VI.

Now battle’s roar which she had learnt to love, Or strove to love for liberty to Spain, Fell on her ear with horror, as the dove By cry of falcon is transfixed with pain; And still she numbered William ’mongst the slain, And every cannon with terrific boom That maid so bold before made shake amain, As were his breast the target. Rolled the drum; “We meet to-morrow.” Ah, that morrow ne’er may come!