I.

But France though vanquished oft doth oft renew The assault which British arms alone can quell. Her columns fresh the wrested prize pursue, And at the Siérra’s foot their numbers swell. Exhausted War’s munitions now, so well Have England’s sons with fire the foeman plied, And anxious eyes upon their leaders dwell:-- “See, see, brave hearts,” young Morton stoutly cried, “While rocks like these abound, we’ll guard the mountain’s side!”