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Ruined lie the Moorish cities, Still the Moors upraise the sword; In the country still resisting, Reigns the pestilence as lord.

And the towers of Alpujara Brave Almanzor still defends: Floats below the Spaniard's banner, Siege to-morrow he intends.

Roar the guns at sunrise loudly, Ramparts break, and crumble walls; From the towers the cross gleams proudly,— Now the Spaniard owns these halls.

Sad Almanzor views his warriors Slain in battle desperate; Hews his way through swords and lances, Flieth Spain's pursuing hate.

Now the Spaniards in the fortress, 'Mid the stones and corpses there, Hold the feast and drain the wine-cup, And the spoils and captives share.