XXVIII.

From every quarter sweeps an iron shower-- Cannon and musketry in front and rear-- From nearest horn and distant fort and tower, From rampart, bastion, curtain, cavalier. Up, up the breach they climb and laugh at fear! The summit’s gained--it seems the verge of Hell-- A gulf impassable! Live thunder near Leaps forth from guns whose momentary knell Rings for the brave who fall where late they stood so well.