Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/196

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By the dark night o'ertaken on their way! These days require such death!—It is too much Of luxury for our wild and angry times, To fold the mantle round us, and to sink From life, as flowers that shut up silently, When the sun's heat doth scorch them!—Hear ye not?

Lady! what wouldst thou with us?

Rise and arm! E'en now the children of your chief are led Forth by the Moor to perish!—Shall this be, Shall the high sound of such a name be hush'd, I' th' land to which for ages it hath been A battle-word, as 'twere some passing note Of shepherd-music?—Must this work be done, And ye lie pining here, as men in whom The pulse which God hath made for noble thought Can so be thrill'd no longer?

'Tis even so! Sickness, and toil, and grief, have breath'd upon us, Our hearts beat faint and low.