No mortal hand was near when so it seem'd
To shake the midnight streets.
OLD CITIZEN.
The sound of coming fate!—'Tis ever thus
When Death is on his way to make it night
In the Cid's ancient house5[1].—Oh! there are things
In this strange world of which we have all to learn
When its dark bounds are pass'd.—Yon bell, untouch'd,
(Save by the hands we see not) still doth speak—
—When of that line some stately head is mark'd,—
With a wild hollow peal, at dead of night,
Rocking Valencia's towers. I have heard it oft,
Nor known its warning false.
FOURTH CITIZEN.
Buy with the price of his fair children's blood
A few more days of pining wretchedness
For this forsaken city?
OLD CITIZEN.
—But with that ransom he may purchase still
Deliverance for the land!—And yet 'tis sad
To think that such a race, with all its fame,
