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And ye met No more?

Be still!—We did!—we met once more. God had his own high purpose to fulfil, Or think’st thou that the sun in his bright heaven Had looked upon such things?—We met once more. —That was an hour to leave its lightning-mark Sear'd upon brain and bosom!—there had been Combat on Ebro's banks, and when the day Sank in red clouds, it faded from a field Still held by Moorish lances. Night closed round, A night of sultry darkness, in the shadow Of whose broad wing, ev'n unto death I strove Long with a turban'd champion; but my sword Was heavy with God's vengeance—and prevail'd. He fell—my heart exulted—and I stood In gloomy triumph o'er him—Nature gave No sign of horror, for 'twas Heaven's decree! He strove to speak—but I had done the work Of wrath too well—yet in his last deep moan A dreadful something of familiar sound Came o'er my shuddering sense.—The moon look'd forth,