Your rivers pour their gold, rejoicing saw
The altar, and the birth-place, and the tomb,
And all memorials of man's heart and faith,
Thus proudly honour'd!—Be ye not outdone
By the departed!—Though the godless foe
Be close upon us, we have power to snatch
The spoils of victory from him. Be but strong!
A few bright torches and brief moments yet
Shall baffle his flush'd hope, and we may die,
Laughing him unto scorn.—Rise, follow me,
And thou, Valencia! triumph in thy fate,
The ruin, not the yoke, and make thy towers
A beacon unto Spain!
CITIZEN.
—Alas! for our fair city, and the homes
Wherein we rear'd our children!—But away!
The Moor shall plant no crescent o'er our fanes!
VOICE (from a Tower on the Walls).
CITIZENS (rushing to the spot).
Now blessing be to Heaven, for we are saved!
Castile, Castile!
