A rampart of the brave--of dead and dying! Thy column, Gaul, advances to the line, And halts where stern that gory bulwark’s lying, While Britain’s heroes all their fire combine. Nor ’mid tremendous showers of death repine Their wounded comrades smote, since death may bring The foeman under. Gaul, as drunk with wine, Reels from excess of slaughter. Forward spring Our bayonets to the charge. The foe is on the wing! XLVII. Then rose the shout that told of England’s power Triumphant on that new Thermopylæ, And gallant hands were clasped in glory’s hour, And beamed Hesperia’s eye more bright to see That now in spite of Hell she will be free! And Nial, Morton folded heart to heart: “Joy! joy! This day shall long remembered be, “For France hath vainly tried her utmost art.” And tears of joy were seen from many an eye to start. XLVIII. Oh glow of Victory! oh, thrilling pride Of triumph in the strife of mind or hand! More dear to mortal breasts than all beside, In mart or senate as in warlike band, In court or cell--where’er by conquest fanned The swelling temples wear thy plume, Success! How pure thy throb when Freedom lights a land, When pen, tongue, sword a cause sublime confess, Well worthy to aspire, befitting Heaven to bless! XLIX. Lo, where the giant form of Liberty Arises grand yet shadowy dim o’er Spain. With smiles her champion, Arthur, she doth see, And frowns terrific with august disdain Upon the Invaders, trampling on the chain! A fiery sword that as a comet blazed On high she brandished, like the angel-train O’er Paradise. The tyrant-host amazed Saw their expulsion doomed, and trembled as they gazed. HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO II.