But yet the pass of Vera we must gain, Where now Girón from Ivantelly’s come And Longa with the skirmishers of Spain, And Alten too with men Old England from-- Not these the least, I ween, in Victory’s sum! Dire were the works upon the heights above Which Gaul could raise, but not the brave benumb. And here was Nial, oft with tenderest love Musing on Isabel, poor lorn and fluttering dove! XVIII. The youth looked up: by outward posts defended And star-redoubts he saw the Bayonnette; The Commissari with that mountain blended Was girt with abatís incessant met. He thought those bulwarks would be England’s yet! A gulf profound with skirmishers was filled, And thickest woods where marksmen keen were set. Rugged the path where Spain her hope must build, With turns abrupt where men by striplings might be killed. XIX. An isolated mountain midway rose-- ’Tis called “The Boar”--by France’s warriors crowned; And Longa’s guns and Colborne’s rifles chose The toilsome task to gain this lofty ground-- So high, though dwarfed amongst the peaks around, That the spent musket-bullets singing fell All harmless at its foot with feeble sound, Which marksmen from the crest directed well ’Gainst our advancing men, but none its tale could tell. XX. The word is given, and swift our heroes climb The mountain, Nial first their steps to guide. A pine-wood’s gained far up in quickest time-- They breathe a moment--with disdainful pride Doth Nial dash each shadowing branch aside, And forward rush, exclaiming, “On men, on!” His gallant followers scorn secure to bide Behind--the summit’s gained--the foemen wan Scarce meet their dashing charge; an instant--they are gone! XXI. Emboldened by this triumph rush the Allies; Our columns plunge into the rough defile. The dark ravine to the left with lusty cries Is ta’en by Longa’s Leonese, the while Colborne’s brigade o’er narrow pathways toil To the Bayonnette with skirmishers before, Breastwork, redoubt, and abatís to spoil. With men and fire the slopes are covered o’er, And curls white smoke above the forest-battle’s roar. XXII. Through each intrenchment in the greater pass Soon Kempt’s brigade doth force resistless sway, His skirmishers wide scattered o’er the grass To small detachments broke, as melt away The lessening slopes into the ridges gray. The platform’s won, and Colborne’s bold brigade Of rifles far above, like huntsmen gay, Is seen to emerge from forth the forest shade To the broad space before the star-redoubt displayed. XXIII.