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.