Chapter 73 THE STORMING OF CORINTH

THE SIGNAL

The night is past, and shines the sun

As if that morn were a jocund one.

Lightly and brightly breaks away

The Morning from her mantle grey,

And the noon will look on a sultry day.

Hark to the trump, and the drum,

And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,

And the flap of the banners that flit as they're borne,