XLIX. On yon long level plain, at distance crowned With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Wide scattered hoof-marks dint the wounded ground; And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darkened vest Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Here the brave peasant stormed the dragon's nest; Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.
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