X.

Seven columns o’er the sand like serpents wind, With crimson bright and azure scales bespread-- The various garbs of Spain and England joined-- And glancing bayonets bristle o’er each head; No Hydra in Lernæan marsh so dread! The Gaul o’ermatched can scarcely trust his eyes. Confusedly gathering each with shame is red; And form our lines beyond the stream ere flies A hostile shot, so great that terrible surprise!