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are sounds in the dark Roncesvalles, There are echoes on Biscay's wild shore; There are murmurs—but not of the torrent, Nor the wind, nor the pine-forest's roar.

'Tis a day of the spear and the banner, Of armings and hurried farewells; Rise, rise on your mountains, ye Spaniards! Or start from your old battle-dells.