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There's a gleam of spears by every stream, in each old battle-dell— Come forth, young Juan! bid thy home a brief and proud farewell!"

"Haste, haste! the hunters of the foe are up, and who shall stand The lion-like awakening of the roused indignant land? Our chase shall sound through each defile where swept the clarion's blast, With the flying footsteps of the Moor in stormy ages past."