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Fast whirl the fragments from the wall, Which crumbles with the ponderous ball; And from that wall the foe replies,

O'er dusty plain and smoky skies,

With fires that answer fast and well

The summons of the Infidel.

III. But near and nearest to the wall Of those who wish and work its fall, With deeper skill in war's black art Than Othman'’s sons, and high of heart As any chief that ever stood Triumphant in the fields of blood; From post to post, and deed to deed, Fast spurring on his reeking steed, Where sallying ranks the trench assail, And make the foremost Moslem quail; Or where the battery, guarded well,

Remains as yet impregnable,

Es ſ Zerſſ Von Dur Zur

Von

Dockh