VII.
From the hill summit they behold,
By the first beams of orient gold
In adverse arms reveal’d,
Full fifty thousand warriors bold,
Inured to war, in conquest old,
To toil and terror steel’d:
But they,—as steel’d to fear or toil,
As bold, as proud of war-won spoil,
In victory’s path as skill’d,
Though doomed with twice their strength to try
The hard unequal field,
They view the foe with kindling eye,
And, in their generous transport, cry
“Conquer we may—perhaps must die;
But never, never yield!”