Be with you, warriors! through the lingering hours
Of the night-watch.
Gar. Ay, father! we have need
Of high and holy thoughts, wherewith to fence
Our hearts against despair. Yet have I been
From youth a son of war. The stars have look’d
A thousand times upon my couch of heath,
Spread midst the wild sierras, by some stream
Whose dark-red waves look’d e’en as though their source
Lay not in rocky caverns, but the veins