XXIX. Still swarms the fiery brink. Who now will dare Leap the dire chasm--who like Empedocles Will plunge into the Ætna flaming there, And be esteemed a God? Who to appease Hesperia’s manes, like the youth who sees The barathrum profound i’ the Forum yawn, Spurs his strong courser, is engulfed, and frees Great Rome--who now, by patriot impulse drawn, Will sound that fell abyss, and haste fair Freedom’s dawn? XXX. Oh frightful precipice! Full many an eye Glares on its horrid depth and back recoils. Madly to plunge were hopelessly to die, Or torn and shattered fall into the toils. Even lingering here is death! As rankest soils Are strown with richest growths, the valiant strew That gory Scylla’s crest. Charybdis boils With vortex under. What may heroes do? Advance? In vain. Recede? No, Britons’ hearts be true! XXXI. Up climbs a multitude of strenuous men, Who thick as forest-leaves autumnal fall, So keen for entrance to the lion’s den, Not death at every footstep can appal! Sore doth that storm of fire their valour gall, And slowly with reluctant pride they sink, Till stubborn planted on the lower wall They stand beneath the fiery torrent’s brink, While ever and anon their chain doth lose a link. XXXII. Thrice to the deadly summit of the breach Did Morton rush, and thrice was backward borne, Like mariner that, dashed on stormy beach, Swayed by the surge against the cliffs is torn. But nought could drown unconquerable scorn Of death in that young hero. Up once more He rushed to the crest, and fell. Young Blanca, mourn! Thy lover’s heart is pierced, he totters o’er, And falls ’mid heaps of slain--his dirge the artillery’s roar:-- The Rally. 1. As a torrent that bounds From its mountainous dwelling Obstruction but chafes Into foamier swelling; As snorts the wild bull Whom the banderils pierce, So the death-scattered breach Makes the phalanx more fierce! 2. Each shower that is cast From the foemen’s fell cannon But makes the assault To lift prouder its pennon. Each shaft from the walls Gives to Valour new wings; O’er each hero that falls See, a new hero springs! 3. There is that to be done At which nations shall wonder; The scarp shall be our’s, Although tenfold its thunder; In spite of wide Earth, And in spite of deep Hell. Where a Briton resolved, Could a Gaul ever quell? 4.