XI.

Of volumed smoke at length the eddying wave Falls o’er the battlement and clears the ground. Still would the sons of France the fortress save, Amazed amid the ruin spread around; But onward to their breasts the assailants bound, And momently the baffled foemen scare. They rally--I ween none there hath quarter found; They stand--and desperate valour all doth dare. In vain--the stormers rush like lightning to their lair.