Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/241

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Oh, God of Battles!

Calm thy noble heart! Thou wilt not pass away without thy meed. Nay, rest thee on my bosom.

Cheer thee yet! Our knights have spurr'd to rescue.—There is now A whirl, a mingling of all terrible things, Yet more appalling than the fierce distinctness Wherewith they moved before!—I see tall plumes All wildly tossing o'er the battle's tide, Sway'd by the wrathful motion, and the press Of desperate men, as cedar-boughs by storms. Many a white streamer there is dyed with blood, Many a false corslet broken, many a shield Pierced through!—Now, shout for Santiago, shout! Lo! javelins with a moment's brightness cleave The thickening dust, and barbed steeds go down With their helm'd riders!—Who, but One, can tell How spirits part amidst that fearful rush And trampling on of furious multitudes?