To Rhune’s enormous sides the foemen fled, Where ’neath Clausel the Gaul doth muster strong. The Hermitage upon the mountain’s head Is thick with arméd men,--though Fate should wrong, Full stern resolved the contest to prolong. By others not less fierce are held his flanks; To Sarre and to Ascain extends the throng. A lower ridge the greater Rhune embanks, And this too bristles o’er with Gallia’s hostile ranks. XXXVI. Now--now the Andaluzes scale the Rhune, By Colborne’s caçadores supported still. A musket-shot below the crest full soon Their charge doth reach, to where a craggy hill Detached doth rise. This natural bulwark fill The skirmishers of France, whose fusillade Not long withstands the assailants’ vengeful will. The bulwark’s cleared, the pathway free is made, And up the Spaniards climb--nor ask for British aid. XXXVII. But from the Hermitage terrific rocks Come bounding fierce, of such enormous size, That seemeth each of those succeeding shocks Enough to sink a column ne’er to rise! Not Valour’s self can with unmovéd eyes That horrid task of Sisyphus survey. Appalled and unadvancing the allies With distant fire along the mountain way The foe in vain assail, withheld by dire dismay. XXXVIII. But saw great Arthur now with Lyncean ken, Though Rhune was there impregnable, a side Which might a pathway open to his men, And give their arms of Gaul to tame the pride. O’er Sarre the ascent arose more fair and wide, And strongly there concentred the brigades Assail the rocks that long approach defied. The rocks are won--the Gaulish valour fades,-- And won a height intrenched their camp at Sarre which shades. XXXIX. From Echallar on Barbe our men descend, And win the fort with British shouts of power. The camp of Sarre’s outflanked, Clausel doth end Resistance there, retiring in that hour. He dreads his rear cut off, resigns his tower Of strength--the greater Rhune, and takes his stand Upon the lesser height. But soon the flower Of Britain’s rifles crown the mountain grand, And from the Hermitage the lower heights command. XL. And while the garrison was swift retiring From that strong ground, their path young Nial crost With six poor rifles not a shot e’en firing, When forth the gallant stept, and from his post, “Lay down your arms!” he shouted to the host-- Three hundred men! His mandate they obeyed, Scared by that voice of power, and deeming lost All means of ’scape. Resistance none they made, And Nial at their head regained his bold brigade. XLI.