160 BYRON
The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain, And burst his girth, and tore his rein; The bull-frog's note from out the marsh Deep-mouthed arose, and doubly harsh; The wolves yelled on the caverned hill Where echo rolled in thunder still; The jackals' troop in gathered cry Bayed from afar complainingly, With a mixed and mournful sound, Like crying babe, and beaten hound : With sudden wing and ruffled breast The eagle left his rocky nest, And mounted nearer to the sun, The clouds beneath him seemed so dun; Their smoke assailed his startled beak, And made him higher soar and shriek Thus was Corinth lost and won !
LXXIV ALHAMA
THE Moorish King rides up and down, Through Granada's royal town; From Elvira's gates to those Of Bivarambla on he goes.
Woe is me, Alhama !
Letters to the monarch tell How Albania's city fell: In the fire the scroll he threw, And the messenger he slew.
Woe is me, Alhama !
�� �
