A voice resounds within Granada’s wall, The hearts of warriors echo to its call.[80] Whose are those tones, with power electric fraught To reach the source of pure exalted thought? See, on a fortress tower, with beckoning hand, A form, majestic as a prophet, stand! His mien is all impassion’d, and his eye Fill’d with a light whose fountain is on high; Wild on the gale his silvery tresses flow, And inspiration beams upon his brow; While, thronging round him, breathless thousands gaze, As on some mighty seer of elder days. “Saw ye the banners of Castile display’d, The helmets glittering, and the line array’d? Heard ye the march of steel-clad hosts?” he cries; “Children of conquerors! in your strength arise! O high-born tribes! O names unstain’d by fear! Azarques, Zegris, Almoradis, hear![81] Be every feud forgotten, and your hands Dyed with no blood but that of hostile bands.[82] Wake, princes of the land! the hour is come, And the red sabre must decide your doom. Where is that spirit which prevail’d of yore, When Tarik’s bands o’erspread the western shore?[83] When the long combat raged on Xeres’ plain,[84] And Afric’s tecbir swell’d through yielding Spain?[85] Is the lance broken, is the shield decay’d, The warrior’s arm unstrung, his heart dismay’d? Shall no high spirit of ascendant worth Arise to lead the sons of Islam forth? To guard the regions where our fathers’ blood Hath bathed each plain, and mingled with each flood; Where long their dust hath blended with the soil Won by their swords, made fertile by their toil? “O ye sierras of eternal snow! Ye streams that by the tombs of heroes flow, Woods, fountains, rocks of Spain! ye saw their might In many a fierce and unforgotten fight-- Shall ye behold their lost, degenerate race Dwell midst your scenes in fetters and disgrace With each memorial of the past around, Each mighty monument of days renown’d? May this indignant heart ere then be cold, This frame be gather’d to its kindred mould! And the last life-drop circling through my veins Have tinged a soil untainted yet by chains! “And yet one struggle ere our doom is seal’d, One mighty effort, one deciding field! If vain each hope, we still have choice to be In life the fetter’d, or in death the free!” Still while he speaks each gallant heart beats high, And ardour flashes from each kindling eye; Youth, manhood, age, as if inspired, have caught The glow of lofty hope and daring thought; And all is hush’d around--as every sense Dwelt on the tones of that wild eloquence.