Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/109

Rh

When Heaven lets loose the storms that chasten realms —Who speaks of rest?

My father, shall I fill The wine-cup for thy lips, or bring the lute Whose sounds thou lovest?

If there be strains of power To rouse a spirit, which in triumphant scorn May cast off nature's feebleness, and hold Its proud career unshackled, dashing down Tears and fond thoughts to earth; give voice to those! I have need of such, Ximena! we must hear No melting music now.

I know all high Heroic ditties of the elder time, Sung by the mountain-Christians1 in the holds Of th' everlasting hills, whose snows yet bear The print of Freedom's step; and all wild strains Wherein the dark serranos* teach the rocks And the pine forests deeply to resound