SIEGE OF VALENCIA.
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DIRGE HEARD WITHOUT.
Thou to thy rest art gone,
High heart! and what are we,
While o'er our heads the storm sweeps on,
That we should mourn for thee?
Free grave and peaceful bier
To the buried son of Spain!
To those that live, the lance and spear,
And well if not the chain!
Be theirs to weep the dead
As they sit beneath their vines,
Whose flowery land hath borne no tread
Of spoilers o'er its shrines!
Thou hast thrown off the load
Which we must yet sustain,
And pour our blood where thine hath flow'd,
Too blest if not in vain!
We give thee holy rite,
Slow knell, and chaunted strain!
L 2
