XXXVII.

Nor war’s dread engines yet have done their worst, For Mont’ Orgullo still by Rey is held; And o’er that stronghold falls a doom accurst, For ere he leave the Castle must be shelled. Nine days of horror by our cannon knelled Bring death to our own captives--on the tenth When Honour, grisly demon’s voice is quelled By glut of gore, he proudly yields at length, Walks forth to beat of drum, and owns Britannia’s strength.