Iberia Won 54

Iberia Won 54

XXII.

 

Through each intrenchment in the greater pass

Soon Kempt’s brigade doth force resistless sway,

His skirmishers wide scattered o’er the grass

To small detachments broke, as melt away

The lessening slopes into the ridges gray.

The platform’s won, and Colborne’s bold brigade

Of rifles far above, like huntsmen gay,

Is seen to emerge from forth the forest shade

To the broad space before the star-redoubt displayed.

 

 

XXIII.

 

Nial was there, and swift he led his men

With rapid fire the strong redoubt to storm.

Their dark attire the French mistaking then

For garb of Southron soldiers, forth they swarm,

And face our caçadores in conflict warm.

Sudden their charge, and struggling hand to hand,

The firelock and its fixéd bayonet form

Against the unarméd rifle surer brand,

And shrill the Frenchmen cried as backward drew the band.

 

 

XXIV.

 

But Nial with his sword the bayonet matched,

And as he fought upon the rocky verge

That bounds the platform, he a firelock snatched

From forth a Frenchman’s hands whom he did urge

At swordpoint till he slew him. While the surge

Of foemen rushed, he kept them all at bay,

Till from the forest swift our troops emerge.

Their crimson garb with panic struck the fray,

And Nial cheered his men to give their rifles play.

 

 

XXV.

 

Then loud arose the sturdy British shout.

Rifles and foot in full career advance.

The foe to their intrenchment wheel about;

And England’s sons, improving well the chance,

The fort have entered with the sons of France.

Dense clouds of smoke o’er all the works ascended.

Sharp rang the musket, active played its lance.

But soon the mass of French and English blended

Emerged, while British cheers proclaimed the conflict ended.

 

 

XXVI.

 

Up, up the crags the rapid Frenchman flies,

The powerful Briton following in his trail,

Till new intrenchment, new redoubts, arise.

Once more they stand--once more our troops assail

Their abatís, till France again doth quail.

And ever Nial flourished in the van

His faithful sword that turned the foeman pale,

And cheered his rifles on, and foremost ran,

Like gallant chief whose port gives courage to each man.

 

 

XXVII.

 

And Colborne nobly guided the brigade,

Which now the mount hath carried to its crest;

But there a terrible redoubt’s displayed,

Where loop-holed works with musketry arrest

The brave who fall with many a piercéd breast.

No howitzer is there--no mountain-gun,

But missiles scarce less dire our troops molest;

For thundering down the steep comes many a stone,

Huge, rugged, dealing death, or shattering flesh and bone.

 

 

XXVIII.

 

But Kempt’s brigade its toilsome way hath gained

With Andaluzan comrades up the steep,

And turned the fort’s left flank--’tis scarce attained,

When rush the foemen in disordered heap

Down the far hill-side to the valley deep.

The fort is our’s! The tricolor is torn

By Nial from the flag-staff at a leap;

And, Spain, thy lions and thy towers upborne

In many a victor field its summit proud adorn.

 

 

XXIX.

 

The Bayonnette is won! The mountain’s brow

Doth bear a signal-tower whose beechen arms

Soult’s mandates wonted to transmit till now,

And o’er his lines convey with magic charms

Of fleetness War’s instructions and alarms.

“Now down,” quoth Nial, “with the wooden head,

Whose baleful movement oft the Spaniard harms.

His clumsy flourishes through æther sped

No more shall wound the Allies, no more by Soult be read.”

 

 

XXX.

 

From Leon’s corps two sturdy pioneers

With gleaming axes clove the column’s foot.

The laughing Andaluz the tell-tale jeers:

“’Tis thus we lay the hatchet to the root.”

“That tree,” said Nial, “shall no more give fruit!”

The Andaluzes yet more fiercely mock,

Keen as the shafts their bullring Majos shoot:--

“Now did king Joseph’s self receive the shock,

Right lustily the axe should cleave the senseless block!”

 

 

XXXI.

 

Soon pierced the column round, till scarce a thread

Supports its weight:--“Look out--look out below!”

Another stroke--and stoops its monstrous head.

It sways--it topples o’er--first bending slow,

Then falls with mighty crash beneath the blow.

As when ’mid storms, some labouring ship to ease,

The mast is hewn away, and falls where flow

The seething billows--tackles, shrouds, and trees,

Canvass and cordage sink, a victim to the seas.

 

 

XXXII.

 

Meanwhile great Arthur hath so well combined

His several forces tow’rds the frontier nigh,

That Commissari and Puérto, as designed,

Our flag now wear upon their summits high.

Five perilous hours our heroes by the cry

Of Freedom spurred, o’er crags stupendous toiling,

Have ceaseless fought where dead and wounded lie,

At every guarded post the Frenchman foiling,

And round Pyrene’s girth like powerful serpent coiling.

 

 

XXXIII.

 

But now the greater Rhune must too be won,

And Colborne’s corps and Longa’s force the hill.

Through wooded gorge, up craggy slopes they run,

Then breathless pause--again with lusty will

Burst fresh and sparkling like a mountain rill.

And many and fleet the skirmishers of France,

With fusillade severe but conquering still,

They backward drive along the broad expanse,

And Nial’s gleaming sword was ever in advance.

 

 

XXXIV.

 

Strong was the line of abatís that rose

Full in the path of Longa’s wearied men.

They halt irresolute before their foes,

Nor list to Longa’s voice nor mark his ken.

But Nial whom all loved was ’mongst them then,

And “_adelante_” crying waved his sword--

Leapt o’er the abatís i’ the lion’s den.

The generous Spaniards bounded at the word,

Saved “the fair boy” and smote the French with one accord.

 

 

XXXV.

 

To Rhune’s enormous sides the foemen fled,

Where ’neath Clausel the Gaul doth muster strong.

The Hermitage upon the mountain’s head

Is thick with arméd men,--though Fate should wrong,

Full stern resolved the contest to prolong.

By others not less fierce are held his flanks;

To Sarre and to Ascain extends the throng.

A lower ridge the greater Rhune embanks,

And this too bristles o’er with Gallia’s hostile ranks.

 

 

XXXVI.

 

Now--now the Andaluzes scale the Rhune,

By Colborne’s caçadores supported still.

A musket-shot below the crest full soon

Their charge doth reach, to where a craggy hill

Detached doth rise. This natural bulwark fill

The skirmishers of France, whose fusillade

Not long withstands the assailants’ vengeful will.

The bulwark’s cleared, the pathway free is made,

And up the Spaniards climb--nor ask for British aid.