No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 22.

He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 23.

And there was mounting in hot haste.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 25.

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Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come!"

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 25.