In silence stern a British column waits, Till on the summit France a footing get; Then rose the charging cry whose peal elates The Island-warrior’s breast. With bayonets set, They rushed upon the advancing crowd, and wet Was every sod with blood. The broken mass Was down the mountain hurled, as from the net The fisher casts his prey. Impetuous pass Tempestuous bullets showered, and shiver them like glass. VI. But France not yet retires, for on this day Pyrené’s fate and her’s will be decided. Though, man ’gainst man, their courage melts away, The charge by Gaulish chiefs again is guided-- Again the powers of Fate and Death derided! Thrice the assault’s renewed, and thrice each chief His wearied men doth onward drag to bide it. In vain! The British shock makes contest brief. Faint, spiritless, abashed, the foemen seek relief. VII. And Gaul, her infantry thus forced to yield, Now tries the onset of her dashing horse; And charging through the valley shakes the field With thunderous gallop, trampling fallen horse And writhing wounded men without remorse. Our bold hussars beside the river’s edge With flaming carbines they would backward force; Their chargers’ strength they wield like potent wedge, And strive to urge our men adown the rocky ledge. VIII. Our fiery squadrons standing in reserve Now join the mêlée, flashing fast around Pistol and carbine--then with powerful nerve They bathe their swords in blood at every bound, While ’neath the shock terrific quakes the ground. See, where yon huge heart-piercéd rider falls; His horse affrighted at the clattering sound Drags him by th’ foot which still the stirrup thralls, Till Death arrests them both ’mid storm of flying balls. IX. Oh, generous, strong, and fleet are England’s steeds, And mettled high their riders even as they! Though with the cavalier the horse too bleeds, Yet horse and cavalier have won the day. Two Gaulish chiefs have perished in the fray. To the streamlet edge the foe is backward driven; With spur deep-plunged he leaps the stream--away! But many a jaded horse his life hath given Headlong adown the bank, where rider too is riven. X. On every side now Britain’s foes repelled Feel that to stand before her might is vain; Our strong position is securely held-- Lords of the mountain, masters of the plain From Vascongada’s frontier to the main. Our batteries planted on the bloody hill Before the Virgin’s shrine their death-shot rain From far Illurdos to Elcano’s rill, From towering Cristovál to Oricain at will. XI.