Great Arthur blest the union, promising That Nial’s fortunes should be England’s care, For of her eaglets none with stronger wing To soar in Victory’s blazing sunlight dare. Salustian called on both a blessing rare! And Nial caught her beauteous hand, while fast She melts in tears which joy and sorrow share; In kisses o’er her hand his soul was cast, The hastening cavalcade to Fuéntarabia past. XXIV. Now War his direful tasks again pursues O’er rugged steep and castled crag sublime; And, Gaul, thy fields no longer sacred lose The conquering fame that propt Invasion’s crime. The mountain-barriers of thy Southern clime No more shall serve as bulwarks for thy soil, For Britain’s sons advance as sure as Time, Soult’s bristling huge entrenchments instant spoil, And onward march with ease where mocked was human toil. XXV. See on Pyrene’s loftiest summit stand Majestic Freedom, o’er the despot’s frown Gigantic towering till her forehead grand The Sun encircles for a fitting crown, And stream rays brighter from her eyelids down! The rainbow clothes her Heaven-ascending form. Her mighty arm great Arthur beckons on, Against Soult’s host to urge the fiery storm, And thus with voice sublime she speaks in accents warm:-- XXVI. “Oh Arthur! thou my soldier and my shield, In whom revived to-day is e’en surpassed Another Arthur’s fame who first revealed The heroic glow of Chivalry, and cast A blaze o’er England which for aye will last. Greater thy glory than Pendragon’s son With all his knights achieved--to strike aghast My fiercest foe in many a battle won, And still with Victory’s march his countless legions stun. XXVII. “List to thy Destiny, and nerve thy arm To accomplish Heaven’s designs. By fair Nivelle Thy next great battle shall with dire alarm Man’s bitter foes affright in Earth and Hell. For fortress-crags and precipices fell, Cyclopian castles hewn from solid rock, Redoubt and natural tower where eagles dwell, Thou’lt instant carry with resistless shock, The arméd river ford, the plains of France bemock! XXVIII. “Next o’er the Nive thou’lt pass by quick surprise At Ustaritz ’neath Cambo’s beacon light The stream thy dashing cavalry defies, Scorns the pontoon and dares the unequal fight And some shall perish torrent-swept from sight! Next by Barouilhet’s ridge with thickets spread Thou’lt stand resistless, battling thrice till night The combat palls, and still to Victory led-- Triumphant at Saint Pierre, ’mid thousand warriors dead. XXIX.