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By slow endurance, is a triumph won For Spain's red cross. And be of trusting heart! A few brief hours, and those that turn'd away In cold despondence, shrinking from your voice, May crowd around their leader, and demand To be array'd for battle. We must watch For the swift impulse, and await its time, As the bark waits the ocean's. You have chosen To kindle up their souls, an hour, perchance, When they were weary; they had cast aside Their arms to slumber; or a knell, just then With its deep hollow tone, had made the blood Creep shuddering through their veins; or they had caught A glimpse of some new meteor, and shaped forth Strange omens from its blaze.

Alas! the cause Lies deeper in their misery!—I have seen, In my night's course through this beleaguer'd city Things, whose remembrance doth not pass away As vapours from the mountains.—There were some, That sat beside their dead, with eyes, wherein Grief had ta'en place of sight, and shut out all But its own ghastly object. To my voice