And thou, Valencia! triumph in thy fate—
The ruin, not the yoke; and make thy towers
A beacon unto Spain!
Cits. We’ll follow thee!
Alas! for our fair city, and the homes
Wherein we rear’d our children! But away!
The Moor shall plant no Crescent o’er our fanes!
Voice. (from a tower on the walls.) Succours!—Castile! Castile!
Cits. (rushing to the spot.) It is even so!
Now blessing be to heaven, for we are saved!