Thus Menelaüs, while his brazen spear Thirsting for Paris’ blood is brandished high, No longer sees the slender youth appear, But riseth cloud to thwart his vengeance nigh, Which Aphrodite gliding from the sky (So sings Mæonia’s bard) doth interpose; And even while glares Atrides’ conquering eye, And to his men the adulterer’s helm he throws, The mist o’erspreads his form and shields from deathful blows. XXIV. But o’er the heights that gird the fearful pass Our troops are gathered soon, and France doth quake, For now the terrible defile in mass Her legions enter. Many a brow doth ache. Our warriors’ death-shots direful havoc make. They quail--they fly--confused disorder reigns. Rank upon rank doth every instant break, Nor Soult’s commanding voice the rout restrains. They pass, but many a captive leave to mourn his chains. XXV. To Yanzi now! where narrower still the cleft Which France must pass. By Zubiéta came Our Light Division, ne’er of hope bereft To reach the ground ere Gaul can thwart the aim That there full terrible her pride shall tame. Our warriors through Elgoriága glide, Fatigue exhausting many a wearied frame, And toil they faintly up the mountain-side; But Morton urged their zeal, and Nial touched their pride. XXVI. Light-hearted chieftain-boys! No knapsacks they, No firelock’s weight, no full cartouches bore. The promptings of their valour they obey; And Leo’s sun in vain o’er them doth pour His maddening rays--for courage warms them more! But clambering Santa Cruz’s torrid steep, Full many a soldier fell convulsed, while gore And froth commixed their parchéd mouths o’erleap, And respite found from toil in Death’s eternal sleep! XXVII. And leaned their comrades on their firelocks then, Whose spirits stern had ne’er before been quelled; And muttered, “What could more be asked of men?” And for an instant’s time almost rebelled. But rose a tear to Morton’s eye, and held His forehead Nial aching at the sight Of warriors whom fatigue like death-shot felled. When saw the men their leaders felt aright, A hearty cheer they gave, and scaled the fearful height. XXVIII. A precipice beneath o’erhung the bridge Of Yanzi. Hurrying past the French were seen Along the dread defile. Upon the ridge His men by Morton ranged their firelocks keen Discharged. ’Mongst clustering shrubs his rifles green Did Nial gather lower down the steep. Oh, dire the calls of duty oft had been, But direst this! The chieftains almost weep; The men avert their heads, Death’s harvest while they reap. XXIX.