XLI.

See from Sauróren in the vale beneath Where darts that column to the mountain-shrine, Nor fires a shot, but silent o’er the heath Strains to the rugged summit, while their line Is swept by fiery tempest. Bright doth shine French valour there. Though ranks be swept away, Unchecked their ardour. For the crest they pine, And win it. Lusia’s rifles swell the fray, And France upon this point an instant gains the day.