Sear’d upon brain and bosom! There had been
Combat on Ebro’s banks, and when the day
Sank in red clouds, it faded from a field
Still held by Moorish lances. Night closed round—
A night of sultry darkness, in the shadow
Of whose broad wing, e’en unto death, I strove
Long with a turban’d champion; but my sword
Was heavy with God’s vengeance—and prevail’d.
He fell—my heart exulted—and I stood
In gloomy triumph o’er him. Nature gave