Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/205

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What notes are these in their deep mournfulness So strangely wild?

'Tis the shrill melody Of the Moor's ancient death-song. Well I know The rude barbaric sound; but, till this hour, It seem'd not fearful.—Now, a shuddering chill Comes o'er me with its tones.—Lo! from yon tent They lead the noble boys!

The young, and pure, And beautiful victims!—'Tis on things like these We cast our hearts in wild idolatry, Sowing the winds with hope!—Yet this is well. Thus brightly crown'd with life's most gorgeous flowers,