XIV.

And now upon Navarre’s Typhæan crest He stands triumphant, threatening haughty France, While bounds once more Iberia’s lovely breast, And close the wounds that held in death-like trance. Proud beams her eye--she bids the Chief advance, And points to Roncesvalles where of old She crushed the invading Gaul with mighty lance. See, see a Briton as Bernardo bold His conquering chariot-wheel o’er Gallia’s host hath rolled!