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.