“Then o’er the Adour a monster-bridge thou’lt cast, Lashing the Ocean-tide with chain of power, Through no vain boast like Xerxes when he past The stormy Hellespont to mine my tower In godlike Greece--but fell before her flower! Hope’s chained chasse-marées and gigantic boom Shall ope a pathway to extend my dower To Nations suffering ’neath despotic doom, And o’er the dashing surge shall roll the cannon’s womb. XXX. “And next at Orthez from its Roman camp Thou’lt baffle Soult upon his convex hill, His ardour ev’n ’mid seeming victory damp, And pour thy Picton’s veterans, matchless still, Through the dread marsh with new dismay to fill The French battalions, Cotton’s bold hussars Their rout completing. There thy dauntless will Thou’lt prove ’neath wound which nought thy progress bars, And France thy onward tread shall feel, despite of scars! XXXI. “Then on the steep and wooded height of Aire, Where Lusitain’s brigade shall bleeding fly, And lose the battle but that Hill is there, Resolved with British steel to do or die! While ’neath the Frenchman’s charge your galled ally Outnumbered falls, the might of England’s sons Will turn the stream of battle, raising high The fearful war-shout which the foeman stuns, Who flies to where the Adour with branching channel runs. XXXII. “At Tarbes, Bigorre, and Gaudens thou shalt next Still conquering pass to fair Tolosa’s wall, Where Soult will desperate stand, and Spain perplext Behold her warriors snared in thousands fall. But Clinton, Beresford his breast-works all Will dauntless carry amid carnage dire; Mont Rave thou’lt win ere Night shall spread her pall, And bristling still shall warlike Soult retire, While o’er Garonne thou’lt pass and Victory’s salvo fire. XXXIII. “And in that hour thou’lt learn not e’en the great Usurper’s genius can avert his doom. His crown an instant he resigns to Fate, But with more fierce rebound new sway to assume. War-fires shall then the Belgian fields illume. ’Tis thine Napoléon’s self at Waterloo To crush for aye. Despite his cannon’s boom, Terrific rout and bondage he will rue. Soldier of Liberty, this task remains to do!” XXXIV. She said, and pointing to the fields of France, And beckoning Arthur on with Godlike smile, That bids the Hero fearlessly advance, Her giant form dissolves in air, the while Pyrene shakes with earthquake many a mile, From peak to peak the volleying thunders roll. Great Arthur marched, and heaped the trophied pile, His Destiny fulfilling to its goal, And Heaven for long renown hath spared his hero-soul. XXXV.