X.

At length the foeman’s guns are nearly mute, The hour doth come for the terrific shock. Where thou hast sown, Britannia, pluck the fruit; Sebastian hoary, tremble on thy rock! With false assault the gallant Rey to mock, And haply make the veteran spring his mines (Oh, perilous emprize, where Death will lock With icy arms the form that fairest shines) Leap forth a dauntless score of warriors from the lines.