Or like the Star that heralds in the dawn,
Dimming the lustre of each splendour near.
Her glance could like Heaven’s dewiest sunbeam cheer,
Her smile was music and her step a song,
Her voice as Ariel’s flute was soft and clear.
A glory streamed around her, giant-strong,
As robed in Beauty’s pride she queenly walked along.

I V.
A sister by her side as graceful grew
In opening Woman’s sweetness. Isabel
Seemed as a rosebud gathering ere it blew
All forms of Beauty that divinely fell
From full-blown flower that on the spray so well
Beside her bloomed. ’Neath Isidora’s pure
Example as a mother’s she doth dwell.
Her step was faëry light, her laugh would lure
The coldest heart, her eye more dark with glances Moor.

V.
And Isidora loved a noble youth,
Worthy of her—I ween that few be they;
And honour, valour, virtue, manhood, truth,
Combined in Carlos—noble every way.
No step more free than his—none sang the lay
Of Vascongada bold with richer voice.
His, his the sword that, flashing midst the fray,
Had Blanca saved, whose foster-sister’s choice
Gladdened her sire and made the general heart rejoice.

VI.
 Oh Love, oh wedded Love, of life the balm,
Deep-anchored safety, haven sure of bliss.
No passion-storms disturb thy blessed calm,
No perfect joy hath Earth to show but this!
Thine for true hearts the chaste yet rapturous kiss,
Thine deathless sympathy through Life’s brief span,
Through cloud and sunshine—thine, when serpents hiss,
The dove’s pure breast. Self mars e’en Friendship’s plan;
And thou the sole true friend and confident of Man!

VII.
Yet long in secret nourished was the flame,
Ere either had declared it—ere ’twas known,
Save by themselves, to aught that bore their name.
The rapturous joy more rapture gave alone.
From eye to eye had Love in glances flown,
In whispered cadence dew delicious shed.
A stolen pressure of the hand, a tone
Unheard save by one ear, a language dead
To all save lovers—strains like this their passion fed:—

Song of the Balcony.

1.
Upraise thy dark mantilla’s edge,
And shrink not like a fawn away;
But near the balconcillo’s ledge
Move for Sant’ Anna’s love, I pray;
And bend, oh, bend those glorious eyes
Upon thy slave once more, once more;
For streams no star from yon blue skies
I would as soon adore!

2.
Encantadora! All is hushed;
In deep repose our kinsmen sleep;
Tears from these streaming lids have gushed,
In rapture that your tryst you keep.
Ah! must I never throb more nigh
Than at our casements’ sundered height,
Nor steal this distant glimpse of joy
But in the depth of night!

3.
Pordiez! I would I were a bird,
To glide on air beside thy charms,
To press thy lip at every word,
To fold thee in my longing arms!
Oh, yes, by yon star-spangled, soft,
Unutterable depth of blue,
I swear, as I have murmured oft,
To live and die for you!

4.
Within thy balcon’s dusky sphere
Thou gleamest like an orient pearl;
At times I doubt what form is near,
An angel or my angel girl!
Put coyly forth thy beauteous head,
Lest stars grow dim, and Dian pale;
Nor let thy voice its music shed;
To wake they could not fail!

5.
 Upraise thy dark mantilla’s edge,
And shrink not like a fawn away;
But near the balconcillo’s ledge
Move for Sant’ Anna’s love, I pray.
And bend, oh bend, those glorious eyes
Upon thy slave once more, once more;
For streams no star from yon blue skies
I would as soon adore!

VIII.
Yet sighs one more for Isidora’s charms;
Love’s treasure seldom without Envy shines.
And even when Carlos clasps her in his arms
In visioned bliss, another secret pines.
Fate scowling terrible his bulwark mines,
And comes the blow from evilest-omened hand.
Nor Carlos nor his rival yet divines
Their mutual secret. Blindfold thus they stand,
Till Hate in anguished hour whirls high his flaming brand.

IX.
’Twas starry midnight lone, when Carlos soft
’Neath Isidora’s open lattice stole,
And gently touching his guitar, as oft,
In strains melodious poured his melting soul.
Even when his deepest cadenced transports roll,
An iron hand his shoulder seized—another
Held high the gleaming dagger, to its goal
Next instant plunged it. Blood the voice doth smother
Of Carlos—he looks up—and sees, oh God, a brother!

X.
 ’Twas Jealousy—the scourge of Southern breasts—
Made an unconscious Cain—for deep and true
Fraternal love their bosoms both invests,
And maniac-like the assassin instant grew,
And tore his hair—and raved—then gibbering flew,
Like Clytemnestra’s son by Furies driven.
Long Carlos crimson lay and dead to view;
With morning’s breath a glimpse of life was given,
And faint his cry was raised for bounteous aid to Heaven.

XI.
What cry too faint to reach the ear of love?
Through Isidora’s casement pierced his moan,
When Morn’s first beam Pyrene rose above,
And roused her faithful heart with plaintive tone.
Another cry—to the casement she hath flown.
Oh, sight of agony—her lover lies
Blood-boltered at her feet! With groan on groan
His breast Apollo-like doth heave and rise,
And ghastly pale his cheek, and glaring white his eyes.

XII.
With one wild shriek of agony she fell
Upon the floor the casement-ledge beside;
And swooned so deep, that but for Isabel
Close within earshot, aidless she had died.
But reached that voice, so piteously it cried,
Salustian’s inmost soul, and called him forth
With Aya, handmaids, servitors, who tried
Full many a remedy in vain:—“Wo worth
“The day that gave, my child, this frantic terror birth!”

XIII.
 She oped her eyes, and shuddered slightly—gave
A feeble cry—and uttered Carlos’ name;
Then toward the window glanced, as if to crave
Assistance—sad yet sweet her breathing came—
Then sobs and tears—then sparkling dewy flame,
Her eyes such passion showed as angels feel.
“Carlos—the window!” she doth now exclaim.
Both eye and tongue love’s mystery reveal—
And Carlos soon they find—through her, too, past the steel!

X I V.
Long Carlos fluttering lay ’twixt life and death,
But what could Isidora’s balm exclude,
Her dewy fingers’ pressure, violet breath,
Her tender care, and sweet solicitude?
And day by day his growing cure she viewed
Spring ’neath her hand like rarest, frailest flower,
Till the fresh hues of health again exude
Through every pore, and young love’s blooming dower
Glows o’er his rounded cheek, like rose for Beauty’s bower.

X V.
And where is he—the Fratricide? Within
A gloomy convent cloistered, gowned, and shorn,
He strives to curb his passion, shrive his sin—
Against all world-communion deeply sworn.
Yet Isidora’s image oft is borne
Through twilight of the cell before his eye,
Maddening his heart untamed, despairing, lorn;
And though the day of Carlos’ bridal’s nigh,
In hopeless passion’s thrall that monk will changeless die.

XVI.
 Now, had they not been brothers of the womb!—
I saw two emmets fight with dire intent,
As nought could slake their vengeance but the tomb—
As each the other’s head had joyous rent,
And gnawed like Ugolino. Why thus bent
On slaughter? For a grain of chaff the strife;
I thought of human blood inglorious spent
In private feud for straws with quarrel rife,
And deadly weapons aimed at God’s best gift of life!

XVII.
But, hark! the din of slaughter; hark! the scream
Of virgin innocence and matron shame.
Of Spain’s defenders see the bayonets gleam,
And lust and plunder the defender’s aim!
Yet haply share not all nor most the blame.
A band of ruffians, vilest scum of War,
By deeds inglorious, crimes without a name,
Sully the brightest rays of Victory’s star,
And send their crimes to blaze with Valour’s fame afar.

XVIII.
Frantic with fear for her—his only fear,
Rushed Carlos quick to Isidora’s side;
And when the plunderers villain-eyed drew near,
Barred all Salustian’s house, the horde defied,
And with good rifle to their threats replied.
Long was the contest, oft their firelocks flashed,
But Carlos gaily cheered his destined bride;
And, foiled, the band for rapine further dashed,
But swearing dire revenge, their teeth like tigers gnashed.

XIX.
 “Away, away, my life, my love, my joy!
“Querida, thou must find secure retreat.
“My peace ’twill, by my father’s dust, destroy,
“If e’er thy charms these rabid dogs should meet.
“Por Díos, with steel I will the monsters greet!”
With many a gentle word and heavenly smile
Replied his Isidora, angel-sweet.
Now fell the night, and blazed full many a pile,
And Charles for his adored a shelter sought the while.

XX.
To Santiago’s shrine Don Carlos bore
Salustian and his daughters pale with dread.
A mighty crowd hath filled with life the floor,
And loveliest of them all the maid he led.
Ah, lily cheeks and lips that Beauty fled
At peril’s aspect, colourless were there,
And vows were made at many an altar red
With blood from wounded victims of despair,
And through the Temple rose a wailing voice of prayer.

XXI.
Sudden was heard the appalling cry of—“Fire!”
One moment mortal terror hushed each heart;
The next, outburst a shriek of anguish dire,
For flashed the Demon red o’er every part.
The crackling flames across each window dart,
And cast a lurid glare o’er faces pale
With dread, or screaming till their eyeballs start
Wild, frantic, terrible. The bravest quail,
For, ah, so dense the crowd no means of ’scape avail.

XXII.
 “Fire” “Fire!”—the cry of agony again
More shrill ascended—“ay!” and “u!” the scream;
And women clapt their hands, and hoarsely men
Implored, and piercing shrieks of children stream
Far o’er the tumult to the topmost beam
Of that tall Gothic pile. As in some vast
Disastrous shipwreck, howling winds do seem
With roaring waves to struggle fierce and fast,
And cries of drowning men are mingled with the blast.

XXIII.
Then rushed the crowd, by instinct furious borne
Of life preserving, like the Ocean surge
Towards the great entrance. Trodden down and torn
Was every weaker form, and frantic urge
The merciless hale who fly that fiery scourge;
And heaving to and fro they cried to Heaven,
Still vainly seeking instant to emerge,
Till barriers of the sanctuary were riven,
And to the altar-front the trembling priests were driven.

X X I V.
Now onward rolls the mass, till near the door
More fiercely violent grows the maddened throng
With sight of safety. Hundreds strew the floor
Crushed, bruised, and trampled. O’er the weak the strong
Unpitying stride, and dying shrieks the wrong
With vain reproof attest of selfish man.
But Carlos bore like Hercules along
His Isidor with strength that all outran;
Grasped Isabel his waist—the outer wall they scan.

X X V.
 “Now had I known,” the grave Salustian cried,
“That thus the stranger would have Spain defended,
I sooner, by my fathers’ bones, had died,
Than Leon’s fate with Albion thus have blended.
For vain the seas of treasure, blood expended,
If fire and sword our homes and hearths assail.
The standard joint I raised, yet now would rend it.
While England’s lions roar, Castile may wail
Her lions mute; ’tis shrieks are borne upon the gale!”

XXVI.
It was a blessed thought—so Carlos deemed;
A chamber high in the Cathedral tower
His love might harbour while ferocious gleamed
The eye of Rapine. Rude for lady’s bower
Was this abode, where oft huge bells of power
Swung loud, but who may choose in scenes like these?
Cloak and sombrero thrown o’er Beauty’s flower
Disguised the form which, ah! too well could please,
And Carlos guided well their path through danger’s seas.

XXVII.
At deepest night the blaze of burning streets
With horrid gleam doth light like Hell the town;
The lurid glare its fit reflection meets,
Where many a stream of blood runs crimson down!
Ferocious yell and savage war-whoop crown
The pile of dire disaster. Anguished screams
Of terror shrill the roaring noises drown.
Shrieks turn to groaning where the bayonet gleams,
And murdered Sleep wakes wild from sanguinary dreams.

XXVIII.
 The tower is reached—quivers with rage suppressed
Don Carlos’ lip—Salustian’s cheek is pale,
And pants fair Isidora’s fluttering breast,
Like linnet o’er whose nest kites sharp-beaked sail.
Well might that night of horrors make thee quail,
Daughter of Vascongada! Rent the air,
Till morning dawned nor ceased ev’n then, the wail
Of hopeless Anguish where the voice of Prayer
Was choked, and shriek on shriek gave utterance to
Despair.

XXIX.
“Here sit, my children,” grave Salustian said,
“While Spain’s disasters from their primal source
I briefly trace, and ’midst these horrors dread
Relief pursue by patriot discourse;
For at each shriek my voice doth lose its force,
And highest deeds recounting may sustain
The fainting spirit. Ah! my throat is hoarse,
And parched my lips with heat—to speak yet fain—
Would I had never lived to see this day for Spain!

XXX.
“Five years have past—thou dost remember well,
’Twas when thou first didst braid thy raven hair,
My Isidor, as now doth Isabel—
Five wretched years—and both have grown so fair!
Since first this Meteor who the earth doth scare
With blood-red beams—this dire Napoléon—
O’er Spain began to cast his lurid glare,
Covet her lovely sky and radiant sun,
And try how much could first by treacherous fraud be won.

XXXI.
 “Dire was the ruin by Corruption’s hand
Shed on our ancient monarchy. Her men
Were noble still and worthy of the land,
Whose blood hath poured in every mountain-glen
From Calpe to Asturia’s rudest den,
’Gainst warlike Moor contending. But her Kings
Unworthy most beneath dominion’s ken
To hold so proud a people—timorous things—
Crawled ’neath a favourite’s sway, or crouched ’neath
churchmen’s wings.

XXXII.
“Corruption fills the Court—the Grandé taints—
The Judge perverts to more pervert the law,
Gives Demon-forms of hate the guise of Saints,
And Freedom flings to Persecution’s maw.
The Holy Office Hell delighted saw!
Divine Religion! man’s best, purest gift,
Thou only gem that shines without a flaw!
Star, from whose ray withdrawn we chartless drift,
A Gorgon thou wast made, a Moloch spear didst lift!

XXXIII.
“And Man was told to love where forced to hate,
And saw his fairest fields partitioned forth
To Nobles—so miscalled—by robbery great,
Whose phantom title was ancestral worth,
Their own sole merit accident of birth!
Heart-bitterness and worming discontent
Made all the land—the loveliest upon earth—
In sullen, fierce indifference bide till rent
The Thunder-clouds, supine—and some on Vengeance
bent.

X X X I V.
 “And patience, Heaven! while I pronounce the name
Of him, the fellest monster of them all—
Godoy who sold Iberia first to shame,
And through her cold lips forced the cup of gall,
Parted to France the Indian dower whose thrall
Columbus won—even basely dared profane
His monarch’s bed; and shadowing thus our fall,
Napoléon gave a path to Lusitain
O’er our dishonoured soil—those footsteps conquered
Spain!

X X X V.
“And secret treaties had the recreant drawn
With Hell’s diplomacy our soil to carve;
And Europe was to have seen ere Aries’ dawn
The traitor’s self the sovereign of Algarve.
Thus rulers traffic while the people starve!
Perchance Gaul’s tyrant mocked him with the lure—
A double traitor—base design to serve.
Howe’er be this, his legions we endure
Marched to the sister-land that erst expelled the Moor.

XXXVI.
“Trembled blue Tagus when his waters saw
A conqueror come unwounded to his shore;
His curling wave, receding, he doth draw
In violent scorn to where Almada o’er
The Serra lords Lisboa’s towers before.
Her soil that spurned the Invader quakes again,
And gapes athirst for foreign tyrants’ gore.
Indignant Tagus lashes it—in vain—
Sinks o’er his golden sands, and sighing wears the chain.

XXXVII.
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