And on Ayrola’s rock is swift surprised By Campbell’s highlanders a post of Gaul; For not more firm the red-deer’s limb is poised For strength and fleetness mixed than doth befal Those hardy mountaineers whose shouts appal The braves of France--as e’en surprised them more, When first beheld by Vimieiro’s wall, Their antique garb, such as in days of yore (In them revived to-day) the Roman legions wore. VI. Thus breaking fast the spirit of Gallia’s sons, Great Arthur now begins his great emprize; Where Bidasóa’s stream impetuous runs, Resolved to pass though strenuous Soult defies. And while the thunder-storm doth lash the skies, His dread artillery’s ranged on Marcial’s flanks. O’er the tall crest doth many a cannon rise; His columns line the Bidasóa’s banks, In silence poured along, and form their warlike ranks. VII. Full many a howitzer by fair Irún, While rages still the blast, its thunder hoards; And there lies closely moored each strong pontoon, Beneath the town. Where Bidasóa’s fords, Through fishermen unawed by Gallic swords, To lynx-eyed vigilance their soundings yield, Castile shall pass and flout her tyrant lords. With deftest skill the troops are all concealed By Jonco, Biriatú, and Fuéntarabia’s field. VIII. And near to fair Behóbia’s broken arch The Lusitan battalion secret placed Is with the British guards prepared to march Beyond the Adour, till Gaul herself shall taste Invasion’s sweets, her dreams of glory chased! Still stand i’ the camp the tent-sheets as before, Nor change appears nor new design embraced, When breaks that clouded morn from mist-drops o’er Pyrene’s towering hills, and gloom o’erspreads the shore. IX. Beneath Andaye our bold brigades emerge, And in two columns rapid cross the sand. Silent as Death they gain the river’s verge, They pass the fords, they reach the further land. Then rose on high a rocket streaming grand, The signal true from Fuéntarabia’s tower; And howitzer and cannon briskly manned From tall San Marcial raised their voice of power, And covered with their fire the fords in peril’s hour. X. Seven columns o’er the sand like serpents wind, With crimson bright and azure scales bespread-- The various garbs of Spain and England joined-- And glancing bayonets bristle o’er each head; No Hydra in Lernæan marsh so dread! The Gaul o’ermatched can scarcely trust his eyes. Confusedly gathering each with shame is red; And form our lines beyond the stream ere flies A hostile shot, so great that terrible surprise! XI.