XVI.

A standard floats upon the cavalier. It is the far-renownéd tricolor, Whose folds more proudly ne’er have waved than here, Though many a victor field they’ve fluttered o’er. Up Nial springs with hand still dripping gore, And stoutly tears that tyrant-standard down. Three loud huzzas resound from sky to shore-- Floats in its stead the flag of Leon’s crown. ’Tis ours! And Spain once more is mistress of her town.