XXVII.
Hot and impetuous they pursued,
And wild with carnage, drunk with blood,
Rush’d on the plain below;
The wily Frenchman saw and stood—
Screen’d by the verges of the wood
He turn’d him on the foe.
The gallant bands that guard the crown
Of England, led the battle down,
And, in their furious mood,
Thrice they essay’d with onset fierce,
Thrice fail’d, collected France to pierce—
Still France collected, stood!
While full on each uncover’d flank
Cannon and mortar swept their rank,
And many a generous Briton sank
Before the dreadful blaze;
Yet ’midst that dreadful blaze and din
The fearless shout they raise,
And ever, as their numbers thin,
Fresh spirits rush unbidden in,
Thoughtless, but how the meed to win
Of peril and of praise.
And still, as with a blacker shade
Fortune obscures the day,
Commingled thro’ the fight they wade,
And hand to hand and blade to blade,
Their blind and furious efforts braid,
As if, still dark and disarray’d,
They fought the midnight fray.