Rushed Nial, Morton madly down the steep In generous rivalry who first should reach To avert the peril. Roelike was each leap From crag to crag--they are come--the danger teach, Which Arthur learns with gracious smile to each. Swift to his charger strong the Chieftain springs: The Frenchmen’s bullets whistle vain as Speech Where Action’s wanting. See, his steed hath wings; And safe is he whose fate had sealed the doom of Kings! XXXVI. Strove Arthur long to learn which youth he owed For safety and deliverance gratitude; But Nial said ’twas Morton forward strode The first, and Morton urged that Nial viewed The peril soonest--Friendship’s generous feud! Where each desired that each the prize should hoard; And eyes that witnessed it were tear-bedewed. Great Arthur gave each noble youth a sword, That bore his mighty name--magnificent reward! XXXVII. But thirsteth Pride for San Sebastian’s towers, For foiled one effort to surmount her wall; And Death that sweeps each host had swept down our’s A moon before in numbers to appal. ’Tis Honour’s voice, then, bids each bastion fall; Such man’s decree! The galleries swift advance. A triple mine upheaves the firm sea-wall With fierce sulphureous shock. Rocks heavenward dance To ope our troops a path against the sons of France. XXXVIII. And pant for glory ’midst their brave compeers Nial and Morton--keen as curbéd steed. Though soft their souls in love to melt in tears, In war they could unmoved see hundreds bleed. Of passionate fervour was their patriot creed, And next to Heaven they loved their native land. With Blanca there to fly, when Spain was freed, Before the frowning wall young Morton planned, And murmur thus his lips while waits his eager band:-- The Glory of Islands. 1. Forbid the linnet from its nest, And crush its homeward aspirations-- As vain to chide the heaving breast, And woo repose in foreign nations! No, England, no! beyond the foam, Around thy beauteous shore that circles, I would not fix my lasting home For every gem that brightest sparkles! 2. More cloudless bend Italian skies; Burgundian fruits more richly cluster; Iberia’s slopes more gently rise, And shine her stars with purer lustre. O’er Adria’s coast, o’er fair Stamboul, O’er soft Mæonia show’rs more splendour. Out, sunk ’neath Slavery’s abject rule! ’Tis _thou_ art Freedom’s grand defender! 3.