Sir Pack’s not yet hath come—but Marcaloin
Shakes with its onward tramp—though from the view
Of hawk-eyed Soult ’tis hid. To battle flew
His host, assailing Cole in front and rear.
Clausel from the Lanz valley poureth too
His skirmishers—the mountain-side they clear;
Cole’s left is rapid turned—defeat we now may fear.
XXXIX.
But sudden rises o’er the mountain’s crest—
What is’t? An army new of warriors dread—