XLVI.

A rampart of the brave--of dead and dying! Thy column, Gaul, advances to the line, And halts where stern that gory bulwark’s lying, While Britain’s heroes all their fire combine. Nor ’mid tremendous showers of death repine Their wounded comrades smote, since death may bring The foeman under. Gaul, as drunk with wine, Reels from excess of slaughter. Forward spring Our bayonets to the charge. The foe is on the wing!