Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/107

Rh

Alas! the baleful air Wherewith the pestilence in darkness walks Thro' the devoted city, like a blight Amidst the rose-tints of thy cheek hath fall'n, And wrought an early withering!—Thou hast cross'd The paths of Death, and minister'd to those O'er whom his shadow rested, till thine eye Hath changed its glancing sunbeam for a still, Deep, solemn radiance, and thy brow hath caught A wild and high expression, which at times Fades unto desolate calmness, most unlike What youth's bright mien should wear. My gentle child! I look on thee in fear!

Thou hast no cause To fear for me. When the wild clash of steel, And the deep tambour, and the heavy step Of armed men, break on our morning dreams; When, hour by hour, the noble and the brave Are falling round us, and we deem it much To give them funeral-rites, and call them blest If the good sword, in its own stormy hour, Hath done its work upon them, ere disease