4.
Flames and furies, griefs and broils,
Slaughter, ravage, fierce alarms,
Anguish and immortal toils
Thou dost gather to thine arms,—
For thyself and vassals—those
Who the fertile furrow break,
Where the stately Ebro flows,
Who their thirst in Douro slake!
5.
For the throne—the hall—the bower—
Murcian lord and Lusian swain,
For the chivalry and flower
Of all sad and spacious Spain!
Prompt for vengeance, not for fame,
Even now from Cadiz' halls,
On the Moor, in Allah's name,
Hoarse the Count—the Injured calls.
6.
Hark, how frightfully forlorn
Sounds his trumpet to the stars,
Citing Afric's desert-born
To the gonfalon of Mars!
Lo, already loose in air
Floats the standard, peals the gong;
They shall not be slow to dare
Roderick's wrath for Julian's wrong.
7.
See, their spears the Arabs shake,
Smite the wind, and war demand;
Millions in a moment wake,
Join, and swarm o'er all the sand:
Underneath their sails the sea
Disappears, a hubbub runs
Through the sphere of heaven alee,
Clouds of dust obscure the sun's.
8.