XXXIX.

Nor slow was Rey the city to defend, Exhausting all the arts that War supplies. A yawning chasm within the breach doth end; Loopholed with fire a counterwall defies Approach;--where’er the rampart broken lies, A traverse cuts it off--the streets are trenched; Mines trebly charged prepare to blot the skies With shattered limb, and head from shoulder wrenched, Of him who dares the assault, yet not a cheek is blenched!