The Gaulish column while the deed dismayed, New daring to the British line it gave. Their rattling musketry more vigorous played, And clouds of smoke arose with curling wave O’erarching all the arena of the brave. Nor yet the fireballs ceased to light the war, Nor yet the grape to fall where none could save Or life or limb, nor yet to roar from far The cannon dire and bombs that burst through every bar. XXX. And ’mid this jar confused of noises dire, And shouts of living soldiers fierce and fell, The piercing shrieks of wounded men rose higher Through groans of dying strewn by shot and shell; And of the fire balls from the citadel Some lit amongst the helpless wounded, bringing New pangs where agony too much doth dwell. See crawling through the blaze, or nervous springing, The maimed from where blue fire its lurid glare is flinging! XXXI. But faint before the valour of our men Grew Gaulish daring, though they bravely fought; And when they showed irresolute, ’twas then Our Britons to the charge the bayonet brought. With shout appalling in their souls they wrought Such fear as aided well our glancing steel And firm advance. In flight they safety sought, Yet less in terror’s coil, than vain to feel The assault that hath prepared with Britain’s sons to deal. XXXII. Now free once more our deep intrenchments stood, Save of the heaps of slain and battle’s track, And many a broken blade and pool of blood, Which by to-morrow’s dawn shall find no lack Of zeal to clear, and bring to smoothness back. The dead shall find a soldier’s simple grave, The wounded healing care though pain should rack, With Fame’s requital; and where past the wave Of War, each trench renewed again shall shield the brave. XXXIII. Within the town the lovely Isidor Shuddered with fear at every cannon’s boom. As fell upon her ear the horrid roar, She deemed it sounded like the crack of doom, And on her knees within her furthest room Before an image of the Virgin prayed That Heaven might turn their hearts, and Pity’s womb Bring forth Pacification--sore afraid To see man slaughter man in God’s own image made. XXXIV. But Blanca in the sound and sight rejoiced, Which ever told of liberty to Spain, And soon she hoped to see the standard hoist Sublime on San Sebastian’s towers again-- The rampant lions spurning Gallic chain! And as the shells arose, the fireballs flew, She rowed along the bosom of the main Beneath the wall, as danger she would woo, Yet shuddered too at times--for Morton there she knew. XXXV.