XXII.

But now resounds the cannonade of Graham-- That direful torrent o’er the stormers’ heads-- And bids Soult pause. A moment grief o’ercame The hero’s soul--almost a tear he sheds, For ominous boding and profound he dreads The noble city’s fall. Yet firm he stands, And menacing the foe his phalanx treads San Marcial’s sides, where still their blazing brands And glittering points of steel are swayed by sturdy hands.