XIII.

And headlong from the Sierra Byng, too, comes To where Maucune the smiling village keeps. Our cannon from the height the ear benumbs; The bullets crash where that Arcadia sleeps, And many a peasant for his Lares weeps. Along the valley booms the thunderous sound; And quivering child and pallid virgin creeps For shelter to the mountain-caves around, While swells the demon-strife, and death-shot ploughs the ground.