XXIV.

Now War his direful tasks again pursues O’er rugged steep and castled crag sublime; And, Gaul, thy fields no longer sacred lose The conquering fame that propt Invasion’s crime. The mountain-barriers of thy Southern clime No more shall serve as bulwarks for thy soil, For Britain’s sons advance as sure as Time, Soult’s bristling huge entrenchments instant spoil, And onward march with ease where mocked was human toil.