Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/119

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Breathes heavily of death, her warriors sink Beneath their ancient banners, ere the Moor Hath bent his bow against them; for the shaft Of pestilence flies more swiftly to its mark, Than the arrow of the desert. Ev'n the skies O'erhang the desolate splendour of her domes With an ill omen's aspect, shaping forth, From the dull clouds, wild menacing forms and signs Foreboding ruin. Man might be withstood, But who shall cope with famine and disease, When leagued with armed foes?—Where now the aid, Where the long-promised lances of Castile? —We are forsaken, in our utmost need, By heaven and earth forsaken!

If this be, (And yet I will not deem it) we must fall As men that in severe devotedness Have chosen their part, and bound themselves to death, Through high conviction that their suffering land, By the free blood of martyrdom alone, Shall call deliverance down.

Oh! I have stood