XXIII.

And now the direful storm that fell when San Sebastian’s scarp was won the battle palls. The tempest louder shouts than warring man; San Marcial’s voice on Haya echoing calls, And rattles Jaizquibel his thunder-balls, Mocking weak mortals, far along the sky. Terrific lightnings o’er Pyrene’s walls Flash like the swords of mountain spirits on high; And halts the strife of Man--his pellets cease to fly.