Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/91

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Was it the hunters' choral strain To the woodland-goddess pour'd? Did virgin-hands in Pallas' fane Strike the full-sounding chord?

But helms were glancing on the stream, Spears ranged in close array, And shields flung back a glorious beam To the morn of a fearful day!

And the mountain-echoes of the land Swell'd through the deep-blue sky, While to soft strains moved forth a band Of men that moved to die.

They march'd not with the trumpet's blast, Nor bade the horn peal out, And the laurel-groves, as on they pass'd,   Rung with no battle-shout!

They ask'd no clarion's voice to fire Their souls with an impulse high; But the Dorian reed and the Spartan lyre For the sons of liberty!