XXX.

“And next at Orthez from its Roman camp Thou’lt baffle Soult upon his convex hill, His ardour ev’n ’mid seeming victory damp, And pour thy Picton’s veterans, matchless still, Through the dread marsh with new dismay to fill The French battalions, Cotton’s bold hussars Their rout completing. There thy dauntless will Thou’lt prove ’neath wound which nought thy progress bars, And France thy onward tread shall feel, despite of scars!