XXXI.

And prisoners fell by thousands in our hands, And all the convoy, treasure, spoil was our’s. At Echallar and Ivantelly stands The foe once more, and tempts the leaguering powers; But daring Barnes upon the mountain towers With lion-heart, and smites the clustering foe. Though five to one their number ’gainst us lours, In vain the arméd throng withstands the blow. The fortress-crag is won--the French are hurled below.