Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/106

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Woe! woe! that aught so gentle and so young Should thus be call'd to stand i' the tempest's path, And bear the token and the hue of death On a bright soul so soon! I had not shrunk From mine own lot, but thou, my child, shouldst move As a light breeze of heaven, thro' summer-bowers, And not o'er foaming billows. We are fall'n On dark and evil days!

Aye, days, that wake All to their tasks!—Youth may not loiter now In the green walks of spring; and womanhood Is summon'd unto conflicts, heretofore The lot of warrior-souls. But we will take Our toils upon us nobly! Strength is born In the deep silence of long-suffering hearts; Not amidst joy.

Hast thou some secret woe That thus thou speak'st?

What sorrow should be mine, Unknown to thee?