I have a vague remembrance
  Of a story, that is told
In some ancient Spanish legend
  Or chronicle of old.
It was when brave King Sanchez
  Was before Zamora slain,
And his great besieging army
  Lay encamped upon the plain.
Don Diego de Ordonez
  Sallied forth in front of all,
And shouted loud his challenge
  To the warders on the wall.
All the people of Zamora,
  Both the born and the unborn,
As traitors did he challenge
  With taunting words of scorn.
The living, in their houses,
  And in their graves, the dead!
And the waters of their rivers,
  And their wine, and oil, and bread!
There is a greater army,
  That besets us round with strife,
A starving, numberless army,
  At all the gates of life.
  Of a story, that is told
In some ancient Spanish legend
  Or chronicle of old.
It was when brave King Sanchez
  Was before Zamora slain,
And his great besieging army
  Lay encamped upon the plain.
Don Diego de Ordonez
  Sallied forth in front of all,
And shouted loud his challenge
  To the warders on the wall.
All the people of Zamora,
  Both the born and the unborn,
As traitors did he challenge
  With taunting words of scorn.
The living, in their houses,
  And in their graves, the dead!
And the waters of their rivers,
  And their wine, and oil, and bread!
There is a greater army,
  That besets us round with strife,
A starving, numberless army,
  At all the gates of life.
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