XLVIII. How carols now the lusty muleteer? The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day [boy, On yon long level plain, at distance crown'd With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Wide scattered hoof-marks dint the wounded ground; [vest And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest; Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost. |