Night falls around--in dark and dense defile Nial and Morton with their gallant host, Where even by daylight rarest sunbeams smile, In Leron’s frightful wilderness are lost. By frowning precipice, through crags high-tost By earthquakes old--through forests grimly black, Like ghosts they wandered, crost and then re-crost, Nor pathway saw to forward move or back, Nor means of exit found, nor even a desert-track. XVIII. “Cheer up, my friends,” said Nial; “whom the foe “Hath ne’er made flinch the forest shall not quell. “Full many a pine-branch waves at hand to show “The way--no torch so fitly or so well.” Then many a pine-branch torn, with resinous smell Told of its fiery aliment--the flash Of muskets gave them kindling.--Through the dell, Waving on high these flaming brands they dash, And to their comrades shout who tempt the forest rash. XIX. Thus on they moved through thicket, glen, and brake, By precipice, and crag, and torrent brink, And yawning chasm that made the boldest quake, Till without end the dark ravine they think; And wildered many a foot by flaming link, That guided few save them the links who bore: Benighted thus till with fatigue they sink, Steep crag and glen profound they wandered o’er, Their beacon fires alight--but none can find a shore. XX. And pealed their shouts incessant through the gloom, With clamour wounding the dull ear of Night, Till as in churchyards peopled grows each tomb To midnight wanderers, rose their souls to fright Infernal Phantoms! On each towering height Seemed demons sprung with torches from their den, Their footsteps to mislead with Hellish light; Till Morning rose, and showed the mount and glen All strewn with faces wan and worn and wearied men. XXI. But daylight woke their hearts to hope and joy; Refreshment needful cheered their bivouac. The column they rejoined without annoy: And there of gladness was, I ween, no lack, Where soldiers hailed their former comrades back. Now Soult by perils prest hath outlet none, Save by Maria’s pass with omens black; And swiftly, near Lizasso, Hill hath won Upon his rear, unchecked by Leo’s burning sun. XXII. His cannon opened loud with bellowing sound, And ’neath its deadly roar the French ascend; Till near the summit of the pass they found A wood that stretched its branches to befriend. Yet see, they turn, and skirmishers defend The steep, but Stewart leads the stern assault. Soon broke their files, their menace soon doth end. Headlong they fly, and dareth none to halt-- But thickest mist doth fall--and leave our men at fault. XXIII.