Nial was there, and swift he led his men With rapid fire the strong redoubt to storm. Their dark attire the French mistaking then For garb of Southron soldiers, forth they swarm, And face our caçadores in conflict warm. Sudden their charge, and struggling hand to hand, The firelock and its fixéd bayonet form Against the unarméd rifle surer brand, And shrill the Frenchmen cried as backward drew the band. XXIV. But Nial with his sword the bayonet matched, And as he fought upon the rocky verge That bounds the platform, he a firelock snatched From forth a Frenchman’s hands whom he did urge At swordpoint till he slew him. While the surge Of foemen rushed, he kept them all at bay, Till from the forest swift our troops emerge. Their crimson garb with panic struck the fray, And Nial cheered his men to give their rifles play. XXV. Then loud arose the sturdy British shout. Rifles and foot in full career advance. The foe to their intrenchment wheel about; And England’s sons, improving well the chance, The fort have entered with the sons of France. Dense clouds of smoke o’er all the works ascended. Sharp rang the musket, active played its lance. But soon the mass of French and English blended Emerged, while British cheers proclaimed the conflict ended. XXVI. Up, up the crags the rapid Frenchman flies, The powerful Briton following in his trail, Till new intrenchment, new redoubts, arise. Once more they stand--once more our troops assail Their abatís, till France again doth quail. And ever Nial flourished in the van His faithful sword that turned the foeman pale, And cheered his rifles on, and foremost ran, Like gallant chief whose port gives courage to each man. XXVII. And Colborne nobly guided the brigade, Which now the mount hath carried to its crest; But there a terrible redoubt’s displayed, Where loop-holed works with musketry arrest The brave who fall with many a piercéd breast. No howitzer is there--no mountain-gun, But missiles scarce less dire our troops molest; For thundering down the steep comes many a stone, Huge, rugged, dealing death, or shattering flesh and bone. XXVIII. But Kempt’s brigade its toilsome way hath gained With Andaluzan comrades up the steep, And turned the fort’s left flank--’tis scarce attained, When rush the foemen in disordered heap Down the far hill-side to the valley deep. The fort is our’s! The tricolor is torn By Nial from the flag-staff at a leap; And, Spain, thy lions and thy towers upborne In many a victor field its summit proud adorn. XXIX.