XVI.

And Freyre’s Spaniards now the peak have won Of Mandal lording o’er his craggy slopes, Where the Green Mountain glistens in the sun, And tow’rds Urogne an easy pathway opes. Thus turned his flanks, and foiled in front his hopes, Reille by the causeway of Bayonne recedes, Till Soult’s great voice the flight majestic stops. In vain the foeman’s breast contending bleeds;-- The Bidasóa’s won--not least of England’s deeds!