Far o’er the plain, and to the shores
Of Teio and Alberche, roars
The tumult of the fight;
The distant camps, alarmed, arise;
And throbbing hearts, and straining eyes
Watch, through the dull and vapoury skies,
The portents of the night--
The vollying peals, terrific cries,
And gleams of lurid light--
But all is indistinct:--in vain
The anxious crowds their senses strain,
And, in the flash or shout,
Fancy they catch the signal plain
Of victory or rout:--
The signal dies away again,
And the still, breathless crowds remain
In darkness and in doubt.