I.

Upon the Chofre stood the dauntless Graham, And marked the slaughter with determined eye, Sad yet unshrinking--poured then forth of flame A torrent hissing red athwart the sky. Close o’er the stormers’ heads the missiles fly, The stone-ribbed curtain into fragments hurled-- Full fifty cannon streaming death on high. Unmoved they stand--no flag of fear unfurled-- A scene unmatched before since dawning of the world!