While, thronging round him, breathless thousands gaze,
As on some mighty seer of elder days.
"Saw ye the banners of Castile display'd,
The helmets glittering, and the line array'd?
Heard ye the march of steel-clad hosts?" he cries,
"Children of conquerors in your strength arise!
O high-born tribes! O names unstain'd by fear!
Azarques, Zegris, Almoradis, hear!17[1]
Be every feud forgotten, and your hands
Dyed with no blood but that of hostile bands.18[2]
Wake, princes of the land! the hour is come,
And the red sabre must decide your doom.
Where is that spirit which prevail'd of yore,
When Tarik's bands o'erspread the western shore?19[3]
When the long combat raged on Xeres' plain,20[4]
And Afric's tecbir swell'd through yielding Spain?21[5]
Is the lance broken, is the shield decay'd,
The warrior's arm unstrung, his heart dismay'd?
Shall no high spirit of ascendant worth
Arise to lead the sons of Islam forth?
To guard the regions where our fathers' blood
Hath bathed each plain, and mingled with each flood,
