LIV.

Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, And, all unsexed, the Anlace[76] hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Appalled, an owlet's 'larum chilled with dread,[77] Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar,[cr] The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread.